by Smith, Skye
"Wellenhay is one of the last traditional Frisian villages,” Oliver told them. "There are still many over in Friesland, but only a handful in England. Sadly, the Fens is about to lose these fine folk. Between the drainings, the enclosures, and the longer winters, they are giving up. They are looking for a warmer island, perhaps in the Americas."
"Good,” Haselrig whispered. "I do not wish ill to the Anabaptists or the other communal sects, but there is no place for them here in England. Let us transport them to the Americas and be done with them. It is cottagers like these that stand in the way of progress. If they were not foiling the drainers, then by now most of that swampy land out there,” he waved towards the fen across the river from them, "would be productive pasture land."
Oliver went silent while he tried to calm the urge to smash Haselrig's face. In his times as a dirt farmer he had been drawn to the independent communities like the Brownists and the Mennonites, almost to the point of joining them. As for the drainage enclosures, they were an evil being forced not only on the cottagers, but on all the wildlife of these wetlands.
It had been ancient Oudje who had convinced him that all life in the North Sea was dependant on wetlands like the Fens. Draining the wetlands would kill all that flourished in the wetlands, and that would kill all that flourished in the North Sea. The loss of fish and fowl on such a scale might mean starvation for millions. And for what? So the king could claim the commons for himself and then sell it for a profit, and replace thousands of cottagers and bounties of fowl and fishes, with what? Herds of sheep.
His attempts at calming his anger at Haselrig were failing. He needed to set his mind on something else. Daniel was talking to a group of men, explaining something. Britta was with him, still dressed in her town best, and therefore totally bewitching. The young men around her did not even seem to notice. If they had been students from the colleges, they would have been either trying to impress her, or simply drooling. He walked over to find out what was happening.
The men nodded to him, but kept talking as if he weren't there. Britta was being questioned about what she had found out in town about the Conway lad. Eventually she held up her hand to stop the questions and simply said, "It will be easier if I just take you there. Go and clean yourselves up and put on your town clothes." With that she spun away and walked towards the women, her women, who were discussing something with her boss, the innkeep.
None of the young men watched her fine form glide and dance away. Having grown up with her, she was 'just' Britta. Not so for Oliver. He chastised himself for his lusty thoughts and made a quick prayer to the Lord to forgive the erotic daydreams of an aging man. Meanwhile he listened to the men formulate a plan that would have six young pretending to be students while they spied on and shadowed young Conway and his bodyguards.
Britta was going to lead these six men to the house she had found where the arsonists were lodging, and on the way show them the best places to rest, eat, drink and meet without stirring the interest of the neighbours. Daniel's instructions to his men were simple.
They were not to be noticed, nor to spook or even speak to the arsonists.
They were to draw a rough map of the neighbourhood.
They were to draw a plan of the house and the grounds, including all windows and doors and any hiding places near the grounds.
They were to secretly follow anyone who left the house and memorize the addresses of any place they visited.
They were to carry no weapons other than their boot knife.
They must work in teams of two.
With the instructions understood, the men shouldered their packs and went to find somewhere to wash up and change clothes while Daniel turned to Oliver and said, "If you or any of the other politicians have business in town, we now have men enough to escort them."
"Then you should tell them this yourself,” was Oliver’s terse reply.
Daniel shrugged and figured that Oliver was in one of his dark moods yet again, so he walked over to tell John Pym.
"The only errand I can think of is to buy tickets for tomorrow's London coach,” Pym said.
"That you must NOT do in person,” Daniel replied. "You will be safer if no one in Cambridge knew you were leaving or which coach you were taking. I will send Anso to buy them." He waved over to the man who had been helping the women disembark the Freisburn. The tall man came towards them by way of a hug from the Innwife. When he reached them, Daniel introduced him as the captain of the Freisburn.
Usually gentlemen of their importance would not stand nor offer their hand to a peasant, but when Anso loomed over them and offered his massive hand, none of them stayed sitting. From a distance the man was perfectly proportioned and seemed no larger than a normal man. It was not until they saw him standing beside Daniel, who was himself a tall man, did they realized the bulk of him. He was a man born to lead just by right of size.
Pym counted some coins out while he said, "We need three tickets on tomorrow's first class coach to London. We would be most thankful if you bought them for us. There is only one first class coach and it leaves at eight in the morning. The agent is ..."
Anso didn't take the money. "I know the agent, and he, me. I will reserve the seats and you can pay him before boarding. I will put all three in my name."
"Four,” Haselrig called out and then explained, "I've decided not to go home to Noseley, but to go on to London with you."
"Five,” Oliver called as he walked up to them, "Arthur is right. Now that we are forewarned of Leslie's terms for the peace treaty, we have things to do in London."
They all looked towards Daniel. He pulled a coach ticket out of his pocket and handed it to Anso. "Here, see if you can exchange it for a first class ticket. Oh, and come back by way of Bridge Street. I've sent the men to watch a riverside house downstream from Magdalene College. By the time you get there they should know something or at least have a map to pass on."
Anso turned to go but Daniel called to his back. "Britta may still be with them. Please do me a favour and bring her back with you, and don't you go getting involved. You are too noticeable." Anso waved a hand above his head and was gone, his long stride eating up the pathway.
Eventually, when all the organizing of men was done, Daniel finally had the chance to speak with his second wife Sarah about her son. He told her of what he had proposed to Teller and though she was thankful, she was also skeptical.
"My father-in-law is a horse's ass,” she told him. "Not a week after I was widowed, he was trying to get into my bed. I refused him so many times that he became fearful that I would ruin his reputation, so he threw me out of his house and do you know what he told his wife? That I had tried to seduce him."
"Before you return to Wellenhay, go and visit Teller, both Tellers. If you are not welcomed and encouraged to spend time with you boy, then I will have more words with the old man. But go slowly. Visit with your boy at the old man's house a few times before you take him to Wellenhay for a visit. Let them get used to the idea that the boy is to be shared amicably for his own good."
* * * * *
That entire day the George was closed except for guests. If those who came to the gate did not believe the large 'closed' sign, they would certainly believe the dangerous men who were guarding the gate. Anso and Britta had finally returned, and both denied being anyway involved in spying on the arsonists. They did bring with them a map of the houses downstream from the bridge, a plan of the house in question, a list names of those who lived around that house, and some quick notes gained from simply asking the neighbours about the bodyguards.
Notes such as:
They were Irish Mercenaries. This made sense because the Conway lad had grown up in Ireland and was actually a student of Trinity College in Ireland.
The Conway lad was seventeen. He attended Trinity most days, but slept at the house. Two men escorted him to and fro.
The house was rented from Trinity College.
There was a cook and two maids
at the house, but only during daylight hours.
There were eight Irish, not six. There were always two at the house, and one always watching out from the window beside the front door.
They did all of their eating and drinking at home.
Not a good thing was said about them.
The closest house belonged to Lord Heath. In residence were Heath's son Edward, and the Dutch engineer Cornelius Vermuyden.
In the taproom of the The George all of the tables had been moved to the center and all of the chairs and benches moved to form a ring about them. The five parliamentarians had been the first to sit and had chosen the long bench that ran along the wall. They watched as the others came into the room and chose their seats and were fascinated by the proceedings. They all had careers that involved laws and courts, but this was the first time any of them had attended a traditional moot court.
"Why are the women sitting at the head table?" Haselrig asked.
"It is they who called the moot,” Oliver guessed.
"Ridiculous,” Haselrig whispered, and the others agreed with him.
"Their community is different from other Anabaptist communities because the have kept the ancient tradition that the line of inheritance runs through the eldest daughter. That one tradition makes all of their customs seem completely upside down, especially from a Puritan point of view."
"Through the eldest daughter? But that is preposterous."
"Not when you consider that each time they wave fare-thee-well to their ships and men, they may never see those men again. When you think about it, it is quite logical. So logical that I wonder why it is so rare in these modern times of reason and logic." Oliver was enjoying playing the devil's advocate. Modern men were too proud to trust their wealth to their women.
Pym's quick mind was racing along a thought. "But, of course. It is a brilliant solution, and so simple. I wonder why it is rare?"
"Perhaps because all conquerors would abhor it. Oudje once told me that the Frisian people have never been conquered. Beaten, yes, but never conquered." The room was growing quiet so Oliver looked up. "We should shush now, Oudje is coming."
The Seer leaned heavily on her staff as she limped to her chair at the head table. She sat and looked around at the dozen or more people around her. "Why are they here?" she hissed and pointed toward the five parliamentarians. "They are drylanders, outlanders, and worse, they are godfanaat."
"Calm yourself Oudje,” replied Venka, who sat beside her, and patted her hand as she spoke. "The attempted arson was against them, so they have a say in this court."
"I see no court here," Haselrig called out. "Just a lot of illiterate peasants flapping their gums. Why hasn't it been reported to the sheriff? Why are we not petitioning a real court?"
"Hold your tongue, fool,” Oudje hissed at him. The big man sitting in the chair behind Haselrig reached forward and laid a ham hand on his shoulder. Haselrig thought it better to swallow his barbed retort.
"Arthur," Oliver explained, "the sheriffs of the fens never make trouble for agents of the king. Conway was his general at Newcastle, so the lad's bodyguard will never be accused by a mere sheriff. As for the courts, I once petitioned the courts against Lord Heath, who is a powerful agent of the king. My petition was just and right, but my reward was to be dragged in front of the Privy Council and humbled. This is a traditional court, a moot, and it is valid for the very reason that all of us have been put in the position of being beyond the help of the kingdom's legal system."
Oudje nodded her thanks to the titheman from Ely. "To keep this short, please turn to your neighbour and vow to them that you will bear no false witness in this court." When that was done, she resumed. "Daniel, please describe the crime, briefly." Daniel did so.
Venka asked him, "Are you sure that the man with the firebomb was one of these 'Dirty-cheeks' that guard Edward Conway? If the six were lined up in front of us, could you pick him out?"
"I know he is one of them, but no, I did not see him clearly enough to choose him from a line."
"Then there is no case against any individual for arson,” Oudje announced. "Since you did not catch one in the act, there is no case for conspiracy. Until there is more evidence, then this is a civil matter at best. You do not have my permission to harm these men, and you will not get that permission until you have better proof."
"May we scare them a bit?" Daniel asked.
"You may, so long as they are not harmed, and so long as it does not create a cycle of violence that will harm our clan, or The George, or these citified gentlemen."
Venka squeezed the old woman's hand and said, "Thank you, Oudje. Do you wish to stay in council, or do you wish Teesa take you outside and make you comfortable in the sun?"
They all watched the twisted frame of the ealderwoman rise from the table and limp towards Teesa, who had been leaning against a door post for she had no say in this court. "I'll be back in a minute," Teesa told them all.
"Well, that just cheated a judge and a few lawyers out of a week's earnings,” Pym jested. "And she reached the same conclusion in five minutes. Now what is all this about scaring them?"
"Our criminal law is designed to stop the cycle of vengeance between families,” Venka explained. "Our civil law is about balancing losses where there was no violence. In this case, they threatened and scared you, so you can ask for them to be threatened and scared in return, to a more or less equal extent.
Those who were threatened form three groups, you five, three of our clan, and the staff of The George. None of these groups must take any action that may cause trouble for another group. In this case The George will likely bare the brunt of any reaction that we cause."
"Too right,” the Innkeeper agreed.
"So we do nothing?" Pym's voice did not hide his frustration.
"And what would you have us do?" Venka asked.
"Kill them,” Haselrig called out. "If they were convicted of arson, they would be hanged, so let's kill them anyway." Others in the circle agreed with him.
"Well, other than the fact that Oudje has just forbidden it,” Venka said calmly, "that would not solve your problem. Lord Conway would just send others, and the next lot would be more careful, more thorough, and probably more successful. The cycle of violence would continue."
"If I may speak,” Daniel looked to Venka for permission and continued at her nod. "I agree with Venka. The main lesson I learned while fighting the Empire in the Netherlands is that killing their mercenaries was a task without end. Only the death of their paymaster made any difference."
"Lord Conway?"
"Or his king."
"Then we do nothing." Pym was resigned. "We run to London and live in fear of nasty accidents."
"At least you can recognize these arsonists,” Venka told him. "If you killed them, the next attempt will be by someone who you don't recognize."
Teesa had returned and had heard most of this exchange. "I have an idea,” she waved her hand like a child in school, "that is, Britta and I have an idea."
"Fabulous,” Haselrig moaned. "First we must sit through the harpings of a hag, and now the drivel of a school girl."
Teesa stuck out her tongue at him. Venka motioned her to say her piece. "Well, Britta said that Conway's men are living in the house next to Heath and his engineer. All of them are agents of the king's, but they work to different purposes and ignore each other. The arsonist are disliked and distrusted by their neighbours, including the Heaths. Mr. Cromwell said that when there is trouble in the Fens, the sheriffs side with the Heaths.
Well, Britta and I were thinking. Both houses are a threat to us, and the Sheriff will side with the Heaths, so why not set the two houses against each other? In that way, the Sheriff will be tricked into dealing with the arsonists and no one here would be blamed. Any feud would be between two of the king's agents and not against us." She threw a smile of achievement at Haselrig that made him moan in lust despite himself.
"Out of the mouths of babes,�
� the Innkeeper quipped, which earned him a jab from his wife. Daniel asked him if he still had a small keg of the false Bushmills in stock. He nodded. "Why, what are you planning?"
"I think we have to make it up as we go," Daniel replied. "But the first step of any scheme against soldiers is to get them fall down drunk."
"But what if these Irishmen don't drink?" Teesa asked. She couldn't understand why everyone suddenly fell about laughing. While everyone else was laughing she walked forward to stand where Oudje had been sitting so that she could look at the rough map and the plan of the house. Daniel squeezed passed Venka, with the emphasize on squeeze, so he also could gaze at the map. Britta pushed passed her aunt so she could explain the map to him.
The Innkeeper was leaving to fetch the pin of faux Irish whiskey, when he had a thought and turned to face the head table. "This summer I asked Oudje for some of her sleeping potion, you know, for when a drunk got too rowdy. I just spike their ale and then roll them into a bed. I'll ask her if it will work in whiskey as well as it does in ale." The laughter began again, but this time there was a hint of wicked glee to it.
* * * * *
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The Pistoleer - Slavers by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 13 - While Irish eyes are dozing in September 1640
Erik, the man who had drawn the maps and plans, walked past the front of the Conway house to make sure that there was a watcher in the front window. There was. Without breaking his stride he kept moving until he was out of sight of the watcher, but still in sight of the overgrown bushes beside the front gate. With his hands cupped around his mouth so he could direct his call towards the house he yelled out, "Stop thief!"
The call was not just to make sure the watcher was paying attention, but to signal the beginning of a foot chase along the cobbled street. A man in rough clothes pounded along in front of the house, stopped, turned around to look behind him, looked at the small cask under his arm, looked towards the bushes by the gate, and then hid the cask in the bushes. Then he was away at a full run. Seconds later two men in better clothes raced passed the house shouting, "Stop, thief!" All three running men ignored Erik other than to give him a wink and a smile.