Rib Bone Jack: The Devil's Loss by John Williamson

Author:John Williamson [Williamson, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-24T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Verance listened intently to the movements of the soldiers beyond the walls of the tiny hut he was held in. The constant movement of infantrymen and riders, and the various shouts and laments of the men as they passed the hut, built a picture in his head of just what was happening and the progress of the roundup. The excitement of the soldiers every time one of the Sparesons was caught, gave him an accurate figure of just how many they had captured; yet not one was brought back to the camp.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that he began to hear the word ‘castle’ mentioned as the number of men in the camp seemed to dwindle. It could only be Norwich castle; a Norman keep and a formidable prison. This was somewhere they could all be tried and executed quietly, and without questions being asked until it was too late, by which time the plotters position would be safe.

As he sat there, tied to a rickety old chair in near darkness, he awaited a visit from Major Elmshall and the stout beating that his vile reputation promised. He assumed, should he actually survive the attentions of Elmshall, he would be sent to the castle with the others, yet neither happened.

The fact that he had been captured, gave him a perverse sense of relief; there was no more he could do and having seen almost no sleep since he left London; drifting into an intermittent slumber became unavoidable. As a result of this, the time seemed to pass remarkably quickly. He did of course think about his wife and daughter. Contemplating the likelihood of ever seeing them again, but that had been a concern for a number of days. For the first time in his life he felt at peace, ready to meet his fate, which would surely be a hanging rope.

It wasn’t until the light shining through the cracks in the shed wall began to fade, that a coach drew up purposefully beside the little shed. Verance instinctively knew this was for him. He wriggled himself to a more comfortable position in the chair, despite the quantity of rope, which had been used to lash him to it.

When the door eventually opened, two civilian dressed men walked in. They didn’t dress unlike undertakers and they carried a similarly miserable personality. As they walked in, they didn’t speak or in any way make any acknowledgement that he was there. It seemed as if their every move was pre-planned. The man in the dark jacket opened the door and propped it with a stick while the other, in the grey jacket, pulled a cloth drawstring bag over Verance’s head, pulling the string tightly around his neck. They then both tipped Verance’s chair backwards and carried it, and him to the waiting coach. This undignified manoeuvre took only seconds, in which time Verance sat back and did what he could to relax, contemplating the significance of the fact that the men were not in uniform.

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