The Red King's Horror

1. October 1702-4

As they made their way up and out of the swamps and onto higher ground, last night's rain and sleet had turned to snow, making the going a little harder. The snow had turned the landscape into a fairy wonderland, a fact not lost on superstitious Patsy, who saw ogres and hobgoblins everywhere. Patsy hadn't felt safe since coming to America two years before with Sir James. As a servant on Sir Richard Wilson's estate, he had been a coach footman. Sir Richard had sent Patsy along with his son to be his servant and "To guard Sir James back," as he put it. Patsy had been happy living in Sussex and had never wanted to leave the Manor house to which he was born to the head butler and Lady Wilson's chamber maid, but such was life. He found the New World primitive, hostile, dangerous and never ending. He had traveled further with Sir James than his entire family combined for the last thousand years. But as a good servant Patsy was willing to follow Sir James into Hell if that's where he led.

When they arrived at the Appleby Inn, Sir James sent Patsy in for a couple of bottles of the French wine, then immediately rode on, not wishing to stay the night with what might be hostile natives encamped at the Inn. Sir James was taking no chances with his prisoners. He wanted that Captaincy. The Captaincy that might send him back to England. The Captaincy that would make his father the General proud. The Captaincy that would assure him a better command. No, these two poor wretches had a date with the hangman and nothing would stop him from his duty or this opportunity, so on they rode.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon they found themselves being watched by someone or something from the shadow of the woods. Immediately Patsy's mind turns to monsters and other horrors. About an hour later, Sir James called a halt and, pulling his pistols, told the Corporal to remain with the prisoners and bade Patsy follow him into the woods. After riding for ten minutes, the horses started to shy and soon, the reason was apparent. A large she bear had been following, no doubt waiting for sunset to attack. As they dismounted and Sir James gave Patsy his reins to hold, she charged. Sir James' aim was steady and true, his first shot hitting her in the head, but the ball bounced harmlessly off her thick skull. At this point Patsy had started to panic when Sir James sent his second shot from his other pistol, clean through her left eye. She rolled in a ball and flopped dead at Sir James' feet. Sir James was elated; he turned to the frightened Patsy and said, "Great sport Patsy, I wonder if there are any more?" He said this to himself, as Patsy had fainted.

As Sir James admired his prize, the now awake Patsy began to cut three thick steaks out of the back of the carcass. By the time this was done, they returned to the road to camp for the night, leaving the rest of the bear to rot in the forest. The Corporal already had the Pokanokets tied to a tree, had built a roaring fire built and was talking to a family of immigrants freshly arrived from England. They were on their way to Providence, where a cousin lived, to build a mill on the Blackstone River. When the Lieutenant arrived, he bade them stay the night and offered his hospitality to one and all. When they offered to fix the meal, Sir James wouldn't hear of it, explaining his recent kill and saying there was meat enough for all. As the Corporal began to cook the steaks, Sir James sent Patsy back to the carcass to cut off half a dozen more. So as the sun set and the moon rose, Patsy timidly made his way back into the woods to butcher the bear.

Once again Patsy's mind worked overtime. Imagining a new terror behind every tree and bush. There was nothing there, of course, but Patsy didn't care. He soon found the bear and began to cut more steaks. When he looked up from his work, he was staring into the bright blue eyes of a very large timber wolf. Very gingerly he picked up his knife and the sack where he had placed the steaks. He stood and made motions toward the wolf to shoo, go away. This only made the wolf bare his teeth, to which Patsy began to back up. Slowly at first, then turning, Patsy beat a hasty retreat back to the road. Had there been someone with a stopwatch, Patsy would have broken all records covering the measured mile in just under 4 minutes. The wolf just smiled.

After a hearty meal, the first that Patsy had eaten since leaving Plymouth, they sat around the fire listening to Sir James' adventures in the New World and drinking the French wine. Just out of their vision, a pair of bright blue eyes watched all night long from the bush.

Once again at first light they were off and within a couple of hours, they came to the first outlying farmsteads, and a couple of hours later, they came at last to Plymouth. As they made their way through town towards the military headquarters, they were soon followed first by children, then by adults and barking dogs, so by the time they arrived, they were leading a parade. As the Sergeant of the guard arrived to take charge of the prisoners, Sir James dismounted and entered Sir Charles's house to make his report to the captain.

"Good to see you back so soon, Sir James," said Sir Charles. "Good hunting, I take it?"

"Yes, sir, Sir Charles. I've brought you two birds in the bag for your entertainment. One was wearing Corporal Stuart's great coat. There can be no doubt they're guilty as sin."

"Damn fine show, Sir James. When you've rested, give me your report and you can go off to New York to Colonel Whites for a well-earned promotion. But first, let us gnaw a bone together and make some space in my wine cellar. What say ye, sir?"

Sir James spent the rest of the day eating and drinking with Sir Charles and reliving old days on the playing fields of Eaton. He entertained Sir Charles with his bear hunt story and the capture of the two Pokanokets. It was well passed mid-night when he staggered back to his quarters on the arm of Patsy, who had been busy unpacking Sir James’s property and putting it all away. Patsy put Sir James to bed and, as he was leaving, was called back by Sir James before he passed out, saying, "Oh, by the way, Patsy, don't bother unpacking. We leave for New York on the morrow."

Alderman had been sleeping, a deep, deep sleep that can only be brought by the devil rum. Whether or not he had dreams, he didn't remember. In fact, there was little to remember after the rising of the moon. The moon before, what the whites called the harvest moon. The first full moon since the harvest would rise tomorrow and from this deep sleep came the blinding knowledge that when it did, he would die.

Alderman's eyes went wide open, his mouth already forming the scream that would soon issue forth and rock the surrounding woods. He reached out his hands and slashed out at the air. Then sanity returned and he tried to calm his racing heart. Just another dream he thought, he told himself it was true and for a moment, he believed this lie. For a moment, he thought all was well, just more bad medicine in his dreams, nothing more.

He wanted to believe this, but deep down, something was screaming OH NO!

He couldn't remember if he heard them or saw the color of the moon first, but from that point on in his mind, he knew the end was near and his death and life afterwards were something from a nightmare. The Great Spirit was sending someone for him, someone to take him to hell. He had no doubt whom the Great Spirit had chosen to be his Avatar. He had seen Metacom every night for a month. Legend foretold what would happen to Alderman with the touch of Metacom. He had betrayed his people and had caused the death of many innocents, for which he would now repay his debt in full. He would suffer the fate of one and all, not just the dream of the pain, the horror, the death and agony, but he would relive in reality everyone. Time after time he would be reborn to be tortured, then die only to be reborn to suffer and die again and again until only the Great Spirit knew when. His treason to his people would be repaid in full.

Over on the left he saw a great gray timber wolf that he knew to be the host of the Great Spirit. The voices he had been trying to ignore were beginning to push their way into his conscious mind alderman ... alderman ... alderman ... NO, he screamed. He had to take control. He knew of the madness from drinking the white man’s rum. That brought strange visions and madness. These voices and visions brought on by the drinking, nothing more ... alderman ... alderman. He ran at full speed through the woods dodging trees until he was almost blinded by a pine branch as he ran headfirst into an oak tree and knocked himself out.

Alderman had escaped the Pokanokets for a while. Between the dreams and the collision with the oak, Alderman's conscious brain shut down and he was lost far beyond the land of dreams. It was only when the sun bore down on his eyes did Alderman return.

He awoke with a start and immediately felt the pain from the tree and the ensuing headache. He tried to open his eyes, but one was swollen shut. When he touched his face, he felt clotted blood along one side and winced from the touch. He cursed the gods, then the white man, then himself. Alderman reached for his jug and found it broken, along with two of his ribs where he had fallen on the jug. He winced when he touched the ribs and found a piece of crockery stuck in his skin. He pulled it out with a howl and when he was silent, he heard them calling his name alderman ... alderman ... alderman ... and when he looked around behind him, he saw them in their thousands, a half hours walk away and coming his way.

He got to his feet and, as quickly as he could, began heading out of the forest, eastward towards the coast. All that morning he ran and all that morning they followed, coming closer and closer. The great gray wolf still flanking him and with the people coming closer and closer. Now he could just barely walk; every breath brought terrible pain from his broken ribs, his ceaseless headache, the half-broken teeth from the oak tree brought shooting pain, throbbing, throbbing till he surely must go mad. And the voice of the people was getting louder, getting nearer Alderman ... Alderman ... Alderman...

He had been looking over his shoulder when he came to the riverbank and didn't see it until he had already begun to trip and roll down the bank into the swift current. Into the current he was swept far down the river and only came to rest on a sand bar just short of the ocean. He coughed and sputtered great amounts of river water until he exhaled more air than water and could rise to his feet and slip and slide up the riverbank. He suddenly realized he knew his location. For he saw the bridge over this river just a few hundred paces ahead. As he made the top of the bank and had turned to walk to the bridge, he heard the people's voices again. A half-hour behind but no more, he had gained back this morning run from the river, but he wouldn't last long unless he could get a horse.