by Smith, Skye
"He pleaded guilty so that he could not be questioned under oath, and your staff were unanimous on the death sentence ... likely hoping for a quick execution to save him from the excruciating pain of lock jaw. It will not save him the pain though. Robert has delayed the execution pending questioning." He felt her stiffen in his arms. "No, do not interfere. It was as much an attack on Robert as on you. Let him handle it."
"My beauty has always attracted men to my side so I am well used to other women despising me for my looks. That Rupert despises me enough to order my death, well, that has shaken me."
"Luckily men like Rupert are rare in this world. They seem to see the world and everything in it as a convenience put there to please them. They love or they hate, and are loved or are hated. If you do not cheer them and think them wonderful, then they view you as a deadly enemy. An opportunity to punish a slight is always taken, no matter how evil the punishment ... and afterwards they feel no guilt at doing evil. Don't try to understand Rupert ... just keep well away from him."
"But if he is so evil, surely all those around him must know it. Why would anyone befriend him or follow him or grant him honours?"
"A viper looks like a viper and moves like a viper so you know to kill it immediately. Not so with these vipers that walk like men. They are always in disguise like players on a stage. They play a role so well that they fool all those around them. When they play the lover they seduce women."
"No women can be seduced," she argued, "not really. A man can buy them, or force them, or trick them but none of that is seduction, not really."
"Men like Rupert can seduce women, and men, and bankers, and armies, and kings. They are natural players. They take on a role and they are that role, and completely believable in it."
"Then I was right," she said stubbornly. "They use trickery, so it is not seduction."
"I meant seduction beyond the sexual act, and you well know it. Mental seduction, emotional seduction, ... umm... creating trust by lying convincingly." He punctuated the last phrase by banging his fist down on the top of the stone wall in front of them.
"I understand. Really I do," she whispered to him. "And I understand how these walking vipers effect you, Daniel Vanderus. I have listened to your adventure stories for years. Mostly you try so hard not to maim and not to kill, and yet in a very few of your stories you kill immediately. No warning, no wounding, no capture ... just a swift death. In those ones, they were all men like Rupert, weren't they? Walking vipers?"
"Exactly. They cannot help what they are, any more than a viper can, but what they are puts all around them in danger. Yes, I admit it. I admit to murdering men like Rupert. I even admit to seeking vengeance against them by making them die slowly and painfully. And I admit that this is wrong of me. I keep telling myself that if I am forced to kill, that it should be as swift and as painless as possible, but sometimes the evil they have wrought just ..."
"Like what Rupert did to the folk in Brentford?" she pointed out.
"Aye, exactly. Why should Rupert not suffer as much as all of those good folk suffered because of him?"
"But Jesus says..."
"So are you becoming a Christian now, then? Is that also the Countess Susanna's doing?"
"If the lesson is wise, what does it matter who the teacher is? But no. As a free thinking woman I could never become a Christian. When Susanna invites me to church on Sundays, I always have one of my headaches. I detest seeing churches filled with women being preached at by some over pious man, while their own men are filling the alehouse. The women leave the church overflowing with piousness and go home to their men overflowing with strong ale, and no good ever comes of it."
They stood in silence a long while, staring out along the Thames and at the darkening clouds moving in from the south. "I'm going to stay on a while in Windsor, love," he told her, "just in case you want to leave and need an escort."
She didn't argue no matter how weak his reasoning was. If she wanted to leave, Robert would send her to London in a carriage with an entire platoon as an escort. Daniel was staying on for his own reasons, not the least of which was a chance to avenge Brentford by killing a viper.
Later, after hostessing the evening meal for the officers, she used her master key to visit the wine cellars. As she had expected, there were spices and medicines stored in the cool vaults, a lot of them. Some of them exotic and expensive. After a brief search, she found what she was looking for and took some greenery from a large stoppered jar.
Her next visit needed the help of a guard, for her master keys were of no use in the garrison lockup. The guard showed her to the airless cell where the man she had shot was laying and writhing on a hard palate bed. She waved the guard away, but he wouldn't leave her alone with the man who had openly admitted to trying to assassinate her.
There was a three legged stool in the cell and she pushed it towards the pallet and sat close enough to the injured man to speak softly so the guard would not hear. "Anyone who knows the dangers of monk's hood will know the uses of yew needles, the soldier's friend. I have brought you some." Chewing yew would give him an easy death.
"Thank you," the man said as he forced himself to stop writhing, "but first I would know the cost of such mercy." His words were smoothly said, despite his anguish. "I suppose you were sent by the earl to trick me into naming the messenger who brought the order from the prince."
"No, he does not know I am here. I came only to give you the yew. I have put them under your blanket out of sight. I will go now and keep the guard away from you for a few minutes so you have a chance to chew them. God's peace." She shifted positions so she could rise.
"Wait," he sobbed but did not reach a hand to stay her for that would have caused a violent reaction from the guard. "I tried to do what I was ordered to do, but I failed. The order to sicken all the officers was logical. If my next order had been to assassinate the earl, that also would have been logical. But why you? I am glad that I failed but that won't save me from the fires of hell. I am truly sorry about Ella. She was a Catholic you know, as am I, and she died un-shriven. Do you think she would forgive me?"
"Ask her yourself, after you eat the yew," she told him and again shifted to stand up. She did not want this man to ask for her forgiveness. She would never forgive him.
"My lady," he called out weakly to stop her from leaving, "one of parliament's emissaries to King Charles is actually Prince Rupert's man. One of the Lords. That is all I will tell you. Take care my lady."
When she left the prisoner, she told the guard that she wanted to be shown all of the cells and all of the prisoners. This didn't take long for most of the cells were empty. When parliamentarians first took control of the fortress at Windsor, they had released all of the prisoners that the king had imprisoned there. They were all political prisoners ... pamphleteers or scandal sheet publishers. Now the only prisoners were spies, caught in the act. She had no interest in them, but she had to keep the guards busy until the yew was chewed and swallowed.
On arriving back at the palace, she sought out John Hampden. He was in the library busily writing to the mayors of all of the towns to the south of Windsor. The letters were to explain what Rupert's flying army had done to Brentford, and to urge them to create militias to defend their towns, and to promise those militias munitions and training if they needed it.
"John, which lords are currently your emissaries to the king?" she asked.
"There have been many over the past six months," he replied, "for the king keeps finding fault with them as an excuse to reject them and thereby stall the discussions of peace and power sharing." He pushed his letters away from him for he would much rather keep Britta's company than his scribes'.
"But currently?" she asked.
"Currently. Currently the king has just refused our latest emissaries. It used to be that the king refused them in order to stall the treaty talks because he thought his army had the advantage, but now he is stalling because his army needs time to regr
oup and re-supply. Luckily Sir John Hippisley has yet to anger the king so at least we still have one of our members at the king's side to keep the treaty dialogue going."
She moved closer to him and put her lips close to his ear so she could speak softly so Hampden's scribes would not hear her words, "I think you should send your scribes away so we can speak privately."
Her breath tickled his ear and was fragrant with clove and cinnamon. The lovely scent of spring flowers rose from her cleavage, perhaps Lily of the Valley. Hampden's plume put an ink smudge across his current page, and his heart began to race. He called to the scribes and asked them to take the messages that were already completed and signed by him, and take them down to the gatehouse to organize their delivery to the four corners of this shire. When the scribes were gone, and the door shut behind them, he rose and invited her to join him on the couch beside the fireplace.
Once she was sat and comfortable he asked if he could sit beside her. She was so splendidly beguiling despite being dressed in a work-a-day woolen dress in black and grey, with a plain hooded cape draped from her shoulders for extra warmth. When she took his hand and pulled him down beside her all he could think about was how warm her hand was, and how smooth it was, and yet how strong it was. Being this close to her, and alone, he noticed again how flawless her skin was. The great beauties of the nobility had porcelain skin which blushed pink, but hers was a tawny golden color, and glowed with health.
"You are staring, John."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just that..." Hampden was cut off.
"I don't mind you savouring my looks, but while you stare we have things to discuss before we are interrupted."
He blinked and turned away from her to regain his senses. "What is this all this about?"
"Do you trust Hippisley?" she asked. "I mean, how much are you dependant on trusting him?"
"I used to trust him," he replied, "until a moment ago." He chanced to look at her again, and again he had to look away to gather his thoughts. "Hippisley was one of Warwick's privateers back in the bad old days when Charlie was young and lost our fleet at Cadiz. For a year or more our coasts were protected by our privateers. That earned Hippisley gratitude enough from his king to be made a member of the royal household. A few years later he inherited his father's estate, and was able to pay off his fines and become a member of the House of Commons."
"Fines? Fines for what?"
"For embezzlement and smuggling," he replied. "Even after he gave up his life on the ships, he still acted like a privateer. What is this all about?"
"I have good reason to believe that it was Hippisley who brought the message from the devil prince which caused the death of my maid."
"Then I will send for him and ask him what messages he carried here from Oatlands."
"It's too late for that," she told him. "He has already left to go back to the king in Outlands."
"How sure are you of this? Does anyone else know?"
"Very sure. The only other person who knew is now dead down in the cells."
"Ahhh, the man who felt Liberty's justice."
"Yes, that man. So what are you going to do about Hippisley?" she asked
He wanted to gaze on her face again, but he daren't. His mind was suddenly overflowing with wickedly sly thoughts about how to use the information about Hippisley and he feared that such thoughts would twist his face and turn it ugly. "I will use him, but without undoing him," he told her while staring into the fire. "This is a civil war, so we have an abundance of spies in this kingdom. Many of them are double spies, because the great families are placating both sides in order to protect their honors and estates. Now that I know that Hippisley is a double spy, I can use him to our advantage."
"How so?" she said as she too stared into the fire. She was beginning to regret ever saying anything.
"I will use him to feed false information to the king. Carefully, of course, so the king will not suspect. It may work only one time, so it must be to achieve something crucial. Meanwhile I will make sure that he learns no more secrets until they no longer secrets." He turned in the seat for now it was absolutely necessary to stare into Britta's eyes for his next words. "You must not speak of this to anyone else, ever. Allow me to tell those who need to know."
She twisted her head slightly but held his gaze when she said, "But Robert ..."
"I will tell Robert, and John Pym, and the others that need to know."
"And Daniel?" she asked, this time turning her eyes and staring into the fire.
"Must never know. You are his step daughter. He would consider it a debt of honor to kill the man."
"Yes, he would kill the man, but for justice not for honor. English courts would never see justice done against such a rich and powerful man for the murder of a nothing maid like Ella, ... but Danny would."
"As flawed as it is, I prefer rule by law to Daniel's vigilantly justice," Hampden told her with a flourish of his hand. "Though there is no man I would rather have standing at my side during a fight, I fear that he is a lawless and godless man, and as much a privateer as Hippisley ever was."
"You are wrong, very wrong about him," she said as she reached out and held his hand with hers, and held his eyes with hers. "He is not lawless, he just lives by the ancient traditional laws of the North Sea rather than by your complicated laws written down to suit wealthy landlords. He is not godless, for he believes in the ancient traditional goddess of the North Sea, rather than your, ... I mean, our Lord God." She immediately regretted saying this to such an important Presbyterian and she squeezed his hand and leaned forward to move her eyes closer to his. "Oh John. I should not have said that. If you do not breathe a word of that to anyone, then I will tell no one of Hippisley, not even Danny."
Her nearness, the intensity of her eyes, the fragrance of flowers and spices, they all had his heart pounding. What had she said? He couldn't remember. He agreed by nodding ever so slightly for he could not trust himself to speak, did not want to break the moment for mere words. He had to remind himself to breathe.
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The Pistoleer - Brentford by Skye Smith Copyright 2014
Chapter 23 - Securing the Thames Valley in November 1642
Everywhere that Daniel rode in the village of Staines there were feathers. A week ago, when Parliament's garrison at Windsor's fortress had refused to open the gates to Prince Rupert and his flying army, Rupert had flown into a rage and had descended onto Staines and had plundered it and its women. The feathers were from the bedding that had been ripped to pieces in search of jewelry and coins. The mayor spoke again to bring Daniel back from his thoughts. He had been thinking how right Britta had been in saying that Warwick would just use him, yet again.
"And they did this to us, a loyal royalist town," the mayor continued. "We have since heard that the folk of Brentford fared far worse than us. They were not just plundered, but slaughtered. Do you see our point, captain? We cannot afford to take sides because this bridge over the Thames is likely to changes hands every month, but we must be able to defend our lives and defend our women. That is why we wish to form a defensive club, and all we need from his grace the Earl of Warwick is some powder and shot."
In response to Hampden's letters, Warwick had received many such requests over the past two days. The men of the towns and villages of the Thames valley did not want to be called up as a posse by the king or as trained bands by parliament, but they did want to form a militia. A local militia with only one responsibility ... to protect their own from violence by either side. What the mayor had called a defensive club was everywhere else called The Clubmen. Since any organization of clubmen would be the natural enemy of Rupert and his mounted gentlemen, Warwick had agreed to supply all mayors who asked for help. Daniel was one of the captains he had sent out with men and supplies to do just that.
"I've faced Rupert's cavalry charges, and I've seen him seek revenge when those charges failed," Daniel told the mayor, "so I canno
t fault your reasoning. We are here to help you defend you and yours." Daniel had hand picked the twenty man escort for the cart of powder and balls. None of them were young blades. They were all old soldiers who did not need orders before they did the obvious. In truth, choosing them had been very quick. He rode along a line of mounted skirmishers standing on parade, and chose the first twenty men who had a dragon pistol in their horse holster.
"Nay, your men mustn’t stay. I thought I made that clear to the earl. Our clubmen must be seen to be neutral so your men must not stay in Staines."
"Have no fear, we will be gone before dark. First however, we need to distribute the powder and shot to your men..."
"Why not just leave the cart and leave it to me to distribute?" the mayor asked.
"My orders were explicit. We are to distribute it," Daniel told the truth. Warwick did not have time to judge which mayors were royalists, but he did not want to supply enemies with munitions. By having his own men distribute it to as many individuals as possible, he lessened this risk. "We will also show you where and how to erect barricades and horse traps so that no cavalry will want to risk charging through your streets. The sooner we begin, the sooner we will be gone."
With a quick glances he was keeping an eye peeled over the mayor's shoulder. Daniel rode under a flag of truce, and was here to help these folk to protect themselves, but he had identified himself as Warwick's man, and therefore a rebel and a traitor to the king. This town was a long time supporter of many kings. His eyes kept searching the shadows and the windows for sign of a sniper's musket. Britta was right. He was volunteering for missions so dangerous as to be foolhardy, and all to encourage Warwick to keep to a promise, a promise of the governorship of Bermuda.
"If you truly wish to be left in peace," Daniel told the mayor, "then simply disable the bridge. The middle span has wooden planking, so they should be simple enough to remove. Without the planks, no one could cross. If no one could cross, then neither army would have reason to come here."