Page 72 of The Uprising
St. Mary’s Abbey, York, 1536 - Tudorville
George stared out of the window at the wildflower garden, wondering how long being locked in this room was to be his fate. He knew Cara would be frantic with worry, and he had no way of letting her know he was alive, never mind where to find him.
He only hoped that the Duke of Norfolk would realise he’d gone missing and would notify the king. Perhaps the army would storm the abbey and rescue him, but it was unlikely they knew where he was. He could see two guards standing by the wall which surrounded the garden. Apparently, someone considered him to be of value.
There was a knock on the door and in walked the monk who had brought him bread and water on the previous day. The monk entered with a similar meagre offering in a wooden bowl and laid it down on the low table, along with a small cup of ale. St. Mary’s was a wealthy establishment, but the room may as well have been a prison cell. It was cold and sparsely furnished; lacking any comfortable features.
‘Thank you,’ he said to the monk, nodding graciously. George thought it unlikely the monk had any say in the matter of his imprisonment. The rebels had probably threatened to kill him and his fellow monks if they didn’t comply with their demands. So much for the pilgrims marching in protest against the Dissolution of the Monasteries. What an irony, George reflected; as was so often the case, people bent their morals to suit their will.
‘Do you know what they mean to do with me?’ George asked.
The monk who was dressed in a simple brown tunic, covered by a scapula which was draped artfully over his thin, bony shoulders, shook his head, and looked mournful as he pointed to his sealed lips.
As the monk turned to leave, George sighed and settled back onto the hard chair as he nibbled the coarse bread and sipped at the warm ale. He would savour his meal because it may be some time before the monk returned.
George stood, and his eyes strayed to the window and studied the grounds once again, seeking an escape route in case he could find a way to break out. As his eyes wandered around the garden; a tall, well-built man wearing a sumptuous cloak and fine riding boots entered through the gate and stood in the courtyard below the window holding the reins of a huge shiny black stallion. After some discussion with one of the rebel-guards, the man looked up at the window. His eyes clashed with George’s like bolts of lightning. Undaunted, George held his hostile stare until the man turned away, an arrogant smile on his lips. George sensed he must show no weakness; no sign he was intimidated. Who was this force of nature with the bright blue eyes, and what did he want from him?
Rose Cottage, York - Present day
George thrashed around in bed, and Cara, unable to ignore his restlessness any longer, sat up and reached out to gently prod his arm.
‘Darling! Are you okay?’
George’s eyes peeled open. ‘Yes, yes, I’m asleep.’
‘Well, you could have fooled me. You’re thrashing about all over the place...and muttering too.’
George sat up and rubbed his sleepy, bloodshot eyes. ‘I was having some kind of nightmare about that bloody man with the bright blue eyes you keep talking about.’
‘What did you see? Perhaps it can help us in some way. Sylvia says that dreams are often visions and can give people access to their past lives but they don’t realise at the time and so they overlook their meaning.’
‘I was in a cell-like room and a monk entered with a bowl and a cup of ale. I saw a wildflower walled garden and then this blue-eyed bigshot arrived and stared at me through the window, as though he despised me and wished me dead.’
‘That’s just like what Sylvia saw in her vision.’
‘Exactly, which makes me think I’m probably just dreaming about what she told us. That reading was certainly disturbing enough to give me nightmares. I’m in no rush to go back to see her.’
Cara stroked George’s arm. ‘Think carefully, darling. Was there anything else you remember that might help us figure out where the rebels are holding you. We must get to you as soon as possible.’
George flicked his fingers across his dawn stubble and said, ‘There was something.’
‘Yes?’
‘There was a Latin bible and one of the front pages was inscribed with a name. I think I read it at night to pass the time a bit.’
‘Gosh, you must have been bored to resort to reading Latin scriptures.’
‘Quite, although if it really was a vision, I imagine I would have been somewhat more God fearing in those days. Perhaps I was praying for our lives.’
‘What was the name in the bible?’
George screwed up his eyes. ‘I’m trying to think. I can see the words but can’t quite make out what they say.’
‘Damn,’ said Cara. ‘That would have led us to exactly where you are, so Eddie and I can figure out a way to rescue you before it’s too late.’
Cara yawned and stretched. ‘I know this is an emergency, but I’m exhausted and can’t think straight. Do you mind if I try to sleep for a few more hours? I’ll be much more use in the morning.’
George eased himself out of bed, bent down to kiss her, and tucked her in. ‘It was five-hundred years ago, so I dare say it can wait a couple more hours. You sleep, my darling. I’m wide awake now. I’ll go downstairs for a cup of tea and come back up to check on you later.’
