by Stella Riley
‘Thank God,’ said a weak voice. ‘Help me, will you? I’m stuck.’
Luciano looked down into the paper-white face of a boy who couldn’t have been much older than Tobias. A long scratch adorned one cheek and he wore a blue sash over his buff-coat, proclaiming allegiance to someone or other. As for his legs, they lay largely hidden beneath a dead horse.
‘Please!’ said the boy. ‘It hurts like hell.’
‘I daresay.’ The signor became suddenly brisk. ‘If we were able to move the horse a little, do you think you could drag yourself clear?’
‘I’ll try.’
Moving a dead weight is never easy and the horse was a powerfully-built cavalry charger but eventually Luciano’s scientific approach succeeded in putting Selim’s brawn to its best use and the thing was accomplished.
‘Well done,’ said Luciano, observing that the boy’s left foot lay at an odd angle. ‘Now Selim will carry you out of this charnel-house and we’ll see if we can get your boot off.’
The Turk did as he was bidden and then, setting his burden gently down on the far side of the bridge, said despairingly, ‘Please, efendim – we’ve done what we can and must go.’
‘Why is he in such a hurry?’ asked the boy breathlessly, as Luciano explored his ankle through the leather. ‘You’re not Roundheads, are you?’
‘Perish the thought. Your foot’s already very swollen. We’ll have to cut your boot.’
‘Hell. My only pair, too.’
‘Quite. Selim – your knife, if you please.’
It was produced, albeit reluctantly. Then Selim said sharply, ‘Geliyorlar! Efendim – they come!’
Luciano looked up from his task and then, with a sigh, calmly continued with it.
‘Then we’ll just have to rely on this gentleman’s good offices, won’t we? Tell me, who’s in command of this little expedition?’
‘His Highness,’ came the reverent reply. ‘Prince Rupert.’
‘Efendim!’ Selim adopted a belligerently purposeful stance between his master and the approaching Royalists. ‘Give me back my knife and go. I will delay them.’
‘Selim.’ The Italian sat back on his heels and looked up with a glimmer of patient amusement. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer. I do. But you’ve got to stop taking on whole armies. Just try to remember that I’ve no ambition to see you commit suicide in my service and that, for the time being at least, no one is going to shoot us deliberately. And now I suggest you turn round. The gentlemen behind you look as though they have a number of questions.’
‘Not me,’ said the older of the two as Selim spun round. And then, raising an eyebrow at the boy, ‘Well, Jack? We thought we’d lost you.’
‘Lord, no. But it was close, Captain Legge, sir. Jupiter fell on me and I’d be there still but for – for …’ He looked enquiringly up at Luciano. ‘I’m sorry. I never asked your name.’
‘A matter of little importance compared with the removal of this boot,’ said Luciano suavely. He rose. ‘A task I should now hand over to your friends.’
‘His friends will probably just remove the whole leg,’ remarked the younger officer with a fleeting grin. ‘But I the meantime, I daresay Jack would like to know who to thank.’
‘For what? It was nothing.’
The officer’s cool grey eyes grew thoughtful.
‘You’re very shy,’ he began. And then stopped at two exceedingly tall young men came striding across the bridge towards them.
One of these was fair-haired with a scarf tied picturesquely about his brow; the other was dark with a scarlet cavalry cloak dropping even more picturesquely from his shoulders. And between them was a very distinct resemblance.
‘Sir?’ Will Legge saluted and then said, ‘For a first charge that wasn’t bad at all. Your Highness must be moderately pleased.’
‘Not particularly,’ replied the dark young man tersely. ‘We were caught napping and would have been trounced if they’d had an officer worth his salt. As it is, we were lucky.’
‘Perhaps, sir,’ said the younger officer. ‘But you were quick to redeem the situation.’
‘Quick to redeem my own mistake, you mean. But it won’t happen again. Do you know – nearly half of all our fellows are injured? Wilmot, Dyve … even Maurice here.’ Prince Rupert looked as if, but for the scarf, he had half a mind to cuff his brother about the ear. ‘Oh – go and get yourself seen to, Maurice. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. And find someone to attend to Cornet Alsop while you’re at it.’
The boy at his feet coloured, overcome by the honour of having his name remembered. Meanwhile, the dark gaze had swept on to encompass Luciano and Selim.
‘Where did these two spring from?’
‘No idea, sir.’ Again, it was the grey-eyed man who answered. ‘We’ve yet to discover their names.’
‘Well?’ demanded the Prince of Luciano.
The Italian sighed. There was little point in offering a false identity only to be exposed by someone who knew him. He therefore said calmly, ‘My name is Luciano del Santi – and this man is my servant. I have business with a gentleman living not far from here and was detained on my way there yesterday by Captain Fiennes. When --’
‘Fiennes?’ His Highness interrupted. ‘Was he commanding?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then he deserves to be court-martialled. Go on. Why would he detain a civilian?’
‘To charge a hefty fee for letting me go again, I imagine.’
‘Hah! You hear that, Justin? And they call us thieves and robbers. So. He lifted you, did he? And I suppose you got away when he ran into us.’ Rupert grinned. ‘No doubt you can afford a new coat.’
A faint answering gleam lit Luciano’s eyes.
‘I’ll certainly be glad to get out of this one. So, if our horses could be found, I believe we would be more than grateful.’
‘Your Highness – I really m-must congratulate you!’ said a softly drawling voice from behind. ‘Brilliant. Quite b-brilliant!’
‘I’m glad you think so, my lord.’ Turning slowly, Rupert fixed the newcomer with a heavy-lidded stare. ‘For myself, I can only say that you’re easily pleased.’
Lord Digby raised his brows over angelic blue eyes and opened his mouth to reply. Then he saw Luciano.
‘Dear me! Crookback Luke, by G-God! What are you doing here?’
‘Getting very tired of being asked that question,’ retorted Luciano coolly. ‘But if it’s any comfort, I’m just as surprised to see you. I wouldn’t have thought this was quite your milieu.’
Will Legge hid a grin. Rupert and Justin didn’t.
‘Possibly not. But one serves as best one can,’ came the frigid, unstammering reply. And then, with an acid-edged smile, ‘Your Highness has obviously been doubly-fortunate. I’m sure His Majesty will be delighted to see his favourite money-lender again.’
Rupert looked at Luciano and then, with mild irritation, at his lordship. He said abruptly, ‘If you’ve nothing else to do, I suggest you go and see if there are any officers among the prisoners we’ve taken. Will – you can help him.’
‘By all means, sir.’ Captain Legge took Digby’s arm and led him amicably but firmly away.
The Prince continued to stare at the Italian. Finally he said broodingly, ‘Is it true?’
‘Lord Digby is prone to … exaggeration.’
‘I know that. But is he right?’
Luciano drew a long breath and then loosed it.
‘More or less. I am a usurer – and I am known to the King.’
‘And where do you live?’
‘In London.’
‘Ah.’ Rupert thought about it. ‘Well, I’d be failing in my duty if I let you go back there. Wars cost money and the longest purse usually wins. You’ll have to come with us.’
‘Why?’ Luciano’s voice was suddenly crackling with rare temper. ‘I’ve already poured thousands into His Majesty’s bottomless pit. Am I now supposed to finance this – this late
st debacle? Hell’s teeth! I’m not even English!’ He checked himself and strove for a more moderate tone. ‘Your Highness – I’ve spent two weeks chasing a man who is now probably no more than three miles from here and I need to see him today. It really is of vital importance.’
‘So is getting Byron safely to Shrewsbury – and if I delay now, I risk running into Essex,’ came the blunt reply. ‘Captain Ambrose here will see you’re made as comfortable as possible – and also make sure you don’t leave.’ The Prince glanced at his officer. ‘See if we can find them some dry clothes, will you, Justin?’
‘Sir.’ The Captain saluted and prepared to shepherd his charges away.
Standing his ground, Luciano said, ‘I appreciate Your Highness’s courtesy, but I --’
‘I haven’t the time to argue,’ snapped Rupert, his courtesy plainly suffering. ‘The best I can do is to see that you’re not kept kicking your heels any longer than is necessary – and then issue you with a pass. Sorry.’
‘You can’t possibly be as sorry as I am,’ remarked the signor bitterly. ‘From where I stand, it’s beginning to look as if the only thing at stake in this war is possession of my person.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
FOUR
By the third week of October, bereft of both Richard and Eden and enlivened only by Celia’s sporadic bursts of petulance, life at Thorne Ash was once more verging on tedium. The shelves were laden with everything from bandages to quince jelly; Kate had buried as much of Gianetta’s hoard as the girl was prepared to part with, along with all of the family silver, in a hole behind the hen-coop; and everyone could recite to music their duties in the event of an attack. In short, they were as ready as they would ever be – and all they lacked, according to Tabitha, was the opportunity to prove it.
‘Which is only true up to a point,’ observed Kate to her mother. ‘I didn’t really believe Eden at first – but we haven’t a hope of holding the house against anyone who really wants to take it. And if Celia’s not watched, the first sign of the King’s troops at our gate will have her out there welcoming them with cherry cordial. But I suppose we can hope that our very vulnerability may protect us. After all, if a place can’t be held, why bother to take it? Or is that too logical?’
‘Probably,’ replied Dorothy. ‘If common sense prevailed, the country wouldn’t be in this mess. And that being so, I don’t think we can rely on --’ She stopped as the door opened to admit Mr Cresswell; and then, with courtesy but no pleasure, said, ‘Well, Nathan … you’re back early from Banbury today. Is there news?’
The tutor regarded her sombrely. He had recently had his pale hair cropped in the style responsible for the much-hated nickname that now clung to Parliament’s entire army – and it didn’t suit him.
‘Yes, I fear there is.’ He paused weightily. ‘The King is at Southam. They say he is marching on London with twelve thousand men.’
‘Southam? Dear God!’ Dorothy exchanged a brief, startled glance with her daughter. ‘And Lord Essex?’
‘His lordship is vastly superior in numbers and has the goodwill of Almighty God. There can be no doubt that he will prevail. At the present time, however, his exact whereabouts are unknown.’
‘In which case I don’t see how you can be so sure of his numerical superiority,’ remarked Kate. ‘And the last thing we heard was that his cavalry had failed to prevail at that place near Worcester. But, since it looks as though the Cavaliers are about to march more or less past the door, I suppose we’d better hope you’re right.’
‘You must not doubt so much, Kate,’ chided Mr Cresswell with a small indulgent smile. ‘God is our strength.’
‘I daresay His Majesty is saying the same,’ she returned dryly. ‘I think we’d better post someone on the main road. If they’re making for London, they should simply pass us by; if not, we could do with some warning. But in the meantime, Nathan, you might be wise to stay away from Banbury. If the King’s men catch you looking like that, I shudder to think what the consequences might be.’
Nathan merely looked disapproving and informed Dorothy that there was another matter to discuss.
She smothered a sigh. ‘Yes?’
‘As I have long expected, the Godly are aflame with the spirit of purity. In Rochester, seafaring men have cleared the cathedral of its graven images and in Canterbury, soldiers have destroyed a Papist representation of the Crucifixion. In short, the Lord’s houses are being swept clean.’
‘Ah.’ Laying aside her needlework, Dorothy fixed him with a steady green gaze. ‘Come to the point, Nathan.’
A spasm of irritation crossed his face.
‘It is one I have tried to make before. The chapel here is filled with unsuitable decoration. It should be cleansed – for the time is coming when, if you do not do it, others will.’
Kate kept her mouth tightly shut and waited for her mother to speak. Finally, in a deceptively calm tone, Dorothy asked, ‘Is that some sort of threat?’
‘No. It is a warning you should heed.’
‘Should I?’ She rose and faced him coolly. ‘As you say – we have had this conversation before and my answer has not changed. But in case I failed to make myself sufficiently clear, I will say it once more. There is nothing remotely Papist about the services we hold here - and the furnishings of the chapel have been placed there over successive generations by my husband’s family. Consequently, I will have nothing moved, touched or altered in any way. And if you can’t accept that, I suggest you consider returning to your own family.’
A tide of rare colour washed over the pallid cheeks and Kate, silently rejoicing, perceived that for once in his life Mr Cresswell seemed lost for words.
‘Well?’ Dorothy asked crisply.
Something flickered in the colourless eyes and then was gone.
‘I could never reconcile it with my conscience if I were to abandon you in your hour of need. It saddens me that I am unequal to the task of opening your eyes to the Light … but I will pray that you find understanding. Nothing, however, can render me so base as to desert you now.’
‘How comforting,’ said Dorothy, resolutely avoiding Kate’s eye. ‘And now perhaps you’d be good enough to consult with Jacob about the pigs. I understand there’s some difficulty over where best to keep them if they’re to stand any chance of escaping the notice of passing troopers and yet not be so close to the house than we can smell them.’ She smiled. ‘Life is full of small complications, isn’t it? But I’m sure you can sort it out.’
* * *
Swathed in a cloak, Kate spent the latter part of the afternoon sitting behind the coping on the flat roof of the gallery – partly because it presented a good view of the country towards the road between Banbury and Southam, and partly because it was as good a place as any to be alone. Access to it was from one of the attic windows and posed no particular problem. Kate might have retained the façade of Whitehall elegance but she also remembered how to climb out of a window and perch in the one place that offered reasonable comfort.
After mentally dropping Nathan down the nearest well, she moved on to ponder the news from outside. Although Thorne Ash was as yet in no real danger, Southam was just a little too close for comfort and twelve thousand men sounded an awful lot. And where, she wondered, was Lord Essex? For if Nathan knew where the King’s army was, it was reasonable to assume that Parliament’s Commander-in-Chief must know it too and be taking steps to get between His Majesty and London.
It still didn’t seem possible that this thing was actually happening; that two armies of Englishmen were marching against each other. And the worst of it was that no one seemed to know what to expect. Would houses like theirs be left alone – or become part of the struggle? Would the twin armies really fight that ‘first big battle’ that everyone talked about – or would they continue to manoeuvre around each other because neither wanted the responsibility of striking the first blow? And was there no one, even now, who would find a way of stemming the tide before it was too
late? Kate didn’t know, and she suspected that no one else did either. It was like standing blindfold on top of a cliff, unable to move in any direction because just one step could take you over the edge.
And as if all this were not enough, thought Kate, pulling her cloak more closely about her against the chill north wind, there was her own position to consider. She didn’t know if she herself had changed during the last few months or whether it was simply a matter of circumstances altering cases. But it did now seem that she had been somewhat hasty – if not downright stupid – to let her feelings for Luciano del Santi panic her into betrothal with Kit. Indeed, she was no longer certain those feelings were what she had thought them at the time; and even if they were … well, surely she was mature enough to cope with what could never amount to more than the odd, random meeting?
Sometimes she even wondered if she had ever seriously intended to marry Kit at all or had merely been using him as some sort of shield. A lowering thought when she had always made such a parade of her honesty and common sense. But what really mattered was the harm she was doing; first and foremost to Kit, who did not deserve to be cheated; and also to her parents, who had more important things to think about these days.
Kate sighed and stirred restlessly. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kit. She did. She liked him very much, in fact; but she was very definitely not in love with him and nor, truthfully, did she think she ever would be. All of which – when added to the present complications – meant that the only sane course was to do what the King and John Pym ought to be doing; put an end to the situation before it got any worse. The only question left, therefore, was how best to do it. A letter was probably the quickest and easiest way out but it seemed rather cowardly; and anything else meant waiting for God knew how long.
Damn, she thought crossly. I don’t know what to do for the best and it’s all my own fault.
There was no use in brooding, however … and in any case it was beginning to rain. Kate sighed again and came cautiously to her feet. It wouldn’t do to slip and break her neck, either. Gathering up her skirts, she placed one hand on the window-ledge and then stopped, staring intently down the lane.