“But you fear it will?”
He nodded. “I feel we shall meet.”
They walked a little further. How melancholy he looked.
“But you still believe, don’t you, in your cause?”
He stared at the ground moodily.
“Oh yes. Of course.”
Then he kicked another stone.
1644: OCTOBER
All that year in England, the balance of advantage swung from side to side.
At Sarum, the Royalists seemed to have triumphed. Local Parliamentary commanders – Hungerford, Baynton, Evelyn – either deserted, intrigued with the king, or were disgraced. Fifteen miles to the west, the gallant young Edmund Ludlow had finally had to give up the Arundels’ Catholic stronghold of Wardour Castle and yield it back to the Royalists. The strongholds were nearly all held for Charles.
But away in the north of England, where the Royalists had been so strong, the fearsome new army of Cromwell and Fairfax, using Prince Rupert’s cavalry methods but with their own iron discipline, together with the Presbyterian Scots had utterly crushed the Royalists at Marston Moor.
“We ran like rabbits in the end,” Nathaniel ruefully told his sister afterwards. “Parliament has the north now, and it bodes ill for the king.”
But in the south west, the Royalists were still strong. For although in June, Lord Essex and his Parliamentary army hurried through Sarum swearing boldly that they would crush the Royalists of the south west, only last month word came that Essex had capitulated in Cornwall.
There was constant movement.
To and fro across Wiltshire the various armies had gone: Parliamentary Ludlow and Waller, Royalist Goring.
Two days before the king himself had clattered through the city’s streets, leaving a strong force of artillery at the great house beside Clarendon Forest on the east side of Salisbury, and a large garrison at Wilton on the west. Margaret had heard he was coming, and, curious, made her way down to the city, taking little Samuel with her.
“See,” she told him as the long cortege of horses went by, “right or wrong, there is the king.” And although he was only four, Samuel always remembered the tired-looking man with the fine, oval face and long nose who rode thoughtfully down the high street.
Nathaniel was at Wilton.
But it was not Nathaniel she found at the farm on her return.
It was Edmund.
She had not seen him for nearly two years. He had changed so much that for a moment, she scarcely recognised him. His hair which, like most of the gentlemen, including Cromwell, in the Parliamentary forces, he wore long before, had now been cut to the short fringe that gave the Roundheads their name. It was not the haircut that struck her most though, but the fact that so much of his hair was gone. His face was haggard, his clothes worn almost threadbare.
But there was something else about him – a look in his eyes that she could not explain, but which troubled her.
“I need rest and food,” he told her, then looked nervous. “Or are you Royalist now?”
“I am your sister,” she replied. “But you must not be seen. Royalist troops are everywhere.” And turning to little Samuel beside her, who was staring curiously at the stranger she told him: “Say nothing to anyone about your uncle. It’s a secret.” Then she put him in her own room upstairs and locked the door. He slept for fifteen hours.
“Lord Essex gave up,” he told her bitterly, as they sat together in her room the next day. “We want no more aristocrats leading us now: we need Cromwell and his men.”
How haggard he was. He seemed to be almost mumbling to himself, and again, she was conscious of some deeper alteration in him: it was as if, where her dear Nathaniel might secretly doubt the success of his cause, her older brother had begun to doubt himself.
Apparently reading her thoughts, he looked up sadly.
“I have changed,” he said.
And then, in a voice sometimes weak from fatigue, sometimes strangely urgent, he told her something of what he had seen: of the rich nobles who fought only for profit, hoping to gain confiscated Royalist estates if they won; of the Presbyterians, like Obadiah, who wanted to substitute their own religious tyranny for that of the king.
“But I have seen better men than these – simple, godly men, who fight for a noble cause,” he went on. “Better men, Margaret, than Obadiah: better men than I. True religious men who fight for freedom to worship as they please. These are the men who fight for Cromwell. And so shall I.” He spoke with a new humility, born of mental suffering; she liked him better for it.
“You mean the Sectaries?”
“Call them what you will.”
There were many such men in the army, she knew, and their voice was getting stronger: political and, more often, religious radicals: men who believed they were fighting to establish a new order in England, led by tough, professionally-minded officers – Cromwell’s “plain men” – who might not be gentlemen but who knew their business, which most of the gentlemen in the Parliamentary Army had shown they did not. Their exact political aims were not yet clear; but they were increasingly powerful.
Margaret looked at him thoughtfully, wondering where this would lead.
“How long will you stay?” she asked.
“Until tomorrow.”
The morning passed quietly. Only Mary Godfrey and a servant girl were in the house, and neither was aware of Edmund’s presence.
During the afternoon he slept again.
It was in the late afternoon that the soldiers came. They were led by Nathaniel.
“We are searching the area for Roundheads,” he told her cheerfully, as he stood in the hall. “Some were seen yesterday.”
Margaret looked at him steadily.
“What will they do with them when they catch them?”
“Hang them probably. But we haven’t found any yet.”
“I have seen none,” she said. “But your men should search the barn and outhouses.”
They did, thoroughly, for a quarter of an hour, and found nothing, while Nathaniel and his sister chatted quietly in the hall.
It was just as Nathaniel was turning to leave that little Samuel, coming down the stairs from his afternoon’s sleep, and seeing Nathaniel’s friendly face, ran forward with a happy cry and whispered as Nathaniel swept him up into his arms:
“Shall I tell you a secret?”
The two men stood opposite to each other in her bedchamber. Little Samuel, smiling with innocent pleasure, stood at Nathaniel’s side.
She had been forced to unlock the door since Nathaniel had calmly offered to break it down if she did not.
A strange contrast they made: the younger brother in his handsome tunic edged with lace; the elder, who had hurriedly dressed, hoping to escape, seeming shrunken from his former state, in his plain brown jacket and the ugly Dutch breeches, like long shorts cut off abruptly at the knee, which many Puritans favoured. His grey wooollen stockings, she noticed, were full of holes.
They looked at each other in silence. Then Nathaniel spoke.
“Well, brother Edmund, they have cut thy hair in an abominable fashion.”
Edmund tried to smile. His eyes looked hunted. Nathaniel turned to his sister.
“I remember, sister, that you told me, when some wished me to leave, that no brother of yours should be refused a place in this house.”
“I did,” she replied, “nor shall they.”
“Very well.”
And then, with that charming smile she knew so well, he turned back to Edmund.
“Forgive me if I do not stay to greet you, brother Edmund, but my men await me outside.” His eyes twinkled. “We are looking for Parliament men.”
He strode from the room.
Nathaniel. She loved him.
1645: JANUARY
But it was that winter little Samuel remembered best of all.
For that was when his sister Margaret, while both her fighting brothers were far away, put on armour, took up he
r sword and went into battle herself.
First, though, came his own dramatic part in the battle of the belfry.
The new city in the valley, unlike its predecessor on the hill, was never designed to be defended. Now, for the only time in its history, the military had actually made the city into a temporary fortress. Or rather, since there was no other area with an existing wall around it, the Royalists had tried to fortify the cathedral close. It had not worked. In a small skirmish near Christmas, a contingent of Ludlow’s Roundheads had easily fired the gates and taken the tiny garrison prisoner. Now they held it, using the high belfry as a watch tower.
It was generally expected that the Royalists would return, but no one knew when.
It was foolish of Margaret to go into the city that day; but without Nathaniel for company, she had grown tired of the farmhouse and decided to seek a change of air.
It was a crisp, cold day and she and Samuel had taken the cart into Salisbury. She had made a few purchases and stopped to talk to one or two acquaintances in the market place, while the little boy watched her with increasing boredom. There was an air of lassitude about the town that day. Finally, thinking to amuse him, she led him down the High Street towards the cathedral close. The gate of the close was open. By the belfry, she knew, there would be half a dozen soldiers lounging about, and the sight of armed men never failed to interest him.
It was as she expected. Three soldiers were leaning against the wall of the belfry near the door and they gave Samuel a friendly nod as he came by. They were big men, with leather doublets and one of them wore huge leather riding boots; none had their armour on and only the booted soldier was carrying a sword.
Margaret and Samuel made a slow tour of the choristers’ green. As it was now early evening, and the cold damp was beginning to make them shiver, they turned back towards the gate to go home.
It was just as they did so that suddenly, ahead of them, pandemonium broke loose.
To shouts from the gateway, a large figure on a horse burst into the close and rode to the belfry before reining, staring at its upper storeys and bellowing:
“Fools! Did I not tell you to keep watch?”
His voice echoed round the close and Margaret identified him immediately as the gallant young commander, Edmund Ludlow.
Seeing Margaret and the child approaching the gate, he now impatiently waved them back.
“Away from the gate,” he cried, “the Cavaliers are coming. They’re coming into the market place.”
They were indeed. A large party had moved down unannounced from Amesbury that day and already the advance guard had approached down Castle Street. The men in the belfry whose job it was to keep watch, had failed to do so.
Now all was activity. Men were running in and out of the belfry pulling on steel breastplates and helmets. Figures suddenly appeared high on the upper storeys of the tower where they should have been before, while all around people came out of their houses and, taking little notice of Ludlow’s irritated commands, formed a little crowd near the gate staring up the High Street.
So far there was nothing to be seen.
Margaret wondered what she should do. Alone, she might have been tempted to leave the close quickly by St Ann’s Gate and see if she could work her way out of the city. But glancing down at the five-year-old child at her side, she dismissed the idea – she could not risk his getting caught in crossfire in Salisbury’s streets.
But she could not stand outside in the cold either. They must take shelter for a while, preferably in a house as far away from the belfry as possible. She glanced about at the people in the street to see if there was a face she knew.
Ludlow had quickly gathered a small force of ten men whom he sent hurrying up the High Street. Now he was collecting more. It looked to Margaret like only a couple of dozen men, but they were preparing at any moment to march out of the close behind him. She heard someone say that there were reinforcements on Harnham Hill nearby.
Meanwhile, the little knot of people by the gate had grown larger. Many of them were good-humouredly laughing as they waited to see the soldiers leave. From the town there was still neither sight nor sound of the Cavaliers. Evidently the people of the close refused to take Ludlow and his little force very seriously.
It was just then that Margaret saw what she was looking for in the crowd – an elderly woman she knew slightly who had a small house on the east side of the close, between St Ann’s Gate and the bishop’s palace. That would be as safe as anywhere, she judged, and taking Samuel by the hand, she moved quickly towards her.
Fortunately, the woman was glad to see her. She not only agreed but seemed pleased at the prospect of company. She was even garrulous.
Margaret was relieved: so far so good.
When he was five there was no more exciting sight in the world for Samuel Shockley than a group of fully armed soldiers. He was so delighted by this new turn of events that he even forgot the cold. Ludlow’s troop had gathered itself into some kind of order, and since Margaret had now solved the problem of their immediate safety, she good-naturedly let go his hand and let him move a few feet to where he could get a better view of the proceedings.
Even so, he found that he could only see the commander himself and his horse because of the thickening crowd in front of him.
The people were kindly however, and happily it was not long before several hands helped him through to the front. How magnificent the soldiers were – every item of their dress seemed full of mystery. The huge boots that reached halfway up the thigh, the great heavy gloves with their wrist guards, the long swords, the breastplates glowing dully in the fading light, the steel helmets with their face guards. As he looked up at these huge forms they seemed to the boy like so many trees. What power they all had. Surely, when such mighty figures marched, nothing could withstand them.
They began to move. His heart thrilled with excitement. He watched them with fascination and with longing.
It was as the troops passed under the gateway into the High Street that two ten-year-old boys beside him moved out and began to follow them. No one tried to stop them; after all, the street ahead was empty. Nor, when the excited little boy a second later began to dog their footsteps, did anyone take particular notice: they assumed the little fellow must belong to them. So it was that quite unknown to Margaret, as the dusk fell Samuel left the close with Ludlow and his men.
Fifty yards up the High Street the two boys turned into a house. Samuel, well contented that he was marching with the soldiers, continued on his way.
To right and left people were pulling the shutters tight and barring their doors. No one had time to concern themselves with the curious little figure in his solitary march up the echoing street.
The High Street was not long; at the top of it the soldiers turned right towards the Poultry Cross and the entrance to the market place.
Soon Samuel too was nearly at the Poultry Cross.
The plan of Edmund Ludlow was daring. Although he did not know the numbers of Royalist troops advancing, he guessed that they must be considerable. His own total contingent in the city numbered only sixty. His only hope therefore of halting the Royalist advance was by a brilliant bluff. Leading a handful of men, he intended to make a spirited charge into the market place against the enemy’s vanguard, while a trumpeter stationed by the Poultry Cross would by his bugle calls give the wholly erroneous impression that a much larger body of Roundhead troops were following close behind.
Shots were being fired ahead. There were almost three hundred Cavaliers forming a line in the market place. But with his thirty men gathered in the alley by the Poultry Cross, Ludlow gave the order and they charged. By the Poultry Cross, the bugler sounded wildly.
Nobody thought of looking behind them, where they might have seen a little figure lurking in the shadows.
Samuel stared. They had left him behind. Not understanding what was happening, the little boy followed after them.
How big the market
place seemed. He could see the men running ahead of him and his legs struggled to catch up with them. He waved his arms excitedly. The line of Cavaliers in front of him held no terror.
Then the two groups clashed, and he stopped in astonishment. It was not what he had expected.
For a short time, Edmund Ludlow’s plan worked. The Royalists saw the eager troops issuing from the broad alleyway in front of the Poultry Cross, led by young Ludlow himself on his splendid horse. It never occurred to them that he only had thirty men. Taken by surprise, they scattered and were driven across the open space. In the gathering darkness and confusion, nobody noticed the small figure standing hesitantly in the middle of the market place.
Men were running everywhere. Ludlow himself had taken out his sword and was locked in hand to hand combat with a Royalist officer. Their two horses wheeled and clattered not fifty yards from where the child was standing. On his left, Samuel saw a group of three foot soldiers engaged in what seemed like a crazy dance. They were shouting. He heard the crash of steel, then saw one of them fall. There was a huge red gash in his side from which blood was pumping. The two Roundheads who had struck him turned and ran past him to their next quarry.
The excitement he had felt vanished. Suddenly the huge heavy figures seemed very threatening, and they seemed to be on every side.
So this was fighting. He did not like it at all.
Suddenly, he thought of Margaret. Where was she? He wished she were here to protect him. Although men were fighting behind him now, he turned to run back past them.
It was just as he was turning that the Royalist colonel whom Edmund Ludlow was fighting tried to make a dash for it across the market place to Castle Street. Ludlow did not mean to let him go. Wheeling about, he kept at his side, heading him off towards the centre. Locked together, the two riders raced over the ground.
They were bearing down upon him. Both men’s faces were set, concentrating only on each other. Neither saw, in the failing light, that there was a small figure standing helplessly directly in their path.
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