Gómez came after Ebrima, obviously intending to hit him again. Carlos grabbed the captain from behind, trying to restrain him. Gómez was now enraged and out of control. He struggled. Carlos was strong, but Gómez was stronger, and he fought free of Carlos’s grasp.
Then, with his good hand, he drew his dagger.
Barney now joined in. He and Carlos tried desperately to restrain Gómez while Ebrima struggled to his feet, still dazed. Gómez threw off both his assailants and stepped towards Ebrima, raising his knife arm high in the air.
Barney realized fearfully that this was no longer a mere tavern brawl: Gómez was intent on murder.
Carlos made a grab for Gómez’s knife arm, but Gómez batted him sideways with a sweeping blow of his iron-handed arm.
But Carlos had delayed Gómez for two seconds, just enough time for Barney to draw his own weapon, the two-foot-long Spanish dagger with the disc-shaped hilt.
Gómez’s knife arm was high in the air, his iron hand extended outwards for balance. His front was undefended.
As Gómez brought his knife down, aiming for the exposed neck of the dazed Ebrima, Barney swung his dagger in a wide arc and stabbed Gómez in the left side of his chest.
It was a lucky stroke, or perhaps a very unlucky one. Although Barney had swung wildly, the sharp double-edged steel blade slipped neatly between Gómez’s ribs and penetrated deep into his chest. His roar of pain ended abruptly after half a second. Barney jerked out the blade, and a gush of bright red blood came out after it. He realized the blade had reached Gómez’s heart. A moment later Gómez collapsed, his knife falling from limp fingers. He hit the floor like a felled tree.
Barney stared in horror. Carlos cursed. Ebrima, coming out of his daze, said: ‘What have we done?’
Barney knelt down and felt Gómez’s neck for a pulse. There was none. The blood had stopped pumping from the wound. ‘Dead,’ Barney said.
Carlos said: ‘We’ve killed an officer.’
Barney had stopped Gómez murdering Ebrima, but that would be difficult to prove. He looked around the room and saw that the witnesses were leaving as fast as they could go.
No one would bother to investigate the rights and wrongs of this. It was a tavern brawl and an enlisted man had killed an officer. The army would have no mercy.
Barney noticed the owner of the tavern giving instructions, in the West Flemish dialect, to a teenage boy who hurried away a moment later. ‘They’ll be sending for the city guard,’ Barney said.
Carlos said: ‘The men are probably stationed in the city hall. In five minutes we’ll be under arrest.’
Barney said: ‘And I’ll be as good as dead.’
‘Me, too,’ said Carlos. ‘I helped you.’
Ebrima said: ‘There’ll be scant justice for an African.’
Without further discussion they ran to the door and out into the marketplace. Behind a cloudy sky, the sun was setting, Barney saw. That was good. Twilight was only a minute or two away.
He shouted: ‘Head for the waterfront!’
They dashed across the square and turned into Leiestraat, the street that ran down to the river. It was a busy thoroughfare in the heart of a prosperous city, full of people and horses, loaded handcarts, and porters struggling under heavy burdens. ‘Slow down,’ Barney said. ‘We don’t want everyone to remember which way we went.’
At a brisk walk they were still somewhat conspicuous. People would know they were soldiers by their swords. Their clothes were mismatched and unmemorable, but Barney was tall, with a bushy red beard, and Ebrima was African. But it would soon be night.
They reached the river. ‘We need a boat,’ Barney said. He could handle most types of craft: he had always loved sailing. There were plenty of vessels in sight, tied up at the water’s edge or anchored in mid-river. However, few people were foolish enough to leave a boat unprotected, especially in a city full of foreign troops. All the larger craft had watchmen, and even small rowing boats were chained up with their oars removed.
Ebrima said: ‘Get down. Whatever happens, we don’t want people to see.’
They knelt down in the mud.
Barney looked around desperately. They did not have much time. How long would it be before the city guard began to search the riverside?
They could free a small boat, breaking the attachment of chain to wood, but without oars they would be helpless, drifting downstream, unable to steer, easy to catch. It might be better to swim to a barge, overcome the watchman, and raise the anchor, but did they have time? And the more valuable the craft, the more intense would be the pursuit. He said: ‘I don’t know, maybe we should cross the bridge and take the first road out of town.’
Then he saw the raft.
It was an almost worthless vessel, just a dozen or so tree trunks roped together, with a low shed in which one man might sleep. Its owner stood on deck, letting the current carry him, using a long pole to steer. Beside him was a pile of gear that looked, in the twilight, like ropes and buckets that might have been used for fishing.
