01 Reiver by David Pilling

Author:David Pilling [Pilling, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

11.

Hours later, the outlaws stood on the crest of the hill overlooking Eslington manor. A cold November wind whipped across the tops and knifed through their clothes.

Richie barely noticed the chill. At his feet lay the body of John Reade, known in life to friend and enemy alike as Cleave-Crown. They had retrieved it from the house, where he lay surrounded by dead Armstrongs.

The blade of the broadsword that killed him had snapped off in his chest. It was the Devil's own job for Richie and Davy to prise it out. At last the gruesome task was done, and the broken end of the blade placed on the grass beside the corpse.

The little gang stood in quiet vigil over their kinsman. They had borne him some distance from the house, far enough to escape the reek of slaughter. While they grieved, others were at work carrying out the rest of the dead. The bodies were laid out in two separate rows. One for Englishmen, one for reivers. All of Captain Jonas' men were killed in the final onslaught, though Jonas himself was missing. He had doubtless been carried off prisoner to Liddesdale, from where the Warden of the East March would soon be receiving a hefty ransom demand.

Richie knew the fate of the dead reivers. As outlaws, beyond the law and protection of God, their bodies would be burnt or dumped into a pit. Their souls were condemned to Hellfire. Not that the thieves of Liddesdale cared a straw for eternal damnation: “No Christians here, but Armstrongs and Nixons”, was one of their proudest boasts.

“He will be decently buried,” said Richie, “as a Christian. I'll not see him consigned to the fire.”

The others murmured agreement. They were also beyond God's law, and stood in peril of their souls. To avoid damnation Cleave-Crown had to be buried in consecrated ground.

Below them the valley was peaceful. The reivers were gone, driven away, taking several hundred head of kyne with them. Collingwood was also gone. The old knight was nothing if not game, and had set off in hot pursuit after the robbers who lifted his beasts. More dead men lay strewn about his house, in the courtyard or near the orchard. His servants were busily stripping the bodies or chasing after riderless horses.

One of the servants, an elderly man who walked with the help of a stick, came limping up the hillside. He touched the brim of his tattered bonnet in salute to the outlaws.

“Master said you could take some food and drink,” he said. “Clothes and horses too, if you want them. As thanks for your help.”

The old man sniffed, and rubbed the side of his nose. “You're Richie O'the Bow,” he grunted, nodding at Richie.

“Aye,” Richie answered curtly.

“Thought so. Heard songs about you. There'll be a few more after this day's work. This the one they called Cleave-Crown?”

He bent over the corpse, tutting at the livid gash in the dead man’s breast. “I knew him too. A devil among the whores at market, he was.

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