EDITOR’S NOTE
I was recently provided an ARC of author and podcaster Terrance Layhew’s new novel THORN, a heroic historical swashbuckling adventure set during in England the War of the Roses. While I recently appeared on Mr. Layhew’s excellent Suit Up! Podcast, to talk about HONOR AMONG ROGUES, I was actually aware of his work before I had first listened to the podcast through his novel ONE MAN’S TREASURE.
ONE MAN’S TREASURE is a rollicking treasure hunt story that doesn’t shy away from Mr. Layhew’s signature swashbuckling. THORN follows in that same tradition, offering readers roguish characters, an abundance of sword-fights, and even a dash of romance. Terrance writes with a clear familiarity of the Pulp tradtion, making THORN a comfortable compainion to Pulp Classics like ZORRO, TROS OF SAMOTHRACE, and SOLOMON KANE.
I am proud to present here at CLIFFHANGER! a taste of THORN with the entire first chapter.
THORN: Chapter 1
by Terrance Layhew
D E VO N S H I R E , E N G L A N D
A P R I L 7 T H, 1 4 8 4
RAIN FELL ACROSS the countryside like a veil across a maiden’s features. In his fifty three years of life, Joseph had experienced every facet of weather imaginable. He knew better than to rage against it. The density of the downpour was enough to force him from his road homeward and into the warmth of the Hebron Tavern.
Water pooled around Joseph’s feet as he quietly sat down. He positioned himself close enough to the fire to dry, but not too close to be asked to move. He wanted to avoid attention. He glanced around the room, his practiced mind assessed each person and the threat they might pose.
Two knights sat at a table together. Joseph could see from the quality of their silks and swords these were not average country knights. In fact, he recognized one from Plymouth.
Standing beside the serving counter was a friar in deep discussion with the tavern keeper and a serf who listening to both enthusiastically.
Four day laborers sat at a table. They were happily spending the money they should have been taking home.
Only the final table appeared to hold any real danger. Three rough looking men sat together. They were drinking with little to say and menace in their eyes. These were men Joseph knew to avoid. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, even the knights. For whatever honor they may possess, they would have little guilt about hurting a Jew. So it was with his people. “Strangers in a strange land.”
The serving woman refilled the knights tankards and approached Joseph.
“Would you like some stew to warm yourself?” She offered.
Joseph’s stomach rumbled. He had not eaten since dinner last night, but it was doubtful anything here would be Kosher.
“Thank you good woman,” he mumbled “But no. Could I have a small cup of wine?”
His rabbi would understand the need for a restorative on the road, even if it was not proper Jewish wine.
“I’m afraid we have a limited selection these days, but I’ll bring you a cup of our best.” She said, grinning.
“Are the heaven’s emptying themselves?” One knight asked the other.
The other knight, the one Joseph recognized, grunted in response.
“Here you are,” the maid reappeared, handing Joseph his wine.
Pressing a copper into her hand, he thanked her. He sniffed and tasted the wine. It was better than he expected. For the first time since the rain started, Joseph’s spirits began to lift. He was very tired. He was very wet. He was very ready to be home. However, between a warm fire and a cup of wine, there was much to be grateful for.
The Tavern Keeper called out to one of the knights. “Sir Thomas, Friar Lawrence says the new highwayman has been too crafty for Lord Harrogate’s men. What do you think of this?”
The Friar blanched momentarily, interjecting, “I said nothing of the kind! I merely observed…”
“You observed he has been on the roads for nearly a month and not a hand has been raised against him.” The Tavern keeper explained, “Far from it. He is becoming quite the popular character. Has Thorn assaulted any of the common men yet? No. He has stolen only from the poor in character. For those who are poor in character are often rich in worldly goods.”
“It is great irony, indeed,” Sir Thomas nodded with a grin. “What think you Sir Godfrey?”
“He’s a thief and a robber, no matter who he steals from.” Godfrey replied.
Thomas shrugged. “There is your answer. Be it within Sir Godfrey’s strength, Thorn will be apprehended. Friar Lawrence, surely there is nothing you have to fear from this highwayman unless your own character has become impoverished.”
The Churchman’s face reddened. “I was merely….”
“I tease my friend, I tease.” Thomas insisted. “Landlord, give the Friar of cup of wine at my expense.”
Joseph allowed himself a smile, and sipped his wine.
“Is something funny Jew?”
One of the three thugs stared at Joseph, his smile vanishing in an instant. “Nothing,” he muttered, pulling himself tighter in his corner.
“Sir Godfrey, what would you do if you met Thorn on the open road?” Thomas asked, his voice exaggerated for the entire room to hear.
“I would fight him,” Godfrey replied quietly.
“Would he have any chance against you by sword?”
“None,”
“By cudgel?”
“None,”
“I hear he often carries a wicked mace,”
“T’would end the same in any case,”
“You would beat him in any fair combat?”
“Yes,” Godfrey said. Nothing about his words offered a boast, but his definitive belief in the outcome as fact.
“But are you poor enough in character to meet this highwayman?” Thomas queried.
Godfrey shrugged. “Not for me to judge.”
“An honest answer, if unsatisfactory,” Thomas said, “Goodman, more wine?” He asked, raising his empty cup.
Yes, Joseph remembered Godfrey from Plymouth. A cold man, but never cruel.
“Stop staring at me,” The thug growled again, standing up.
Joseph’s eyes widened. “I did nothing.”
Towering over him, the giant’s upper lip curled in a menacing snarl. “I won’t be judged by a dirty Jew,”
“Fortunately for you, I doubt he has anything to do with the courts,” Thomas said, laughing.
The ruffian ignored the jest. He reached down and seized a handful of Joseph’s collar.
Struggling to dislodge the grip, the old man fell to the floor.
The table of thugs laughed.
Scrambling, Joseph tried to crawl away, but his persecutor stepped on his back. “You’re the jeweler from Plymouth, and everyone knows you cheat.” He rasped.
It said more of the times than Joseph’s belief in the goodwill of others, he had no expectation of aid. Despite the various classes gathered beneath a single roof, Joseph felt completely alone and at the mercy of all. He lived in a thankless and bigoted age.
“Careful what you step on.” Thomas said, “I believe Sir Godfrey knows this Jew, don’t you Godfrey?”
Joseph’s eyes widened, glancing at the face of each knight in turn.
Godfrey gave a moments study and nodded.
“I was right!” Thomas said, grinning at his correctness.
“My lord, this is none of your concern,” The persecutor snarled.
“Right you are, it is none of my concern,” Thomas agreed, “However, it might be Sir Godfrey’s. He has an acquaintance with this jeweler, mayhap he will need his services for an wedding ring in the future.”
Godfrey cast a scowl at Sir Thomas, but offered no disagreement.
“Sir Godfrey, who you have heard is more than capable of defeating any man in single combat. Have you fought three at once in the past my friend?”
“Four,” Godfrey replied, “Perhaps six would be difficult.”
Thomas glanced at the table of toughs. “I see your number are only three, and if Sir Godfrey felt compelled to offer combat, as his friend, I would be unable to deny him my aid.”
“Unnecessary, but not unwelcome,” Godfrey added.
“All of that to suggest,” Thomas said, his smile becoming wolfish, “remove your foot from that man’s back.”
Hesitating, the thug looked at both knights. His slow mind laboring to calculate the odds of an encounter. With a grunt, he removed his foot. Spitting on Joseph’s back, he turned to rejoin his companions.
“One moment more,” Thomas interrupted.
The ruffian halted, stepping closer to the two knights as he was beckoned.
“Yes my lords?” he asked, his words servile, but his eyes menacing.
Humor glinted in the eyes of Thomas. “Sir Godfrey and I are displeased by your stench, clearly none of you have bathed in many weeks. However, God has been merciful to us all and provided amble rain for your washing, take advantage of it.”
Confused, the giant looked at Godfrey.
“He’s telling you to leave, politely,” the laconic knight explained, “If I need to tell you to leave, I won’t be polite.” He added, balling his fist.
The tough’s jaw tightened. His hand dropped near the dagger at his side, but better sense prevailed over his pride. “Come on lads, let’s go,” he said.
The other two grunted, tipped back what remained of their ale and dropped the tankards on the floor as they left.
Godfrey’s eyes didn’t leave them until the door was shut behind.
“Gentleman, I cannot thank you enough,” Joseph cried, dropping to Thomas’ feet.
“Think nothing of it,” Thomas said, gesturing for Joseph to stand. “Please rise, I don’t wish to have Jew beneath my feet either, even if it’s voluntarily.”
Standing, Joseph looked to each. “If ever you have need of fine jewelry, stop in my store in Plymouth and I will aid you in every way. I will give you the best deal you can imagine.”
“If Sir Godfrey ever meets a woman who can tame him, I’ll pay for the ring myself.” Sir Thomas announced. “Friar, witness my solemn vow.”
“Vows should be taken with greater care Sir Thomas,” The Friar chided.
“For my friends, I have nothing but care of the greatest kind.” Thomas replied, raising his ale.
Repeating his thanks again, Joseph returned to his small corner of the tavern to enjoy another cup of wine while he let the rainfall pass.
“Why do my matrimonial prospects interest you?” Godfrey asked, “You should concern yourself with your own.”
“Good Godfrey, I am never in want of companionship. It’s the benefit of a charming personality. You however, lack both sufficient companionship and charm. What friend would I be if I did not make it my interest?”
“A good one?” Godfrey suggested.
Joseph spent an hour and one more glass of wine in the tavern. He left behind the knights to their continued conversations and the laborers to the admonitions of the friar. With the storm abating, he needed to capitalize on what remained of the day to return to Plymouth.
The loath road was full of puddles and mud, but was still a clear path to home. Joseph looked forward to returning to his shop. The relief he would feel was indescribable. He anticipated it with the same relish as a warm meal. Joseph’s stomach rumbled. He only had a three hour ride. Compared to forty years wandering in the desert, it would be a short journey. For the first forty five minutes the road was easy, until he saw the horsemen.
At first glance they were shadows in the mist, reflections from the fading light thrown by nearby trees. When he approached closer, they became very real forms. By the time he knew the shades to be people it was already too late to escape. One of the three bandits roads forward and seized the jeweler’s reigns.
“Hand us your purse old man.”
With horror, Joseph recognized the three toughs from the tavern. They had waited here to ambush him.
“What purse?” He asked, innocently.
The other two figures drew closer. One held a sword, while the other cradled a cudgel.
“You’re a Jew,” The bandit spat, “You deserve to be robbed. Just like you rob everyone else.”
Joseph shook his head. “Why do I deserve to be robbed? Because of my heritage and religion? Should I say you deserve to hang for being a highwayman? Gentlemen, we could all accuse and argue, but…”
The closest bandit struck Joseph in the stomach, stopping this sentence with a gasp. Fumbling with the strings, Joseph removed his purse. As he tried to hand it to the bandit, it was torn from his hands.
The bandit shook the bag and smiled. Yellowing teeth stared back at the victim. “It’s nice and heavy.”
He tossed it to the evident leader of the group. The strings were loosened and he peered inside. “Where are the jewels?”
Joseph’s heart sank. Through a dry mouth, he asked, “What jewels?”
“The jewels you were purchasing in Exeter, hand them over.” He growled.
“Friend, you have taken my purse and insulted my people, is that not enough? You have delusions that I possess jewels as well?”
The rider with the cudgel came closer, the weapon waving dangerously in his hand. “The jewels or your life. We can search your corpse if needed.”
“Yes, I went to Exeter for jewels, but I couldn’t find the quality the customer needed.” Joseph insisted, “You must believe me, there are no jewels on my person!”
The bandit holding the reigns smacked him. The blow nearly knocked Joseph from the saddle.
“The jewels,” the bandit growled again.
“You must believe me! You can kill me, but there will be no jewels.” Joseph insisted.
The bandit leader sighed, and gestured to the man with the cudgel. The weapon was pulled back to strike. Within his heart, Joseph prayed to Jehovah for aid. It was cruel to have been spared at the Tavern only to be assaulted again here. Closing his eyes, he heard the wind cut by the swinging weapon. The sounds of tearing flesh and crushing bone came before the scream of pain.
Astonished, Joseph realized he was not the one who was screaming. He opened his eyes. The bandit crumbled from his horse, his skull cracked like a shattered egg.
Sitting on a dark stallion, a knight came to Joseph’s rescue. He wore the spurs of rank, and a banner of a bent rose was on his shield. His armor was chain and leather, but his face was completely obscured by a gleaming metal helmet. The mace he held was wet with the brains and blood of the fallen highwayman.
The bandit leader drew his sword and rushed the newcomer. A well aimed blow from the mace knocked him to the ground, never to rise again. The reigns of Joseph’s horse were released, as the final thief attempted to flee.
The newcomer did not give him the chance. He hurled the mace his direction. It missed the body of the man, but struck his horse who bucked and threw the bandit to the ground.
The bandit tried to rise to his feet, but cried out in pain. Leisurely, the strange knight dismounted from his horse and loomed over him, dagger in his hand.
“Who are you?” The bandit demanded, his eyes wild with pain and panic.
The opponent crouched down, the dagger held to the bandits throat. “Thorn of Devonshire,” he said, the voice echoing out of the helmet. The dagger pressed against the throat, the bandit squeezed his eyes shut.
“Wait!” Joseph cried. The face within the helmet glanced toward him. The dagger halted.
Scrambling off his horse, the jeweler wobbled to his feet. The emotion and horror of events still pounded through his bloodstream. He dropped to his knees beside the fallen bandit.
“I must know who hired you,” he gasped.
“Who?” Thorn asked. It was both a command and question at once.
Gritting his teeth, the bandit whined, “I think my leg is broken,”
“Who?” Thorn repeated, pressing the dagger against the bandits throat. He drew a beed of blood.
The bandit screamed. “A Burgundian! Harry met with him, I don’t know his name. He was burgundian. I think a mercenary of some kind.”
Thorn’s helmet turned to Joseph. The jeweler could see narrowing of eyes through the visor, but distinguished no other features.
“It is something.” the jeweler muttered, standing upright.
Rain drops began to fall, a thunderclap rang out as the storm resumed.
Standing, Thorn returned his dagger to it’s sheath by his side. Walking to the fallen mace, he replaced it on his war belt.
“Wait, don’t leave me.” Begged the bandit. The rain began falling harder.
Thorn remounted his horse.
“Don’t leave!” The bandit shouted.
Joseph remounted, he shivered as the wet rain fell against his back. Silently, he gave thanks to God for his deliverance from the hands of his enemies. Rejoicing to still have his purse, his life, and the jewels carefully sewn into the lining of his cloak.
Terrance Layhew is an author and swashbuckler. He hosts the Suit Up! Podcast and lives in Des Moines, Iowa. You can follow him on on social media @Tlayhew, and his writing at terrancelayhew.com
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