The din of swords clashing and doors being battered by clubs and pikes gradually soared, disruppting his sleep. Suddenly wide awake, he bolted upright.
Half-grown, Philip was lean and lightly bronzed with an unruly mane of tawny hair. His yellow rimmed hazel eyes were troubled as he tried to clear his sleepy head. Then he heard his sisters screaming down the hall.
Instantly, he was out of bed and rushing towards the door, pausing only to seize his rapier from where it hung on the wall. It was only a light, practice weapon, for Philip was still studying the art of swordplay, but he heeded it not.
Springing into the hall, he rushed upon the rearmost of the attackers, as they wrestled his sisters towards the stairs. The girls were barely decent, their soft night dresses clinging to them as they writhed and struck and bit their captors in an effort to free themselves.
Philip was sent sprawling by a backhanded blow from one of the men. Hitting his head as he fell he was left momentarily dazed. By the time he had fully regained his faculties, the men, with the girls, had disappeared down the stairway and the din had crescendoed. Scrambling back to his feet, Philip once again seized his light weapon and dashed toward the steps. Stumbling down them two or three at a times, he reached the ground floor only to be struck in the face by heavily studded leather gloves.
Spitting blood from a busted lip, Philip quickly surveyed the scene before him. His sisters were lost to sight, though their screams, as well as the screams of the other women of the estate could be heard. His father was valiantly hewing at the encroaching enemy with his saber.
The enemy. Philip suddenly realized that he had no idea who “the enemy” was. Those darkly clothed men who were swarming around the courtyard, breaking into buildings, dragging men and women out, beating them, and in some cases killing them; who were they?
Ceasing to wonder, he once again regained his feet and plowed into the melee, striking with a skill and speed that surprised even him. His eyes glowed a fearsome yellow as he smote in fury and desperation. One man and then another went down before the half-grown lad as he ploughed his way toward his father's side.
Just before he reached that valiant man's side, the older man crumpled from a blow received on the back of his head by a sword pommel. Philip cried out angrily and slashed with his rapier at the small giant who had just smitten his father. The big man looked down at the young man and laughed. A few well paried blows later, Philip's weapon went spinning over the fight, lost to him forever.
Panting, he faced his opponent, the reality of his situation sinking in. Instinctively, he cried out and covered his head with his right arm as the man swung at him. Seconds later, he was writhing in agony, screaming in pain with his arm nearly severed.
The big man stared down at him with a sneer stamped on his face.
“Next time, respect your betters, you young cur.”
Stepping over the helpless lad and his unconscious father, the man melted into the melee.
Philip would forever be mystified as to how the men of the estate had managed to spirit himself and his father out of the carnage. The next thing he remembered was coming awake with a throbbing, searing pain in his right arm—or what remained of that arm. His rescuers had completed the work begun by the oversized man, amputating the arm just above the elbow. His father sat to one side, his bloodied head held in his hands.
“Father?”
It came out as a whisper. Philip repeated himself.
“Father?”
The Royal Governor finally raised his head and looked over at his pale son; his eyes were pits of grief and discomfort.
“Father, where are we? Are you alright? Where are Mother and the girls? What happened?”
Philip's voice held an edge of panic.
The father's shoulders heaved and he swiftly came and knelt by his son's cot and placed a warm, protective arm about him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stroked the matted hair out of now mostly green eyes.
“I am quite alright. We are safe here...quite safe.”
His gaze shifted to the small, square, paneless window in the wall.
“Your mother and sisters...”
Philip gripped his father's arm.
“Sir?”
He breathed it, dread clutching at his heart.
The Governor looked down again at his son and knew the lad would not rest until he had been told the truth. He sighed and began; “Your mother, my son, is dead.”
Philip stifled a cry. His father continued to gently, absently stroke the lad's hair from his face.
“Your sisters...I do not know. I fear they are too dead...or worse—prisoners of a foul man who cares little for right, justice, or morality. You asked what happened? I shall tell you. We have been driven with violence from our own home by an impostor. He claims the office of Governor, saying he has been instated by the king—and with me gone, presumably dead—killed of course, by common thieves—most will not inquire into the facts and those who do...well, they can be manipulated.
“I see it now, though I most certainly did not last night when we were attacked.”
“Last night?”
Philip was astounded, even in his grief and agony.
The faintest glimmer of humor passed across the father's face, “Yes, my dear. Last night. You have been unconscious for nigh on twenty-four hours. Rest now. We must move elsewhere as soon as you are able. No telling how long we will be safe here. We cannot let Thackery discover us.”
Exhausted with the pain in his arm and his breast, Philip closed his eyes and turned his head on the thin pillow so that it rested in his father's open palm. He was unaware of the wave of emotion that surged over that illustrious man or the look of love and pain that was bestowed upon him. He slept.
They remained at that location for several days, stealthily cared for by a doughty tenant. As soon as Philip was able to gain his feet without a wave of nausea and to walk without the pain in his arm causing him to cry out, the Royal Governor and his son slipped out of the small hut and began what would end up being a several day long journey to the farthest bounds of their estate. The men of the region, loyal as they were to their Governor, were very select in whom they let in on the secret of the presence of their legitimate overlord and by the time they reached their destination, the home of a well-to-do banker, a newcomer to the region who did not know the Governor by sight, only six men knew that the Governor and his son were alive.
Governor William Gage and his son Philip were introduced to the estimable Theodore Simms as Georg and Jamie Wage, men who had been waylaid by highwaymen and left for dead. The Governor claimed to be a widowed fencing instructor who had been seeking a new position.
Theodore Simms was an astute banker and could generally tell by a glance at the man across from him whether or not he was honest or capable of paying his loans. When requested by a friend of his to put up the wandering fencing instructor and his unfortunately wounded son, the banker demanded to see them before he would even consider it. His searching gaze looked them over from head to toe, taking in ever detail of their carriage. Georg Wage, he decided, was a man of honor—used to commanding, and receiving, respect. The boy...well, anyone with half a brain could tell that the lad was in a great deal of physical distress. Highwaymen had no pity these days!!
At last, he grunted, indicating he had made up his mind. Standing, he held out a rather flabby looking hand.
“Master Wage, you and your son are welcome under my room for as long as it delights your heart to stay.”
A twinkle gleamed in his keen blue eyes.
“Free of charge, on one condition, sir.”
William Gage, alias Georg Wage accepted the surprisingly strong grip of the other man, questioning, “Which is?”
The banker laughed, “Teach my lazy son the fine art of fencing! The boy is going to be fatter than his father if he doesn't get some exercise.”
He stepped to a door and bellowed, “Thad! You bookworm, come down here and meet our new house guests!”
Turning about, his keen glance took in the fading form of “Jamie”.
“Master Jamie, will you take a seat?”
Philip gratefully sank into the chair indicated by the pudgy hand and was sitting with his head leaned back against it when a lad near his own entered the room. The two locked eyes instantly, hazel and deep brown observing one another with guarded curiosity. Thaddeaus was the shorter of the two and by far much stockier. His shortly cropped brown hair had a cast of curls about it and a number of dim freckles marched across his too pale face. Suddenly, he grinned and in doing so, his eyes broke into twinkles and his round face became creased with innumerable wrinkles that hinted at what he would look like at sixty rather than sixteen. Philip's weary face responded with a closed mouth sideways smile that was something of a trademark for him.
Theodore Simms burst into a merry laugh, “Master Wage, I think our respective sons have settled the arrangement. You are most welcome in my home!”
Thad and Philip, or Jamie as he was known, soon became fast friends, though two very different personalities. Thaddeaus was bookish with an impish, though kindly sense of humour. Laughter was a staple in his communication. Philip was more serious, with new somberness born of recent circumstances, but still found himself able to laugh with his new friend. His interests lay more in weapons than books, but he soon settled to lessons with Thaddeaus and his tutor. Thad, on the other hand, found himself within two weeks learning the art of fencing—and hating it.
He sighed to his friend, “Ah, Jamie! I am so ridiculously sore!! What use is this going to be to me? I fully intend on being a banker like my father, not a fashionable duelist!”
Philip's lips twitched, “A man should always be prepared to defend himself, his family, and his interests.”
Thad groaned, “I'll just throw my weight on top of them...”
Master Wage smiled as he heard his son's laughter reverberating through an open window. It was a good, kindly house they had come to. Mr. Simms and his family were a blessing to both grieving souls and here they could heal and plan.
~~~~~~~~
Over the next four years, it became apparent that Warren Thackery was as despicable a tyrant as he had proved himself the night of his attack upon the sleeping Gage family. His reign was one of heavy handed taxation—most of which found itself into his own pockets, cruel punishments for those who could not or would not pay, and rapine. Those who tried to appeal to the king were swiftly hunted down and killed. When an investigation did arise, witness were not found to substantiate the rumors; rather fat and happy “tenants” sang the praises of Governor Thackery. When questioned as to his appointment, he displayed a trumped up document bearing Governor Gage's well-forged signature declaring Warren Thackery as his subordinate; the man to take his place under unfortunate circumstances. The royal investigator left, well satisfied. He did not see the haunted face of a beautiful girl with an equally beautiful babe on her hip staring after him.
Meanwhile, William Gage, as Georg Wage, carefully planned and rigorously trained his one-armed son. Little did either banker Simms or his son Thad realize how hard and how frequently the elder Wage trained Jamie. For all Thad knew, Jamie only received training during the same hour of the day that he did. As they had been kept in the dark from the beginning, so it continued. William and Philip would work into the night, thrusting and parying until both were exhausted. The skill Philip had promised with the rapier had been severely hindered by the destruction of his strong arm and he had to relearn with his left all the he had learned with his right from his infancy. The subtle movements of deft control took great time to learn and it was more than a year before Philip felt fully comfortable handling his new weapon with his left hand.
Once he reached that point, the training doubled in intensity. His father beat him back against the wall time after time. He rushed him, tripped him, sat on top of him and still demanded that Philip strike with either point or fist. More than once, the Governor reduced his growing son to tears as he hardened the young man's muscles, honed his instincts, and prayed for his soul.
At first, Philip did not understand the reasons his father pushed him so hard. Gradually, he began to suspect that he was to play a part in the justice due his mother and sisters—his sisters! Oh, how his heart ached when he thought of the four beautiful girls he had grown up among.
Through discreet channels they had discovered the fate of those gentle souls. The eldest, Olivia, had been killed beside her mother for resisting the advances of a scoundrel too stoutly. The second, Rose, had fallen beneath the hooves of a war horse and had been trampled to death. The youngest, Faith, had completely and mysteriously disappeared. The Gage's hoped desperately that she had, like them, been discreetly secreted by faithful tenants.
Philip grieved mostly for Gloria, his third sister and but a year older than himself, for Warren Thackery, liking her looks and spirit had forced her to marry his youngest son, Justin. Justin, it was rumored, was as large as his father, though somewhat duller of mind. Philip feared that he was as cruel as his father and thus Gloria's fate preyed heavily on his mind.
At the close of those four years, Philip was tall, lithe, agile, and exceedingly quick on his feet, both physically and mentally. As his father's assistant he was much sought after by the younger students for he taught with an intensity that mirrored, to a degree, the passion that his father had taught him with.
Meanwhile, Thad had not gotten any thinner, despite his daily exercise—at which he showed a surprising agility—and had entered into banking as his own father's assistant. As keen as the elder Master Simms, Thaddeaus could easily size up a prospective client, but was much more likely to send them off with a witty comment.
Thus is was, that the two young men came face to face with Warren Thackery the younger at the close of the fourth year.
On occasion, Philip sat in with his friend as Thad counted and ledgered and kept records. The wind was howling out of doors and snow fell in swiftly swirling eddies. The early sunset was nearly upon them in the darkening gray of the winter day.
Thad pushed back from his table and grinned at his friend, “Christmastide is in the air...can't you feel it?”
Philip chuckled. Christmas was Thad's favorite time of year—partly due to the excess of food that Master Simms delighted to spread on his table—for he kept an open house the week of Christmas for the poor to enter at their leisure and eat their fill. His poor cook did nothing but cook for days on end to fulfill the good man's kind-hearted gesture and each year declared it was worth it to see the cold, pinched faces turning rosy in the warmth of the dinning room. In addition, she usually found several younger women to help serve amongst them...
Before Philip could respond, the door from the outside swung open and a bear of a young man stepped through the portal, shaking snow off him and growling ill-temperedly about the conditions. He removed his cap and gloves and Philip nearly gasped as he stared into a strangely familiar face. The eyes were hard, the jaw powerful, the head large, the frame powerful. Only...Philip relaxed, he was too young to be Warren Thackery. That was a face Philip would never forget. This man could be no more than twenty-seven.
Thaddeaus, unaware of his friend's agitation, looked upwards at the big man cheerfully.
“Good evening, sir! In what way may I be of service to you?”
Shaking himself again, the stranger stepped forward, holding out a slip of paper. His voice was deep and rather peevish.
“Jordan over Chetsfield way said you'd honour this.”
He tossed the grimy paper on the table and as he did so, Philip's sharp eye caught a glimpse of saber hilt beneath the cloak...but not just any saber hilt. It was his father's prize sword; the best Damascus steel. It had been a gift to him from his children one year at Christmas. Philip jerked his eyes upwards to the surly face as Thaddeaus read: “Make payment to the amount of 700 pounds sterling to Warren Thackery, the Younger.”
Thad looked up, carefully concealing any anxiety he may have felt at that dread name, “Warren Thackery...isn't that the name of our Governor?”
Warren sneered down at the round face below his own, “My father. Now, if you please, my money.”
It was a demand, not a request. Philip's blood ran cold as Thaddeaus stated, apparently fearlessly, “I regret to say, Master Thackery, that we have neither that amount on hand nor do we do business with Hugh Jordan any longer. He sent us one too many cheats. We no longer honour his notes. Simply a matter of business, you understand,” he added, though not at all hurriedly or as if it were in response to the lowered brow of the other.
Philip nonchalantly laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier as the air seemed to become electric. Thaddeaus kept both hands clasped upon the table, a gentle smile framing his face. He appeared, Philip admitted to himself, something of a fool. Hoping that that would deter the angry man from forcing his will upon the banker, Philip was nevertheless prepared to spring to the defense of the small statured young man at the table.
Warren at last let out his breath and snatched up the note. Without a word, he spun about and strode out the door. Thad let out a sigh of relief and laughed a little shakily, “Am I ever glad that interview is over!”
Philip looked at his friend, admiringly, “I was dreadfully frightened he was going to draw steel on you.”
“Me too!” Thaddeaus admitted. “But there was no way I was going to make a loan to a Thackery! They have far too much money as it is and have no compunction about stealing. It's about time someone started standing up to the brutes!”
Philip appreciated his friend's passion, but still, “Hush, Thad! It isn't safe to speak of it out loud...”
Thaddeaus snorted, “I know! I know! But since we are on the topic, have you ever taken the time to think about what became of Governor Gage? I never saw him, but I hear he was a good, just man. It's my opinion that that evil Thackery killed him.”
Wanting to tell his friend the truth, but not daring to without his father's permission, Philip just nodded, as though in agreement and then changed the subject to what they were scheming to give their respective fathers for Christmas....
~~~~~~~~
William Gage paced with agitation, “Warren Thackery's son! I will have to move with even more caution about town...no telling when Thackery himself will come through. I am thankful that you have changed some in looks as you've aged. There is much less chance of him recognizing you, but still...if you see him, be discreet!”
He sat down in his big chair and looked his son over thoughtfully. Philip shifted his weight from one foot to the other; he felt something was about to break.
At last, the Governor seemed to make up his mind. He began, “This seems as good a time as any, though the season being what it is, perhaps somewhat incongruous. You may wonder why I have gone through such pains to train you in the art of defense and attack, even though, legitimately, you could have been exempt from it.”
He gestured to the empty sleeve pinned across Philip's broadening breast.
“I will tell you now, because our danger may be greater, but more so because I think you are old and wise enough not to go rushing into anything headlong and heedlessly.”
Philip inclined his head in a gesture of appreciation at his father's praise, his heart beating wildly with anticipation and dread.
“Legally, I am still the Royal Governor. I never resigned my position or was removed from it. I considered, at first, appealing directly to the King, but in the end decided against it because I know Thackery has supporters in court who simply would have painted me as an impostor...or a traitor...or insane. I have seen it done before. Kings are, far too frequently, the puppets of their advisers. Particularly when they are as young as our own King Edward; he is younger than yourself.
“If Thackery had been simply a power hungry man who used his influence to get me ousted from my position, things would have been different. As it is however, he is a cruel, heartless, evil scoundrel who will brook at nothing to gain power and wealth and to keep what he has gained.
“He has murdered my wife and a number of my children, has subjected another to what I am sure is a distasteful, unwelcome marriage. He has maimed my only son. If that were all—all!--I might still attempt a different tactic.
“But it is not the case! He uses the common people cruelly. His soldier's have committed unspeakable atrocities—you are doubtless aware that the poor innocent daughter's of my people are constantly at the mercy of dogs! He over taxes the bodies and purses of the peasants. He threatens and controls the nobility.
“No one has dared stand against him, or his minions, after the first year. The punishments were not worth it. No one has dared until this night when our brave young Thad faced off with Warren Thackery the Younger. I fear greatly for our friends the Simms. Thackerys do not take 'no' with any sort of grace...now is the time to begin what I have been training you for.”
Philip leaned forward, “Am I to fight them? Single-handedly?” he was incredulous.
“No.” William's lips twitched under his mustache, “that would be more fool hardy than Thad's calm dismissal of the younger Thackery. No. You are to sting them.”
“Sting them?” Philip nearly squeaked.
“Yes; slip in and strike unseen. Reclaim the taxes from the collection agents...”
“And give it back to it's rightful owners!”
Philip's eyes gleamed...he could see his father's plan. He also realized, after a moments reflection that it would also be highly dangerous and call for his faculties to be highly tuned at all times.
Banker Simms was brought into the Governor's confidences the following afternoon.
“My good friend,” he began, after Theodore had seated himself in the seat offered, “I desire to make some very tardy confessions to you.”
Master Simms raised a graying eyebrow, his keen eyes curious.
“You see, when you took a weary man and his wounded son into your home, you did an extremely dangerous thing. Somehow, I think you would have been just as willing if you had known who we were.”
The banker laughed heartily at this, for in addition to the Wages, he had over the course of his adult life, taken in many strangers for periods of time—indeed, while these fencing instructors of his had been there, he had given lodging to at least four different persons at various times. The danger of it was a risk he had always been willing to take...and this he knew Master Wage understood.
“I, my friend, am not the man you think me. I was never a fencing instructor before you so kindly accepted me as such. I am the Royal Governor himself, William Gage. Jamie is really my son Philip.”
If he had expected Theodore Simms to stare at him like a man touched in the head, he was much surprised to not see any sort of astonishment in the other's face. Indeed, if anything, the gray-eyed banker looked smug.
He chuckled, “I have long suspected that...I figured that you would tell me the truth when you deemed it appropriate. I have, however, continued to feed Thad's belief in your death, for boys will be indiscreet from time to time. What can I further do to serve you, m'lord? If funds alone could return you to power, I would have already have done so.”
Extremely grateful, the Governor leaned forward to grip his friend's arm, “I thank-you, Theodore, for your hospitality and your silence. I appreciate your further desire to help—and indeed, I do need your help. With the arrival of the younger Warren Thackery, I do not feel it any longer safe for me to openly go about the streets here. Warren the Elder would recognize me in a moment where he to come to Wishire and happened to see me. What is more, I have, as of last evening, commissioned my son to begin a dangerous undertaking which will require quick access to convenient hiding places, swift horses, and strong blades. I beg of you to extend me a line of credit to purchase the necessary items to encourage the success of Philip's mission.”
Theodore nodded as William spoke; when he had finished, he remarked, “I shall not inquire further into Jamie—I mean Philip's mission. I will however willingly do everything I can to fund it.”
To be continued....
Half-grown, Philip was lean and lightly bronzed with an unruly mane of tawny hair. His yellow rimmed hazel eyes were troubled as he tried to clear his sleepy head. Then he heard his sisters screaming down the hall.
Instantly, he was out of bed and rushing towards the door, pausing only to seize his rapier from where it hung on the wall. It was only a light, practice weapon, for Philip was still studying the art of swordplay, but he heeded it not.
Springing into the hall, he rushed upon the rearmost of the attackers, as they wrestled his sisters towards the stairs. The girls were barely decent, their soft night dresses clinging to them as they writhed and struck and bit their captors in an effort to free themselves.
Philip was sent sprawling by a backhanded blow from one of the men. Hitting his head as he fell he was left momentarily dazed. By the time he had fully regained his faculties, the men, with the girls, had disappeared down the stairway and the din had crescendoed. Scrambling back to his feet, Philip once again seized his light weapon and dashed toward the steps. Stumbling down them two or three at a times, he reached the ground floor only to be struck in the face by heavily studded leather gloves.
Spitting blood from a busted lip, Philip quickly surveyed the scene before him. His sisters were lost to sight, though their screams, as well as the screams of the other women of the estate could be heard. His father was valiantly hewing at the encroaching enemy with his saber.
The enemy. Philip suddenly realized that he had no idea who “the enemy” was. Those darkly clothed men who were swarming around the courtyard, breaking into buildings, dragging men and women out, beating them, and in some cases killing them; who were they?
Ceasing to wonder, he once again regained his feet and plowed into the melee, striking with a skill and speed that surprised even him. His eyes glowed a fearsome yellow as he smote in fury and desperation. One man and then another went down before the half-grown lad as he ploughed his way toward his father's side.
Just before he reached that valiant man's side, the older man crumpled from a blow received on the back of his head by a sword pommel. Philip cried out angrily and slashed with his rapier at the small giant who had just smitten his father. The big man looked down at the young man and laughed. A few well paried blows later, Philip's weapon went spinning over the fight, lost to him forever.
Panting, he faced his opponent, the reality of his situation sinking in. Instinctively, he cried out and covered his head with his right arm as the man swung at him. Seconds later, he was writhing in agony, screaming in pain with his arm nearly severed.
The big man stared down at him with a sneer stamped on his face.
“Next time, respect your betters, you young cur.”
Stepping over the helpless lad and his unconscious father, the man melted into the melee.
Philip would forever be mystified as to how the men of the estate had managed to spirit himself and his father out of the carnage. The next thing he remembered was coming awake with a throbbing, searing pain in his right arm—or what remained of that arm. His rescuers had completed the work begun by the oversized man, amputating the arm just above the elbow. His father sat to one side, his bloodied head held in his hands.
“Father?”
It came out as a whisper. Philip repeated himself.
“Father?”
The Royal Governor finally raised his head and looked over at his pale son; his eyes were pits of grief and discomfort.
“Father, where are we? Are you alright? Where are Mother and the girls? What happened?”
Philip's voice held an edge of panic.
The father's shoulders heaved and he swiftly came and knelt by his son's cot and placed a warm, protective arm about him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stroked the matted hair out of now mostly green eyes.
“I am quite alright. We are safe here...quite safe.”
His gaze shifted to the small, square, paneless window in the wall.
“Your mother and sisters...”
Philip gripped his father's arm.
“Sir?”
He breathed it, dread clutching at his heart.
The Governor looked down again at his son and knew the lad would not rest until he had been told the truth. He sighed and began; “Your mother, my son, is dead.”
Philip stifled a cry. His father continued to gently, absently stroke the lad's hair from his face.
“Your sisters...I do not know. I fear they are too dead...or worse—prisoners of a foul man who cares little for right, justice, or morality. You asked what happened? I shall tell you. We have been driven with violence from our own home by an impostor. He claims the office of Governor, saying he has been instated by the king—and with me gone, presumably dead—killed of course, by common thieves—most will not inquire into the facts and those who do...well, they can be manipulated.
“I see it now, though I most certainly did not last night when we were attacked.”
“Last night?”
Philip was astounded, even in his grief and agony.
The faintest glimmer of humor passed across the father's face, “Yes, my dear. Last night. You have been unconscious for nigh on twenty-four hours. Rest now. We must move elsewhere as soon as you are able. No telling how long we will be safe here. We cannot let Thackery discover us.”
Exhausted with the pain in his arm and his breast, Philip closed his eyes and turned his head on the thin pillow so that it rested in his father's open palm. He was unaware of the wave of emotion that surged over that illustrious man or the look of love and pain that was bestowed upon him. He slept.
They remained at that location for several days, stealthily cared for by a doughty tenant. As soon as Philip was able to gain his feet without a wave of nausea and to walk without the pain in his arm causing him to cry out, the Royal Governor and his son slipped out of the small hut and began what would end up being a several day long journey to the farthest bounds of their estate. The men of the region, loyal as they were to their Governor, were very select in whom they let in on the secret of the presence of their legitimate overlord and by the time they reached their destination, the home of a well-to-do banker, a newcomer to the region who did not know the Governor by sight, only six men knew that the Governor and his son were alive.
Governor William Gage and his son Philip were introduced to the estimable Theodore Simms as Georg and Jamie Wage, men who had been waylaid by highwaymen and left for dead. The Governor claimed to be a widowed fencing instructor who had been seeking a new position.
Theodore Simms was an astute banker and could generally tell by a glance at the man across from him whether or not he was honest or capable of paying his loans. When requested by a friend of his to put up the wandering fencing instructor and his unfortunately wounded son, the banker demanded to see them before he would even consider it. His searching gaze looked them over from head to toe, taking in ever detail of their carriage. Georg Wage, he decided, was a man of honor—used to commanding, and receiving, respect. The boy...well, anyone with half a brain could tell that the lad was in a great deal of physical distress. Highwaymen had no pity these days!!
At last, he grunted, indicating he had made up his mind. Standing, he held out a rather flabby looking hand.
“Master Wage, you and your son are welcome under my room for as long as it delights your heart to stay.”
A twinkle gleamed in his keen blue eyes.
“Free of charge, on one condition, sir.”
William Gage, alias Georg Wage accepted the surprisingly strong grip of the other man, questioning, “Which is?”
The banker laughed, “Teach my lazy son the fine art of fencing! The boy is going to be fatter than his father if he doesn't get some exercise.”
He stepped to a door and bellowed, “Thad! You bookworm, come down here and meet our new house guests!”
Turning about, his keen glance took in the fading form of “Jamie”.
“Master Jamie, will you take a seat?”
Philip gratefully sank into the chair indicated by the pudgy hand and was sitting with his head leaned back against it when a lad near his own entered the room. The two locked eyes instantly, hazel and deep brown observing one another with guarded curiosity. Thaddeaus was the shorter of the two and by far much stockier. His shortly cropped brown hair had a cast of curls about it and a number of dim freckles marched across his too pale face. Suddenly, he grinned and in doing so, his eyes broke into twinkles and his round face became creased with innumerable wrinkles that hinted at what he would look like at sixty rather than sixteen. Philip's weary face responded with a closed mouth sideways smile that was something of a trademark for him.
Theodore Simms burst into a merry laugh, “Master Wage, I think our respective sons have settled the arrangement. You are most welcome in my home!”
Thad and Philip, or Jamie as he was known, soon became fast friends, though two very different personalities. Thaddeaus was bookish with an impish, though kindly sense of humour. Laughter was a staple in his communication. Philip was more serious, with new somberness born of recent circumstances, but still found himself able to laugh with his new friend. His interests lay more in weapons than books, but he soon settled to lessons with Thaddeaus and his tutor. Thad, on the other hand, found himself within two weeks learning the art of fencing—and hating it.
He sighed to his friend, “Ah, Jamie! I am so ridiculously sore!! What use is this going to be to me? I fully intend on being a banker like my father, not a fashionable duelist!”
Philip's lips twitched, “A man should always be prepared to defend himself, his family, and his interests.”
Thad groaned, “I'll just throw my weight on top of them...”
Master Wage smiled as he heard his son's laughter reverberating through an open window. It was a good, kindly house they had come to. Mr. Simms and his family were a blessing to both grieving souls and here they could heal and plan.
~~~~~~~~
Over the next four years, it became apparent that Warren Thackery was as despicable a tyrant as he had proved himself the night of his attack upon the sleeping Gage family. His reign was one of heavy handed taxation—most of which found itself into his own pockets, cruel punishments for those who could not or would not pay, and rapine. Those who tried to appeal to the king were swiftly hunted down and killed. When an investigation did arise, witness were not found to substantiate the rumors; rather fat and happy “tenants” sang the praises of Governor Thackery. When questioned as to his appointment, he displayed a trumped up document bearing Governor Gage's well-forged signature declaring Warren Thackery as his subordinate; the man to take his place under unfortunate circumstances. The royal investigator left, well satisfied. He did not see the haunted face of a beautiful girl with an equally beautiful babe on her hip staring after him.
Meanwhile, William Gage, as Georg Wage, carefully planned and rigorously trained his one-armed son. Little did either banker Simms or his son Thad realize how hard and how frequently the elder Wage trained Jamie. For all Thad knew, Jamie only received training during the same hour of the day that he did. As they had been kept in the dark from the beginning, so it continued. William and Philip would work into the night, thrusting and parying until both were exhausted. The skill Philip had promised with the rapier had been severely hindered by the destruction of his strong arm and he had to relearn with his left all the he had learned with his right from his infancy. The subtle movements of deft control took great time to learn and it was more than a year before Philip felt fully comfortable handling his new weapon with his left hand.
Once he reached that point, the training doubled in intensity. His father beat him back against the wall time after time. He rushed him, tripped him, sat on top of him and still demanded that Philip strike with either point or fist. More than once, the Governor reduced his growing son to tears as he hardened the young man's muscles, honed his instincts, and prayed for his soul.
At first, Philip did not understand the reasons his father pushed him so hard. Gradually, he began to suspect that he was to play a part in the justice due his mother and sisters—his sisters! Oh, how his heart ached when he thought of the four beautiful girls he had grown up among.
Through discreet channels they had discovered the fate of those gentle souls. The eldest, Olivia, had been killed beside her mother for resisting the advances of a scoundrel too stoutly. The second, Rose, had fallen beneath the hooves of a war horse and had been trampled to death. The youngest, Faith, had completely and mysteriously disappeared. The Gage's hoped desperately that she had, like them, been discreetly secreted by faithful tenants.
Philip grieved mostly for Gloria, his third sister and but a year older than himself, for Warren Thackery, liking her looks and spirit had forced her to marry his youngest son, Justin. Justin, it was rumored, was as large as his father, though somewhat duller of mind. Philip feared that he was as cruel as his father and thus Gloria's fate preyed heavily on his mind.
At the close of those four years, Philip was tall, lithe, agile, and exceedingly quick on his feet, both physically and mentally. As his father's assistant he was much sought after by the younger students for he taught with an intensity that mirrored, to a degree, the passion that his father had taught him with.
Meanwhile, Thad had not gotten any thinner, despite his daily exercise—at which he showed a surprising agility—and had entered into banking as his own father's assistant. As keen as the elder Master Simms, Thaddeaus could easily size up a prospective client, but was much more likely to send them off with a witty comment.
Thus is was, that the two young men came face to face with Warren Thackery the younger at the close of the fourth year.
On occasion, Philip sat in with his friend as Thad counted and ledgered and kept records. The wind was howling out of doors and snow fell in swiftly swirling eddies. The early sunset was nearly upon them in the darkening gray of the winter day.
Thad pushed back from his table and grinned at his friend, “Christmastide is in the air...can't you feel it?”
Philip chuckled. Christmas was Thad's favorite time of year—partly due to the excess of food that Master Simms delighted to spread on his table—for he kept an open house the week of Christmas for the poor to enter at their leisure and eat their fill. His poor cook did nothing but cook for days on end to fulfill the good man's kind-hearted gesture and each year declared it was worth it to see the cold, pinched faces turning rosy in the warmth of the dinning room. In addition, she usually found several younger women to help serve amongst them...
Before Philip could respond, the door from the outside swung open and a bear of a young man stepped through the portal, shaking snow off him and growling ill-temperedly about the conditions. He removed his cap and gloves and Philip nearly gasped as he stared into a strangely familiar face. The eyes were hard, the jaw powerful, the head large, the frame powerful. Only...Philip relaxed, he was too young to be Warren Thackery. That was a face Philip would never forget. This man could be no more than twenty-seven.
Thaddeaus, unaware of his friend's agitation, looked upwards at the big man cheerfully.
“Good evening, sir! In what way may I be of service to you?”
Shaking himself again, the stranger stepped forward, holding out a slip of paper. His voice was deep and rather peevish.
“Jordan over Chetsfield way said you'd honour this.”
He tossed the grimy paper on the table and as he did so, Philip's sharp eye caught a glimpse of saber hilt beneath the cloak...but not just any saber hilt. It was his father's prize sword; the best Damascus steel. It had been a gift to him from his children one year at Christmas. Philip jerked his eyes upwards to the surly face as Thaddeaus read: “Make payment to the amount of 700 pounds sterling to Warren Thackery, the Younger.”
Thad looked up, carefully concealing any anxiety he may have felt at that dread name, “Warren Thackery...isn't that the name of our Governor?”
Warren sneered down at the round face below his own, “My father. Now, if you please, my money.”
It was a demand, not a request. Philip's blood ran cold as Thaddeaus stated, apparently fearlessly, “I regret to say, Master Thackery, that we have neither that amount on hand nor do we do business with Hugh Jordan any longer. He sent us one too many cheats. We no longer honour his notes. Simply a matter of business, you understand,” he added, though not at all hurriedly or as if it were in response to the lowered brow of the other.
Philip nonchalantly laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier as the air seemed to become electric. Thaddeaus kept both hands clasped upon the table, a gentle smile framing his face. He appeared, Philip admitted to himself, something of a fool. Hoping that that would deter the angry man from forcing his will upon the banker, Philip was nevertheless prepared to spring to the defense of the small statured young man at the table.
Warren at last let out his breath and snatched up the note. Without a word, he spun about and strode out the door. Thad let out a sigh of relief and laughed a little shakily, “Am I ever glad that interview is over!”
Philip looked at his friend, admiringly, “I was dreadfully frightened he was going to draw steel on you.”
“Me too!” Thaddeaus admitted. “But there was no way I was going to make a loan to a Thackery! They have far too much money as it is and have no compunction about stealing. It's about time someone started standing up to the brutes!”
Philip appreciated his friend's passion, but still, “Hush, Thad! It isn't safe to speak of it out loud...”
Thaddeaus snorted, “I know! I know! But since we are on the topic, have you ever taken the time to think about what became of Governor Gage? I never saw him, but I hear he was a good, just man. It's my opinion that that evil Thackery killed him.”
Wanting to tell his friend the truth, but not daring to without his father's permission, Philip just nodded, as though in agreement and then changed the subject to what they were scheming to give their respective fathers for Christmas....
~~~~~~~~
William Gage paced with agitation, “Warren Thackery's son! I will have to move with even more caution about town...no telling when Thackery himself will come through. I am thankful that you have changed some in looks as you've aged. There is much less chance of him recognizing you, but still...if you see him, be discreet!”
He sat down in his big chair and looked his son over thoughtfully. Philip shifted his weight from one foot to the other; he felt something was about to break.
At last, the Governor seemed to make up his mind. He began, “This seems as good a time as any, though the season being what it is, perhaps somewhat incongruous. You may wonder why I have gone through such pains to train you in the art of defense and attack, even though, legitimately, you could have been exempt from it.”
He gestured to the empty sleeve pinned across Philip's broadening breast.
“I will tell you now, because our danger may be greater, but more so because I think you are old and wise enough not to go rushing into anything headlong and heedlessly.”
Philip inclined his head in a gesture of appreciation at his father's praise, his heart beating wildly with anticipation and dread.
“Legally, I am still the Royal Governor. I never resigned my position or was removed from it. I considered, at first, appealing directly to the King, but in the end decided against it because I know Thackery has supporters in court who simply would have painted me as an impostor...or a traitor...or insane. I have seen it done before. Kings are, far too frequently, the puppets of their advisers. Particularly when they are as young as our own King Edward; he is younger than yourself.
“If Thackery had been simply a power hungry man who used his influence to get me ousted from my position, things would have been different. As it is however, he is a cruel, heartless, evil scoundrel who will brook at nothing to gain power and wealth and to keep what he has gained.
“He has murdered my wife and a number of my children, has subjected another to what I am sure is a distasteful, unwelcome marriage. He has maimed my only son. If that were all—all!--I might still attempt a different tactic.
“But it is not the case! He uses the common people cruelly. His soldier's have committed unspeakable atrocities—you are doubtless aware that the poor innocent daughter's of my people are constantly at the mercy of dogs! He over taxes the bodies and purses of the peasants. He threatens and controls the nobility.
“No one has dared stand against him, or his minions, after the first year. The punishments were not worth it. No one has dared until this night when our brave young Thad faced off with Warren Thackery the Younger. I fear greatly for our friends the Simms. Thackerys do not take 'no' with any sort of grace...now is the time to begin what I have been training you for.”
Philip leaned forward, “Am I to fight them? Single-handedly?” he was incredulous.
“No.” William's lips twitched under his mustache, “that would be more fool hardy than Thad's calm dismissal of the younger Thackery. No. You are to sting them.”
“Sting them?” Philip nearly squeaked.
“Yes; slip in and strike unseen. Reclaim the taxes from the collection agents...”
“And give it back to it's rightful owners!”
Philip's eyes gleamed...he could see his father's plan. He also realized, after a moments reflection that it would also be highly dangerous and call for his faculties to be highly tuned at all times.
Banker Simms was brought into the Governor's confidences the following afternoon.
“My good friend,” he began, after Theodore had seated himself in the seat offered, “I desire to make some very tardy confessions to you.”
Master Simms raised a graying eyebrow, his keen eyes curious.
“You see, when you took a weary man and his wounded son into your home, you did an extremely dangerous thing. Somehow, I think you would have been just as willing if you had known who we were.”
The banker laughed heartily at this, for in addition to the Wages, he had over the course of his adult life, taken in many strangers for periods of time—indeed, while these fencing instructors of his had been there, he had given lodging to at least four different persons at various times. The danger of it was a risk he had always been willing to take...and this he knew Master Wage understood.
“I, my friend, am not the man you think me. I was never a fencing instructor before you so kindly accepted me as such. I am the Royal Governor himself, William Gage. Jamie is really my son Philip.”
If he had expected Theodore Simms to stare at him like a man touched in the head, he was much surprised to not see any sort of astonishment in the other's face. Indeed, if anything, the gray-eyed banker looked smug.
He chuckled, “I have long suspected that...I figured that you would tell me the truth when you deemed it appropriate. I have, however, continued to feed Thad's belief in your death, for boys will be indiscreet from time to time. What can I further do to serve you, m'lord? If funds alone could return you to power, I would have already have done so.”
Extremely grateful, the Governor leaned forward to grip his friend's arm, “I thank-you, Theodore, for your hospitality and your silence. I appreciate your further desire to help—and indeed, I do need your help. With the arrival of the younger Warren Thackery, I do not feel it any longer safe for me to openly go about the streets here. Warren the Elder would recognize me in a moment where he to come to Wishire and happened to see me. What is more, I have, as of last evening, commissioned my son to begin a dangerous undertaking which will require quick access to convenient hiding places, swift horses, and strong blades. I beg of you to extend me a line of credit to purchase the necessary items to encourage the success of Philip's mission.”
Theodore nodded as William spoke; when he had finished, he remarked, “I shall not inquire further into Jamie—I mean Philip's mission. I will however willingly do everything I can to fund it.”
To be continued....