Three Treasures

By Jack Elwin

The time is 1642. England is at war with itself; the bloody Civil War between the Royalists and the Parliamentarians. The place is Dorchester, county town of Dorset in the West Country. Royalist and Parliamentarians are converging on Dorchester which is itself a divided town.
Micah Judd, a young apothecary, encounters Elizabeth Whittle, a girl who is unwillingly engaged to the nasty Nicolas Dashwood. At the same time, all able-bodied townsmen are coerced into working on the town defences. There Micah tends a young man hurt in a fall – his name is Denis, and Micah discovers that he and Elizabeth are in love with each other.
In spite of Dorchester’s impressive defences the citizens lose heart, and the town opens its gates to a Royalist army. When the army moves on three people have lost their treasures and ask Micah’s help: Nathan Whittle, whose savings and the dowry money for Elizabeth have been stolen by a Sergeant Barnby; Nicholas’s father, whose wife’s jewels have disappeared; and Lawrence Huatt, who had entrusted his money to his farmer brother-in-law, Jacob Perrin, whom he fears is only pretending that soldiers took it. Mingling with all sorts, rich and poor, loyal and treacherous, Micah bluffs his way through many dangers, risking liberty and life amongst soldiers on both sides, as well as amongst sinister forces in Dorchester itself

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Elwin
• Release date: Aug 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466106802

Book preview

THREE TREASURES

ADVENTURES OF MICAH JUDD

as set down by

Jack Elwin

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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EBOOK EDITION PUBLISHED BY:

Firkin Publishing on Smashwords

Three Treasures

Copyright © 2005 Jack Elwin

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Other Micah Judd stories by Jack Elwin:

The He-Witch

Powder and Plots

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – Belial’s Band

Chapter 2 Things Fall Apart

Chapter 3 Losses

Chapter 4 Robberies?

Chapter 5 A Trap For A Thief

Chapter 6 Confession

Chapter 7 On The Trail Of A Cart

Chapter 8 Captured!

Chapter 9 Nat

Chapter 10 Two Treasures

Chapter 11 A Wise Man

Chapter 12 Belial’s Band Again

CHAPTER 1 BELIAL’S BAND

IN THE YEAR of our Lord 1643, I was returning home up a dark alley in Dorchester, after taking a decoction to a sick person, when I stopped in a doorway to shake a piece of grit out of my shoe.

I could hear people’s footsteps and voices coming towards me, and drew further into the doorway to let them pass—not that I was afraid, for this is mostly a law-abiding town, though with all the soldiers about it was wise to be careful.

Although there was some light from the moon the alleyway was in deep shadow, and I must have been invisible in my dark cloak. Two men were coming.

‘If he resists we’ll kill him,’ said one.

His companion, who sounded younger, exclaimed, ‘My God, Horney, why?’

‘It makes no difference, captured or dead, the result will be the same. Dead could be better, for then we wouldn’t have to hold him, except that those damned Puritans will call him a martyr.’

The man almost brushed my shoulder as they passed, and he seemed of more than average size.

‘But I don’t want to kill the old man, affliction though he be,’ said the younger one.

‘Oh, don’t be a coward, Nick. Besides, there’ll be a ransom or reward. You could pay off what you owe me and Lucifer and have some over. But killing won’t be necessary, I think...’

They were passing out of earshot, and I began to follow them, for thought I, some evil is afoot. Near where the alley opened into the High Street they paused and I was able to move near enough to overhear more.

‘You can’t draw back now, Nick,’ the older one spoke fiercely. ‘You know too much. You’ve sworn to obey too, by God,—remember the blood-oath—and you can’t just back out of Belial’s Band. Besides, you know as well as I do what great things will follow if we pull it off. Dorchester’s spirit depends on that man, and if he’s taken out the people will falter. We’ll be able to take over the town, open the gates—and presto! Why, he’s known all over England, and with him in prison or dead it’ll be a mighty blow against this Roundhead rabble.’

‘I... I suppose so,’ agreed the other.

‘Wait—who’s there?’ His companion must have heard me or seen my shadow. I saw the flash of a dagger, and as he began to move towards me I ran, stumbling over the cobbles and trying desperately not to trip. I didn’t pause until I reached the double gates (or rather doors) that opened into my back yard and slipped through. I stood there trying not to pant loudly, listening for footfalls. Hearing nothing I guessed they had given up the chase.

But what was to be done? There were devilish things abroad, and clearly a plot to capture or kill someone. Who in our little town was ‘known all over England’, and whose removal would have such a dreadful effect upon our people? Why, it could be none other than our famous minister, the Reverend John White!

Mr White had made Dorchester ‘the godliest town in England’, known throughout the land for its sober Puritan rule. He was even honoured in the New World, where he had helped many Dorset folk to go and settle in Massachusetts.

I went through the yard and into the house, where I found my wife Agnes suckling little Mark.

‘Supper is ready,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, dearest, I must see Mr White.’

‘Your supper will be cold. You’re always das hing in and dashing out. Surely Mr White can wait.’

‘What I have to tell him won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘If the pie is spoiled ’twill be your own fault!’ she cried as I went out of the other door and through my shop to the street.

I went down Durn Lane warily in case those men were still about, and crossing High Street towards the Shambles arrived at Mr White’s house.

He had just finished supper, and his servant-maid was clearing the table.

‘What brings you here at this hour, Micah?’ he asked.

I waited till we were alone, then told him what I had overheard.

‘I know that there are children of Satan still in this town’ he said. ‘Well may they be called Belial’s Band. There have long been some who would be glad to see me gone, but (God willing) they shall not succeed.’

‘But you are in danger, sir!’

‘That’s as may be, but you don’t know who these men are, nor when or where they hope to act, so there is little I can do unless the Lord reveals more of their devilry. I can but take what care seems possible, and trust in him for protection. Verily, as the Scripture says, the Lord shall keep me from their snare.’

‘But is there nothing to be done, sir?’

‘Watch and pray, my son. But hark ’ee, Micah, see what more you can learn and let me know. In your work you may hear some rumour of this plot. ’Tis possible the Pouncey brothers may know something of it.’

The Pounceys are butchers in the town, and well known as opponents of Mr White and supporters of the Cavaliers. But I doubted that they would go so far as to kill him. However, it was true that in my apothecary’s work I meet many people of all sorts, and might learn more; so I promised to see what I could find, and hurried back to Agnes and supper.

I should explain that at this time the horrid Civil War had been fought up and down England for several months, often dividing father against son or brother against brother, though so far we in Dorchester had been spared attack. But now it seemed we might be in danger from within.

The very next day I heard the name ‘Nick’ again. Nathan Whittle, an acquaintance I sometimes exchanged a word or two with in the town, a red round-faced old fellow with a pretty daughter, came into my shop to buy a salve for a cut on his hand. He’s a glover, a prosperous widower.

I asked him how his daughter was, and that set him off.

‘She’s well enough —at least I hope she is, but who knows what goes on in a woman’s head? But when a good-for-nothing guttersnipe puts hisself in her way, who knows what may come of it?’

‘What do you mean, Mr Whittle?’

‘What I mean is, if I catch that branten varmint making eyes at my daughter agin I’ll squot ’im, by the Lord I will, I’ll drub ’im out o’ town!’

Mr Whittle was liable to lapse into broad Dorsetshire speech when he was angry. I was afraid his waving arms would break some of my precious glass vials. He was telling me how he would ‘squot’ (knock down) the ‘brazen-faced vermin’ who had dared to look at his daughter.

‘He’s a nobody, no family, no money, and coming from God knows where, and he’s had the barefaced by’r lady impudence to try to bring himself to her notice! It makes me mad, Micah, it makes my blood boil, it makes —’

‘Hold hard, Nathan,’ I interrupted, for his choleric humour was suffusing his face and putting him in danger of a fit, ‘has Elizabeth given him any encouragement?’

‘I don’t know, Micah, how should I know? How can a father know what his daughter’s up to? I tell you, lad, you should thank God your baby’s a son not a daughter. They’re nothing but worry and distress from the day they’re born till the day they’re married, and often after that as well I’ve no doubt.’

‘Now sit you down,’ I said, for he had been standing in the middle of the shop all this while. I pressed him down on the stool I keep by the counter and cast my eye along the shelf behind me and took down a bottle of rose-hip syrup, very good for soothing those of a choleric nature. ‘Drink this,’ I said, pouring a few drops into a glass with a little water.‘It will settle your spirit, and then you’ll be able to consider things more calmly.’

He snorted angrily but drank the mixture, while I spoke gently, but with a hand on his shoulder to prevent him leaping up.

‘Elizabeth has always been a dutiful daughter, hasn’t she? and I thought you were arranging her betrothal?’

‘I have, I have, and a mint o’ money she’s costing me. It’s due to take place o’ Sunday, the betrothal I mean.’

‘And who’s the lucky man?’

‘Mr Stephen Dashwood’s son, young Nicholas. But I fear that if they hear about this Denis, whatever his name is, hangin’ about her they may draw back. A whiff o’ scandal and the Dashwoods won’t want to be involved.’

‘But there is no scandal. A girl as pretty as Elizabeth is bound to have lots of young men making eyes at her. It should make the Dashwoods all the more eager to have her.’

‘I hope you’re right, Micah, I do indeed. But you’ve no idea the trouble and worry I’ve had and the money I’ve had to spend to arrange this match for her. It would break my heart if anything happened to prevent it now.’

‘And would it break her heart too? This young man—Nicholas, did you say?—isn’t he said to be a bit wild? Will he make her happy, think you?’

‘What’s happiness to do wi’ it? It’s marriage we’re talking about. As Mrs Dashwood she’ll have horses and servants and never want for the best of everything. Happiness in marriage is a blessing if you can have it, Micah, I know. I had a good life with my Mary till she died, God bless her. But I had a struggle to make ends meet in my early days, and I want Elizabeth to be spared that. An’ as for wildness—most young ’uns are a bit unsteady. I daresay you was yourself. But that don’t mean he won’t settle down.’ He slapped his hands on his knees and stood up, and I was glad to see that he wasn’t quite so red in the face. ‘Well, I must be going, Micah. Give my compliments to your lady.’

Only after he had gone did the name strike me: Nicholas, Nick—could he be the young man I had overheard? There must be many men called Nicholas in the town, there was no reason Mr Whittle’s chosen suitor should be the one. Yet I couldn’t help wondering, and resolved to find out more about him if I could. The Dashwoods were wealthy gentry of the town, related to other leading families, and with an estate in one of the nearby villages besides the house they had in Dorchester. It would be a triumph for Whittle to marry his daughter to one of them. Nicholas I did not know, though I must have seen him around, and I had heard that he had been in trouble with the town constables for drinking and gambling.

I picked up another hint of trouble when that afternoon I went to buy a joint Agnes had asked me to get from the Pounceys. When I looked into their shop one of them was sounding off about our minister.

‘That damned Mr White is a spoil-sport,’ he was saying. ‘Why shouldn’t we play football on the Sabbath? Don’t it say in the Bible The Sabbath was made for man? So why does he say it’s wrong? The sooner the Cavaliers come here and boot him out the better!’

‘Steady, steady,’ said another man in the shop, ‘take care what you say, or you’ll be doing penance at the church door!’

‘And swearing,’ Pouncey went on, taking no notice, ‘why shouldn’t a man swear now and then to relieve his feelings? It does a fellow no good to bottle ’em up. An’ I tell you that parson makes me want to swear sometimes, and swear I will if I want to.’

‘And pay your fine, I suppose,’ said the other. ‘But I agree he’s a bit too severe. Don’t forget though that he’s made Dorchester famous all over England.’

‘And beyond that, in the New World,’ said another, whom I recognised as a merchant from Fordington. ‘My cousin’s out there—went out in the Mary and John thirteen years ago—and he would never have gone, none of them would, if it hadn’t been for Mr White. I heard from my cousin a little while ago, and he said how our Mr White is revered over there, and how grateful they all are to him for his help and encouragement in settling them overseas.’

‘Then I wish he’d go out there and join ’em,’ said Pouncey. ‘But never mind, we’ll soon be rid of ’en.’ At that I pricked up my ears, as he went on, ‘He won’t last, I say. Belial’s Band’ll get ’un. The devil take him!’

‘What do you mean by Belial’s Band?’ I demanded, pushing forward.

‘Oh ho, Mr Judd, I didn’t see ’ee by the door there. But never you mind—I was just a-saying that our Mr White has been here a devil of a time, so he can’t last much longer, eh? And I for one won’t be sorry. There now, doubtless you’ll run along and tell him what I’ve been saying, and get me into trouble.’

‘Not I, Mr Pouncey,’ I said. ‘I don’t like that sort of talk, for Mr White’s my pastor, but I don’t go carrying tales to him about other people.’

‘Then you must be one of the very few of his blue-eyed children who don’t,’ he said.

‘You’ve no right to call me that,’ I said, somewhat stung. ‘’Tis true I look up to him, and I think of him the father of our town. And he will hold us together and firm to resist the enemy. I don’t see what grounds you have for saying he won’t be here much longer.’

He put his greasy finger up beside his nose and winked.

‘And what’s this Belial’s Band you spoke of?’

‘I know nothing, mister, so I’m saying nothing. But I still maintain he won’t lord it over us here for long. Not with Cavaliers on the march.’

‘Well, if they come I hope you’ll do your part. You could crack a few of their heads with that cleaver of yours!’ I said this to tease him, for it was obvious he would rather be governed by Cavaliers than Roundheads.

‘I know whose heads I’d like to crack,’ he said, chopping at a piece of shoulder as if it was an enemy.

‘Well, as for me, as far as I can I live and let live and mind my own business,’ I said, ‘and my business at present is to buy a leg of mutton, if you can bring yourself to come down from your pulpit to think about meat.’

At that he laughed and served me. I walked home slowly, wondering how much he knew. Was he part of this Belial’s Band, or had he merely heard the name somewhere? And did his saying that Mr White would soon be gone mean that he knew of some definite plot?

I had no opportunity to look further for the plotters just then because the defence of the town became so urgent, and the Town Council ordered: All able-bodied townsmen must report for duty. We were told to abandon our businesses and all other work, take picks and shovels and baskets and saws, and join in raising defences for the town.

Work had begun nearly a year before, in July 1642, on the wall and ditch which protected the three sides of Dorchester not defended by the river. At that time the Council had employed labourers to repair the old walls, which were said to be based on Roman foundations, and to deepen the ditch which ran outside the walls. They were also meant to make platforms for cannon at intervals.

Although a very great deal of money had been spent the work had gone forward so slowly that the defences were still far from complete. But now news that Royalist armies were on the march and seemingly on their way to Dorset stirred the Council to action. We needed everyone to join in a final effort if we were to make Dorchester defendable.

So it was that I found myself down in the bottom of the great ditch a little to the west of Gallows Gate, tired and muddy and looking forward to the end of my shift. I paused for a moment to straighten my back and wipe the sweat from my eyes. Then I craned my neck upwards to marvel at the huge bank we had made.

From the bottom of the ditch to the top of the inner bank must have been two or three times as high as a house. The beaten chalk and clay stretched up smooth and white and almost impossible to climb. It certainly looked invincible to me, even though from where I was I couldn’t even see the full extent of the fortifications, and could only catch a glimpse of the palisade of sharpened stakes that crowned the top.

How we had laboured, wielding picks, shovelling and carting the chalk in barrows and baskets! We had lowered the ditch and raised the bank and tamped the soil firm. Parties had gone to neighbouring woods and parks, and brought back waggon-loads of timber to reinforce the bank and form the palisade. Others had gone out to clear trees and scrub from a wide area all around, so that we would have a clear field of fire. The work had gone on in shifts, from well before dawn until it was too dark to see, day after day. Along the ditch men—and quite a lot of women—were still hard at work, shovelling and carting soil, going to and fro like ants.

Suddenly there was a shout, ‘Look out!’ and a cry of fear. I turned just in time to see the body of a young man falling down the bank. He spread his arms and legs in a vain effort to slow his fall, but the newly-tamped chalk gave no holds for hand or foot and he slithered and bounced to the bottom and lay still in a crumpled heap.

I flung down my spade and ran towards him, as did others of those working in the ditch.

‘Don’t move him!’ I called as I ran. ‘He may have broken bones.’

When I reached him there was already a ring of men gathering round, but they had heeded my warning and not touched him.

‘Here’s Mr Judd,’ said one as I pushed through and knelt by the body, ‘he’ll know what to do.’

Gently I felt his limbs and down his back.

‘Is ’ee still alive?’ someone asked.

‘Yes,’ I said,‘I don’t think there are any breakages, but his backbone may be damaged for aught I know—and see, his head is bleeding.’

I felt him again and straightened him out, and as there seemed to be no great damage I asked the onlookers to bring a board or hurdle for us to carry him home.

‘Does anyone know who he is?’ I asked.

‘’Tis Denis Faire,’ said another man. ‘He’s not been long in the town.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘’Tis in one o’ the back alleys behind East Street, but I don’t know ’xactly.’

Now the young man was beginning to stir. His body twitched once or twice, and he opened his eyes. They were brown, I noticed, like his hair. He stared blankly for a moment, then looked at me.

‘What happened?’ he said.

‘You fell down the bank.’

‘Oh, Lord above! I remember now. I was trying to fix a stake and the ground gave way. Where am I?’

‘At the bottom of the ditch,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you’ve broken anything, but you’ve hurt your head.’

‘So I have. God, it hurts!’

‘What about the rest of you? Can you move your legs?’

He drew his legs up and straightened them again.

‘I think they’re all right,’ he said, ‘but they feel bruised.’

‘Thank God you’re no worse. I’ll bind up your head when we get you home. They’re fetching something to carry you on.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘I think I can walk.’

He sat up and tried to stand, but lay back again.

‘No, maybe not,’ he muttered. ‘I feel giddy.’

Men arrived with a wicker hurdle, and we gently lifted him onto it. Four strong men began to carry him towards the ramp which led out of the ditch. I told them I would go ahead to fetch bandages and ointment, and hurried on up the ramp and across the causeway which had been left