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

‘How'sthe house? Still surviving?’ he enquired. That ought to get through: Melissawas very protective of her childhood and marital home. It was the factor thathad fatally stayed Samuel's hand. Otherwise, he could have fled Bogomilpersecution and taken her with him.

Itdid indeed do the trick, penetrating her enveloping sorrow.

‘Restored,’she told him. ‘The curse is gone.’

Samuelattempted a grin - and precariously achieved one.

‘That'snot a very nice thing to call me.’

Hefelt like he was succeeding - if a manacled man can be called any kind ofsuccess. Melissa mustered a weak smile back.

‘Anymessages?’ he asked.

‘Justthe one.’

‘Whofrom?’

‘Idon't know.’

Itwas difficult to arrive at any kind of inner peace, constrained in Lewes Castlegaol, under 'investigation', awaiting some or other trial; but at leasthe'd thought one particular fear dispersed. His stomach gave a preliminarychurn at it being re-added to the pile of problems.

‘Notthe callers?’ he enquired, anxiously. It was the description they'd settled onfor want of him explaining about ‘Bogomils’.

‘No.They've gone too.’

‘Right!Because I dealt with 'em! Who then?’

‘Theydon't say. Read for yourself.’

Ofcourse he couldn't. So Melissa had to hold the letter up to his face. Then shekept it there when he'd rather not read any more.

‘Ah...,’he said.

Itwas spoken slowly, and solely to postpone what must come next.

‘Somany women, Samuel,’ she said, amazingly calm, considering. ‘And for solong and so often. Even another wife! And so many other secrets too. Isit true?’

‘No.’

‘Promiseme.’

‘Astrue as I love you.’

‘Really?’

‘Onmy oath, I swear!’

Andthen she left him without a word, and Samuel knew that the Elves or Bogomils orwhoever it was, had supplied her with evidence. Good evidence. Better evidencethan his oath. Which now was worthless currency.

Hecalled after her but she didn't answer. The gaoler kept a straight face andslammed the door shut like death.

Theirpositions were now reversed. Melissa had left dry-eyed and it was Samuel's turnfor tears.

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

Anotherday, another visit. The last.

‘Pleasedon’t leave Galen House,’ said Samuel. ‘You grew up there. Look, I don’twant it: I’ll give it to you!’

‘Idon’t want it either,’ answered Melissa. ‘It’s tainted to me.’

Trevansank back down to the cell floor.

‘Wherewill you go?’ A dead man's voice.

‘Annahas offered me a room in her parents’ house. For the time being.’

‘What:your maid? The 'romantic' one? Anna from Malling? Flat chest but saucybum? Well, well, well: I often wondered if there was something between you two.If I get out can I watch?’

Melissalooked down on him with pity.

‘You'vecoarsened, Samuel.’

Hedidn't - couldn't - deny it.

‘Maybethat's what happens when you get everything you want,’ he said. ‘The price forit….’

Sheshook her head, trying to hold on to the pristine memory of him.

‘Ithought.... I really thought you were the one, the man in a million.’

Trevangave a bitter chortle, stretching the cord stitches of his straitjacket.

‘Funnilyenough, my love, it turns out I was; though not in the sense you mean.That's why I'm in so much demand.’

Melissalowered her head and voice.

‘Notby me,’ she said. ‘Not at the moment.’

Hehad nothing to say to that, not wishing to risk treading on any tiny embersthat remained.

Shelingered at the cell door, leaving it ajar and letting in an icy draught. Ametaphor for what the rest of life promised for both of them.

‘Goodbye,Samuel. Thank you for what you were.’

Hesaid nothing, staring blankly ahead - but if looks could kill the world wouldhave ended then. Had there been anyone around to mock him he might have bursthis bounds, chains and all. All his days and years were passing by in reviewand he was spitting on each of them, as they’d spat on him.

Theheavy door closed, separating them. Then Samuel was left alone in silence.

Hedidn't want to speak: not ever again, but words came unbidden. They were made,like him now, from equal parts of cruelty and concern. He called after her,hoping that she would hear.

‘Don'tworry,’ he shouted. ‘I'll send money!’

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

cHAPTER 9

Now that he was an oldman, Field-Marshal Mott sometimes slept as long as four or five hours a night. Itwas an indulgence he permitted himself following a heavy day wrestling with thenational interest. Tonight, after working into the early hours on the Scottishconundrum, and then treating himself to much postponed evening prayers, he wastruly ready for bed.

Whathe wasn't prepared for was further pressing work pinned to that same bed: agrisly missive stabbed into his pillow by a stiletto of non-human provenance.The sight especially saddened him because his saintly sister had made thatcherished hop-pillow. Now it would have to be disposed of, like she had.

Thatloss made him want to berate the sentries who stood perpetual guard before hisquarters, but the sinful reflex passed. They could not be held accountable,poor boys. If it had been the work of Welsh assassins or a Leveller Gideon,then yes - but not these people (though that, of course, was the wrong word….)

Mottonly thought of Elves when he had to, and believed in them on the same basis.Intellectually, he accepted that statecraft must involve him in spirituallyperilous deeds. For that reason he had his own personal chaplain to confide to,when conscience revolted and duty demanded too much. These... things,though, they were beyond even that; they comprised his vilest, most degrading,association. As a young soldier he'd fantasised about a secret war ofextermination against them, with troops who'd then be sent on hazardouscrusade. But now he knew that wasn't possible - or even desirable. Shame.

Theletter was extracted and held between thumb and forefinger up to candlelight.Mott hated anything written in other than plain black ink and plain English.Blood (not theirs, of course) was such a cliché – why bother when they’dmade their point so many times? And so clearly.

Andwhy, the Field Marshal next considered, did the name Trevan ring dolefulbells?

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

Leweshad seen nothing like it, not since the ‘Reformation-Devastation’ Wars. Theentire 'Wisbech and Spalding Regiment of Foot', the famed and infamous,English-but-foreigners, 'Fen Tigers', marched many miles just to escortSamuel Trevan from prison to his new home! A long way to come to facilitate ajourney of mere yards. Yet someone thought it proportional.

Alone figure at the centre of a thousand-strong hollow square of soldiers,Samuel was now free. Free from Lewes Castle and manacles and straightjackets,free even from the threat of ‘grave charges’. Those who now watched overhim