That deep in the forest there was little sunlight and suddenly there was none at all. The storm that swept in from the Atlantic blackened the sky and shook the trees. Within seconds, rain was falling in torrents and Thomas was soaked. Water was pouring down the path, turning it to mud and making each step treacherous. Trying to shelter was futile, so he just stood to one side and waited for it to pass.
When it did, he set off again very cautiously. He was wet, he was tired, he was heading back where he had come from and if the brutes got their hands on him, he was dead. He did not want to make matters worse by slipping and turning an ankle.
But at a place where the path turned sharply, he did slip. His feet went from under him and he slid on his backside across the bend and into the undergrowth. The bushes slowed him and he came to a halt a few yards off the path. He got to his feet but his left ankle immediately gave way. He lost his footing and was on his backside again, slipping down the hill. Without warning, the ground under him disappeared and he was bouncing down a stony slope. He flailed about with his hands to find something to hold on to, found nothing and kept on going down. By this time he was flat on his back. His head hit a rock and when he finally came to a stop he was unconscious.
Had it not been for the arrival of another storm, Thomas might have lain there unconscious for hours. He came to when rain began to fall on his face. Water gushed down the hill, bringing debris and mud with it, and he was struck by branches and stones. He lay curled up on his side, his hands protecting his head, until the storm passed.
When he tried to stand he found that his ankle had swollen to twice its normal size, he was bruised all over and he could not focus his eyes. He seemed to be at the bottom of a deep gully, its walls rising steeply on either side and with a vertical cliff face in front of him, but that was more sensation than sight. Trying to focus on the slope he had tumbled down, he saw vaguely that it was the least steep of the gully sides and would offer some handholds in the form of rocks and shrubs. Ankle or no ankle, it had been his way in and it would have to be his way out.
It would be foolish to attempt the climb before his vision cleared, so he sat on the sodden ground, rubbed the ankle and waited. He felt all the parts of his body that he could reach to make sure that no bones had been broken. There seemed to be only cuts and bruises, although some were painful.
When at last he could focus his eyes the light was beginning to fade. In Barbados there was very little dusk and it would soon be dark. At the bottom of this gully in the middle of the forest, neither stars nor moon would shed much light. Despite a throbbing ankle and an aching head, he must try to climb out.
Using a tree as a support, he stood up and hobbled to the base of the slope. Very cautiously he started to climb. One step up, grab a rock or a bush and heave himself a foot higher. Repeat the process and repeat it again. It was slow and tiring and after five minutes he had climbed no more than ten feet. When he looked up, it was too dark to see the top of the gully and he knew he was not going to make it. One step down, reach for a handhold and lower himself foot by foot until he was back where he had started. Ten feet up and ten feet down, hurting and exhausted. The tiny frogs began to whistle and clouds of insects rose from the ground. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night in the gully.
And so it was. When dawn at last broke, there had been rain, insects and pain. Of sleep or food there had been none. Using a fallen branch as a crutch, he struggled to his feet and examined himself. His arms and legs were decorated with a patchwork of bites and bruises, he could not say which part of his body hurt the most and he was ravenous.
And there was, of course, the little matter of the brutes. Even then, having searched in vain in Speightstown and Holetown, they might be climbing the hill after him, whips in hand and thirsting for blood. He had knocked red brute down and humiliated him. He had run away. There would be no mercy. They would kill him and make up some story about his catching a fever. His corpse would be thrown to the dogs. They would laugh as they watched it being torn apart and devoured.
Enough, Thomas. They have not found you yet. Get out of this gully alive and you might yet survive. You must survive. If you do not, neither will Margaret, Polly and Lucy. And be quick about it.
He began the climb again. A step at a time, favouring the swollen ankle and carefully testing each rung of his ladder before trusting his weight to it, he made steady progress to a point about halfway up, where he held on to a sapling and paused for a rest.
But for the birds, the forest was silent. Taking a deep breath, he continued to climb and had almost reached the top when he glanced up and saw a face watching him. He missed his footing and slid down a few feet, scrabbling for a hold with his fingers and luckily coming to rest on the stump of a fallen tree. A shaft of pain shot through his ankle and he cursed. Then he looked up again and laughed. The monkey was still watching. Then it ran off. Probably gone to fetch his friends, thought Thomas.
He started to climb again and took care not to look up until he reached the top. When he did, he lay on his stomach, catching his breath and wishing his ankle would stop throbbing. Eventually he picked up another branch and set off slowly down the path. It was still treacherous and he took great care. Another slip and another gully might well finish him off.
When he came to the palm trees, he split another coconut and ate its flesh. Where the path forked, he turned up the left-hand path, offering a silent prayer to any god who might be listening that it would lead him to the Lytes’ estate. He had not gone far, however, when his eyes refused to focus. No amount of blinking or rubbing helped and his legs began to feel heavy. He knew something more than a twisted ankle was wrong and sat down with his back to a tree. His eyes closed and he slid to the ground.
When he came to, he was lying on a blanket. He struggled on to his elbows. He was in a clearing in the forest where a circle of men and women were sitting cross-legged on the ground, eating, drinking and laughing. Every one of them was naked. Thomas sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked again. About twenty of them, chatting happily and not a stitch of clothing between them. Something stirred in his memory. The little parson in the Mermaid. Was it Mange? No, Strange. He had been talking about these people. Ranters, that was it, Ranters. His brain was fuddled and he could not recall if Ranters were dangerous or not.
They were not. When one of them noticed that Thomas was awake, he got to his feet, spread his arms in greeting and spoke in a clear, musical voice. ‘Good day, brother. I am Jacob, leader of this family. You will share our food. All are welcome to join the Ranters.’
When Thomas did not move, Jacob tried again. ‘Do not be afraid, brother, the ways of the Ranters are peaceful. Come and sit with us.’
Still Thomas did not move, so Jacob walked slowly towards him, arms outstretched, until he could take Thomas’s hand, help him to his feet and lead him into the group. Favouring his ankle, Thomas limped behind him. Every Ranter stood and held out a hand to touch the newcomer. Jacob helped him to sit in the shade of an old fig tree and a slim young woman with long black hair gave him a piece of bread and a fruit he did not recognize. He asked for water and was handed a leather flask. The Ranters sat around him, watching him eat and drink.
The water did a little to bring Thomas to his senses. He was still befuddled but gradually it dawned on him that he was not where he should be. He had lost his way, passed out and been found by these Ranters. They had given him food and water and they were friendly enough. He looked about. Roughly equal numbers of men and women, not in the least abashed at their nakedness, and perfectly happy to have a stranger amongst them. He wondered if he should take off his clothes, decided they would tell him if he should and sat quietly.