“And where are they?”

I shook my head.

“You do not trust me?”

“I trust you completely. You are the nearest thing I have on this earth to a father, now that my own is no more. I honor and reverence you for all you have done for me. And I would not for the world burden you with the knowledge I possess. I am proud to place myself in danger of assault from these men, for they know that I am on their trail. I will not place others in danger without good reason.”

This pleased him, and he told me that if my father was as guiltless as I believed, then I was a worthy son to him. Then the conversation diverted onto other paths with the Italian, a man most eager to learn about foreign lands, earnestly plying Sir William and myself with questions about the country and the way it was governed. Sir William told him much and I learned a great deal also, for although I knew that he did not like Lord Clarendon, I had thought that their dislike was mainly personal. Instead, I received my first great lesson in the politics of the land, for he told me how Clarendon, a man of little background, was so extending himself from his country estate nearby, that he was pushing his interest deep into the land usually controlled by the Compton family, up through Oxfordshire and across Warwickshire.

“He had the presumption to insist, absolutely insist, that one of the Warwick county Members of Parliament at the last election be one of his men, because he said it was vital there should be sympathetic men in the Commons to do the king’s business. As if my family does not know, has not always known, where its duties lie. He has reached an understanding with the Lord Lieutenant of Oxfordshire, and is now handing out bribes to the gentlemen of Warwickshire.”

“I understand he is in ill health,” Cola said. “If so, he cannot remain in his position for long.”

“I can only hope not,” replied my guardian. “He is out to destroy my family.”

“That is not surprising,” I said sadly. “His friends have already destroyed mine.”

We talked no more of this, as Sir William showed signs of distress at the thought, and Cola kindly began to ask about the late wars. Sir William reminisced about the battles and the heroic deeds he had seen; Marco da Cola talked of his country’s war on Crete, and its brave resistance to the brutality of the Turk. I, having no stories of daring to contribute, listened to their tales, basking in their acceptance of my presence and feeling myself a man among equals. If only, I thought, it could always be like this. Then I would be happy, and want for nothing. A fire, a glass and amiable companionship is all any man needs for true contentment. I have them all now, and the future I glimpsed that evening is every bit as good as I imagined.

I could have stayed in that house for a long time, and I was most reluctant to tear myself away; the tasks that lay before me were daunting and the prospect of renewing the struggle brought no pleasure. But I resolved that the sooner I began the better so, when Cola had retired to his chamber and Sir William went back to his office to attend to business, I slipped softly down the stairs and out of the great door.

It was entirely dark, with no moon and not even a star visible in the sky as I walked; it was only because I knew the house so well that I managed to find the track which led to the road; the small torch I had brought with me from the fire scarcely gave enough light to see more than a few yards ahead of me. It was cold as well, and my feet crunched on the frost that lay thick on the frozen ground. All around the night-birds fluttered, and the animals patrolled their nocturnal domain, searching for their prey, or trying to escape their fate.

I was not frightened, nor was I even apprehensive. I am told that this is unusual, for often we are given to know of impending danger, and our necks prickle or our scalp itches as the peril approaches. Not so in my case; I was concerned merely with finding the gate and the road to Banbury, and I had to concentrate so much to keep my feet on the path, and avoid the ditches which I remembered on either side, that I had no thought for anything else.

It was only the noise which broke that caution, and even then I did not react immediately, thinking—if I thought at all—that it was some fox or badger crossing in front of me, just out of reach of my torch’s light. Only at the very last moment did all my senses scream out that I was in mortal peril, and force me to leap bodily out of the way of the hideous fiend which rose up out of the earth and blocked my path.

It had taken the form of a man, but such apparitions are never perfect, and the careful eye can always see where the imitation fails. In this case it was the movement, all jerky and irregular, that betrayed the fact that here was a monster, not a human being. It had tried to take the form of an old gentleman, but it was covered in rancid pustules and hideous deformities, with bent back and irregular gait. And its eyes—strange this, and I never understood how it could be—were dark as pitch, but burned brightly in the dark, and I could see the flames of hell itself deep within. The noise it made as it wheedled and cajoled and tried to fascinate me into its trust was the most revolting of all. Indeed, I believe it did not speak; rather, I heard its entreaties like the hissing of a snake and the squeaking of a bat as they sounded in my head, but not in my ears. “No, Jack,” it hissed, “you must not leave yet. Please stay with me. Come with me.”

I remembered the visions I had seen the previous night, and shuddered at the implication of the words, and willed myself to ignore its importuning. I tried crossing my fingers and holding them up to its face, but this symbol of Our Lord’s suffering occasioned no more than a snigger of dismissal. I began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but my dry mouth and parched lips allowed no sound to escape.

And so, in blind terror, I retreated back up the path, keeping my eyes on the beast stalking me and fearing that it might at any moment grab hold of me and tear my soul out of my body.

I told it to leave me in peace, but there was no response except a hideous laugh and a sucking sound like that of a bog pulling a sheep under the surface, and I felt a cold, clammy sensation on my arm as it reached out a skinny hand to grip me. I leaped back, and swung my dagger round, more in the hope of indicating my intention of resisting than with any expectation of mounting an adequate defense. But my stout-heartedness and immunity to the creature’s blandishments seemed to have an effect, for the devil relies on willing submission, and cannot easily force those who genuinely repudiate his blandishments. The monster fell back, gurgling with surprise at my forthright movement, leaving an opening. Using the same hand to push it farther away from me—an error, for it had a foul, putrid smell which was hard to wash off—I ran past, up the path to the gate.

I do not know where I ran, I was simply concerned with putting as much distance between myself and the hideous deformity as I could. Eventually, I came to the river that runs nearby, and walked down to the water’s edge to bathe my hand and clean it of the smell that still filled my nostrils. I was panting hard from terror and the running, and must have stayed there, crouched down and huddled against a boat drawn up on the shore for the night, looking at the water for upward of an hour or more. Then, eventually, I roused myself, convinced that the danger must surely be past, and began to walk once more, calm but on the alert for more attacks.

I heard the dogs some half an hour later. They caught up with me shortly after that and, after I was manhandled to the ground, kicked and abused, I was informed to my absolute astonishment and disbelief that Sir William Compton had been brutally attacked, and that I was being held responsible for the deed.