by Smith, Skye
"And neither would anyone else," the mayor said most sharply. He was a merchant by trade. "Without the traffic that comes to cross our bridge, none of our shops would earn enough to pay their rents. You may as well ask us to cut our own throats as to disable the bridge."
"You may be cutting your own throats if you don't. If the two armies meet near here to do battle over your bridge, then your town will be host to tens of thousands of brutal men. You say Rupert plundered your town. Nay, he did almost nothing here. You should have seen what he did in Brentford. How they slaughtered the children in their mothers arms and then gang raped the mothers before slicing them into pieces. Or how they used their prisoners as hostages and human shields and when they were finished with them, tried to kill them anyway."
"And if we disable the bridge, the prince will surely come and do that to us out of spite," the Mayor said stoically. "Fine, distribute your powder and show us how to keep the cavalry out of our streets, but keep your men away from our bridge."
"It will be as you ask," Daniel replied, "but there is a way of keeping your options open. My men could place powder kegs underneath your central span and run long fuses to this side. In that way the decision to disable the bridge, and the timing of doing so would be all yours."
"Nay, nay. Stay away from my bridge. Come and show me where you would have us build barricades and horse traps, while I send out word to gather the men of our defense club."
* * * * *
After reporting his news to Warwick that Staines was now defended by clubmen who had barricaded their streets, Daniel stayed in the room to listen to the other reports as other captains returned from the towns to the south. It was a similar story everywhere. The reports of what Rupert had done to Brentford had blown across the south like a cold wind, and just as quickly. The king's men were not welcome anywhere, and they were having great difficulty in gathering the day to day supplies that they needed so badly.
There was more going on that just that. Essex had finally realized that he had been a fool not to take Windsor for himself rather than tying up his army in Putney and Fullham building a defensive line that included a floating bridge. Warwick and Essex were in the process of swapping regiments between Windsor and Fullham, one regiment at a time. Essex's regular army regiments were moving to Windsor from where they could pounce on the king's army whichever way it moved. Warwick’s London militia regiments were moving to Fullham where they could defend their city, and be within walking distance of their homes and loved ones.
If the troop exchanges went to plan then within three days it would be Essex who occupied the palace within this great fortress and not Warwick. This was a relief to Daniel for it meant that Britta would return to the safety of her house in London. Moreover he and the other militia captains would be relieved of the task of making these risky visits to towns that were within easy rides of Rupert's flying army.
All of this was keeping all of the spies very busy, and very well paid. What they were reporting to Warwick was that the king was very nervous that towns that had been staunchly in support of him, were now refusing to help him. True they were also refusing to help the rebels, but what the king sorely needed was supplies and new recruits to bolster the ranks of his infantry.
One day it was reported that the king's army seemed to be setting off to march towards Sussex. The king must have dithered about his decision because no sooner was his army on the move, than it turned around and went back to Oatlands. Another day it was reported that the king's army was marching down the Chichester road. Chichester was a walled coastal town where months ago one of the earliest defense clubs had been formed. Again the king dithered and the army turned around.
On the day that Warwick handed Windsor over to Essex, word again came that the king's army was on the march, this time towards Bagshot on the Reading road. Because of the confusion in the change of command and the swapping of regiments, no regiments were sent out from Windsor to intercept and block the king's army. The only thing that Essex and Warwick could agree on now that the king had left Oatlands, was to garrison both Kingston and Staines to control both of those bridges so that every bridge from Windsor to London was under their control.
The garrison sent to Kingston sent word back that this time they were well received by the folk of the town, despite having just been occupied for five days by the king's army, or perhaps because of it. They reported that the king's army had not paid for the supplies they took, and were eager to supply the garrison so long as they were paid fair value. They would be paid, of course, because parliament had a policy of paying for supplies, though not as much as the values declared by the locals. At least they were paid something, whereas the king felt it his right not to pay anything.
A wealth of news was to be had for the asking when locals from near the king's palace at Oatlands were brought to Windsor for questioning. They told of a hungry army who could not supply themselves because the folk all around were given a weeks warning to hide their victuals. Even if the king's quartermasters offered thrupence for a penny loaf, no bread was brought to them for the locals mistrusted the high price and assumed it but a trap to steal any bread that was offered up.
The king had been shocked by the strength of the rebel army when combined with the London mob, and was fearful of the anger displayed by the mob. The locals speculated that the reason he had sent part of his army this way and that way, was in hopes of confusing the rebel army into not attacking Oatlands from the east from Putney and from the west across Staines bridge at the same time.
"He was in a right dither, the king was," one carter put it, "and so all of his officers were dithering too. I think our king was out of his mind with worry about the wrath of the London folk, and feared for the lives of he and he young sons should they be caught." The carter had been ruined by the king because the army had taken his cart but had not taken him to drive it.
Warwick and Essex stayed silent and listened while other men asked the questions. A sergeant who had once been a carter, was doing most of the questioning. "So you say he sent brigades of horse to Guildford, Farnham, Bagshot, and Egham on different days. Did they all return the same day." Warwick gave him an approving nod for asking such a wise question.
"Yes of course, no let me think. Nay, them that rode to Farnham did not return." The carter's reply set Warwick speaking in whispers to some of his colonels.
"And on that last day when they cleared out of Oatlands, did everyone march the same road, and to where?" the sergeant asked.
"March, there was little enough marchin' goin' on. Everyone was ridin' on horses, spare horses, carriages and carts."
"Even the infantry?"
"What infantry," the carter chuckled. "All week long the infantry had been scurryin' away in armed groups of twenty and forty. Dey wus at the end o' the food line, see, and they wus starvin'. And for what? Most had joined up on the promise of a share in the sack o' London. Even a king can't keep up the promise of loot from a city when he is ridin' away from it. Bagshot is west not east, and Bagshot was where the king was riding for."
The carters were questioned for almost an hour, and the quality of their information won them enough coin to replace their lost carts. When they were dismissed, and the room cleared of all but officers, Warwick announced, "Well that settles it then. We leave the London militia holding Fullham and Putney to protect the city and we leave part of the regular army here in Windsor to support our garrisons in Kingston and Staines. That frees up my Lord Essex to lead the main part of the army towards Reading to hound the king, while Colonel Waller and I go and do something about Farnham."
"Farnham? What about Farnham?" Essex asked. "Did you mean to say Fullham or did I miss something?"
"The kings troopers that rode to Farnham did not return to Oatlands," Warwick told him with a look of distain. "There is a castle at Farnham. Either Charlie or Rupert must have decided to garrison it. We can't allow that, because that would endanger our supply lines from Windsor to
Southampton. Colonel Waller and I worked well together to take Portsmouth, so we will secure Farnham while you concentrate on the garrison at Reading."
Once the meeting was finished, Warwick sent word to Britta that the meal could be served. Since Windsor was being handed over to Essex, this evening would be the last evening that Britta would hostess the officers at dinner. There was no question that she would leave Windsor when Warwick left, either to Farnham with him, or back to London and her house to tell all of her adventures to the rest of the Rich women. She had not yet decided which, but she would absolutely not remain in Windsor without him, for she distrusted and detested the fat pug Essex.
It was a grand dinner because Essex demanded grandeur. Only Essex complained about the lack of decoration of the main dishes, for the rest of the officers were only too glad to eat so well and in such good company. What ever Britta had organized to meet with Essex's approval was never good enough. When he complained of the long wait between the fourth and fifth course, she could not abide to wait at the table with him, so she excused herself and left the dining room for the kitchen to see what was taking so long. When she stood up from the head of the table, every officer downed his spoon and also stood up, and some even toasted her.
The way to the kitchen was along the back hallway and down the back stairs to the cellar. The way was unusually clear of men carrying serving platters, which meant that the delay was down in the kitchen. At one point she had to draw back against the wall to let some men carrying dirty platters pass, and that was when she first realized that Essex was following her. Before she could press on, he did his usual thing of grabbing at her with the intention of groping her. She shuddered at his touch, and at his foul breath as he tried to steal a kiss. The man smoked tobacco so he tasted like an ashtray.
"You are welcome to stay at Windsor with me my darling," he said. No, not said. He was drunk and he drooled the words. "I will have everyone treat you like a queen."
The men with trays were by, so she slapped one of Essex's hands, pushed away another and fled down the staircase in front of him. She could hear his heavy, clumsy, footfalls behind her. Halfway down he grabbed at her hair and almost caused her to trip, but she caught herself and continued on, hoping that by ignoring him he would give up. No such luck. As drunk as he was he still caught her on the bottom landing, because her long skirts kept tangling around her knees. He was off balance and he ran into her and crushed her forward into a wall. An accident perhaps, but after regaining his balance he did not back off. Instead his hands were everywhere, especially on her breasts and down the cleavage of her bodice.
"No, sir, stop it. Please take your hands off me," she cried out. She was breathless for his heavy stomach was pressing her against the wall and crushing the wind out of her. .
"Oye, you. Take your hands off the lady, like she says," a rough voice came from the doorway to the kitchen.
Essex looked around and shot the intruder an angry stare down his nose, "You dare speak to me in this way? Do you not realize who I am. I am General Devereaux and as of this day I command this garrison."
"I thank your grace for introducing yourself, and once you have unhanded the lady I will most happy to salute you."
"Get thee gone before I have you flogged," Essex spat.
"Take that hand out of her bodice or lose the arm," the man hissed while raising a meat cleaver in readiness to do the chopping.
"Do as he says my lord," Britta told him. Essex's pudgy face had become a mask of anger. "A few days ago there was an attempt on my life, so every man in the garrison has standings orders to protect me, and with deadly force if necessary. The corporal is doing what he was ordered to do. If you do not let me go, there will be no saving your arm."
She pushed at him with both her hands to gain breathing room. He seemed to have understood for his weight was not crushing her anymore. As soon as his hands let go of her breasts, she squirmed out from between he and the wall and went and hid behind the corporal. "Put the cleaver down and salute him," she whispered into the man's ear.
The corporal did exactly that. "Honored to have the privilege of feeding your grace," he said after saluting and a bit of bowing and scraping. "The beef dip course was mine."
"Err, corporal, we came to see what the delay was with the blood pud," Britta said to fill in for the Earl's fuming silence.
"Ah, we added a bit too much red wine and so it is taking a while longer to set. It should be along shortly."
"You see, your grace," she curtseyed. "There was no need for you to leave the good company at the table. Please return and I shall follow you up, presently."
"You," the Earl said pointing a pudgy hand at the corporal. "I strongly suggest that you leave Windsor with the Earl of Warwick." He had another look at the razor sharp cleaver and pulled his hand back.
"I thank your grace for the advice and I will be pleased to follow it," the corporal said and he bowed. In truth, the entire kitchen staff were from the same London brigade, and they most certainly would leave Windsor rather than serve under General Assex.
Essex nodded knowingly and straightened his back, but he couldn't resist having the last word with the most exceptional woman in London. "I ache for you Britta, and one day soon I will have you. You see if I don't." He would have stayed and said more, but two men were pushing into the landing carrying a very large bowl of steaming pud, so he had no choice but to retreat up the stairs in front of them.
Britta pulled the corporal aside and scolded him. "Thank you, but don't you ever risk your life again by trying to save me from a trifle like a groping. I think it best that you and your men go back to your regiment's camp as soon as the dishes are cleaned. Let Essex organize his own breakfast in the morning."
"I would have you know, for you. Chopped his arm off, I mean," the corporal clarified. "Though I'da been sorely tempted to raise the aim a bit and put the cleaver through 'is bloody neck. I can't believe that parliament has put such a pudding fart in charge of the army." His words earned him a kiss on his cheek, and when she left him to go back upstairs, he went back into the kitchen to look at himself in a silver tray to see if her lip paint had left a red mark. A trophy to show the other lads.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Brentford by Skye Smith Copyright 2014
Chapter 24 - Essex claims Windsor in November 1642
The earls Warwick and Essex had always been competitors in courtly society, and though they were cousins with many relations through marriage, Essex treated Warwick like an interloper. Warwick's grandfather had been a commoner who was elevated to the peerage, whereas Essex claimed to have the blood of kings running in his veins. With one now appointed Lord Admiral, and the other Lord General this old competition was now becoming belligerent, especially as the admiral would not trust the general to run a chicken coop, never mind the army.
Tempers hissed and whistled as the belligerence came to a boil over Britta. Not in public, of course, for it would never do for the officers and men to see those in high command snorting at each other like bucks in rutting season. Much of it was nothing to do with the fair lady, though she was the only other person present and could do nothing but stand aside while the men exchanged their threats.
"Come within an arms length of her again and I will spit you through that fat belly of yours," Warwick hissed as he picked up his dress sword and hooked its scabbard over his belt. All of this was done at the level of whispered hisses, because there would be ears at every keyhole of the king's chamber where Warwick was now packing up his things at the same time that Essex was unpacking his.
"Hah, will you listen to him brag. Clubfoot Robert who could never best me at sword practice, not even as teens together," Essex replied, while changing his mind and not removing his own scabbard from his belt.
"Aye but you were five stone lighter then, and could reach an arm out further than your belly."
"Spoken like a pirate trained in slashing and backstabbi
ng. You always were a pirate Rob. You were a cutthroat when you ran off to the Caribbean to escape the tedium of running your grandfather's ill gained properties, and a cutthroat you remain. How dare you rally the rabble against gentlemen." He glanced over at Britta, splendid in her mauve gown. "I can't fathom why she stays with you. You must hold her mother captive for how else could you force her to bend over for you."
"At least my grandfather earned his properties by faithful hard work and foresight. He wasn't handed them all just because he was related to someone who claimed to have invaded with William the Conqueror. She'll never bend over for you. She's knows from your daughters how you fart with every hump."
The last was too much. Both men were reaching for their hilts. Britta pulled her wheellock out of her pocket, and she flipped off the safety. Calmly she aimed it at Essex's crotch. "Draw that sword, my lord, and I will turn you from a stud into a gelding. I will not be brawled over like a doe. I refuse to keep your company for a moment more, either of you. I am leaving Windsor to return to London."
Essex still had not pushed the hilt back down. He was staring hard at the small gun in her hand. "This is a Dutch wheellock, your grace," she told him. "It does not need to be cocked against a spring. One hard pull of the trigger will spin the sparking wheel." She tipped it slightly to the left to show him that she knew enough to make sure the breach vent was filled with flash powder.
Essex slammed his hilt back down in his scabbard and then so did Warwick. Warwick gave her a big grin and began to tell her... but was interrupted by her clipped orders. "Take your things and be gone you bragging fool, while I keep Lord Devereaux from trying to slice you open." Luckily he did not argue but grabbed up his satchel of papers and maps and his writing set, and backed out of the door. She backed out behind him, but at the door blew Essex a kiss just to take the sting out of his fuming cheeks.
Once they were striding down the main upstairs hallway to the front staircase, Warwick asked, "And just how do you expect to return to London if I don't wish you to leave my company? I am on my way to Farnham, and I would dearly love your company there."