"Lee Edgar - Plot 03 - Plot For A King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edgar Lee)

He turned back to the prisoner. ‘Boy, describe your father.’
‘Well, sir. He was about my height with auburn hair and brown eyes. His face was scarred from
burns.’
‘Does the description fit, Sergeant?’
‘To the letter, sir. Might I be permitted to ask him a question?’
‘Of course, man.’
The sergeant turned to Andrew. ‘Describe your father’s sword.’
‘I can do better than that, sir. I had it with me when I was captured.’
The Commandant sent for Andrew’s belongings and they arrived a few minutes later.
The Sergeant took out the sword and examined it closely. ‘There’s no doubt about it sir. This is
Jack’s sword. It is unmistakable.’
‘How did he come by such a weapon, boy?’
‘It was hand-made by the local smith some years ago and it has fought in many skirmishes
against the Papists both here and in France.’ A little exaggeration went a long way.
For a long time, no-one said anything until the Commandant leant back. ‘Very well. You seem to
be who you claim to be. However, you still may be a spy. My Sergeant and his men will
accompany you to Hellaby on Monday, to check your story about this supposed aunt of yours. If
you are telling the truth, you will be freed. However, if you have lied, you will be executed for
treason.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand that. You will find I have not lied to you.’
Andrew accompanied the Sergeant back to the soldiers’ quarters where his irons were removed
and he was given a good meal. There did not seem to be any chance of escape from the castle
and so he decided to go along with it all and hoped that, when they arrived in Hellaby, his Aunt
Alice would be smart enough to realise the sensitivity of the situation.




Monday 12th February 1649

The Roundheads were beginning to wish they had not left the safety of Berwick Castle. For five
hours they had ridden through drifting snow and had covered not twenty miles as the snow blew
horizontally, straight off the sea and they were turned in the saddle so their backs offered some
protection.
Andrew risked a glance at them and it was painfully obvious that they could not keep it up for
much longer. Sergeant Brigg’s men looked thoroughly miserable. They had joined the army to
fight glorious battles with Royalists and here they were, freezing to death in a snowstorm and not
a Cavalier in sight. It was only two in the afternoon but it was already growing dark and they had
two choices, carry on to Alnwick, another hour’s journey, or return to Belford where an inn might
be found. If it had been left to Andrew, he would have ridden till he dropped as it was imperative he
contact the King as soon as possible. He could not convey that fact to these soldiers, of course,
because he was supposed to be returning to an elderly aunt at Hellaby.
Sergeant Briggs opted for Alnwick though Andrew doubted it was out of regard for his urgency.
There, the choice of available women was probably greater than in some isolated Northumbrian
village. It was very dark when they arrived in the town and found rooms at the inn near the castle
where horses were stabled and men were fed.
‘Now don’t you go running off tonight, young Andrew,’ said Sergeant Briggs with the threat barely
discernable in his voice. ‘We don’t want you getting lost, do we?’
Andrew had to admit, he had been sorely tempted. But it would do Alice Bosvile no good at all if
he were to escape now. He shook his head and raised his tankard. Puritans or no Puritans, the