Prologue: Mow Cop, East Cheshire, England, 1652
A cool breeze delicately caressed her face and and gently blew strands of golden hair. It mingled with the warm kiss of the early morning sun piercing through the tree canopy and roused her from a troubled slumber. The sweet melody of birdsong danced around her ears and the floral aromas of wild flowers hung in the air. Widening shafts of sunlight soon illuminated the glade and its occupants in a shimmering glow. It could have been a scene from the Garden of Eden in the Old Testament. Amidst the hypnotic tranquillity of the forest, she almost forgot her woes.
Sparkling sapphire eyes anxiously scanned their surroundings on high alert for any threatening sound or movement. Nothing heightened her senses except the calming sounds of the forest blooming into life. She allowed herself a moment’s respite and gazed towards the dying fire. It was still smouldering and emitting mild heat from the still-warm embers. He was still sleeping soundly, head nestled next to the rising and falling stomach of his beloved horse, Bess. She hoped his dreams were pleasant. Elena’s mind wandered to events of the past few days. Her mother’s anguished face and words burned again into her mind. Elena, you must survive for both of us.
A distant unwelcome sound suddenly pierced the serene atmosphere. Elena convinced herself she had imagined it. Seconds later, it happened again. The forest held it breath. Closer now. A dull yelp. It was unmistakably real and certainly no fox. They were swiftly followed by several more yelps and barks. Tensing with fear, her heart thudded faster. An anxious mind spurred an exhausted body into action. She darted over to Henry and shook him vigorously. He emerged from his dreams in slight shock and confusion.
"I think we’ve been discovered, my love."
“What?!... Who?!” His head snapped around, trying in vain to find someone or something.
“Shhh. Just listen. They’re still quite far away.”
The excitable yelps and barks of hunting dogs searching for their scent were now audible above the sounds forest life.
“They’re likely closer than you think”, replied Henry fearfully. We need to move. Now!”
With those words, he rapidly doused the fire and coaxed his beloved Bess awake. Elena gathered their scarce belongings as best she could. Within moments they had mounted the horse and were moving purposefully between flower-covered copses and grass-carpeted clearings. As they glided through the waking forest, the trees and vegetation slowly receded and gave way to a dew covered mountain meadow. The picturesque setting was completely at odds with the rising panic that thread its way through rider and horse alike.
They emerged from the forest recesses into the full glare of the morning sun. Horse and riders were temporarily blinded and the animal stumbled to a halt. After a few tense moments, all recovered their vision and Henry guided his Bess into an urgent canter across the rolling fields. There were more trees up ahead and reaching them would mean further safety and shelter. In the open they were dangerously exposed.
A great cacophony of yelps, barks and the cries of men suddenly erupted behind them. They had been discovered. Elena dared to look back and saw a pack of hounds and hunters materialise from the woods. Some wielded axes and clubs yet others bore flintlock pistols and muskets. Amidst the deluge, Bess was paralysed with fear and Henry struggled to control her. With leaden limbs and teeth clamped together, Elena regularly gulped down to halt the rising bile in her gullet. She wanted to close her eyes from this unfolding nightmare but sheer horror coursing through her prevented it. Spying their chance, those with guns took aim and swiftly fired. Fortunately, the ball bearings missed their target but the gunshot panicked poor Bess who sprang forward.
The wind drove great gusts through her blond tresses as the terrified horse thundered across the open field. The huge animal’s muscles rippled and buckled beneath her as its hooves relentlessly pounded and churned the earth. Elena clung onto Henry for dear life. He tried to guide his frightened mount as best as he could. Her thighs and buttocks were sore from the relentless chafing of the leather saddle. They could almost taste the freedom that awaited them. A hundred more metres and they would cross the brow of the hill, beyond musket range and to safety. The guns bellowed a second and final time.
