Mistress Agnes Ch. 22: Conclusion

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The end.
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Part 22 of the 22 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 01/09/2016
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Half an hour later they were on their way, Mr Winfield and his hounds in his buggy, his sons and young helpers on horseback. Dennis was on the box with John, who was starting to get really fidgety, not surprisingly since John had no means to defend himself at all. His own mood surprised him more, ever since seeing the beaten-down shape of the mother at the table in that tiny, leaky house, Dennis had felt an anger build in him as he had rarely experienced before. He had never hated the enemy, he knew they were forced to fight as much as he had been.

But now, he hated those brigands, hated how they abused their superior training to hurt others. And for pleasure, for the defenceless farmers would have given up their resources without use of violence. But his hatred did not boil or steam, it was icy cold instead. Dennis knew he must seem very confident, and in fact he was deadly calm. It was a sensation he recognized from the past, it was the calm before battle, and he hadn't felt it in his last year of active service. The state he was in now was the ideal mood for a soldier, his senses open to the slightest noise or tiniest blink of the sun on metal. Nothing to take his energy before it was needed in action. Trauma had taken this feeling away, he had been fidgety before battle, fearful, as John was now, and he had often frozen in fear. But no more. Agnes had cured him, love had cured him, Dennis was back to stability.

Mr Winfield left his boys and their hounds at the edge of the first farm, it was early afternoon and they were eager to explore the territory they were going to protect. Dennis knew they'd be hurt if they really met up with the brigands, though the dogs would probably bear the brunt of an attack, but he was not going to draw Mr Winfields attention to himself again by protesting this excellent chance for the brigands to arm themselves and gain strong horses.

The brigands would not strike again, their own little crew would find them and take them out. Dennis didn't feel fear for himself and his loved ones, nor did he feel his usual distaste of violence. The idea of hurting these men, of possibly killing them, did not upset him. These weren't innocents, these were rabid wolves out for the blood of others, and they needed to be put down as quickly as possible.

John and Guy would be safe enough behind the new hounds John and Dick had picked from the five available to them. The dog was a large brindle, self-assured but very obedient. The bitch was as black as the night, with yellow eyes, quite a frightening-looking creature, but John and Dick were both infatuated with her, and the look in Mr Winfield's eyes as they presented their pick to him spoke volumes: this was one of his best, and he did not like to let her go.

'That is my best youngster, Mrs Beauchamp,' he said, 'and I'll let you have her, because I trust she will live a happy, useful life with you. But I beg you to have a litter of those two, and send for me when the pups are eight weeks old, so I can choose the best bitch to replace her with.'

Agnes had readily agreed with this, they'd had puppies before and she loved taking care of the litters. She was inside the carriage now, with Dick, Guy and the two hounds, gun ready no doubt, probably nervous about what was to come.

In the middle of a rather gloomy forest Mr Winfield stopped his team and tied it to a tree off the road. John followed suit and offered to stay with the horses. Dennis could see he was desperately afraid to be alone in a forest where brigands were hiding, but in fact it was safer for him to stay than to come along.

'Will you stay here, too, Guy?' Agnes asked her butler and friend.

'I'll leave one rifle with you, it'll be safer than coming with us. Dick can take the hounds.'

Guy did not like the idea but he saw the sense in it. He could fight, but not good enough to tackle a deserter, and John could not stay all by himself, he was truly helpless against attack. At close quarters Guy could not handle a rifle, the chances of hitting one of his own were too great, he was no more than an average marksman. But at long range things were different, a rifle would give any brigand second thoughts about an attack, and the noise of a shot would bring the others right away.

'I'll stay with John. I don't think they move by daylight anyway, we'll be perfectly safe. I do prefer to have the rifle, though.'

So now the three of them followed their guide, who was obviously very capable of finding his way in the woods. Blackear ranged ahead, unleashed, and when he froze over a trail Mr Winfield observed, 'This was not made by a deer, this is a man's trail. Look at the damage.'

Dennis was an expert tracker, there hadn't been any moors in France but plenty of forests, and he agreed with the hunter. They had struck the brigands' track.

'The hut is that way, I propose we approach it with caution and from the back. Will you take the rear, Dick, with those hounds, and keep a close eye on them? They'll warn you well before you can see someone approaching.'

Dick nodded, he seemed alert but not unduly afraid. He had the confidence of a very tall, strong man, he just couldn't imagine someone posing a serious threat to him. He did walk through the forest a lot quieter than Dennis would have expected for such a tall man. Of course the others never made a sound.

Right behind Dennis, Agnes showed only the slightest bit of fear, and Dennis guessed it was mainly fear for him, she knew he'd be in the thick of the fray and she couldn't know Dennis did not feel his usual qualms about killing. She expected him to aim to take those brigands out, which he would, but not at the cost of someone he loved.

A hut came into view, and Mr Winfield signaled them to stay put. He approached it cautiously, circled around, then came back.

'There's no-one home, no fire in the hearth, they're out plundering. Give Blackears one moment to catch their scent, and we'll pursue.'

He went into the hut in total disregard of his own safety and came out with a piece of clothing. Grinning, he held it in front of Blackears and let the hound get the scent.

'You may want to let yours get the scent, too, Dick, it'll let them practise their skills.'

Incredible! Did this man take those brigands at all seriously? Training dogs on a mission?

Dick checked with Agnes, who nodded briefly, then let his leashed duo sniff the garment. But not for long because Blackears, who had been systematically searching the bushes around the site, had found a fresh trail.

'This leads towards the farm I'd expect them to target next. It's relatively out of the way, like the freeholds. This is one of yours, though, ma'am. It's half an hour, but they're breaking a trail through the undergrowth, we can follow their tracks. I hope you're in good shape, if we want to save your people we're going to have to hurry.'

And he would have plunged headlong into the trail, Blackears far ahead of the four of them, had Dennis not intervened. This was all too clear-cut, too easy. An enemy never left such a perfect trail to find, these fellows might be stupid or overconfident, but this could also be a trap. The brigands might have heard the carriages coming, they had left them within earshot, it was not unthinkable the three men were hidden in the bracken pretty closeby. Following them heedlessly in single file would make their firearms useless, enabling the brigands to pick them off one by one. Time for some strategy in enemy territory.

'Please wait, Mr Winfield, and if you love that hound of yours, put it on a leash. This is not a game, these men are probably professional killers, and they most likely have a sentry posted at all times. They may have heard us coming, they could be lying in wait for us anywhere between here and their intended target. Following their trail in single file will leave us exposed to ambushes.'

The hunter turned towards Dennis and looked at him incredulously.

'Damn, but you're paranoid! Though I guess men are not deer, they may know they're being hunted. All right, what do you propose we do? You seem to know exactly how the army operates.'

Dennis ignored that slightly suspicious remark, he had to prevent the lot of them from being maimed or killed, it couldn't be helped.

'You say there is but one farm they can target from here?'

The hunter nodded and Dennis proposed, 'Then we can make our own way towards that farm, circumvening their trail, spread out slightly so we can all use our guns without risking friendly fire. We'll go in two pairs, ten feet apart, each including a hound, they are our best chance to spring a trap, with their superior noses and ears they can find what we cannot. If we spy the brigands we use a call to alert the other group. Then we reconvene to plan a strategy to subdue them.'

'And if they see us and attack before we can make a plan?'

'Then we fight, Mr Winfield.'

'Why leash Blackears?'

'A club swung from a patch of bracken downwind can kill him instantly, sir.'

'Damn, Mr Parker, you're right again. Let's march quickly then, will you go with your lady?'

'I was going to suggest I go with Dick, let's spread the hounds among us. I know Dick and I are probably the best hand-to-hand fighters, but you both have a handgun, you would do well to prevent physical contact with these men; you, sir, cannot win any more than Mrs Beauchamp can. Truly! And we'll be pretty close to each other all the time anyway, the space between us is just to be able to use a firearm safely.'

And so they plodded through the bracken, which slowed them down, but not as much as a club between the eyes would. Mr Winfield knew where to go and had explained, so now they made their way to the farm, watching the hounds carefully and keeping their own eyes and ears open as well.

Dennis mostly felt exhilarated, he should be frightened out of his wits for Agnes, and for Dick, but he wasn't. He was totally convinced Agnes could protect herself, and he would guard Dick with his life. This was how campaigns had been before he had been hurt in body and mind.

Progress was slow, but after half an hour the black bitch proved Dennis had been right to take the hard way. Instead of walking in front of Dick as far as her leash allowed, she started to look sideways a lot, in the direction where the trail was supposed to be. Dennis halted and watched her for a few minutes, she was obviously checking a scent to their right, and Dennis gestured to Dick that he should kneel in the cover. Before he could give the call they had decided on, the bracken to their left started to move a tiny bit, and Blackears appeared, also following his nose.

They decided to follow the hounds carefully, hoping to surprise the brigands as they lay in ambush along the trail. Dennis went up front, followed by Mr Winfield, Agnes and Dick making up the rear.

There was no way they could come within range of the brigands without alerting them, the bracken gave cover but it also made quite a distinctive noise.

When they saw the men they were seen themselves, and of course the brigands attacked instantly. They were used to cowed farmers, and rushing a party of those would have worked. When they were within range of his rifle, Dennis did not shoot, nor did any of the others. Killing a human in cold blood was not easy, and Dennis preferred to call a challenge.

'Stop right there. We are heavily armed, and will not hesitate to shoot.'

But of course these men would hang and they knew it. There was no gain in surrender, and they kept coming. A shot rang out, and one man fell. Another shot, and another man dropped. Dennis did not know who had shot them and whether they were dead or merely wounded, and he would not find out for some time because right then everything happened at once.

A streak of black tore loose from Dick's hands and hurled itself at the third man, Dick shouting, 'Don't shoot, don't shoot, I'm sorry I let her get away, I'll get her myself.'

And he ran straight towards the brigand, who had his club ready to strike the hound worrying his leg. Shooting was now out of the question, and Dennis ran over to help his large friend, still certain Dick would be no match for a trained soldier.

The club descended, and Dick intercepted the two-handed blow with a single hand, the other grabbing the smaller man by the neck and lifting him at least a foot above the solid ground.

'Drop it!' a command rang out, and the black bitch let go of the man's leg and slunk off towards the voice.

Dennis was ready to fight, but there was no need. Dick had the third brigand helpless, and Agnes was keeping her gun aimed at the other two. Mr Winfield rummaged in his backpack and came up with a length of cord and a knife. Minutes later the brigands were bound securely, and Dennis could take the time to check on his companions.

'I'm fine, Dennis, I shot one guy in the leg and Mr Winfield got the other one. Better check on Dick, he seems to be in pain.'

Indeed Dick did not seem as pleased as he should have been, having saved his mistress' brand-new hound by subduing an undoubtedly superb fighter without breaking a sweat. He did not appear to favour his left hand, but he was even more quiet than usual and avoided the others. Maybe the bloodshed had gotten to him, both wounded men were bleeding profusely, though their lives were not in danger as far as Dennis could tell.

'Dick, dear friend.'

Dennis approached the tall man and put an arm on his shoulder.

'Are you in pain? That was quite a blow you stopped with your bare hand.'

Taking Dick's large left hand in both his own, he could see no sign of a wound or a break. Dick started at Dennis' touch.

'I put all of you in danger, Dennis, she surprised me, I'm not used to such a strong dog. I'm sorry, Dennis, I should have held on to her, the mistress entrusted her to me.'

'Never mind, Dick, you couldn't have known. And you saved her life, didn't you? You're my hero, Dick, the way you caught that blow and held that brigand under control! Congratulations, you've survived your first skirmish. Come, let's decide what to do with those brigands. I have no further doubts they're deserters, no civilian would have planned an ambush like that.'

Two of the three men were in a bad way, both had been shot in the upper leg, not life-threatening but very painful. Remembering their misdeeds, Dennis had bound them ruthlessly, and he still didn't feel sorry for them. They were filthy, their clothes were in tatters and their hair, facial hair too, was grown out and matted with grime.

'I'll get the buggy, Mrs Beauchamp, if your man can carry the wounded to their cabin,' Mr Winfield suggested to Agnes. Blackears was loose once more, and as Agnes nodded in assent, the hunter walked away with his hound following. As soon as he was out of sight, Dennis took his beloved in his arms and whispered, 'I'm glad you're safe. You did well, my love.'

'You should have killed us all, Barks!'

Dennis turned on the third man as quick as lightning, still holding Agnes. Hearing his real name for the first time in years had him speechless, though not immobilized, thanks to Agnes.

'You sure did a lot better than us, damn you! My God, you landed face-down in a pot of cream! You look like a fucking gentleman, with your long hair and your groomed whiskers! And I bet you are tupping the lady, even have her guarding your useless, cowardly arse, a woman to do your shooting and a giant to do your fighting. I bet you don't even do you own shaving!'

Oh my God, was he ever in trouble now! And Agnes, for aiding and abetting him!

'Sadly for you, Mr Parker here still does his own thinking.'

Agnes coolly walked towards the bound man, who had worked himself into a frenzy of indignation despite his depressing circumstances, and smacked him right in the face, hard. Dennis remembered being on the wrong side of that small, elegant hand, he knew how it stung.

'You watch your mouth when talking to your betters. I'll not have my fiancée slandered by some foul-mouthed brigand, who robs defenceless farmers on the edge of starvation and rapes their wives and daughters.'

That sure got a reaction.

'I never touched any of those women, mistress, those two did! Ask any of them women, I never laid a hand on one of them, not even the pretty redhead! Please mistress, I don't want to hang, please.

I'm sorry Barks, I won't squeal on you, I'm sorry I called you a coward, I just repeated what my mates used to say! Please help me!'

Dennis did not recognize that man and he couldn't imagine how the fellow could have known him. He didn't recognize the others either. Someone must have pointed Dennis out to the man as the veteran who'd freeze in fear. Some people never forgot a face, or a name. Maybe Agnes had the rights of it, maybe he could still bluff his way out. Men often resembled other men, after all. Fortunately the other brigands seemed totally unaware of their surroundings, the ravings of one doomed deserter would easily be discounted, especially with Dennis hours away at the manor on the desolate moors.

'Dick, will you carry the two who cannot walk to the cabin? I'll help this one to his legs, he can walk himself.'

And walk he did, though the man had a nasty bite on his leg, if he weren't destined for the gallows anyway he'd need a thorough cleaning to prevent infection. As it was, he'd probably be dangling on the end of a rope before the week was out, he had no further need of his leg.

The man's attitude had changed dramatically, he let himself be stood up without comment, though with a grunt of pain, his leg did look pretty badly mauled. That was one kind of puppy, to bite a man so at ten months. A fury, that she was. 't Would be an excellent name for her, Fury.

Limping along, leaning on Dennis' arm heavily, the man offered no further resistance or impudence.

'Please, Barks, I didn't mean it. It's clear you are quite somebody now, can't you use your influence to help me? I'll be in your debt forever, I'll do anything for you. I know it's you, it must be, no civilian could have outsmarted us, they always said you were the best. On your good days.'

Dennis did not reply, he would not lie, but he would not give this man fuel for his suspicions either. The brigand could not be certain of anything, Dennis looked totally different, he had been gaunt and haunted, constantly on edge. His hair had been cropped short, he'd sported as much stubble as had been allowed. With his long flowing locks and indeed, well-groomed whiskers and clean-shaven chin and cheeks, he must look like a fop to this soldier, and to cause the man doubt he'd act like one, though his pride protested.

He did not speak to the man, there was nothing to say to him, he'd never seen him before and he was not going to listen to someone who had either beaten and raped innocents, or stood by watching others do it. But when they reached the cabin he did not just drop the man but lowered him to the ground gently. No reason to be as cruel as they had been.

Dick helped carry the wounded men into the buggy, then they followed it to their own carriage, where Guy and John were visibly relieved to see them all in good health. Dennis could not shake his fear of being betrayed, though, and just before he ascended the box, Agnes caught him in her arms and whispered, 'Don't say anything, let me do the talking. Be a gentleman, use no coarse language, show no aggression. I don't think there is real danger, yet. Love you, my hero. You outsmarted them and saved the day. I'll talk to Dick in the carriage.'

And they were off.

Ten minutes saw them nearing the hunter's lodge in the woods where they could hopefully leave the brigands until the army came to retrieve them. Then Agnes could pay for the hounds, arrange payment for Mr Winfield's services, and they could go home, where Dennis felt safe.