An extract from Chapter 3 of “Sacrifice”
Martha and her family at Plas Ingli are
having to come to terms with a series of brutal assaults on
men who have links with her estate. These assaults come out
of the blue, and those responsible appear to be highly efficient
and very sadistic……..
Is there no end to this? Another night, another
terrifying event. As I write, it is ten o‘clock in the
evening, and I have not slept a wink since one o’clock
this morning. I was fast asleep, and awoke with a start when
I heard the dogs barking furiously. I wondered what was going
on, and then I heard a clattering of hooves and a crunching
of wheels on gravel. Somebody was shouting “Open up! Open
up, for God’s sake!” and then I heard heavy footsteps
and a frantic hammering on the back door. When I got downstairs
in my dressing gown Mrs Owen had opened up, and Billy and Shemi
had already rushed outside to see what the fuss was all about.
One by one all the adults in the house appeared in the kitchen,
rubbing their eyes. A minute later the men came back inside,
carrying what looked like a corpse, with horror writ large on
their faces. It was Will Owen, my shepherd and Mrs Owen’s
son, covered in blood. They placed him on the kitchen table,
and they were followed into the kitchen by Tomos Huws Plain
Dealings, one of my labourers. “I found him on the Cilgwyn
road at midnight,” he moaned, slurring his words. “I
was coming home from town with the gambo. A bit of a night on
the town. Oh God, I wish I hadn’t drunk all that bloody
cider. I saw it was Will. Managed to get him on board, I did,
and then I came hell for leather up the road. Couldn’t
see nothing. It’s a bloody miracle we got here in one
piece.........” Then the poor man collapsed into a chair,
and Bessie had to take care of him.
Even before he had finished speaking Mrs Owen had taken control
of the situation. If Will had been my son I should have been
reduced to a snivelling heap on the floor in an instant; but
with tears streaming down her face she issued orders like a
general in the heat of battle. “He is alive. Billy, hot
water from the fire place! Shemi, get clean rags from the cupboard
under the stairs! Bessie, get the fire going properly! Mistress,
don’t just stand there -- help me get the clothes off
him! Grandpa, go and get Joseph from his room -- he is in no
state to attend to the injuries, but he will know what we must
do. Grandma, fetch the ointments from the medical chest!”
and so on.
So we frantically unbuttoned his jacket and his breeches and
pulled off his waistcoat, which was already unbuttoned. His
shirt and undergarment were so covered in blood that we had
to cut them off, and as we worked blood continued to pour from
a multitude of wounds. He moaned, and we took that as a good
sign. Within a minute or two, Mrs Owen and myself were also
covered in blood.
Then I realized that there were five small children standing
at the kitchen door which leads to the back passage. They had
all been awoken by the shouting and banging, and as soon as
they saw the bloody scene centred on the kitchen table, and
saw the fear on all of our faces, they all burst into tears.
“Mam!” wailed Betsi. “What’s happening?”
