Chapter 10: Laura

While I was trying to find my way back to the disorganized army, I stopped at the first smithy I came to and had him sharpen my big blade. He admired the thing and put a good edge on it. We talked and then walked to the tavern for a pint and a pasty. I was still spending British coins so I stood him a drink and asked directions, hoping to soon catch up with what was left of my scattered Maryland company, the remnants of the debacle on Long Island.

Somebody must have overheard us because as soon as we left the inn, I found myself facing members of the local Committee of Safety who evidently thought I was a deserter or a British spy. I told their leader that my company never had much of a uniform and that we had been ambushed and dispersed a week before, but he didn't believe me and had me locked in the local jail, a small stone building with no windows, just spaces between some of the high-up cobbles that let air into the two cells. The other cell was empty and the door had a heavy, iron lock on it so I just sat and waited to see what would happen next.

In the morning, tired and hungry, I stood before the whole local committee of patriots to tell my story and defend myself. They were doubting Thomases, every one of them, but they did not have any evidence so, I suppose, they decided I should entertain them.

"We got this local boy, a pretty good fighter," the chairman said from behind his table not masking a sly smile. "Think you can beat him."

"He's of a size, is he?" I asked, standing up straight and bulging my chest out some, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in my belly.

"Oh, ain't as tall as you is, but he might have a stone or two on ya. Nobody's beat him yet," the man said.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked.

He shook his head. "How 'bout a little wager, say a pound, make it interesting?"

I turned out my pocket, and he tossed me the purse he had taken from me. I dumped out a handful of shillings. "Let's say a crown," I said. "When?"

"Right now, out in the square," the man smiled and led me out as a crowd quickly gathered. My stomach sent me several messages about its empty condition, and I tried to ignore them and get my anger flaring. I managed to get mad about being hungry.

Their local champion showed up in full military regalia including a fine hat, brown wig and white stockings, some sort of militia company I guess. He appeared to be a chunky man of thirty-five or so, bald when he doffed his dark wig, and almost toothless as I saw when he smiled at me. I was getting angry and impatient as the crowd grew. A fair amount of betting was going on, especially after I pulled my shirt over my head. I heard somebody say, "Damn, he looks like a bloody bear."

The chairman, the one who had made the bet with me, handed me a pole about eight feet long, a staff, maybe thick as my wrist, and my opponent produced a similar weapon from somewhere that looked like it had seen some use. The crowd backed off to give us a circle about twenty-five feet across.

We fenced a bit and then he swung at me, and I blocked his blow, feeling the shock of that down to my toes. He had powerful arms and a strong back and this, obviously, was his game. He stayed low and never got even close to touching him for the first ten minutes while he bruised my shoulder, cracked my shins, hit me in the face once and damaged my ribs on both sides. Blood ran into my left eye. I tried rushing him without success and also failed when I jabbed at him with the end of my staff like it was a bayonet. He was surprisingly nimble for such a big man. He must have weighed nearly twenty stone, but he stayed on his toes, a frustrating man to fight with an unchanging, toothless smile on his face.

He finally made a mistake when he swung low, trying to hit me in the groin or knee, and I blocked his thrust and crushed his right hand in doing so, smashing him right across the knuckles. He yelped, lost his grip, and I stepped inside and whacked him high on the forehead. It made a good, solid sound. He fell to his knees, and I knocked him senseless with a swinging blow to the back of his head that made a cracking sound like I had struck a locust post with an iron maul. He fell on his face and did not even quiver.

I handed the chairman his quarter staff, collected my winnings, pulled on my shirt and headed back to the tavern to tend my wounds, feeling around the inside of my mouth with my tongue, breathing shallowly and limping a bit. I enjoyed a beer and some food then sat quietly while the barmaid sewed up my eyebrow and I enjoyed a fine view of her bulging breasts with their rosy nipples. My left eye was closing fast by the time she finished, and I had another beer and admired her impressive chest and long curls, her tidy waist and generous hips.

"You willing?" I asked her. She was about my age and a fair looking girl, clean and neat despite her job. I was feeling needy, fired up.

"Miss Jones'll take care a'you," she said with a smile. "First room at the top of the stairs." She grinned widely. "Three shillings usually, depending."

"Don't care for whores," I said, telling an awful lie.

"She's a good one, they say."

"No thanks," I said, downing my beer. "Thanks for the sewing." I stacked five shillings on the counter and pushed the small pile toward her.

She pushed it back. "On me," she said. "Anybody'd flatten Crowley deserves something."

"How about later, after you close?"

"Ain't you got nothing better to do?"

"There ain't nothing better," I said and got another smile for my sally.

"I'm, well, sort'a bespoke," she said, nodding toward the fat inn-keeper sitting at a noisy table across the room.

"Really, married?" I said.

"More or less," she replied, lifting an eyebrow. "He's got my indenture papers and I'm in his bed, serving him when he wants it."

"Which is it, more or less?" I asked, reaching between her plump, freckled breasts to play with her drooping stay strings.

"Where you stayin'?"

"Jail," I said.

"We got another room upstairs, but he's usually in it when we closes."

"Damn," I said, clinking my stack of coins. "What are they doing over there?" I nodded toward the table where her 'more or less' husband sat, her lord and master under the law. She had to serve him, well and faithfully as the contract said. Those papers did not mention bed.

"Playing cards. high stakes," she said, trotting off to serve a table. I enjoying watching her walk, and went to join the card game.

They dealt me in and it did not take long to figure out that the 'husband' was a cheat and the others fools. I remembered the last time I caught a man cheating the same way and felt at my knife hilt. I won a few and lost a few, and then I brought out my big blade bayonet, laid it on the table, looked the man in the eye, leaned close to him and said very quietly so only he could hear, "If you deal one more from anyplace except the top or drop another card in your lap, I'm going to cut off your fingers so you can't do it no more and maybe your prick as well."

He looked at me and at the knife. I put it back in its scabbard and in the next hour I cleaned them out and had a large pile of shillings and other coins for my efforts, perhaps two or three pounds or more. When the others left, grumbling, I held the inn-keeper's wrist. "Few things worse'n a cheat," I said.

He nodded and made a face. "What'a you want?" he asked.

"You sleep down here tonight, maybe in the kitchen," I said.

"Why? Oh, that fat bitch, I know. She put you up to this, didn' she. She tole you I bottom dealt."

"Nope," I said, honing my blade on my boot. " I got eyes. She jus' said you were sort'a hitched, more or less, she said."

"I own her; lock, stock and pussy," he said, finding it hard not to look at the big knife I was testing on my thumb.

I held the tip of the huge blade against the leather waistcoat covering his fat belly. "How about it. You rather I told all your customers you're a common cheat?"

"You can have her, for tonight," he said. "Sally Jones's a better lay nohow."

"Don't think she's yours to give away," I said.

"Well, she is, damnit. I'll prove it, cut ye for her," he offered. "The girl for that pile. Two years left on her contract."

I nodded, shuffled the wornout cards and slammed the deck down. He licked his lips and cut a seven; I smiled and found the king that was in my palm. No problem, feller that showed me how to do that won a lot off me before I caught him at it.

"Damn," said the fat man. "But I ain't givin' up m'room. You can roger her somewheres else. Get her fat ass ought'a here. She's your problem now."

"Where her indenture, her paper?" I asked.

He went to fetch it and I glanced at it and stuck it in my pocket. The girl had signed with an "X." Then I scooped up my money, told the girl she was no longer more or less married and walked back to the stable where I had left my horse with the smith. He was sitting by his banked fire, smoking a big pipe, one of those crooked-neck things.

"Need a place to sleep," I told him.

"Tavern full?" he asked.

"Sort'a," I said.

"Y'can use my loft, fresh hay up there, might be a few mice, but my cat's a terror."

I climbed his sturdy ladder and looked. "How much?" I asked when I came down.

"Nothing," he laughed. "You paid for it with that ugly eye and the fun I had watching you nail old Crowley upside the head. Y'better watch out for him."

"He take it personal?"

"Always," the smith said, puffing away.

I went back to the tavern and fetched the girl. "Come on," I said to her with a smile, "I won ye fair and square."

"Can't leave till we close," she said, not trying to pull loose from my hold on her wrist.

"Yes you can," I said. "Jimbo," I yelled at the fat owner. He turned and jumped as if I had stuck him. "We're leaving."

"Go on," he said. "Go t'hell." He turned back to his customers.