Wayland's Revenge

by Lesley Lodge

  ‘Aye, and his foreign sympathies are part of the problem in this war. But a foreign army? That would be treason to Parliament,’ Wayland said, adding half to himself, ‘but then to the King, Parliament itself commits treason.’

  The journey onwards was uncomfortable but uneventful. A man alone could have covered the ground far more quickly, but this band of king’s men was limited to the shuffling speed of its tired foot soldiers and those moving the supply barrows. They had already fled from Kent and most of the infantrymen had, at best, suppurating blisters and such–like persistent hurts and irritations. Wayland and Alun soon found that while they weren’t treated as prisoners exactly, they were constantly surrounded and quietly headed off any time one of them tried to veer from the main path. That was not so for Carter. Bound with his hands behind his back he was now roped between two men and chivvied and tugged along none too gently. There was clearly no way either Wayland or Alun would be able to get close to him for now.

  The army stopped in Brantry that day. Most of the officers went in to the town centre and, from talk he’d overheard, Alun gathered that Lucas hoped to meet up with other elements of the Royalist army. Wayland’s little party was not taken into town but held instead outside until the main group was ready to march on. This was to be the case every time they stopped: their party was kept well away from any contact with the local populace. It was late – about five o’clock on the Monday – when first the hills and then the outer walls of Colchester came into view. There was a mass cursing as they got closer when they saw that the town gates were closed and a band of Colchester’s bailiffs and their men were strung out across the London road, barring any entrance.

  ‘By God and by my King,’ Lucas shouted, ‘we shall pass. We must pass. You will not stop us.’ He pushed his horse through to the front of his troops, demanding of the bailiffs’ gang that they stand aside. The bailiffs were clearly awed, in part by the obvious and known status of Sir Charles Lucas, and not least by his bearing and angry manner, but they held out nevertheless for two guarantees from the King’s men. These were, first, that the rights, liberties and privileges of both the corporation and the inhabitants be secured and secondly that no tax or levy should be demanded of the town. Lucas hesitated at first but after the arrival of a Royalist messenger from the south and some intense conferring with his closest advisers he did concede, fearful that his pursuers were closer now. The bailiffs finally caused the gate to be opened to them – and closed again behind them.

  The next few hours were taken up by a great deal of activity. The best quarters were sought out and appropriated for Lucas himself and his immediate cohorts of course. His actual home and manor house was situated outside the city walls and so considered less safe in the circumstances. A disorganised scramble began for living quarters for everyone else. Alun was separated from Wayland and ordered to the town’s bakery. Lucas had let it be known that, as the town was known to favour Parliament, he didn’t want to run the risk of either himself or his men being poisoned by the town baker or other food suppliers. Wayland was sent to take over the main smithy and to collect whatever supplies he would need to run it, whether for horse shoes or for weapons. There was no sign of the town’s own blacksmith and Wayland knew better than to enquire about him. Two soldiers were assigned to help him in his task. Wayland guessed correctly that they would also be charged with ensuring his compliance with the orders. There was, as it happened, a goodly supply of iron and tools, plus he still had his own travelling kit, including two sets of bellows. There was little though in the way of charcoal or other fuel for the furnace. He pointed this out to his guardians.

  ‘Look, I need charcoal. I’ll go check with the baker. Bakers always have need of fuel too.’ he said, seizing the excuse to seek Alun out. Neither soldier dissented out loud – but it was clear that they were suspicious of his true motives and that he was not going to be allowed out of the smithy alone. ‘Bakers must fire up their furnaces – and you’ll be wanting fresh–baked bread soon enough, I’ll warrant,’ he added. This last comment had the desired effect and both men followed Wayland out and along the street. They found Alun arguing loudly with a burly, flour–specked man who was clearly Colchester’s town baker. Alun had also been given a king’s man to watch over him but his man seemed uninterested. Wayland listened to the two bakers as they traded mild insults and justifications. One of Wayland’s guards noticed some knobs of hard bread stuck to the insides of several pans in the corner and soon all three guards crowded round, picking at the still–hot, brittle lumps. Wayland caught a wink from Alun aimed at the other baker – a wink that was returned. They continued their loud debate but began at the same time a quieter exchange, while their guards were distracted.

  ‘I’m thinking you might be none too pleased at this takeover by the king’s men,’ Alun said in a hushed voice to the other baker, ‘but I’m not part of it.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ said the other, smiling now but adding ‘BASTARD!’ for the benefit of the guards.

  ‘I’m Alun. This here’s Wayland, blacksmith, and he’s no king’s man neither. BASTARD YOURSELF!’

  ‘Rowland,’ said the other baker, ‘YOU GOATISH FOOL–BORN LAYABOUT.’

  ‘We’ve little choice but to go along with them – for now,’ Wayland said. Then raising his voice, he added ‘I SAID CHARCOAL, AND I WANT IT NOW, YOU FEN–SUCKED LOUT…’

  One of the guards looked round, finally concerned.

  ‘ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT,’ Rowland said and giving Alun another wink, he began stuffing lumps of charcoal in a sack. ‘You can find me here or two doors down,’ he hissed.

  Alun, Wayland and the guards returned to the town forge with the charcoal and Wayland set about firing up the furnace. Once they were out of earshot from the guards, Wayland and Alun talked over their position. ‘We have to find Carter.’ Wayland said.

  ‘Do you think he will give you any proper answers?’

  ‘I do,’ Wayland, ‘but how did you read him? Did it sound to you that somehow he could truly know something about Rebecca’s…Rebecca’s death? Or just that he knew Rebecca somehow?’

  ‘Don’t think too much on it,’ Alun advised, ‘more likely he’s just heard something of it and was aiming to get your attention, get you on side to save his miserable skin. You have got to admit, if that was his aim, it worked.’

  Wayland smashed the bellows down on to the shelf, but he decided not to argue. They were quiet a while. ‘Reckon Rowland might be a useful ally?’ asked Wayland to change the subject.

  ‘Aye. Seemed a good sort,’ said Alun, ‘he was alert, caught on quick enough. I wouldn’t be trusting anyone here too much too soon though. Nevertheless, we shall be needing more than one more on our side soon enough, I’ll wager.’

  Wayland did not reply but he had no doubt that Alun was right. He couldn’t foresee how the King’s men’s occupation of Colchester might play out. But he felt sure there would be some bloody outcome or another before they left the town.

  19.

  Wayland had been up the next day and working since daylight, some seven hours ago, when he heard a great commotion. Watchmen – both from the town and Lucas’s force – were shouting and running back and forth with messages. Word quickly spread that a substantial Parliamentary force had been sighted. Lucas readied his men for a fight but instead there appeared an emissary from the Parliamentary side, kitted out with the traditional drum and trumpet to ensure safe passage. His message, which he stressed was from General Fairfax himself, offered assurances that there would be neither bloodshed nor plunder if the King’s men should lay down their arms at this point. The bailiffs, of course, were all for it, though they were careful to avoid expressing any explicit support for the Parliamentary cause.

  Lord Norwich, who had brought his own supporters to Colchester and who of course out–ranked Lucas, reacted with a robust rejection of Fairfax’s offer. Their brief respite in Col
chester seemed to have reinvigorated the King’s men and now, far from being the dishevelled fugitive band they had seemed while they were on the road, the officers at least appeared more than eager to take on the enemy with force. Wayland and Alun watched developments from on top of a high segment of the town wall. First the trumpeter made his slow and dignified way back to re–join the Parliamentary army. Then, after a short pause for readying their arms, the Royalist horse soldiers sallied out at a gallop onto the London Road followed shortly afterwards by the infantry. Both forces paused to stare eye to eye at their opposites but very soon the soldiers of both sides were fighting hand to hand, with pike and sword. Alun groaned at each small victory or loss but Wayland held his tongue. A Parliamentary victory ought to see them freed but he knew there could be danger too, for himself, Alun and the boy from an over–zealous army invading the town if Fairfax failed to impose a tight enough discipline on his men.

  In the end, as it came to dusk, it became clear that neither side had secured an outright victory. General Fairfax simply ordered the retreat sounded and his forces began to withdraw from inside the city walls. Noting the demeanour of the soldiers and recognising it from his own army days, Wayland turned to Alun. ‘Watch them,’ he said, ‘their mood has turned.’

  Wayland was right enough. Fairfax’s men turned on the townspeople on their way out, venting their frustration and anger, threatening and robbing as they went, with no thought given to the common people – even though Colchester’s inhabitants were well known to support Parliament. Worse, Wayland saw smoke rising from the thatches of several small houses. The sound of women wailing soon followed the soldiers as they made their ragged march away from Colchester. ‘At least they’re gone.’ said Alun.

  ‘But the King’s men will be back here soon enough,’ Wayland said, ‘so we’d best hurry back.’

  He and Alun scrambled back down from the wall to make their way back to the town’s centre so as to be seen at their respective workplaces before they were missed. They stood to one side as the king’s men overtook them. First, through the little street, towards the main stabling block and from the direction of the gate, came the higher–ranking horse soldiers. In high spirits, they passed Wayland without so much as a glance and Wayland for his part was careful to avoid looking in their direction. A familiar voice caught his attention though, as the horse soldiers came through next. At the same moment, Alun, who’d hung back, pressed into the doorway behind Wayland, jabbed him in the back. ‘Look who it is! Would you believe that?’

  The familiar voice had come from Carter. Carter was mounted on a large–boned black horse and his bearing now was utterly different from when they had last seen him: he looked and sounded confident, jaunty almost. He gazed directly at Wayland, spat in his direction and kicked his horse on past. Next to pass through were the foot soldiers and the wounded. Wayland stood back, to indicate a respect for the injured that he felt instinctively, as a former soldier himself. He and Alun finally reached the safety of the smithy.

  ‘Tell me that wasn’t Carter,’ said Alun.

  ‘It was though.’

  ‘The slimy bastard! How did he wangle that? He’s not just free. They’ve given him a horse. He must have cleaned up his act in short time – and talked himself back into favour.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Wayland, ‘not so loud.’ But he too was dismayed at Carter’s transformation. If it was difficult to get at him before, it would now be more difficult, and it would be more dangerous.

  That night there was a great deal of carousing by the Royalist leaders. They might not have won any battle but they were clearly determined to celebrate not losing. Wayland soon discovered that in addition to Sir Charles Lucas and Lord Norwich there were two other Lords: Lord Loughborough and Lord Capel, plus two further knights: Sir George Lisle and Sir Bernard Gascoigne. As far as Wayland could tell from the gossip he overheard, these gentlemen were, for the most part, more used to life in their grand country homes than to battle, other than occasional low–key skirmishes. More than that, though, he was fairly sure that most of their men, the ordinary soldiers, seemed to be pressed men, forced from their daily lives of crop tending and the like to fight for the King. That had been true also of the Parliamentary forces at the beginning of the civil war and during Wayland’s time in their service. Wayland himself had, of course, been a pressed man. Now though, he’d heard that Cromwell had refined and trained his all men. There were some who called it a “Model” Army now, such was the discipline and effectiveness of the Parliamentary Army. Wayland had heard that Cromwell’s men even received regular pay and, though he guessed that was probably an exaggeration, he knew that money was often a better motivator for the ordinary man than any less tangible consideration of loyalty. Especially as this was now a flare–up of a civil war that had already exhausted many men’s initial enthusiasm. The King’s enemy would be a greater force to be reckoned with than it was last time.

  What happened in the days that followed, though, was not the bloody battle and defeat that Wayland feared. Instead his immediate worries were replaced by a more continuous, on–going anxiety. The town walls echoed at night with the sounds, albeit distant, of digging and building works. Rumours and counter–rumours circulated constantly and quickly but most of them pointed to the same conclusion: the Parliamentary forces were making trenches and rough fortifications, preparing for a lengthy, old style siege. Wayland overheard Lucas and Norwich discussing this one evening. Both men were upbeat, even away from their men. He learnt soon after, from one of the foot soldiers, that the reason for their confidence of was the expectation that help was expected imminently from the south and that further assistance should be forthcoming in the form of a distraction as the Scots and northern Royalist forces would be engaging the Parliamentary army elsewhere. Wayland had no way of knowing, of course, how effective any such help might be, whether it would or could be waylaid by Parliamentary forces or if in fact there was any such help to be had. He had heard, though, from fellow soldiers during his time in the army, about the tactics used in some great siege on the continent. He couldn’t remember where – in the Low Countries perhaps – but it had lasted months. Hundreds – some said thousands – of those trapped within had succumbed to starvation. Still, he couldn’t see Fairfax waiting months. Either some reinforcement would indeed arrive to relieve the King’s side or more likely, Fairfax would blast his way through the town walls. Still, the siege might well last a couple of weeks. He thought through the likely trajectory of a siege. He estimated that Lucas’s force must total about 3,000 men, bringing with them presumably well over a thousand horses in addition to those already in the town. Horses have large appetites. Animal feed would likely run out first.

  Partly out of concern for his own two horses, but also in consideration of all the horses now confined within the town centre, he decided now to start up a basic numbering, an inventory of the available animal feed. He quickly found it wanting. On each of his charcoal–seeking missions, he began to set aside some animal food for his own horses. Then he began to look out for the actual and potential food sources for all souls within the town walls, rich and poor, king’s men or simple townsfolk. Of course, it all depended on a great many assumptions. He knew, for example, that the army horses were usually fed a lot more than ordinary workhorses like his. He doubted that the cavalry would take straightaway to any rationing. As to people, Rowland, the local baker, had put the number of townspeople at some eight thousand. With an estimated three thousand king’s men plus those few camp followers who’d come through the town gates with them that would take the total to easily over eleven thousand souls. He guessed that Lucas would soon attempt to make sallies out to raid for supplies and, at the moment, it looked as though the river route via the Hythe might still be used if anyone outside were prepared to trade with them. Wayland was cautious by nature. As a smith, of course, he’d had no land or crops of his own to rely on and so he was used to planning a
head and storing food. He very much doubted that either Lucas or the other Royalist leaders had even begun to see the magnitude of the problem, so confident were they of relief from the expected reinforcements.

  The next few days passed quietly enough. Despite Wayland’s dim view of the King’s men’s planning capabilities, a contingent of infantrymen had, in fact, been ordered to search throughout the town, commandeering supplies and forcing their will upon a surly population. All corn, in particular, was requisitioned and brought into a central storage area and all meat or dairy animals were commandeered. Alun, meanwhile, was dismayed to learn that in their vengeful retreat the Parliamentary forces had smashed even the town’s two millstones. He and Rowland assembled all the ready–milled flour they could find and took it in turns to guard the sacks. The persistent rain added to the townspeople’s low mood. Although it was midsummer for day after day the cloud cover brought an earlier end to daylight than was properly due. At night, however, the officers continued to eat well – and to drink better. From his hay–strewn loft next to the smithy, Wayland could hear them carousing every night.

  One positive consequence of the now settled–in siege was that with the town gates closed and given the lack of any obvious escape route, both Wayland and Alun found that they were guarded much less closely. While it was a welcome development that their guards tended to stand further off, talking amongst themselves and showing little interest in the few conversations that Wayland managed to snatch with Alun, they were both thwarted from their aim of questioning Carter by the simple fact that the guards were still actually present. Also, they had yet to discover where Carter was billeted. Wayland found too that, with his guards keeping more distance, he had fewer opportunities to overhear discussions that might give them more insight into what was planned, what was expected and what was feared by the King’s men. Nevertheless, it was clear that reinforcements were still expected, though Wayland had no real feel for whether these would actually come or when they might be expected.