‘Paul it is then. You remember Paul don’t you Toby?’
‘I do, and I like him, does that mean I am coming with you?’
‘I suppose it does, but by God you had better stay safe.’
I wanted to hug him, I wanted to hug them both, but instead I just smiled. That, it seemed, was enough to let them know just how I was feeling. All I could think to say was, ‘Thank you my Lord… thank you both.’
Thomas disappeared and returned a few minutes later with Paul Cullum.
‘I have a job for you Sir Paul.’
‘No task is too large my Lord.’
‘You may think otherwise when you hear what I ask of you. I want you to make Toby into a warrior as good as yourself.’
‘How long have I got my Lord?’
‘Perhaps until the end of the year.’
‘I accept your challenge,’ he said, and then he looked at me and winked. ‘Meet me in the hay barn tomorrow morning at eight, bring any weapon you have and don’t be late.’
***
I was not too pleased at having to give up my small attic room at Noordeinde for a room a few miles down the road at Breda, which no doubt I will have to share with Thomas.
My bijou attic room was the one place I had come to think of as my own, a little bolthole where I could think, study and plan without any distractions. What made me feel even worse was that my room was not going to be used, I was told it was going to be locked up and forgotten.
As a little childish and meaningless protest, I left the room exactly as it was with my journal on the table by the window and my personal treasures in my leather bag under the bed. I closed the door and locked it keeping the key on a cord around my neck.
Anne could not understand why it was necessary for me to move at all.
Since her engagement to the son of a French Count I had noticed a change in her that disturbed me: she was not the same happy, fun-loving person she once was, she didn’t laugh and joke anymore, she seemed insecure and became more and more dependent on me. And now I was leaving.
It was only a few miles to Breda, and I was able to return to Noordeinde three or four times week, but whenever I was there she wanted to be by my side. I was more than happy to give her the comfort she obviously needed… but what was she going to be like when I had to leave for Scotland? There was a good chance I may never return.
Louis was more concerned at me being given weapon training and going off to war at only eleven years old, than Anne’s mood changes.
‘I could get you a permanent job here as a stable boy, why don’t you stay?’ he said.
A tempting offer but one I could not accept.
‘I guess it’s a matter of loyalty. I owe everything to King Charles. If I chose not to go with him it would feel like a betrayal.’
‘Well if you do go to war, keep your head down, keep out of trouble and come back safely.’
***
Paul is average height with broad shoulders and strong arms, he is about thirty years old and apart from a small well-groomed moustache, he is clean shaven.
The barn is a massive wooden building used for storing tools, machinery, feed and bedding for the horses, it is also the home of a small menagerie of animals, most of which are pets for the children of the house.
‘Who gave you this sword?’
‘Thomas Hudson sir.’
‘What about a small blade, do you have a dagger?’
‘No sir.’
‘Well this sword is far too heavy for you, and you should always carry a dagger in your stocking or in your boot, like this one,’ he said showing me his own dagger with a six inch blade. ‘And I would prefer to be called Paul. That’s my name, not sir. Now, show me how you hold the sword.’
How many ways can there be to hold a sword I thought.
‘You would have better control of the weapon if you held it this way,’ he said as he adjusted my fingers.
‘Tomorrow I will bring a selection of smaller swords and some knives, but for now we will just go through some of the basics in defence and attack.’
He removed his sword, laying it lightly on the ground, and sat down on a bale of hay. I sat beside him.
‘Because of your age and stature you would be immediately at a disadvantage if confronted by a fully grown man. Of course all that will change in a few years as you grow taller and heavier, and despite that obvious disadvantage all would not necessarily be lost, because you are young, fit and have more stamina and probably more speed than an older man. So we will start by working on your speed, which is another reason why you need a smaller weapon.
‘Tomorrow I will bring a selection of swords and together we will choose the one most suitable.
‘Now tactics. Only fools rush in, a wise man takes a little time to check out his opponent. Never assume you are in control or that he is tiring even if he falls to the ground, your challenger may be feigning. I have seen a man pretend to fall down with exhaustion and then as his opponent moves in for the kill, strikes him down with one swing of his sword across the back of his legs.
‘A big man when fighting a smaller one will always attempt to get in close. Try to keep him at a distance, that way it won’t be easy for him to grab hold of you because if he does, you won’t be able to swing your sword, and that could be disastrous. There again, the situation may not necessarily be lost. Not if you have a knife in your stocking, just a small dirk like mine could save your life.
‘You will have heard a lot about chivalry. Forget it, your adversary in battle wants to kill you so you must kill him first.
‘Is there anything you would like to ask me?’
‘How long will it take for me to defeat Thomas Hudson?’
Paul laughed and slapped me on the back.
‘Some say the pen is mightier than the sword, and if that were the case then there would be none more mighty than Thomas Hudson. But he is no fighter, and I can say with confidence that within a week, you would have no trouble in dispatching him in combat.’
‘I will tell him you said that.’
‘I think he already knows. Now go and enjoy yourself because tomorrow we will pick you out a new sword and get you started on the practical art of combat.’
With a new lighter sword and a six inch dirk permanently in my stocking, I worked every day (apart from the Lord’s Day) for at least one hour, concentrating on my fitness, technique and speed, and every day after training I was so physically exhausted I had to take rest time to recover… though I never admitted that to Paul.
After three months, Paul told me there was nothing more he could do for me until I was fully grown.
‘Remember what I have taught you and keep up with your fitness training, it will help to build up your muscles and strength. By the time you are eighteen years old I will wager that you will be a better swordsman than most of the soldiers in the king’s army.’
***
In April, 1649, two events changed the life of King Charles II. On the 9th April Lucy Walter gave birth to a son. Charles named him James Scott and bestowed on him the title of 1st Duke of Monmouth.
Two weeks later a delegation arrived at Breda from Scotland to discuss terms for an alliance.
The Scots quite obviously believing they held all the cards insisted on him accepting a covenant limiting his kingship in Scotland in return for their support.
Charles had no option but to accept, and plans for a summer assault against the Parliamentarian forces in Scotland were agreed.
The Scottish delegation returned home and Charles began preparations to move his meagre army out of Holland sometime in June.
That gave him just enough time to move his son from Rotterdam to Paris where he would be safe, and cared for by his mother. Lucy went with her baby and joined the dowager queen’s household as one of her ladies.
***
Living in Breda was not convenient for me, since every spare minute I had, I wanted to spend with my friends at Noordeinde Palace. That meant riding there on my own. Usually three or four times a week.
‘You will have to make this your last trip,’ Thomas informed me one day. ‘We will be sailing for Scotland on Sunday after church.’
That only gave me three days, and I was already having doubts about my decision to go to Scotland. I knew that staying at Noordeinde was out of the question, and I certainly did not want to return to London, but I was worried about leaving Anne.
When I broke the news she began to cry, and nothing I could do seemed to pacify her.
I remembered the first time I kissed her she was crying because her father had arranged her marriage to the son of a French Count.
That was my first ever proper kiss and it worked on her then, so for the second time I held her tightly in my arms and kissed her again.
This time it was somehow different. This time I was not embarrassed, but the kiss did stir in me a feeling I was unaccustomed to. I was confused but also excited. Is this what love is like? Surely not. I’m far too young for that nonsense.
Later I told Louis I had kissed her, how I was feeling about it, and how she reacted. ‘You will look after her for me won’t you?’
‘You have my word. But my concern is for you my friend. Remember what I told you. You are not a soldier and you will not be expected to fight, so just keep your head down and stay safe.’
***
It was early evening by the time our lines were released. I watched our departure from Breda, standing on the quarterdeck of the Prince Charles with Thomas by my side.
We watched in silence as our ships slowly drifted away from the harbour, where they had been moored for the last four months. We watched the sails unfold and the ships increase in speed until they were creating bow waves that hurried away toward the shore. We passed the island of Tiengemeten on our starboard side, and eventually steered a course to port, heading towards the narrow channel between England and the continent, just as the sun was slowly dropping into the sea.
‘I am deeply concerned at you being with us on this voyage. I truly believe I should have insisted on you returning to London.’
‘I would have refused,’ said I. ‘I was sort of offered a permanent job in the stables at Noordeinde if I had wanted it, but I chose Scotland.’
‘A choice you may come to regret,’ he said as he put a hand on my shoulder and guided me to our stateroom.
The following morning I was up early to watch the sunrise, the sea was calm and the temperature warm. I should have been feeling happy but my thoughts were with Anne Huxley. Her best friend had gone to war perhaps never to return, and in less than four years’ time she was to marry a man she despised. Perhaps I should have taken the job Louis offered me at Noordeinde. But life is about making choices, choices that change the direction of your life, and I knew in my heart that going with Thomas and Charles was the right thing to do.
I couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive about the voyage through the North Sea, remembering as I did the sickness that made me feel like death on the journey to Jersey just a few months ago.
But the sea was a little kinder this time, not what you would call a flat calm but neither was it rough and stormy.
There was little for me to do on the journey to Scotland but read my books, or reflect on the past.
Why did I promise to propose to Anne I asked myself? I have no idea how long this campaign will last or if I will even live to tell the tale, and if I do survive there is no guarantee I will return to The Hague.
Whatever fate has in store for me, I will always remember Anne… and Louis too.
I sat watching roughly a hundred soldiers being drilled on the deck, and wondered which, if any, I might beat in a sword duel. I decided the answer was none, so I wandered back to my cabin and cleaned my new sword and knife for the hundredth time. I then packed it away and slipped the knife back into the sheath I had fixed to the inside on my right boot, and was just about to take another walk around the deck when Thomas came in with a box under his arm.
He had realised I was bored and decided to teach me how to play chess. I had seen others play many times, but it was not a game I thought would interest me. However, I was wrong. Played on a checkers-board it’s a game that needs thought and concentration, and a game I came to love… though I can never recall a single time that I managed a win over Thomas.
We sailed past England, roughly ten miles off the coast of East Anglia, on the second night we were sailing without navigation lights just in case the coast was being patrolled by Cromwell’s navy, but we saw nothing but an odd flicker of a light somewhere near the Suffolk town of Lowestoft.
Playing chess with Thomas was the ideal way to pass away the time, and before I realised, it was the first week in July and we had arrived at our destination. The seaport of Kirkcaldy. Apparently, not our preferred choice of anchorage but we dare not sail up the Firth of Forth for fear of being trapped by Cromwell’s army, ten miles away across the Firth of Forth in Edinburgh.
Travelling on foot our small army moved westward to Dunfermline where we joined forces with Alexander Leslie, the commander of the Scottish army who were still in control of all lands north of the Forth.
When we arrived in Dunfermline, King Charles became engaged in an unwelcome but unavoidable meeting with Lord Archibald of Argyll, a fanatical and difficult man who demanded even more power and more religious freedom for the Scots. With time running out and with little to bargain with, Charles had no option but to once again yield. But the price he had to pay was high, he had to accept a covenant limiting kingship in Scotland.
With a tenuous alliance now agreed, the Scots joined the English army and together in a surprise attack, defeated the Parliamentary army at Dunbar. Charles now had an important foothold, south of the Forth.
Thomas and I had been kept well away from the fighting, which suited me fine. I had never considered myself to be a soldier or had any aspirations to be one, I was nevertheless delighted by the outcome but somewhat surprised we stopped at Dunbar.
‘Why would we stop here in Dunbar when we were in complete command of the situation?’ I asked Thomas. ‘Should we not be driving home our advantage, and chase Cromwell’s Roundheads out of Scotland altogether?’
‘I am not the person you should be asking, but I do agree there appears to be a reluctance to continue further. Apparently, the king’s commanders seem content to dig in and maintain the status quo, here in Dunbar.’
I was only a boy but I could make no sense of it. Cromwell’s commanders were just a few miles away, and for all we knew were recruiting men and making plans to regain their lost ground.
Christmas passed with nothing more than a service and prayers at the local church. But on the 1st January, 1650, in Scone, Charles was proclaimed King of England, Scotland and Ireland, and later we received news that the same had happened on the Isles of Scilly and the Isle of Man.
It was now over a year since we had landed in Scotland and I was becoming tired and restless. Christmas had come and gone again, and also my twelfth birthday in May. It was an important milestone to me, but no one knew or cared. Though I was pretty certain my friends back in London and The Hague had remembered and would be thinking of me. I was missing Anne and wishing I had taken the job of a stable boy of Noordeinde Palace while I had the chance.
With just one small battle won, Charles’s army were encamped permanently in Dunbar with Cromwell’s men just a few miles away in Edinburgh Castle.
I liked the east coast of Scotland, and loved watching the seals watching me. The countryside was beautiful and the natives friendly, but it wasn’t like being back home with my friends. I was bored and I think our soldiers were feeling the same. There had been a few minor skirmishes and posturing by Cro
mwell’s men, but nothing serious. That was until one night in the summer, when during the night, George Monck, the commander of the English army in Scotland, outflanked us, cutting us off from the Firth of Forth, and separating us from most of our Scottish allies in the north, and also our ships.
A hastily arranged council of war was convened, and it was decided that as we had no credible chance of regaining Dunbar, we should head south and attack Cromwell’s army in England, hoping and praying that we would gain support on the way.
Charles, as commander-in-chief, ordered the advance of what was left of his army, and some officers and men from Scotland.
***
We crossed the Scottish border into England on the 31st July. We had been followed all the way by one of Cromwell’s scouting party, but they never came close enough to cause us any concern. It was as if they were under orders just to make sure we had gone… to track over the border into England and then to report back to George Monck in Edinburgh.
The first town we came across was Penrith where Charles was proclaimed King of England. The locals were friendly and pleased to see their new king, but there was a positive reluctance to support him in any tangible way with money or men-at-arms. Only a few dubious looking young men wanting adventure joined us.
Our first major destination was the city of Carlisle where our hopes and aspirations were frustrated once again. Not surprisingly the locals were reluctant to offer help. The city had suffered badly at the hands of Cromwell in the past and did not want to risk the same happening again.
The castle doors were kept firmly shut and the cannons (though never fired) were pointing in our direction, everyone without exception wished us luck and a few gave us parcels of food.
We witnessed similar reactions in Preston and Manchester, which had always in the past been traditionally Royalist strongholds, also in many other towns and cities on our way south. Everyone wishing us luck, sometimes gifting us with food and drink, but very little in the way of physical support with men prepared to fight for the cause.
The reality of our predicament was obvious. We were no longer an army of liberation but an army in retreat and an army reducing in size with every passing day as soldiers deserted… melting away in the night like snow in the sun.
Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart Page 12