Chapter 4
THE ROMANS
James and Gideon let their horses amble down the road. The air breathed clean after yesterday’s rain. It would be warmer later in the day; however, now there was a comfortable light breeze keeping the early morning pleasant. A perfect time for a hack.
James studied the land around them as they rode.
It was beautiful countryside with undulating hills and shallow valleys complementing each other.
There was a sense of wildness to Devon that Kent lacked—except for the apple trees.
Planted in orderly straight lines, they marched up the hill like a legion of soldiers.
That reminded him of what Cecilia had told him last night, before they drifted off to sleep, that a small Roman fort had been discovered on a neighboring property.
Given the straight road they rode down, and the linear orchard lines, he could well believe there was Roman activity in the area.
He’d read they built sturdy, layered, straight roads, like this one.
“Gideon, Cecilia told me you have a Roman fort nearby.”
He laughed. “That’s what I hear. It’s on Baron Compton’s land.
Discovered about two years ago. The story is his steward, a weaselly fellow by the name of John Krumpet, told Mr. Tennet at the Compton Home Farm he wanted to have the area planted.
Mr. Tennet told him that’s been tried in the past; however, the ground doesn’t bear well. ”
“Farmers know the land.”
“I agree; however, the steward did not. Got quite arrogant about it, I’m told.”
“What happened?”
Gideon paused for a moment thinking. “This has all come to me second-hand; however, the steward wanted to prove he knew more than Mr. Tennet. He organized a demonstration, inviting the baron to also come to see him humiliate Mr. Tennet and his family.”
“Did he say he wanted to humiliate Mr. Tennet?”
“No, he framed it as a scientific exploration.”
James lowered his chin slightly as he stared out from under his hat brim at Gideon.
Gideon laughed. “I know. Cheeky bastard. But he had his comeuppance. His second shovelful of dirt came up with Roman mosaic tiles.”
“How did he explain that?”
“He didn’t. He quickly moved three feet and made to stick his shovel in again. The Baron ordered him to stop. When he wouldn’t, and continued to dig, bringing up more tiles, Mr. Tennet pulled the shovel out of his hands. From my understanding, they brawled.”
“What did the baron do?”
“Fired the steward on the spot. A month or so later he brought in some antiquarian types to examine the find… There is a Roman fort at North Tauton. Nothing grand—just a small garrison. Antiquarians have long suspected another somewhere in these hills. They were quite giddy to learn of this find.”
James smiled. “I can well imagine.”
“Compton told me they were a bit disappointed as they said it was likely only a small fort. Still, they want to excavate as they believe this road we are riding on is part of the original Roman road through the area. Makes any Roman find here more interesting.”
“They haven’t excavated yet?” James asked.
“No, they needed to put together a subscription to fund their team’s work. I believe this summer they will start. But since the find, we have had visiting antiquarians and hobby antiquarians tromping the county looking for signs of anything else Roman.”
They crossed a wide, gray stone arched bridge over the stream that flowed past the burned cider mill. On the other side of the bridge, the fields that bordered the road gave way to beech trees.
“Beyond this stand of trees we are riding through is my clay open pit mine. My grandfather wanted the woods maintained to hide the scar of the mine from sight, otherwise it could have been seen at a distance from Pomum.”
“Ah, keep all taint of industry away from Pomum Court,” James said. “But I’d wager he didn’t mind the money that came from it,” James observed.
“He didn’t, but strangely, my father and brother did. They did not put much effort into the mine and therefore did not get much in return.”
“Why?”
“I could say aristocratic prejudice to anything that smelled of trade; however, I don’t believe they understood what we have here. This is kaolin clay, the finest clay for porcelain and other ware. The potteries pay a premium for kaolin.”
“Those prejudices to industry are slowly dying,” James observed.
Gideon nodded. “I know. Trade and industry are now the wealth builders. I saw that in my work as a solicitor and the papers I put together for the new industry leaders.”
“I see you are taking advantage of the mine?” James said.
“This mine is saving Pomum—and me, and the villagers if they but knew it… It’s not far now.”
They heard a sudden crash. Startled, their horses sidled, pulling on their reins.
“Watch out!” a voice rang out.
“The wall’s going!” shrieked another.
“Davey!”
Gideon spurred his horse. James followed.
They reached the clearing in time to see men scramble to climb timber-fortified terrace walls to get out of the mine.
Wood timbers, pushed by sodden clay, cracked, moaned, and left their moorings on the far side of the mine.
They slid with the mud down into the bottom of the pit, loosening other terrace rows of timber moorings, causing them to follow.
A man, covered in mud, lay on his back, half in and half out of the mud at the bottom, some twenty feet down. He wasn’t moving.
Gideon threw himself off his horse and scrambled down the terraced sides that had not collapsed and worked his way toward the man over timber and through mud.
James saw a winch with a rope. He grabbed the rope where it fastened to the winch scaffold. Covered with slick mud, he couldn’t untie it.
“Does anyone have a knife?” he called out.
His call woke the men from their momentary horror at what was before them.
“I do, guv’nor!” cried out a barrel-chested man. He ran over to James, handing him a knife he pulled from a sheath at his belt.
James cut the rope away from the scaffolding and then from the pallet used to pull up blocks of clay from the mine to be loaded into wagons. The man gathered up the long, heavy rope.
At the bottom of the mine, where the wall had collapsed, Gideon had reached the man. Gideon was up to his chest in mud, but had pulled out his handkerchief to wipe dirt away from the man’s face.
“He’s alive!” Gideon called out. “There is a nasty gash on his head, but the clay seems to have stopped the worst of the bleeding.”
“We’re on our way,” James called down to him. “Just keep his head above the mud. I don’t trust that mound of mud and wood to your left will stay steady. Watch yourself.”
Gideon saluted him. “Yes, Colonel Branstoke!”
James knew he must sound like the officer he’d been, but he just shook his head at Gideon’s cheek.
“Do you have a tarp?” he asked the man holding the rope.
“Yes,” he said.
“I’ll get it!” called out another man. “It’s a mite wet.”
“That’s all right. Tie off the rope on the wagon, there,” James directed, “then throw the rest down into the mine. I’ll need two men to stay up here.”
“I’ll stay,” said the man with the rope. “Bob, you’re with me.”
“Aye,” said a wiry older man.
James nodded, then turned to the three men left. “Grab a shovel. We will go down from different places on the far edge. Do not follow one another and step as lightly as you can. We want to avoid another mudslide.”
They nodded and fanned out to climb over the timber walls and work their way down to the bottom.
James studied the construction of the mine as he went, how the timbers were pounded in to keep the clay from collapsing.
They mined in a stepped terrace fashion; the deeper they went, the more retaining walls.
Once they had reached what they had as their current mine floor, they dug out sideways to enlarge the mine horizontally.
James surmised that at twenty feet they might get groundwater requiring one of the new pump systems like the coal mines used.
“Did you check for any broken bones?” James asked Gideon when he had reached him.
Gideon looked at him, frowning. “It has been all I can do to keep his head up. The clay shifts easily and I have concerns for that timber mound almost above our heads.”
James studied the area, then turned to the waiting men. “Use the rope to tie that wood back until we can get…”
“Davey,” Gideon supplied.
James nodded. “…out from under this danger.”
Two men went to get the rope around the wood. “Some of this mud is drying and clumping. Shovel it away from Davey. Gently,” James told the third man.
The man went to work on teasing the clumps away. “Could use a form box down here. Shame when the clay’s in good consistency.”
Gideon laughed as he changed places with James. “Good thought, Teddy. But I’m more concerned with safety than productivity.”
“Aye, my lord.”
James pressed two fingers against Davey’s wrist. His pulse fluttered quickly yet remained strong. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Had his pulse been slow and laborious, James would have feared the worst.
He worked an arm behind Davey’s shoulders to see if he could pull him up. Davey moaned. Another good sign.
“Gideon, grab his left arm and as I lift, you pull his arm toward you.”
Teddy dropped his shovel and grabbed Davey’s other arm. “I’ll pull too,” he said.
“Excellent,” James said. “Ready… Pull.”
They nearly got him standing up. James pushed Gideon and Teddy aside and put his shoulder under Davey to lift him. His feet remained stuck. Gideon and Teddy quickly dropped to their knees to dig his feet out. James staggered backward when they came free.
“You two,” James called out to the men who had set the rope. “When we are clear of this area, release the rope and get it back to where it comes down the wall.”
“How do you plan to get Davey out of here,” Gideon asked.
“We’ll wrap him in the tarp, then wrap the rope around the tarp, and haul him up. The only thing that concerns me is his head knocking against the walls.”
Gideon nodded. “We’ll take it slowly. I’ll see if there is another tarp to hang over the edge to reduce getting caught on anything.
” He left James and Teddy to carry Davey to the rope while he nimbly climbed back up the walls.
James watched him. Sometimes there was something to be said for short stature.
They took Davey to the Rotten Apple Tavern. In a village without a doctor or an apothecary, Mrs. Plummer, the tavern owner’s wife, was the person the village went to for medical issues. That is where they took Davey.
James had thought to take the man back to Pomum Court; however, Gideon and the other men overruled him, insisting Mrs. Plummer would fix him right up. Considering local opinion, James agreed.
She had them carry him up to a first-floor room.
As they went before her, Mrs. Plummer shouted orders to all in the tavern.
Upstairs, she quickly ordered Davey’s clothing cut off and multiple pitchers of hot water brought upstairs to wash him.
She ignored all titters of embarrassment from her ogling maids as she washed him down, sending bowls of dirty water back downstairs and calling for clean.
Cleaning his head revealed a three-inch gash with surprisingly clean edges.
“Not as much blood as there might be,” James observed.
“It’s the clay,” Mrs. Plummer said forthrightly. “Dried it right up. Folks in these parts been using clay fer healin’ longer than I remembers.”
“Gideon,” James said, calling to his cousin to come over by Davey. “Look, the wound is not depressed. It’s probable that he did not suffer his skull to fracture.”
“Aye,” Mrs. Plummer agreed. “When I were cleaning the bits of clay out, I could feel his head were whole. But that be Davey Abney, always were a hard-headed stubborn man. Stands to reason his head be as hard.”
Gideon climbed up on a chair for a better view. “Amazing,” he said. “But why is he still unconscious?”
“He’s moaned a few times. I ’spect he’ll come around soon,” Mrs. Plummer said placidly.
“Will you stitch it?” Gideon asked.
“Nay. Clay’s done better work. Just lint and a bandage.” She placed the lint on the wound, then pressed the cloth firmly over it, then wrapped and bound it around the man’s head.
James checked his pulse again. Still quick, but steady.
“May he stay here, Mrs. Plummer?” Gideon asked.
“Aye. I’ll have one of me girls stay with him till he wakes. And I hope youse don’t mind. I sent to Pomum fer clean clothes when you carried him upstairs. Should be here rightly. I’ve had a bath prepared in the next room.”
Gideon looked at her with surprise. “I didn’t—I mean I expected—”
James interrupted. “What my tongue-bound cousin is trying to say is he is accustomed to being judged lacking in more ways than his height.”
Mrs. Plummer shook her head. “Not in the village. We’ve seen you. Your actions speak fer you, milord. Yer a good man…Now git on with you. I’m a busy enough woman as it be. Git yer bath and be on about yer business. I’ll see to Davey.”