by Tim Vicary
The evening was particularly beautiful. The sun was setting slowly over the low flat moors to the north west of their camp on a ridge of low hills, with the little hamlet of Pedwell in the valley behind them. After the rain in the early part of the day the sky and air seemed washed clean and fresh. It was a joy for her just to lean against the side of the cart for a moment, and gaze at the sun setting slowly towards the sea beside the distant hill of Brent Knoll.
The breeze gently lifted the locks of her hair, and a thrush sang triumphant evensong in an oak tree behind her. All across the fields on the little ridge were makeshift tents and picket lines and cooking fires, and a little ahead and to her left floated Monmouth’s great blue and gold striped banner, with the letters ‘Fear Nothing But God’ blazoned boldly across it. The banner too had been washed clean by the rain, but Ann thought how shabby its blue seemed beside the pure endless blue of the sky above it. She let her gaze wander up to where tiny white clouds floated high like puffs of gunsmoke, and below them, the long flat bars of cloud around the sun spread its light into a gleam that was neither white nor gold nor red, but an exhilarating mixture of each, and she wished, just for a moment, that she could live quite alone, away from all mankind, with its families and quarrels and religions and armies, and meet God only in the song of the wind and the changing patterns of the sky, with none of the doctrines and symbols of men to come in between.
But that could never happen. The sun slipped a little lower behind a darker cloud. Ann shivered in the sudden cold, and turned past the end of the cart to see what was happening around the fire.
Everyone’s attention was on the stranger from Taunton. John Spragg had just finished saying something sharp to him, and in reply the dark, burly, confident little man was smiling, and rummaging in the leather bag he carried over his shoulder. He pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, and began to unfold it.
“Don’t believe me then, sirs, if you don’t want. But before you condemn me for a liar, let me read ‘ee this copy yer.”
Ann felt her heart pound suddenly in her throat as he read, and she had to swallow to catch her breath. It could not, must not, be true, and yet ... she had never seen a royal proclamation, but she could see over his shoulder that the first words at least were as he read them, and that a great royal crest like that of King James the Second was at the top, with a facsimile of his seal at the bottom.
“... will graciously grant a free and absolute pardon to any man now mistakenly serving with the seditious army raised against us by the traitor Duke of Monmouth, who does within eight days from now lay down his arms and return quietly home to his former allegiance, the which act he shall be required to prove only by the obtaining of a certificate to the effect signed by a Justice of the Peace loyal to the Crown. Given under our own seal in Westminster this Monday the twenty-ninth day of June in the year of our Lord 1685, James, by the Grace of God King ... “
In the silence as he finished reading, Ann could still hear the thrush singing its full-throated evensong in the oak tree behind her, and the murmur of talk and occasional burst of laughter or song in the camp around them. Only around their camp fire was everyone silent.
The paper crackled as the man handed it to John Spragg, and still no-one spoke. Ann listened to the pounding of her heart and tried to think what it would mean, and whether she was filled with hope or despair. She knew only that by those few words everything they had done and fought for in the last few weeks was changed, changed forever ...
“What day of the month is this?” William Clegg’s harsh, gravelly voice broke the silence, for once quite devoid of humour. It sent little ripples of movement into the circle of men around the fire, like a stone dropped into a pool.
“‘Tis Thursday today. That’ll make it ... second of July. And this was signed the twenty-ninth of June. Five more days, William.” John Spragg gazed coolly back at his friend, his look posing the question he had not yet answered for himself.
“You believe me now, at least?” The stranger looked around, a quizzical smile of triumph on his lips.
“Oh yes, we believe you well enough, you fat Judas Iscariot! “ burst out Sergeant Evans, his strong Welsh accent thickening in his anger. “But do we believe King James, look you? That’s the question now, isn’t it? ‘James, by the grace of God, King’, indeed! By grace of the bloody Pope of Rome, more like!” He spat bitterly in the fire.
“There’ve been some men got certificates and come in already, back to Frome, and Shepton Mallet. I haven’t heard of one that’s been harmed. They just let ‘em go off home, quiet like.” The stranger looked around the rest of the circle cautiously, trying to assess their reaction. “I thought ‘twas a duty to tell ‘ee. ‘Tis cruel hard for a man to die, and leave his wife and childer helpless, when all he needs is a little piece of paper to let him go home.”
“True enough.” With a shock Ann saw that it was her own father who had spoken. Several heads turned to look at him, but he said no more, and dropped his head down to avoid their gaze, stretching his hands in front of him to examine the knuckles as though they were stiff.
“I would say ‘tis ... the Devil’s counsel.” Israel Fuller’s stern voice began, halting strangely in the middle of his sentence, as though he hardly dared to go on.
But when he began again, his voice was as firm as ever, an oracle that heeded no question. “I would say ‘twere the Devil’s counsel, if it came to an army of righteous men, whose leaders were the chosen leaders of God! But today, brethren, we have first to ask ourselves if we are such an army, after what we have seen done, and not done, amongst us. I know that I have seen the leaders of this army draw sword against those righteous men among their own followers, when they sought to cleanse the temple of the Lord of the idols and abominations of the heathen! Just as I have seen those same leaders fail to draw sword against the enemy, when the Lord Himself had sent a clear sign that He held the city of Bristol in His hand to deliver up to us! And now the greatest of our leaders, that man whose pride puffed himself up to be declare himself King before aught else, in defiance of the very promise he gave our brethren when he came, that he sought not glory for himself but the freedom of our religion, can do no more than lead us away from the enemy, back the way we have come, while the heathen hunt us like a fox into our den.”
He looked around at his audience, his dark eyes flashing above the full black beard. “And I therefore say this is a sign, my friends, that this man of lust and vanity has forfeited the trust of the Lord - just as the words of this messenger here, sinful as they may at first seem, are in fact a sign from the Lord of His mercy in softening the heart of His enemy to allow the righteous amongst us to leave the sinner to his fate and depart in peace.”
For a moment there was utter silence, while the preacher’s dark eyes challenged everyone.
“And Monmouth?” Sergeant Evans burst out incredulously. “Do you think the Duke will just let you go?”
“The man has forfeited the fight to keep us!” answered Israel angrily. “Deuteronomy chapter 18, friend: ‘When a prophet speaketh in the name of the Lord, if the thing follow not, nor come to pass, that is the thing which the Lord hath not spoken, but the prophet hath spoken it presumptuously; thou shalt not be afraid of him.’“
“That’s how I thought of it, too, friend,” said the irrepressible stranger, trying to cover his smile with a look of appropriate solemnity. “And therefore it seemed a bounden duty on me to tell ‘ee.”
“What’s thy name, friend?” John Spragg looked up suddenly from the paper in his hand.
“Thomas Dyer.”
“Well, friend Dyer, I think you had best come along with me. This is hardly news that we can keep to one company alone. The whole army should hear it.” John Spragg stood up, smiling. He clapped a hand around the man’s shoulder, and led him out of the circle around the fire, down towards the rest of the camp and Pedwell church.
As the two passed by her, the smile still on John Spragg’s face, Ann
knew that it was despair and sorrow that she felt, and not hope. John Spragg was changing before her eyes - he was no longer the strong man she had looked up to and admired as a godfather, but a traitor, a coward intent on saving his own skin and betraying his friends.
She ran forward and seized his arm to stop him.
“No, John, you can’t! ‘Tisn’t right!”
“Let go, Ann. ‘Tis not for you to decide.” And just for a moment, as he looked straight at her, giving her his full attention, the old trust and admiration returned. She let him go, wondering if perhaps she had been wrong, and that it was different for men who actually had to go out into battle, risking death and mutilation without reward. She watched the two men go, and turned to see what her father and the others would decide.
Tom Goodchild was talking vehemently to William Clegg.
“‘Tis plain that Israel be right! Did you not see what happened at Wells? ‘Tis the first time that coward Grey’s ever drawn sword, to defend those idols! Look what happened to him at Bridport - he ran! And why didn’t Monmouth rid us of him, eh? Because Monmouth’s a lord and an idolater same as the sodomite Grey himself, with no right to lead the army of God!”
“The Duke’s a proven general and a Protestant King, boy!”
“He’s an idolater and a fornicator! By the fruit of their actions ye shall know them, Will! And ‘tis plain as my pikestaff here that Monmouth is a sinner in the eyes of the Lord!”
“Let him that is without sin cast the first stone.”
Tom turned, his heavy features flushed with righteous rage, as Adam’s quiet, bitter voice cut in on him. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then Tom looked away, appealing to William Clegg in his embarrassment.
“But it’s still a sign from God, for all that! To go home, in safety, and wait for a better leader. It must be right!”
William Clegg sighed, and Ann thought how slight and worn he looked. She remembered seeing him working day after day at the great loom in his cottage in Colyton, the youngest of his seven children playing around his feet, and wondered if it was right for him to be here at all. William sighed again, and looked straight at Tom as he spoke.
“I should have thought ‘twould be easier for an older man to decide to go home, but I find ‘tis not so. But then, each man must decide for himself.” He got up, and walked away from Tom to sit down by Adam. “What do you say to it, old friend?”
Ann’s father flexed his stiff hand once more, fingering the knuckles carefully to ease the pain.
“I say, Will, that ‘tis a great temptation.” His hands stopped moving, and for a long moment he was quite still like a rock, his face hidden in shadow. Then he drew a deep breath and looked up calmly into the eyes of his friend. “And temptation comes from the Devil, William. I’ve no doubt of that. So it seems I shall have to stay, just to avoid the bugger.”
William Clegg’s old, leathery face winced into a mass of wrinkles, as though he had bitten on a sore tooth; then slowly the grimace relaxed into a resigned smile. He held out his hand.
“You’m right there, Adam, for once. And it seems I shall have to stay with ‘ee, to see it through.”
Adam clasped the hand that was offered, and for a moment the two old friends smiled sadly at each other, oblivious to Tom and all the others around them. Ann, watching, felt a sudden rush of pity and admiration. She had an absurd desire to hug them like a mother, as though they were not lined and wrinkled men with streaks of grey in their hair, but two little children, swearing to keep faith in a game whose danger they did not understand.
“But you’re mad, you’re both mad! ‘Tis like Israel says, the Lord has given us a sign!” Tom intervened despite himself, his heavy face dark with hurt and concern. “Monmouth ... “
“‘Tis a matter for each man and his conscience, Tom. I’ve made my peace with mine and you must do the same with yours. But don’t trouble me with no more of your arguments. I’ve heard ‘em, boy, and I’ve decided.” Adam stood up calmly, and walked away to get some water from a barrel to clean his bowl.
The discussion round the fire continued, but Ann ignored it and followed her father. She stood quietly behind him so that at first he did not see her. She remembered a day when she had been a little child, and had crept up on him quietly when he had been unsaddling his horse. He had not known she was there at first, but when he had turned round and seen her his face had lit up like the sun. He had lifted her up onto his shoulder and pulled a little wooden cross out of his saddlebag, a gift he had brought her from the market in Exeter. She wished she had it with her here, but it was at home, in a drawer beside her bed, where it had been for many years now.
He had seemed so big and strong to her then. Now she was as tall as he was, and his movements were frail and tired. She wondered if she were intruding.
Adam washed his bowl very carefully and thoroughly as though it were the most important thing in the world; and then suddenly threw it down on the grass and leant against the side of the cart, his head buried in his arms. Ann stood awkwardly, watching, not sure what to do. She was about to reach out a hand and touch him when someone stirred inside the cart. Adam looked up and saw her.
“Ann! What do you want now?” His voice reproached her for the intrusion.
“Nothing, father.” She looked down to avoid seeing the tears in his eyes. “I ... just wanted to say I think you are right not to take the pardon.”
“Right? You want me to be killed, then?”
“No, father, of course not!” She stared at him and then turned away, horrified by the bitterness in his voice. But he followed her around the cart, to where she stared unseeingly at the pale rose of sunlight on the distant clouds.
“I’m sorry, Ann, forgive me. That was a foolish thing to say. Forgive me, please.”
“I forgive you, father. But why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, girl. What do you mean? Who was talking of that?”
“I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. It’s because of what I did with Tom, isn’t it? Is that ... that why you want to die?”
She felt sick, as though she had been kicked in the stomach. Perhaps it was not bravery at all that had made her father choose as he had done, but shame - the unbearable shame of having to return home with a daughter like her. If that was true, she ...
“I don’t want to die, Ann, my dear. I don’t intend to die, if I can help it. If the Lord wills, and we stick together as we did at Philip’s Norton, we shall have the victory and stay alive.”
“But if you took the pardon you would be sure to live.”
“If I took the pardon ... as you say, Ann.” Adam shook his head wearily, staring out through the fading light across the fields to where the great blue and white banner floated lazily in the evening breeze. Fear Nothing But God. “It is ... it is just that it is a matter for a man’s own conscience, you see, and I ... I could not take this pardon and go home for the reasons that Israel gives - or that young bastard Tom! I could not live with that.”
He shook his head again and breathed in deeply, savouring the smell of the air that he might not smell so many more times.
“So it is not because of me.”
“No, Ann, it is not because of you.” Nonetheless he did not smile when he looked at her. “But I am at least glad of the pardon for your sake, for now you can make your way home with some of those who will go, and take some of these poor wounded with you.”
“No, father.”
“Yes, Ann. I will not be questioned on this. The army is no place for a girl, as we have seen only too clearly; and it is likely to get worse when we fight, as we surely will soon.”
“Then I should be here to help with the wounded!”
“You will not be here! You will go with some of those who leave!”
“Who shall I go with then? Tom?”
He opened his mouth and then paused, shaken.
“Tell me, father, which traitor shall I go with? Which coward would you t
rust to look after your daughter? If it is dangerous here, it will be worse with them!”
He was silent, and looked down away from her towards the church where John Spragg had gone. “It is easy to call someone a coward, Ann, if you do not have to make his choice.” Then he saw a sudden commotion from near Monmouth’s tent, and a familiar sturdy figure appeared, striding towards them ahead of a group of others. Adam sighed.
“You shall go with your godfather, John Spragg.”
Ann watched John Spragg as he strode up the hill towards them. She wondered how a man could look so confident and purposeful when he had just decided to desert his friends and betray the cause he had been fighting for. Then she noticed something strange in the group behind him. A man - a short burly man - stumbled, and would have fallen if another - Roger Satchell it was - had not grabbed his arm and dragged him roughly to his feet. As he did so Ann saw that the short man was Thomas Dyer who had brought them the proclamation, and he had stumbled because his thick blacksmith’s arms were bound firmly behind his back. Roger Satchell pushed him roughly forwards, and Ann saw Colonel Wade striding firmly forward on the other side of him.
John Spragg strode up to them sternly, and gave Adam a brief smile as he watched the others following.
“Our new friend seems to be out of luck, Adam. I took ‘un to the very men who could best get the word of his gospel spread throughout the camp, but it seems Colonel Wade’s not converted. Nor King Monmouth neither.”
Adam gaped at his friend. “Then ... God forgive me for doubting you, John! But I made sure you meant to go with the serpent, and help him!”
“That’s how ‘twas meant to look, Adam, or he wouldn’t have come with me. And I’m afraid if I’d told him the plain truth, there are those amongst us who would have taken his side rather than mine.”