Free Gideon's Angel by Clifford Beal Page B

all that has happened.”
    “What’s done is done. But you can tell me about Israel Fludd, then. I do not remember the name in these parts.”
    “He followed his brother here, a Norfolk man, Major Gideon Fludd, of Okey’s dragoons. They both have fought for Parliament these last few years and Israel holds a captain’s commission in the Plymouth militia.”
    I nodded, my mind already moving to dark places. “And this Gideon. I have seen him in Plymouth. What is his part in this villainy?”
    “He holds much power here. I don’t know how he rose so fast but he’s the whip for all our backs. The mayor’s in thrall to him and he does what he likes with his dragoons. The army is the power now. I’ve heard that Colonel Okey has sung his praises to Cromwell and the Council and given him free rein in Devon to establish order and stamp out any Royalist plans. Which brings us back to your intentions here, my brother.”
    I grunted in reply.
    “It’s better I don’t know,” he said as we reached the fallen stones of the bailey.
    “This Gideon Fludd,” I said, “he has the look of the overly righteous about him. And there’s something in his face that unsettles me. I don’t know what it is...”
    I could still not forget how my talisman had tugged at my chest when I set eyes upon Fludd. As if it was trying to pull me away.
    William gave a hoarse laugh. “You’ve marked him well. He and his brother are Fifth Monarchy men.”
    “And what are they? Another group of radicals bent on tearing down what’s left of this place?”
    “Aye, that is closer to the truth than not. They and those of their creed hold no church but they’re convinced that we live in the end of days as was foretold in the Book. They believe that King Jesus will come and establish the new Kingdom of God here and now.” He rubbed at his chin. “No, I misspeak—it’s thirteen years hence—in 1666. That is when the Lord is to come again. But they have to get the house ready, you see, for the Second Coming. Gideon is convinced he is a saint doing the Lord’s work.”
    “The world is gone mad.” I looked out over the spire of St. Maurice, over all the houses that lay below and rested my back against the cold moss-covered wall of the long-perished stone keep. “I must see my boy. May I come up to the house?”
    William mumbled some incoherent protest and then said, “Richard, that is not wise and you know it.”
    “Not this night. Tomorrow. I’ll come around the back. To the window in father’s old chamber.”
    “And what shall you do in the meantime?”
    “Keep out of sight,” I lied.
    My brother pursed his lips in frustration. “Very well, then. I shall be waiting for you tomorrow eve. Richard, I pray your boldness doesn’t bring the army down on us. I beg you not to stir the hornet’s nest, for all our sakes.”
    “Brother,” I said, “fear not. It is I that possesses the sting.”
     
     
    I CROUCHED IN a copse, enveloped in my cloak, and watched my house. The moon was still high and bright and I had waited until the last of the lights had been snuffed out. My horse I had tied up some distance away on the edge of the wood and I had walked onto my land, skirting the barns and cottage and flanking my way so that from where I hid, I could see the rear courtyard and pump. And there I had waited as the night grew old.
    Israel Fludd had raped my wife and stolen my home. Yet I swear I had come to accomplish something other than revenge. I had come to regain something that was mine, something that could be regained. For underneath the tiles in the buttery, I had secreted a leather wallet before my last campaign. Inside it were letters of exchange, drawn from the Amsterdam goldsmiths and worth some five thousand gold ducats—a few thousand pounds at least. The fruits of my years in the German wars. Once redeemed, I could at long last do some good for Arabella and the children. But I needed no one to tell me what rashness my plan