My Brother's Keeper

My Brother's Keeper - Norman A.Rubin

1805, the year of our Lord. Jubilation was in the air in the king's
realm; the news of a great naval victory off the coast of Spain had
been proclaimed. Yet, through the air of superiority of the might of
arms, there rumored a shocking report of a murderous act. The
disclosure was revealed and gossiped in tongues. It spoke of an
incident in the West County of death inflicted to its reigning Lord by
the hand of one of the king's brave men at arms.
Captain Martin Engle had no intentions to murder his elder brother
Charles. Those who had spoken through honest tongues emphasized that
the death came through accident. Others, with a bit knowledge, scoffed
by saying that the brutal act was through a fit of jealous rage.
Malicious rumours spun through the air with its speculations. All
agreed that envy was pronounced after a heated argument between the two
brothers that fateful night which sparked the murderous act. True, the
argument and the murder were of interest to the curious; but the
remembrance of the frightful event of devilish haunting which befell
after the act of murder, overshadowed their thoughts.
Captain Martin Engle chose the military, not of choice, but of the need
of a livelihood. His flamboyant Hussar uniformed appearance was of
upright bearing which emphasized his well-built body. Martin's features
showed the distinction of his command, from a thin upturned moustache
set above stern lips to the well-groomed black of his hair. His tired
and gaunt expression was the only signs of the hardships of fate that
he had to endure.
Throughout the passage of time in his majesty's realm the inheritance
of the title and property fell to the eldest son upon the death of the
reigning lord of the royal commissioned estate. The law, by king's
command, was fully applied and the elder brother Charles claimed the
right. Thus Captain Martin Engle, the younger, was left with a pittance
for an inheritance. A provision in the division of the will, indicated
that the captain may apply to the goodness of his brother Charles for
any allowance of monies that was kept in a small trust in his name. A
rift grew between the two brothers and only a thin veneer of gentility
hid the animosity between the two.
Captain Martin Engle's weaknesses were in the playing of cards and in
the admiration of a well-turned ankle. His luck in the deal was not
lucrative, and the cost of love for a pretty damsel was demanding; his
officer's pay was not ample to meet the needs. Thus, he had to turn to
his brother Charles for funds to meet his debts; a distastful task as
his considered his corpulent brother a rapacious country squire.
Captain Engle saw his brother Charles arrayed in the role from the silk
and soft wool of his dress to the correct manners of a wellborn.
That fateful night was one of howling rainy storm mixed with fury of
the flash of thunderbolts and the crashing peals of thunder. The
setting in nature's wrath pictured the two brothers in the library of
the large manor house set on the grounds of the Lord Engle estate. They
were engaged in their favourite habit - arguing for the release of
funds from the trust to cover Captain Martin's debts.
Charles, now gross from the pleasures of life through the years,
laughed with an inebriated glint in his squinty eyes, when there was
mention of monies needed. Flashes of lightning highlighted his slovenly
appearance and the fury of thunder punctuated his words. His face
reddened with mirth as he blurted out explosive words, "Money, there is
no money... the trust is empty, finished..." Derisive laughter, capped
with the roar of thunder, echoed throught the room.
Captain Martin Engle was stunned at the words, and he exclaimed that it
was not true. "You must be mistaken," he blurted out in an
argumentative rage. The more Martin raved, the more Charles laughed at
his plight, "No more money, poof goes the cards, whoosh goes the pretty
ones... Debtor's prison awaits you.."
The fury of the storm's drumming rain blew their temper in the open
grounds and added to the tension in the room. It pelted threatenly on
the glass-panelled doorway till it forced the opening of the lock.
Howling winds blew their rage into the salon and drove the covering
velveteen curtains into a devil's dance.
The shocked Captain reeled back by the derisive words uttered by his
brother in the drunken dregs of drink; the heated phrases gripped him
in the fear of ruin and debt. He shuffled backwards on trembly legs
till he felt the heat of the warm hearth; his feet tripped slightly
over the ornamental ironwork. Martin's nervous fingers gripped the
hardness of the stone shelf steadfastly; when his stance was assured,
he moved a few steps backwarwards till his feet touched the nearby
stand of bronze fire tools. His reached out to the implements and his
nervous fingers toyed with their hardness.
The thought of debt and ruination drummed feverishly throught his mind;
the mocking laughter only added to his misery. Martin screamed and
raved at his brother's mockery, but to no avail; the maddening laughter
and damning phrases, fueled by terrified pleas, increased in its
derision. Captain Engle grabbed a bronze poker in a fit of rage and
charged his mocking brother. A desperate fight ensued but the officer,
the stronger of the two, suceeded in driving the gripping bronze shaped
piece swift and hard on his brother's balding head.
The servant sounded murder when he entered the library at his duty;
candlelight was seen as it burnt dimly through the manor as the cry of
murder was echoed. Captain Martin Engle was forced by the terror of
discovery to flee from the scene of carnage. He quickly dashed through
the opened portal into the fury of the storm. The driving rain beat on
the cloth of his dress, thunder drummed the terror in his heart, and
the flashes of lightning pictured his desperate bid. Captain Engle
continued his flight by running breathlessly through the vast grounds;
at each step the soft mud sucked his boots, trying to hold him
steadfast.
Rumoured tongues from those who were witnesses told in frightened
tongues of ghosts that haunted the air that stormy night. It told of
the fugitive in the guise of the uniformed Captain Martin Engle
fleeing, under the fury of the elements, through the muddy fields.
Lightning bolts slashed brilliantly through the sky; the clamourous
roar of thunder deafened the air; the driving rain beat a drumming
tatoo. But the beleagured figure continued in his mad dash, slipping at
times by the wet of the ground.
Whether, it be true or false, the terrified tenants claimed that they
saw the fleeing figure chased by a herd of large black creatures,
larger that the hounds of hell. They yowled horribly as they sprang on
the fleeing figure trying to reach and claw its throat. Howl they
bayed; snarl they clamoured as they tried to ensnare their quarry with
their fangs. The fugitive tried, as he ran, to defend himself from the
furry creatures of hell, but the hellish brutes continued to tear his
body savagely despite his efforts.
They ghostly procession was followed by a bloody corpulent figure,
saddled on fiery black steed, luminous in the brilliance of the thunder
flashes. Flecks of spittle splattered the mouth of the beast as the
rider tugged mercilessly on its reins. The peasants knew the image of
the ghostly figure, which was featured with horribly bright eyes and
with blood flowing from the skin of his head. The tenants rumoured that
the mounted creature was calling out hideous peals of laughter. The
onlookers watched as the frightful chase dissappeared over the vale.
Some told in their terror-stricken tongues, that after the apparition
left their very sight, it was followed by a horrible deep-throated
scream.
The king's men, called in from their watch the following day, were told
of the act of murder and the unbelievable tale of the guilty fugitive's
flight from ghostly apparitions. Yet, they only accepted the words that
told of argument that led to the terrible deed, but discounted the tale
of the ghostly chase. Then, in curiosity, they searched the area noted,
but they found neither a sign or trace neither of Captain Martin Engle
nor of the ghostly appartitions. The ground, partly dried from the fury
of the storm, now tamed to threatening clouds, yielded no visible
prints from either from man or beast. The king's men did not agree to
the jumbled phrases of the tenants and put it down to superstitious
tongues. Yet, Captain Martin Engle never reported to his command nor
was he ever sighted. To the minions of the law, his disappearance was
put down to flight.
The funeral of Lord Charles Engle, after a delay in calling the
mourners, was conducted with all the pomp and trappings given a royal
citizen. The solemn day, clouded with threatening greyish black, called
in its holiness admist the gloom. Close friends and intimate members of
family with the prominent black band on the sleeves on their foppish
dress paid tribute; and the servile tenants doffed their caps. A king's
envoy was there together with a few noted figures of the royal sphere,
all bewigged and adorned. The bishop of the crown eulogized the
deceased, calling him a great man in the service for god and country.
Tears flowed and the gentility wiped their tears with the silk of their
handkerchiefs in the proper manner of their class.
As the elaborate casket was lowered solomenly into the ground, the
pulled sounds of the lowering ropes whispered the refrain of murder
Only those with rumoured tongues heard the damning word of the
straining ropes..,
Suddenly a scream arose from one of the mourners. A charming damsel,
shaking from the horror that met her sight, screamed as she pointed
with a tremulous finger to a small knoll that bordered near the
churchyard. All eyes turned in horror as they saw as an upright figure
in a torn and bloodied Hussar uniform; one of its bloody sleeves empty
of limb. He was marching on muddy booted feet making his way slowly and
painfully towards the burial site. A woman fainted, then another and
men gasped. They all gazed at the figure with its mangled face blinded
by a bloody eye, and whipped by the grey of his wild dishevelled hair.
The creature of the damned approached nearer and nearer....