The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

close tonil. Therefore he complied and cracked the seal. It was blue wax: the army'scolour.

Insidewere copyists’ versions of his correspondence, both his letter to the LandRegistry, and the reply to it. Someone else had scratched out their sarcastic 'NO'.It now read, in a careless, hasty, script:

'Perhaps'.

‘R.S.V.P.,’said the spokesman soldier. ‘Come with us.’

************

Theisland was full of hanged men. Their bodies lay, broken necked or purple-faced,in piles. A final few were still on the gibbet when Samuel arrived and he couldn'tprise his gaze from their jerky dance.

Itmade no sense to drag him across the Bristol Channel just to hang him; butSamuel knew better than to expect sense from the world. He thought on it asthey approached the village from the jetty, but found no great regrets or fondfarewells welling up from inside. What did trouble him was something he'd heardwhilst in the London Watch. Supposedly, hung men became erect or fouledthemselves. That final indignity would be… regrettable.

Itwas dusk when the army yacht reached Lundy. The landing beach was chock full ofmilitary craft and soldiers standing guard over the islanders' boats. Furtherin, there was a vast bonfire in Settlement Square, casting shadows against thelighthouse and Castle walls. A four-man gibbet, fully occupied, stood starkbefore it. If notions of escape still lingered now was the last chance to try.Samuel might heave the nearest soldier off the path, or seize a sword or gun tomake a show. But then where would he go? Bolting off into the oncoming darkwould only postpone matters: there was no escape from this bit of rock. Takinga few with him would be in character, but still a mere gesture. No one wouldknow. So Samuel decided to save such indulgence till the last moment. Thenthere might be an officer to set violent hands on.

Evennow he wasn't exactly a prisoner - but only because he obeyed. They'd barelyhad a word for him all the way to Clovelly to take ship, or on the twelve or somiles over the water; but neither was he bound or frogmarched at all. Samuelsoon gained the impression that these weren't ordinary bluecoats, a few yearsoff the plough. They were taciturn and used to wilder lands and getting theirown way. The rough stuff at the Forgewasn't affectation but habit. When he attempted conversation he was ignored.Samuel knew the professional military castes called his kind 'usurers'and 'Mammon-slaves', despising those whose life revolved round poundsand pence.

Healso knew a bit about Lundy, even before his cousin condemned both place andpeople. He'd considered it when casting round for business opportunities. Theisland was made of serviceable granite and, a few centuries back, King Josephthe Wizard had pockmarked it with quarries, seeking stone to rebuild London.The slabs which now embanked the Thames from Tower Gardens to Catesby Stationcame from here, and Samuel had thus, so to speak, walked on Lundy before.

That,however, had been the limit of his dealings, for he'd caught all the stories.Everyone agreed about the natives; that they were inbred and clannish, beingsprung from one lineage - and that a bad one. Kings of England might be up totrading with Lundy-men but Samuel Trevan didn't own such resources. It was toorisky to strike deals with those who were businessmen and pirates by turn justas it suited them. He'd left Lundy well alone and now desired more than ever tocontinue that policy.

Someone had had dealings with them though: they'd dealt with them and dealtwith them. That much became clear as he was marched across Settlement Square.The Castle had been rough-handled and some outlying farmsteads were alight.Samuel saw no shortage of females and little ones bewailing their fate, butLundy’s menfolk were all lifeless and longer-necked than hitherto. Samuel acknowledgedhe was in the presence of a uncompromising initiative.

Itssource sat in the commandeered church. Trevan’s guardians stood back, pushinghim into its porch, leaving him to make his own way inside. He found atrestle-table set up beside the font, blocking progress up the nave. Samuelpresented himself to the busy throng around it. Eventually he was noticed.

‘Another?’asked a dapper but pocket-sized moustachioed soldier occupying the only chair;perhaps a decade older than Trevan: young to be senior. ‘You don't need to askabout each one. Hang him.’

Samuelthus identified the seat of power here, for soldiers a foot taller and twicethe bulk of the little man fairly hurtled forward to obey his order. Though hehad other things to think about, Trevan noted the awe or fear inspiring them.It was a puzzle but one he'd have to set aside. Strong hands started to bearhim away.

‘Possiblynot,’ said another voice; not loud but equally commanding. The pinions roundSamuel instantly fell away. He was able to turn and face his - temporary -saviour.

He'dmet the occasional Negro before. St John's-sub-Castro in Lewes boasted a 'son-of-Ham'priest for a while, and London had a fair few Africans scattered about.Nevertheless, they were still rare in Northern Christendom and country peoplewould touch them for luck. To find one on Lundy was remarkable in itself: thathe should be a sicarii was an event of blue-moon proportions.

Samueldidn't cavil: anyone would do to rescue him.

‘Hello.’The Vatican agent addressed Trevan with a smile. What nation he once came fromwas now impossible to tell – by design. All sicarii were from Rome, of Rome andwere Rome – and nothing and nowhere else.

Thoughodd to hear entirely unaccented English, it was otherwise perfect. The soundcame from a face stamped with sunny cheerfulness. Samuel even felt up toresponding.

‘Hello…,’he said.

‘Areyou the would-be miner?’ The Sicarii peered closely, as if scrutiny alone mighttell.

Samuelwasn't sure. But if that person wasn't to be hanged he'd be him.

‘Thathe is, sir,’ confirmed his former acquaintances at the church door.

‘Who?’asked the small, seated, soldier; puzzled, but not in any irritated way. Heseemed genuinely solicitous to know.

TheSicarii leant down to whisper in the soldier's ear, and enlightenment dawned.

‘Iremember now,’ said the little man, gladly. ‘No, we don't want to hang you:we want to help you!’

Andwith that he came round the paper-strewn table and shook hands most courteouslywith Samuel, as if they were old friends. Trevan mustered a strong grip fromsomewhere. His tormentor really was tiny: not