by Smith, Skye
As fast as the butchers were working their cleavers it wasn't fast enough. The sappers on the other side were bending down. It could mean only one thing ... they were lighting the fuses. Daniel yelled to the sappers in as clear a voice as he could. "Give us a few minutes longer to clear the prisoners. We don't care if you blow the bridge, just let us get everyone away from it first." Daniel felt like cheering when he saw the sappers stand up from the fuses and give him a wave.
His relief was short lived. The looming raven figure of the Devil Prince rode up to the sappers and gave them an order, and then rode away. The sappers shrugged their shoulders at Daniel and then knelt back down to the fuses. Daniel stared at the disappearing raven figure with absolute hatred, as he began to back himself away from the bridge. He bumped into someone. Britta's voice grumbled about her toes, or at least she tried to grumble but instead he grabbed her hard by the arm and half dragged, half ran her away from the bridge. From behind him at any second he expected the explosion which would rip the butchers and their prisoner kin apart.
Instead there were ten musket shots, and then ten more. He was pushing at Britta to keep her running, but at the sound of the shots, he himself stopped to venture a look around. The sappers were down. They had been hit by volley fire from musketeers to the north of the bridge on the other side of the river. Musketeers in Green jackets. Hampden's men. He began to run, run away from Britta and towards the bridge. He dodged passed the latest line of released prisoners, and snaked through the butchers who had released them, and then ducked under the arms of the prisoners who were still tied to the bridge. One of them yelled to him, "Burning fuse, on the downstream side," so he vaulted the left railing of the bridge and hoped for a soft landing down below.
His legs crumpled under him as he mis-timed his tuck and roll. He felt a sharp pain as he torqued a knee, but he couldn't stop to rub it. Not yet. Not until he found the burning fuse. He looked all around for the telltale line of smoke but the grass was long. Someone from above on the bridge yelled down, "To your right and four paces!" Daniel almost shit himself. To his right and four paces was a small powder keg tied to one of the bridge pillars. He dived for it, and grabbed the fuse up in his hand, but then couldn't find his knife. It must have popped out of its boot sheath when he landed.
He could see the smoke of the burning fuse coming towards him through the grass. Frantically he tore at the fuse cord trying to break it. That didn't work so he tried untwisting it to empty the powder out of it. He was so frustrated he wanted to scream. And then he heard a calm voice behind him say, "Why didn't you just pull the fuse out of the keg?" He turned to face the voice. There stood John Hampden with the business end of the fuse in his hand. He watched as Hampden walked the fuse away from the keg and dropped it down near to the moving smoke.
At first they both made to grab each other's elbows in a warrior clasp, but instead they hugged a full body hug. "John, you have survived the battle."
"And it's a good thing for you that I did," Hampden replied. "I almost didn't get here in time though. Whilst my regiment was feigning a flanking movement to the north, me and the twenty up on the bridge were already across the Brent river and sneaking through the bushes to take this bridge before the king could retreat across it. I assumed they would have already stacked it with powder kegs, and my plan was to blow the damn thing with their own powder to cut off their retreat.
The short of it is, that by the time we got here the army was already crossing the bridge and we had to dig in and keep to cover. We were too late because of my own bloody men. I could have shot them myself. All the way down the river, every time they heard approaching hoofs, they would tackle me to the ground and roll me into the bushes."
"Err, that was my fault I'm afraid," Daniel interrupted. "I forewarned your sergeants that the prince's lifeguard were hunting you. But you don't have to worry about them anymore. They are with their maker in the underworld."
"But when, how, ... why did they retreat? We heard almost no volleys except those from my feigned attack. There was certainly no sustained fighting."
"The prince had taken a liking to Britta so he sent his lifeguard them to bring her to him. Four of the London lads took offense to their man-handling her."
"Four, just four of Warwick’s untrained militia took down the best cavalryers in the flying army."
"And made it look easy," Daniel said with a smirk. "Come on up to the bridge deck and I will introduce you to them. They are good men to know."
"Evidently."
"If you need a special price on some prime rib, I mean," Daniel said and took a step, and then winced. His bloody knee. "You'll have to help me up the slope, John. Go that way so I can find my knife."
* * * * *
Once the bridge was cleared of prisoners, and of powder kegs, thousands and thousands of Londoners, militia, sightseers, and women spilled into Old Brentford. What they saw in the old town caused many to lose their stomachs. Essex's regular army never did cross the bridge, except for Hampden's skirmishers. The general and his colonels, however, did cross the bridge. Curiously, though most of the roofs were intact as they had been needed for billeting the king's army, the town was a scene was of complete devastation.
The first thing one noticed was that it seemed to have been snowing, for there was white fluff and feathers everywhere. The next thing one noticed was the bodies. None of them were still intact. Men and boys had been killed and cleaved where they stood as they tried to protect their women. The women and girls were all naked and splayed and very, very dead. A few of the old or the ugly had survived but they had all seemed to have lost their minds and were holding their heads tight in their hands and rocking back and forth as if to hold their brains from falling out.
The London tradesmen, who had their tools with them, immediately put down their muskets and pikes and began setting the buildings to rights so at least they would keep out the weather. Others who had spades and picks and shovel in hand began to dig through the rubble in search of other survivors. Essex and his courtly bum lickers stood in the middle of it all and did nothing, said nothing, as if they could not believe that their king could have ordered such a horrific slaughter.
Britta and Daniel as well as Warwick's cook kept the company of Hampden and his twenty skirmishers, and followed the brains of Providence Company as he marched right up to the general and hissed into his face. "They have done a Magdeburg. They have done a Magdeburg right here on English soil. And you allowed them to escape us, nay worse, you gave them your permission for them to retreat unharmed."
"I cannot believed that King Charles ordered this," the Earl of Essex blustered. He was ever an apologist for the king. "This must be the work of the German officers under Prince Rupert."
"What does it matter who ordered it, since all of them are now out of our reach and may doing the like to every town along the Thames. You must send an immediate message to Kingston and have our garrison there cut off the king and slow him down until we can catch up to him."
"No, how can you think that. The king would never allow it. There must be a logical explanation for this slaughter... besides, this morning I ordered Colonel Onslow to march his Kingston garrison back to London to protect Southwark."
Essex's words were interrupted by the screams of women. Everyone all around him looked in the direction of the screams. Some of the tradesmen had found a cellar door under some rubble, and on opening it had discovered the hiding place of a handful of women. It was those women who were now screaming, pathetically screaming in pure terror.
Cook's loud brass blurted out to the tradesmen, "They fear you have come to rape and murder them. Back away. Let us women help them." With that she went scurrying towards the cellar, and as she did so she collected other women to her. The tradesmen were most willing to step aside. The screaming stopped almost immediately.
The brotherhood of butchers took the opportunity to step forward and have their say to the general in charge of the army. In truth the
general's lifeguard had given thought to holding them back, but the men were covered head to foot in dried blood, were carrying blooded blades of a wicked design, and had a crazed look in their eyes. The lifeguard backed out of their way.
"You this Essex bloke?" their spokesman said.
"I am Robert Devereaux, the Earl of Essex, lord general of parliament's army, yes. Have you forgotten how to salute an officer. And the correct way to address me is with sir, or 'your grace'."
"Not bloody likely. You couldn't lead a class of school kiddies across a busy road. All we want to know is why you let Charlie escape us. Charlie and that Prince Rupert fella. We could have finished them all here and now and be done with them once and for all."
"How dare you ... you ... you impudent dog," Essex said recoiling from the blood stained men. "I will have you in chains and horse whipped for such insubordination. What regiment are you with? Who commands you?" He would have gone on with the threats except that a blonde maiden, a most becoming lass despite being bruised and scratched and wearing skirts that were torn and bloodied, walked up to him and put her lips to his ear and whispered.
"Be careful who your threaten, dearest," Britta breathed sulkily into his ear. "I just watched these very men tear into Rupert's chosen men and their finest of German armour, and those German knights had no more chance against them than rag dolls. Threaten them and they may gut you where you stand."
"Britta, is that you. My God what happened to you?" Essex said while looking into the woman’s bright eyes and wanting to kiss those pursed lips.
"I was one of the women who had Rupert fleeing in terror," she hissed. "You must have seen us. We did it while your army stood back and did nothing, so you must have had a splendid view."
Essex looked around at the faces staring at him. They all despised him. The most comely woman in London, the smartest MP in London, the men in butchers aprons, his colonels, perhaps even his life guard. He had to say something to gain their confidence or this could end very badly. "You must not blame King Charles ... " he began.
"Charles is no longer the King of England," the butcher replied. "Ten thousand Londoners have rejected him here today." A cheer rang up from the curious mob within hearing. "And once we get back to London with our story of what happened here, all of London and the Home Counties will reject him." He raised his voice so that all around could hear. "Charles is not longer the King of England. He is just a pretender sitting on the throne."
Once the cheering died down, Essex raised his voice and said. "No. You must not smear the king in London with the events here in Brentford. I know that it was not his doing. It could not be."
"Not much chance of bending this news to your purposes, Robert," Hampden told him cynically. "It will be in every house in London before dark. And the true version, not your edited version."
"I am your general and I plead with you not to spread wild stories in London," Essex tried again. "It will lead to vengeance and violence."
"You're no general o' mine," the butcher replied. "Your just a pretender with a fancy coat."
Essex almost lashed out at the man, but a sweet whisper in his ear calmed him by saying, "Take a deep breath before your next words, love, for they may be your last."
Essex thought fast. "I was about to give the order that all towns along the Thames must be protected. To do that I propose that my army be split in two, half on the north bank and half on the south, and that they dig some fortifications and connect the two with a bridge."
"A bridge," the butcher laughed aloud. "It takes years to build a bridge and how will you do it across the width of the Thames. After all these centuries there is still only London Bridge and Kingston Bridge across the widest flows."
"Why at..." Essex looked frantically towards his colonels, but they would not meet his stare. Eventually it was Hampden who said, "The narrowest point near here is between Fullham and Putney. I suppose it could be done quite quickly if we rafted enough barges together and made a floating bridge."
"Did you hear that," Essex called out. "A floating bridge between a garrisoned fort at Fullham and another at Putney. That will not only protect the suburbs of London on both banks, but will allow reinforcements to flow easily across the river."
"So you're not going to chase down the king's army, then?" the butcher asked pointedly.
"Chasing him down will cost us a lot of men to Rupert's flying army. I think today the king learned a hard lesson and that within the week he will have signed a peace treaty with parliament whether we chase him down or not. Will you help me to build the forts and the bridge?"
"Not bloody likely," another butcher chimed in. "We've got businesses to run, and families to feed. Put your regular army to work. They should be well rested after today." With that the butchers moved away speaking amongst themselves. It was obvious that they were on their way back to London. In truth, many of the London sightseers had already crossed back over the bridge. They had stories to tell at home. It would take a few hours, but it was quite evident that the mob of thousands and thousands of Londoners would eat their next meal in their own homes.
Essex took the leaving of the bloodied butchers as a good sign and began giving orders to his colonels. Now that he had thought of it, the floating bridge with earth work forts at each end was a splendid idea, and it would keep his army busy for days and serve to build up his chain of command again. He was just feeling that things weren't so bad after all when lips touched his ear again.
"You do realize that your career as general is now a tarnished as Charlie's is as king and Rupert's is as the invincible leader of the flying army. Charlie will never again be allowed back into London unless he is riding a tumbrel. Rupert and his invincible cavalry were seen to flee from a posse of women. You let women and tradesmen do your fighting for you."
"That cannot be true," Essex said while turning to face the comely though ragged beauty. But seeing her bloodied and ragged compared to his spotlessly clean uniform proved that it was exactly true. Today's battle had not been a battle at all, but just a few skirmishes. Few lives were lost on either side today, and yet it was a gigantic victory for parliament. Unfortunately he could not claim that victory. What had the butcher told him. He was a pretend general. He tried to catch a smile from the lovely woman, but she had turned because some other colonels were joining them. Now all her smiles were for Denzil Holles and Lord Brooke. Damn that Brooke. The 'war party' would give Brooke the Lord General's job in an instant, if Pym would allow it. He suddenly found himself feeling quite alone in the midst of his colonels.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Brentford by Skye Smith Copyright 2014
Chapter 20 - The Admiral arrives in Fullham in November 1642
"Denzil," Daniel called out to Holles where he was walking along the river bank at the mouth of the Brent looked dazed. The man did not turn to his name so Daniel skidded and hopped down the muddy bank to stand next to him. "I've called you three times and you have ignored me."
"You'll have to speak up," Holles said very loudly, "I still can't hear very well. I blew up the powder barge you know. I won't be in a hurry to do that again. It was terrifying."
"Where is Anso and the launch?" Daniel asked him in a loud voice.
"They towed their barge load of cannons downstream to the quay. They sent me to fetch you. They want to be off down river."
"Say no more," Daniel spoke almost into his ear. "I'll grab Britta and be gone. You on the other hand have some released prisoners to greet. At least a hundred of them are in red jackets. You'll find them in the church giving thanks." They scrambled up the bank and walked towards the church. Along the way Daniel spotted Britta surrounded by an admiring collection of colonels and gently pulled her away from them and guided her towards the bridge.
"But what of Isabella Rich," she complained as she tried to escape his grip.
"Cook will take care of her," he hissed without slackening his pace. They kept walking do
wn the Great West Road towards London until found the launch and the barge pulled up to the quay beside the knoll, and who should be on the knoll but Percy. In truth it was not Cook who was taking care of Isabella for she was with Percy and Silver.
Anso hailed him from the launch. "Come on, jump aboard. We're tired o' waitin' fer yee."
"What you really mean is that if you hang about Essex's army much longer, they will claim the guns from you," Daniel replied, and then he lifted Britta into his arms and tossed her over the gunnels to Anso, who caught her easily and set her feet down in the launch as if she weighed nothing. Daniel then leaped aboard.
"Britta lass, you're a mess," Anso told her. "What have you been doing? I haven't seen you like this since that time you got into a mud pie fight with the boys in Wellenhay."
Britta shrugged loose of his balancing hand, "I was ten then. And never mind what I've been doing. What have you been doing?" As she asked this she pulled a foot long 'sliver' of wood out of the back of his cloak. She looked around at her clansmen, the crew and pointed out, "All of you are black with soot. A whole river of water and you never thought to wash your faces."
* * * * *
They decided to tow the barge to the southern bank of the Thames immediately. From there they could pretend not to hear any hails from Essex's colonels. It was a relief to be away from the north bank, for the stench caused by 35,000 men was strong. Britta busied herself with brushing the dust and dried blood from her hair and clothes and trying to look less like she had been dragged through a gorse bush backwards. Daniel took the tiller and cast his eye along the gunnels, which on one side looked like a hedgehog for there were so many splinters of barge planks stuck in it.
Anso had hired a dozen men to work the sweep oar and the poles on the barge, which made the towing far less work for the clansmen. The barge crew were all militia volunteers from the London docks and were glad of the ride back to there. Sure enough, they hadn't even made it to the center of the Thames before there was a hail from the shore from a small group of well mounted men in clean uniforms. The barge crew relayed the message that they were to return the barge to the quay, but Anso yelled back to the barge that they should ignore the officers as if they hadn't heard them. The barge crew were more than willing to do that, for they were being well paid for an afternoons work.