Open Secrets - Chapter 1

Open Secrets Chapter 6

“Oh John, no,” Ann wailed.  John, not usually a man to admit to being wrong, hung his head shamefacedly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting her eye.

“Now we’ll have to run away again,” said Ann.

“Yes,” said John.

There was no need to argue or debate the point.  John had been caught riding out with the Daughters of Rebecca, attacking the tollgate on the road between Narberth and Haverfordwest.

He had escaped, he thought no one had recognised him.  He had been riding a borrowed horse, which he had returned to its owner, and had made his way back to the cottage on foot.  No one had come for him yet, and maybe they wouldn’t, but neither Ann nor John was prepared to risk the safety of their family. 

“We’d better pack up,” said Ann wearily.

“Ieuan the carter is taking a load of lime to Carmarthen tomorrow,” said John.  “He’s a good man  - he was on the raid with us, but he got away. We can get a ride with him I think.  Then we may be able to get another ride east.”

Ann was so angry.  She had grown to love her little house, her carefully tended garden, her new friends and the village which had now become home.  At first, they had been treated with suspicion, but by now, they had become more or less part of the scenery.  Little George was two now and this was the only home he had ever known.  It was too bad.

Ann rarely lost her temper, but now her green eyes flashed sparks at her husband.

“I’ll start packing,” she said, angrily, “It won’t take long.”

John had nothing to say.  He knew that his taste for adventure had got him into trouble again, and that he’d disrupted his whole family.  Yet, to be invited to join one of the raids on the detested toll-houses had been a mark of favour, a token of his acceptance by the other men in the village.  They thought they could trust him, he had been invited to join in, to dress in the rough skirts and mob cap of a woman, to black his face with charcoal, to ride out on the borrowed horse with a pitchfork and a hand axe and set fire to the toll house at PwllTrap.

It had been exciting too.  They had all gathered at Y Blaidd (The Wolf), which was the village alehouse.  Dai Prodger had brought an armful of skirts, shawls and head coverings.  Trying them on and disguising themselves as “The Daughters of Rebecca” had been great fun, provoking plenty of ribaldry and raucous laughter.

“And they blessed Rebekah and said unto her, thou art our sister, be thou the mother of thousands of millions and let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate them,” shouted Dai Prodger.

“Come on,” cried Huw Williams,”I’ll be Rebecca!”  With which, he pulled a huge mob cap on over his mop of black curls.

“I am Rebecca,” he shouted, jumping up onto the table and brandishing a pichfork he had seized from the  corner of the room.  He bent down, cupping his hand against his ear, as if he was an old woman, hard of hearing. “What is this my children? “  he pointed dramatically at an imaginary toll house. “There is something in my way. I cannot go on."

John, Dai and the others shouted back at him,: "What is it, mother Rebecca? Nothing should stand in your way," and they banged the table, stamped their feet and crashed their chairs against the flagged floor.

 "I do not know my children. I am old and cannot see well,"  cried Huw, bending down low like a stooped old lady.  This illusion was somewhat spoiled by his huge hairy muscular arms, which protruded at least a foot below the sleeves of his lace trimmed over-dress.