Adventure of Arus 1 - 18th Century Cornwall

Arus rides from Pendennis Castle beneath his plain cloak, the Viscount’s authorization sealed against his chest. The Viscount Guard remains behind with the evidence, clerks, and household authority.

By the time he reaches the empty countryside road, dusk stains the meadows violet. A mud-spattered cart blocks the bridge approach, one wheel sunk crookedly beside the parapet.

Its driver is a lean young adult woman in a weather-darkened green coat and red headscarf, with a narrow face, watchful eyes, and mud streaking both boots.

Mara points beneath the bridge, where fresh-cut stakes jut from the shallows and a plank lies broken across the crossing. Her cart blocks the obvious approach deliberately.

Beyond the rise, three distant riders appear against the fading sky. Mara grips her reins and glances toward the narrow marsh track, leaving Arus only moments to choose.

Mara’s eyes linger on Arus’s saddle, then flick toward the three riders cresting the rise. Her decision comes quickly, though her jaw tightens at the cart behind her.

She swings down from the cart and gathers her skirts clear of the mud. Beneath the canvas, sacks and a locked wooden chest make plain what she must abandon.

Mara slips the reins over her arm and steps toward Arus’s horse, ready to mount behind him. The cart remains crooked across the bridge approach, its valuable cargo exposed to the approaching riders.

Arus tears a stout length of rope from beneath the cart canvas while Mara throws back the covering. Together they drag the locked chest into the open mud.

Arus braces his shoulder beneath the chest and lifts with controlled force. Mara loops the rope around its corners, and his knots cinch the weight firmly against the saddle.

Mara takes the reins while Arus leads the loaded horse from the bridge approach. Behind them, the cart and its remaining sacks stand exposed as three riders descend the rise.

The pair enter the alder track together, the wooden chest secured between them and the darkening road ahead. Hoofbeats fade behind the reeds as the riders reach the abandoned cart.

Mara presses one hand against the chest as the horse picks its way through the alder mud. Beneath the canvas, the lock gives a faint metallic knock with every step.

Behind them, the distant riders reach the abandoned cart. One dismounts, and a sharp shout carries between the alder trunks as the search turns toward the track.

The horse tosses its head beneath the burden. Mud sucks at its hooves, while the riders’ voices draw nearer through the reeds and the locked chest knocks again.

Mara takes the reins and urges the burdened horse onward, choosing firmer hummocks between pools. Arus ranges behind and beside them, reading hoofprints, banks, and broken reeds while the pursuers close.

His keen eye catches the true bottleneck ahead: an old plank causeway squeezed between a steep reed bank and black water, barely wide enough for one horse and rider.

Mara drives the horse ahead toward the causeway, the silver-laden chest knocking softly under its canvas. Behind them, the distant riders enter the alders and follow the narrowing trail.

Mara urges the burdened horse onto the plank causeway. When horse and chest reach the far bank, Arus uncorks his oil lantern and pours a shining trail across the bridge’s center.

He reaches Mara’s side, strikes flint to steel, and touches the spark to the oil. Fire races along the planks, rising into a bright, wavering barrier.

Arus turns and runs. The causeway shudders beneath his boots, smoke streaming past his cloak, but he crosses cleanly before the timbers become a blazing inferno.

The three pursuing riders, three adult men in dark riding coats and brimmed hats, their weathered faces and gloved hands visible above the saddles rein hard before the flames. Their horses rear and refuse the burning throat, while smoke and deep black water deny any hurried crossing.

Mara leads Arus along the concealed path, and the loaded horse follows. The route emerges beyond the marsh, shortening their journey and placing the weigh-house within reach before night fully falls.

The fire consumes the causeway behind them. Smoke blankets the marsh, and the three riders remain trapped on the far bank, their shouts thinning beneath the crackle of burning timber.

Mara guides the horse along a sunken fishermen’s path. Reeds close behind them, swallowing hoofprints and cloak edges as dusk gathers over the marsh.

At the path’s crest, the land opens toward the trader’s road. A weathered sign points to the weigh-house, and beneath it a second track bears fresh wheel marks toward an unseen riverside loading yard.

Behind them, the burning barrier dwindles to a red smear through the reeds. No rider appears on the rise, while the fresh track offers a concealed approach and a clear lead toward the weigh-house.

Arus pauses beneath the sign and runs a practiced hand along the horse’s neck, flank, and legs. The animal is warm and breathing hard, but steady, with no dangerous lameness.

He checks the girth, rope, and canvas around the wooden chest. The knots remain tight, the weight balanced, and the lock sits firmly against the saddle without bruising the horse.

Mara’s wary expression cracks into a crooked smile. She shifts the reins carefully, giving the horse a gentler hand now that its condition and burden have been confirmed.

The lower track descends toward the hidden loading yard. Mara leads the horse onward, while the secured chest rides safely between them and the weigh-house waits beyond the fading light.