‘Entertain me with thy words of wisdom and insight,’ he mocked me.
I cleared my throat and rubbed my nose again. ‘You are Keeling.’ I looked again into the blue eyes. ‘You killed Anne Giles in fear that William Ormonde would disclose your part in a plot to kill the King. You are a Fifth Monarchist. You knew that Ormonde is too much of a coward to do anything about it, for fear of his own reputation, and for fear of you, I suppose. And he is a wretch. He allowed Joyce to hang for his cowardice, and your sins.’
‘My sins?’ The blue eyes stared at me with such unrelenting intensity that I felt dry-mouthed terror.
‘You killed a sweet, innocent girl for no other reason than to quieten William Ormonde. Why kill her? Why not simply make your intentions clear, it would have been enough? Methinks that you kill for the pleasure it gives you. Why else did you kill Mottram and Wilson, and then go to the trouble of cutting off their heads?’
I held my breath.
Keeling breathed quietly, saying nothing. ‘Your meddling hath served no purpose other than to please your master. And believe me, Lytle, he doth not deserve it.’
‘It was my duty to try and save Richard Joyce from your justice. He died as a murderer.’
‘Not in God’s eyes.’
‘You had no right to kill him, nor her.’
‘Now the Lord of peace himself gives her peace always, by all means.’
‘God didn’t say that. It was a man that said that.’
‘Art thou ungodly, Lytle? What amazement is this? Or indeed, shouldst we be amazed at all? ’Tis true that thou art a drunkard, a dancing fairy that doth frequent whorehouses, and alehouses. All these unlawful pursuits you indulge in on the Lord’s Day, betimes. The Lord saveth such as be of contrite spirit, Lytle, but if you will not turn from all your sins, then ye shall die, ye shall not live.’ He picked up the knife again.
I looked to the pulpit that Anne Giles had been tied to. ‘Torturing a young woman, poking out her eyes from their sockets. How did that feel, Keeling?’ I asked with sick wonder. ‘So great is your mercy. I don’t believe Richard Joyce’s death troubles you one degree.’
‘Quiet!’ He stuck the knife into my ribs.
‘Ah,’ I snorted, ‘you’re a savage brute.’
He growled. ‘I was born a common man, Lytle, like your father. I laboured hard.’ The knife lashed out suddenly. I jerked my head back, yet he still caught my cheek. I took a deep, short breath in shock. If I hadn’t seen the blade coming then I would have been cut to the bone. The sweat prickled on my brow and on my back. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open slightly, panting like a terrified cat. He held the knife out, up and wide to his right, hanging majestically in the air. I waited breathlessly, the blood streaming down my cheek and neck.
Smiling a tight, twisted smile, he lowered his knife and tucked it between his legs. ‘One thing more I will tell thee, before thou art dead. I have watched thee keenly, through my eyes and those of others, to see what sort of man you are, what sort of man it was that Shrewsbury sent against me. I still know not why he picked you. It is my place to ensure that justice is done within my jurisdiction, and that is what I do. I administer justice, not the law, for the law and justice are as far apart as my left ear and my right ear. It is justice that decreed Anne Giles must die, to atone for the sins of her father, and it is not ungodly, for I remind you that the innocent often die for the guilty, so that the guilty might be saved. It is a blessing for her that she died as she did and God will reward her for it. And it is justice that Ormonde now bears the grief and the guilt of his daughter’s death, the knowledge that he killed his own daughter, not me, but him. For he would have betrayed me, and in doing so, betrayed the Lord Jesus Christ. Now justice will see him suffer for it, here, and beyond if he does not repent. You must understand the difference between law and justice. John Giles broke many laws, as did the beasts that Hewitt sent after you. They all had learnt how to dance round the law, but they could not dance away from justice. I am Justice.’
‘What is just about my death?’ I asked with warm tears in my eyes, the cold misery of helpless fear lying heavy on my heart.
‘I am thy salvation, scoundrel! Ye will die because Shrewsbury, who is a devil, hath laid the path for you. But I will save thee. I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean. I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give thee a heart of flesh. For then thou shalt lift up thy face without spot. Repent, Lytle.’
Smiling faintly he seemed to regain his composure. He tested the point of his knife on his thumb, seemingly lost for a moment inside his own reflections. I peered around the inside of the church. This was the view that Anne Giles had seen not so very long ago. And so, I thought, ends the short life of Harry Lytle. I tried to quell the fear that came unwelcome, tried to make peace with the God above that I had supposedly forsaken. My father was a Puritan, John Ray had been a Puritan too, but both of them preached too hard. I needed time to consider for myself. It was too soon to be asked to repent. The church offered no comment. But as I stared at the screen through misty eyes my heart jumped. Movement! Was it Hill, here to fulfil our appointment?
‘Who appoints you justice?’ I asked, seeking time to think and watch.
‘God.’ He held the blade before him.
‘The King, not God! God appoints the King, the King appoints you. Ye must do the King’s bidding!’
‘Thus hath the Lord God shewed unto me. I am a herdsman, a gatherer of sycamore fruit.’ His eyes were bright again and alert. Suddenly he slashed again, this time at the rope that tied me to the pew. ‘The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel. It will be hastier and easier if thee sit back and push out thy ribs as far as they will go. I will slip the blade between thy ribs and into thy heart. Thee will be dead quickly. If thee sit in a ball with thy shoulders tight then I will have to stab you in the gut and you will bleed slowly.’
I looked into those blue eyes and foresaw my death. I pulled a face and did not sit back and push out my ribs. This was his act, not mine. He shook his head sadly. ‘The spirit of truth dwelleth in you, and shall be with you.’
As I looked steadily into his eyes my moment of weakness passed. Leaning back I pulled on the cords that he had chopped. They stretched and strained, the threads on the edge of the ropes breaking away, leaving only two or three inner strands binding me to the pew. Keeling cut at them contemptuously. Sitting back I puffed out my chest. He smiled gently, with cruel eyes, then tossed his long-bladed dagger from hand to hand so it flashed in the dark gloom. I watched his hands without moving my head. He stopped, feinted, then lunged forward, the blade aimed straight at my heart, but I had been waiting for the blow, sitting with my weight on my left thigh. As his arm snaked forward I pushed to my right and twisted inwards. Drawing back my arms, hands still tangled together, I pushed myself forward and punched Keeling hard in the mouth with both fists so that he fell over the back of the pew. He stood up quickly, blood pouring from his lower lip, then stared at me in incredulous fury. Reaching for his knife, he dropped to the floor. Snapping my wrists apart I fell to my right and pushed myself scrabbling towards the right end of the pew. My blood was hot and saucy and I bounced off posts and benches without feeling the impact. I ran to the back of the church, towards the font, rushed to the door and pulled on the handle, but it was locked. Turning, my field of vision was filled with the figure of Keeling charging at me with knife drawn back ready to strike. I leant back against the door and kicked out hard and high, catching him in the stomach so he doubled up wheezing. This time he didn’t drop the knife. I charged into him sideways, knocked him out of the way and pushed past, then ran down the aisle towards the pulpit, the pulpit that stood over the spot where Anne Giles had died.