Pistoleer: Roundway Down

by Smith, Skye

  "Most definitely. That is what they are designed for. To keep them light they used the finest tempered steel for the cutting edge but then fused a more flexible steel to it for the back edge. Every gentleman in the kingdom would pay handsomely to flourish one of these."

  "Well then," Oliver said dismissively, "I will distribute some to my officers and then sell the rest."

  "What about the men?"

  "A light battle axe is of more use to mounted infantry than a sword," Oliver replied. "You know that better than anyone."

  "Why not let them carry both. There's enough of these sabres for your entire troop."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Oliver said. "It takes hundreds of hours of practice to master the sword. I'd rather give them another pistol."

  Daniel sighed. Sometimes Oliver was as thick as a mud brick. "You just finished telling me that you feared that your yeomen may defer to the king's gentlemen out of habit, or awe, and that could cost them dearly in a fight. Rob Blake has already solved this problem with his own volunteer lads from Bridgewater and Lyme, and Rob is a tactical wizard when it comes to getting the best out of his skirmishers."

  "How?" Oliver asked as turned his blade slowly in the candlelight to see the cutting edge.

  "He issued every man jack of them a sword. As a weapon yes, but more importantly, as a backbone. Think about it Ollie. When you walk down the street what is the first thing you see that tells you that a man is a worthy gentleman? His sword. Allow all of your troopers to carry one of these fine sabres, and common men will tip their caps to them. To them as if they were gents. Think about it. Giving a mounted yeoman one of these sabres will set him on the road to becoming a gentleman."

  Mick had been listening, "That'll be a lark. Give a yeoman the confidence to stand toe to toe and eye to eye with his landlord, and his is more likely to tell him ta get stuffed than to pay his rent." He laugh was more of a hoot. "And if they are all carrying them, perhaps they will practice with each other. Fencing, I mean, not stuffing landlords." He picked up one of the fine sabres, flexed it and then turned and slashed it down hard onto the edge of the wooden crate. After checking the blade for nicks, he smiled as he showed Oliver the unblemished blade.

  "I will give it some thought," Oliver told them and then he stepped forward and tried with all his might to damage the blade against the crate.

  "Don't think about it, just do it!" Daniel told him. He suddenly realized that it had sounded too much like an order, so he added. "According to Rob, you will never regret issuing your yeomen a yard of steel backbone, even if the blades are never bloodied."

  Mick added. "The sabres are here and now. What have you got to lose? Ugh, by the way, I'm keeping this one for myself."

  Edward Whalley stopped his tallying, and picked out a sabre and joined the discussion. "Colonel, though I agree that it is worth trying, please do not hand these swords out to every man in the troop all at once." He looked closely at the blade and the workmanship of the hilt. "These are swords worthy of treasuring. The officers should have first choice, and a day later, the sergeants, and a few days later the corporals. As for the troopers, they should be presented to them one by one according to merit and good service."

  "Oye, I like that," Mick agreed. "And not only that, when you present them, make an event of it. You know. Like the knights in fairy tales. By the end of say, a month, everyone will have a sword, and everyone will think himself some kind of knight."

  Daniel said nothing. He didn't need to. Good ideas were now flowing like water. He watched Oliver's face closely, hoping to see the instant that it all sank in, and similar ideas began to flow in his own mind.

  "Of course," Oliver said under his breath. "It is so simple, why didn't I think of it myself. You tell Rob Blake from me that he is a genius. The weakness of our armies are the officers. They are all Lords such as Essex with heavily vested interests. The strength of our armies is our rank and file. They are all hard working sods who want a share of the wealth that their work creates. We need that same strength in our officers. If we train every recruit in sword and horse, then we will nourish their dreams of bettering themselves. My God, it was staring me in the face and I didn't see it."

  At that point the conversation, suggestions, and ideas were stilled for a few moments because Oliver Cromwell had dropped to his knees in prayer and in thanks to the Lord for the vision. Edward dropped to his knees beside him, while Daniel and Mick just looked down at them and shook their heads. Being well brought up clansmen, they cast no stones, and made no snide remarks, for though they were only pretend Anabaptists they did share many beliefs with those pious communities. One of these was to live and let live. In other words, no man should be mocked for conversing with his god, whichever god that was.

  As the praying moments got longer, Mick shoved his new sword and scabbard under his belt and then tip toed away to look at some of the other weapons. Daniel shook his head in wonder of pious Christians. How did their knees ever survive the torture of kneeling on cold stone floors. It was a relief when Oliver's eyes finally opened and he stood up.

  "The good Lord has shown me the way," Oliver told them once he could speak again. He seemed a bit dazed. "I am to create a new type of army. An army where every man is a gentleman-in-training. An army where any man can rise to be an officer. An army that is not led by officers who inherited their commissions, and not filled with men who have inherited their mounts and armour, but an army where men earn their rank and earn their armour. An army of men who will not bow to evil, even if that evil has inherited a kingdom. Especially if that evil has inherited a kingdom, for it is Christ's kingdom."

  Daniel was at a loss for words. After all, this hadn't been the good Lord's idea, but Rob Blake's. Best not to say so, however, because Oliver had a strange look on his face. "Right, so we all agree. Your troopers will eventually carry these steel backbones."

  "Of course," Oliver gave him a questioning look, "Did you not just hear the Lord say as much?" He looked up at the vaulted ceiling. "This must be a holy place. Of course, it is ancient, from the time of the Christ child, and there is now a stable above. Dear Jesus."

  "Yeh, right, say, I'm hungry," Daniel replied. "What's say we go back to the Swan and have Martha's mum cook us a fry up." He steadied Oliver on his feet and turned him towards the steps up.

  "Wait, I need the scabbard for my new sword. The sword the Lord spoke to me through." Oliver picked it up off the floor and then sheathed his sword. He swooned a bit, but strong arms steadied him and half carried him up the steps and up into the daylight of the holy stable.

  * * * * *

  "Let him sleep," Daniel whispered while holding Captain Whalley back by the elbow. They were both looking down at Oliver who was sleeping on top of his bed covers.

  "But I need orders to organize the watch," Whalley argued, "and to prepare for a possible sneak attack tonight by the royalists. Sherwood is no longer here, remember, so it falls to me."

  "Your colonel has a fever." Daniel told him and ushered him towards the door. "He needs to stay warm and sleep. Leave him be."

  "A fever! Is it serious?" Whalley asked as he quickened his step away from the sleeping, sweating colonel. ".I have heard that on the continent entire army camps have been humbled by fevers and endless watery shits."

  "Oliver tells me that he has suffered it before. Fever, then chills, then fever and the hour of the change is quite regular. Methinks I've seen this fever before, but I can't quite remember where. Anyway, I will have Martha's little sister watch over him."

  "But the watch..."

  "Come, we'll do the rounds together," Daniel offered. "It won't be the first time I have decided the defensives of a town. Did I ever tell you about the siege of Arundel?"

  They decided to walk the length of High Street together to make sure there were three watches to man both the light tower and the church tower, and to make sure that the barricades on each main road into town were manned. "Oliver had me mark the estates of the seven
teen leaders on his map," Daniel told Whalley. "By that map my best guess is that any trouble will come over the Mutford Bridge on the Norwich road. Captain Allen built the southern barricade there. I suggest we begin our rounds at that bridge and work our way north."

  "But surely the most important thing is the area around the stable where the arms cache and the powder wagons are."

  "That will be the ultimate goal of any sneak attack, but first they have to get that far. I've had my men spreading the word through the town about how well guarded it is. I mean, if they know that their weapons cache is guarded by five field guns loaded with grape, it's not going to be the first place they attack, now is it?" Daniel led the way out of the Swan and south along High Street.

  "They could use the battery culverins," Whalley pointed out.

  "You jest. It took twenty men with two heavy drays almost four hours to move them back to the shore batteries. Nay, if the royalists attack it will be by sly surprise, not by dragging tons of culverins along the road."

  The Mutford Bridge crossed a narrows in the River Waveney about three miles inland from the Swan Inn towards Norwich, and so they decided to ride rather than walk. It was pretty far out to station a picket, so Daniel was worried about the men whose task it would be to guard it. All three shifts of men were billeted in the closest house, which luckily was stoutly built of stone and had a slate roof. Whalley walked amongst his men inspecting their muskets and then returned to his horse to continue his rounds.

  Daniel just shook his head in wonder at the man's lack of understanding of the danger these men were in, and went to speak to the sergeant and two corporals who would command the three shifts. "The Captain didn't say, but your task at this bridge is to scare folk away, not to shoot them."

  "How do you mean?" the Sergeant asked. He was an old soldier and a good friend of Sherwood’s, and he and Daniel had exchanged stories over last night's supper.

  "We took this town with nary a shot being fired and with no one getting hurt. Let's keep it that way. That means that if a royalist force wants to use this bridge, really wants to use it, then let them. Before they cross, though, try to talk them out of it. Warn them that their weapons cache and magazine are guarded by five field guns. Tell them that their leaders have already been sent to Cambridge under guard. Give them pause to wonder if it is worth crossing the bridge. Tell them they are walking into an ambush. Tell them to go home to their wives and children."

  "Then what the fuck are we even doin' here?" a corporal asked. "Why aren't we nice and safe in the billets in the town?"

  "Like I said, to tell the royalists not to bother. Keep the bridge lit up with torches, and perhaps a campfire at this end, but stay close to this house, and keep your horses close to hand. As soon as anyone approaches, take a quick count and then send riders into town to warn us. Meanwhile keep them busy talking. Keep threatening to shoot them, but don't fire unless they charge the bridge. If they do that, then bolt yourselves and your horses inside this house and take pot shots at them through the windows. And for Chri'sake aim low so you don't kill anyone. If they are mounted, then shoot the horses not the men. The sound of your shots will scare them and warn us."

  "Begad, I'm glad you told us this," the sergeant said, shaking his head. "From the way the cap'n was talking I thought we were supposed to hold this bridge at all costs."

  "I believe that you will hold the bridge, but with very little cost," Daniel told them. "Think about it. If they are attacking at night, then they are trying to surprise us. There is no other bridge and we have all the boats tied up on this side. With the light thrown by torches and fires, it will be damn hard to get across that bridge unseen. If they are seen, your warning shots will wake the whole town. So much for their surprise attack. Just stay awake and if they come, then try talk some sense into them. Do that and you'll be fine."

  The men were nodding so Daniel shook their elbows, and then turned and walked towards Whalley and the horses. To his back the sergeant called out, "Ta mate. Ale's on me next time."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Pistoleer - Roundway Down by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-15

  Chapter 6 - Sneak Attack in Lowestoft in March 1643

  It was dark by the time Captain Edward Whalley had finished his rounds so that he and Daniel could return to the Swan Inn. Those men not on watch were in the Swan's taproom having pots of ale on the Association's shilling. Daniel was handed a full pot and downed it immediately, but he refused a second because he had still to check on Oliver and his fever.

  A girl was batting hands away from her bum as she delivered two more jugs, and Daniel recognized her as the sister he had left watching over Oliver. He pushed his way to her, grabbed a wayward hand that was about to pinch her and handed it back to its owner, and then asked her, "How is the colonel doing?"

  "Sleepin' easy," she replied with a big smile. "I fed him some salty soup and that seemed to break the fever, and then he became all peaceful in his bed."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "About an hour," she replied. "Yeh. It was gettin' dark but I didn't bother lightin' him a candle cause 'e was snorin'."

  Daniel decided to let the man sleep, so he grabbed up another pot of ale, and asked what food was on tonight.

  "You've a treat tonight, cause the colonel's been payin' in advance," she told him. "Spit roast pig. Make's my mouth water just walkin' inta the kitchen, it does. Be ready in a twinkle."

  The twinkle was more like an hour, and with every moment the savoury aroma of roasting flesh was getting stronger until the men in the tap room were ready to eat the tables. When the food was finally being dished, they formed a line to pass the laden plates out of the kitchen as soon as they were filled. Being mostly good Presbyterians, not a one began eating in earnest until after the captain had a corporal say grace, but then they pounced on the succulent flesh.

  They were savouring their first taste when they heard the shots. Lots of shots. Every man crammed as much food as they could into their mouths and then ran to grab their cloaks on the way to the front door. One of the watch from outside pushed through the mob to reach the captain and he reported that all of the shots were from the north.

  While the captain and all his men emptied the tap room, Daniel hadn't moved from his stool. He continued to savour the roast beast as calmly as he could, which wasn't calmly at all for it had suddenly come to him that he hadn't noticed any of his clansmen in the taproom, and now that the room was emptying this truth was even more obvious and it worried him.

  With the sound of shots and all this commotion Oliver would have been woken, so he decided to eat his fill and then go up and check on him. The plateful of steaming meat was bigger than his newly upset stomach, so it wasn't very long before he stood up and made for the staircase. The rigors of the past few days were pressing on his calf muscles as he trudged up the stairs.

  Oliver's door was closed and he almost knocked, but then didn't, just in case the ill man had slept through the commotion. Instead he opened it slowly and silently and then reached forward with the candle lantern he had taken from a table downstairs. There was no other light in the room, and no sound. He tried not to thump his heels as he walked towards the bed, and then wondered why he was trying to be quite whilst there were shouts of men on the High Street outside.

  What he saw on the bed filled him with dread, or rather, what he didn't see filled him with dread. The bed was empty. Where the hell was Oliver? Had Oliver leaped up and dressed and gone with his men as soon as he heard the shots? No, his clothes were still on a chair. He circled the room with the lantern and made sure the ill man was not on the floor or slumped under a chair. He was not in the room, so where? The privies. Of course the privies. A great relief flooded through him as he left the room to go back downstairs to the privies.

  Oliver wasn't in the privies. He knew that because when he called his name and banged on the doors, other men answered that they weren't he. The feeling of dread was
back. He hurried to the kitchen shed behind the taproom. It was filled with women chattering about what they should do with all the half finished plates of food. This was not a normal situation for them, especially on a night when they served up a spit-roast. "Has anyone seen Colonel Cromwell?" he asked.

  "No love," Martha replied after glancing back and forth at the other women. "I take it he's not in his room. Did you check the privies?" She shrugged.

  "He had a fever. He may be wandering about out of his head. Where would you suggest I look for him?" Daniel asked them while looking around from face to face.

  It was Martha's mum who spoke next. "Right then," she said to her women. "We've nothin' ta do till the men comes back, so everyone spread out and search the Inn.” Her daughters and nieces and next door's daughters all wiped their hands on their aprons and sprang into action in a rush of skirts in every which direction. When the inn keep’s wife was alone with Daniel she asked, "By the way. I held my biggest room empty fer yer crew. They never showed. Yee still have ta pay for it yee know?"

  "Sorry, I haven't seen them either," Daniel replied, "but those shots may have just changed everyone's sleeping plans in any case." Something was nagging at him, nagging at the back of his mind. He shouldn't have drunk that third pot of ale. This wife made it strong.

  "You're sure the colonel wasn't in the privies?" she asked. "That would be my first guess seein'as he's feelin' poorly."

  "The privies," he turned and looked towards them. To give privacy to those using them, the privy doors faced away from the building towards the kitchen garden behind the stable. "The privies," he whispered to himself. Why had the privies been full when there was a general call to arms? That was what was nagging at his mind. He drew his dragon and cocked one of the flint dogs, and then picked up his candle lantern.