Part 1 (2/2)

'Cept for the master.' He looked over to Richard and nodded towards the door. 'Bring 'im to this place.'

'Who be this master he speaks of?' Long John asked the innkeeper in a whisper.

'The most evil man on G.o.d's earth,' replied Tom Spence.

'The infamous Jeffreys.'

He was not at all how other men imagined him. The tales of Baron George Jeffreys of Wem had made him a legend in his own lifetime. To those of London, terrified by Monmouth's West Country rebellion, he was a figure of charm and grace, a G.o.dly man who carried out the wishes of his King, ridding the nation of sedition and treason. To those in the south-west he was a vile, murderous dog; the killer of t.i.tus Oates and Richard Baxter; the man who had hanged, whipped, fined and transported hundreds of their number - miners and farmers mostly - in a vengeful parody of justice.

'G.o.d save the King,' said Jeffreys as he entered the tavern with Richard and four others of his retinue. He was a slight man, in his late thirties, wearing a dark coat, jerkin and long-sleeved blouse, and leather breeches. There was a trace of rural Welsh in his accent.

'Aye,' said Tom Spence. 'G.o.d save 'im.'

Everyone else in the tavern stood, respectfully, as the judge entered. He looked around him with a sour expression on his face. He was, clearly, a man used to more lavish surroundings than these.

'Be this the best thou canst do, Master Jowett?'

'Aye, Thy Lords.h.i.+p, 'tis but a poor ale house, known to me from my younger days.'

'Indeed,' said Jeffreys dismissively. 'Curious that temperance did not follow thy misspent youth.'

Someone sn.i.g.g.e.red briefly and Jeffreys snapped his head around to find the culprit. His gaze fell upon Long John and he moved towards the man, slowly. His eyes were as cold and unblinking as a snake's.

'What is thy name, sir?'

'John Ballam,' he said. 'A blacksmith of these parts.' He looked down at the much smaller Jeffreys and the merest hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. 'I am known to all as Long John,' he continued, 'on account of my considerable size!'

Jowett moved, menacingly, behind Long John, and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing the blacksmith to stoop until his face was level with that of the judge.

'And art thou a righteous man, John Ballam?' asked Jeffreys.

John grimaced. 'No one has ever said to my face that I am not.'

'Knowest thou of Monmouth, John Ballam?' continued the judge.

'Aye, sir. A man of considerable standing with some in these parts.'

'Shall I tell thee of Monmouth?' asked Jeffreys with a savage grin. 'Shall I tell thee, John Ballam, of how that rotting b.a.s.t.a.r.d-sp.a.w.n of the King's father was caught in a ditch at Ringwood and dragged to the Tower, caked in his own filth? How he wept and begged before His Majesty for his life? Him that was proclaimed King by cowards and traitors at Taunton this July, now dead - shall I tell thee of him?' He paused and looked closely into Long John's eyes. 'Or dost thou know? Wast thou at Sedgemoor?'

'No, never,' said Long John. 'I am a loyal Englishman, true to my King.'

'Then thou hast nothing to fear from me, or from His Majesty, nor from G.o.d,' said Jeffreys. He turned away from the terrified man, to Spence. 'Master innkeeper?' he asked cheerfully.

'Aye, sir,' he said, bowing.

'Be there a room where a servant of the King can rest his weary head this night?'

Jeffreys was high above the Earth, arms crossed over his chest, as if he had ascended directly from a coffin to the very heavens. He looked ever upward, and towards the face of the Almighty. But there was war in the heavenly realm, and angels were being cast out in droves. They fell like flaming arrows through the chill of s.p.a.ce, merging into one great fiery dart that burnt white-hot. Down, down to the planet cursed by G.o.d and man, through skies and clouds and air, until the angels fell like rain upon Hexen Bridge. The village green ruptured as if under cannon fire, and closed over the demons, who immediately set about creating their own h.e.l.l.

Jeffreys looked, and saw filth and abomination everywhere.

In this cavern, this microcosm of the world, figures in robes indulged in unspeakable acts. The ground was a writhing carpet of snakes, their tongues flicking up at Jeffreys, heavy with poison. He turned to run, but slipped, and, crying out to G.o.d, fell under the shuddering ma.s.s of snakes. h.e.l.l was cold, and they sought entrance into his warmth, pus.h.i.+ng into nose and mouth.

Jeffreys awoke screaming.

Baron Jeffreys of Wem was often troubled by bad dreams.

The voices of those whom he had sent to their maker seemed to return, still seeking their vengeance upon him. But the dreams he had in the tavern in the village of Hexen Bridge on the Somerset-Dorset border were the worst. As he tossed restlessly in his bed, the dreams seemed to continue even when the judge lay awake and trembling. This was a bad place. Satan's own.

As Jeffreys exhaled slowly, resting back on the sodden sheets, the answer came to him. With a grim smile he drifted into the untroubled sleep of the just.

Jowett entered Jeffreys's chamber to find the man stooped by the open hearth, jabbing at the few remaining logs with a small iron poker. The judge was not yet fully dressed, his wig hanging from a hook by the door. The shutters were still closed over the windows, and in the sputtering flames of the fire Jeffreys seemed like a little bald-headed imp, tending the ovens of h.e.l.l.

Jeffreys turned the moment he heard Jowett's footfall.

'The wench said thou hadst orders,' explained Jowett hurriedly.

'Indeed,' said Jeffreys. He seemed to Jowett unusually sanguine - perhaps he had rested well. 'There is much to do, Master Jowett. We find ourselves in the very heart of the villainy. Monmouth's rebels are all around us.'

'This village harboured rebels?'

'Aye, and produced them, I am inclined to think. Thou art a good man, Jowett. The traitors must be known to thee.'

'I knew not of rebellion, sir,' stammered Jowett.

Jeffreys shrugged. ''Tis clear to me.' He turned to look at Jowett for the first time, and the unnatural calmness in his eyes was more terrifying than his usual anger. 'The villagers are to dig a pit. The green afore this inn.'

'For what reason?'

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