Pistoleer: Edgehill

by Smith, Skye

  "That is good news."

  "Perhaps good news hiding bad,” Daniel continued. "Blake fears that if King Charlie wasn't sending men to take Portsmouth armoury, then perhaps he already controls it, ... from the inside."

  "You mean Goring. I never did trust that man. Charlie made him the Governor of Portsmouth during the Army plot, and he was prepared to welcome the French army ashore when it arrived. Luckily we found out about the Army Plot before that could happen."

  "Who controls Dover castle?" Daniel asked.

  "Why?"

  "Lunsford’s orders were to capture the Kingston arsenal and then continue on to Dover."

  Robert spun on his heel and called out over his shoulder from the doorway. "When the women finish with you, meet me in the library. I have some urgent messages to send off."

  "To your brother Henry?" Daniel asked. Henry Rich was the Earl of Holland and a favourite of Queen Henrietta's. Robert used him to spy on the king, and the king used him to spy on Robert.

  "To him, and to others."

  * * * * *

  "So there are three obvious explanations for why the king and queen are planning to move from Windsor to Dover,” John Hampden, the Reform Party's chief strategist told them. He looked around the table. Except for the man who had come with the news about Dover all the rest were major shareholders in the Providence Company. "The Royal family may be going to Dover as the first step in fleeing to the continent."

  The men discussed this and decided it would be better for their party if the king did leave England. With the king on the continent, parliament would rule and could correct the damage that the Stuart Regime had done over the last twenty years of misrule.

  Hampden spoke again, "Or they go to Dover to await the landing of a French army from French ships. In other words, a continuation of the Army Plot to destroy parliament." This would be as bad for the party as the previous option had been good. There was almost no discussion.

  "Or, they go to Dover so that messages to and from the continent will not need to cross English soil, that is ... so there is no risk of us intercepting them."

  "What did your brother Henry say?" Robert Greville, the Baron Brooke, asked of his old friend and business partner, Robert Rich, the Earl of Warwick.

  "He knew nothing of it," Warwick replied. "He may find out more today. This is the day he was to go to court and submit our list of who we want to be the Lord Lieutenants in control of the county militias. The King won't agree to any of them, of course, but to placate us he may agree to exclude all his bishops from the House of Lords.

  I worry that Henry's influence over the queen is waning. Our days of using him as a diplomat with the palace may be at an end. Well, whatever he finds out, we still need to arrange for a presence in Dover, a sea based presence, for I believe it is the port rather than the castle which attracts the Stuarts."

  "Our ships are all still in the Caribbean," Arthur Haselrig pointed out, meaning the ships of the Providence Company.

  "Then we must charter some fast ships,” Warwick continued, "to follow any ships that carry the king's messengers and diplomats. Knowing where they are bound for is better than knowing nothing."

  "If we are going to have them followed,” Haselrig pointed out, "then why not have them boarded and intercept the damn messages?"

  "That would be a hanging offense,” Daniel interrupted. "Piracy against a king's messenger. The ship that did that would have the entire navy against them. Besides which, as soon as it looked like a boarding was going to succeed, the paperwork would go overboard weighed down with stones."

  "I invited Daniel to this meeting not just because the news about Dover was his,” Warwick continued, "but because Daniel's clan runs the fastest small ships on the East Coast. They are perfect for the task ... small enough not to cause concern, yet agile enough to track any ship."

  "What!" Daniel stared at Warwick, "in this weather. Not likely. My men would never agree to it." Then he grinned. Seamen would agree to anything, for a price, and Robert Rich knew that from his long experience at running ships.

  "The weather is easing, which explains the timing of this move to Dover. How long will it take to move your fleet from the Wash to Dover?"

  "A week if I send them a message on the next coach,” Daniel replied. "The small ships are all high and dry for the winter. Only the Swift is in the water, but this is not work for the Swift. It is far too noticeable." The two masted Swift looked like a Corsair pirate ship. The six smaller ships were single masted coastal traders, no different from hundreds of English ship other than they were no longer square rigged.

  "Then please send the message on the next coach, for this is urgent. They need to be in Dover as soon as possible."

  "We should be getting to the Tower,” Brooke reminded Warwick.

  "Mmm, right,” Warwick replied. "Daniel, please go and send a message to your clan, and then meet us at the Tower of London. Oh, and you had better bring your pistols along." He grinned at the thought of this pistoleer going anywhere without his pistols.

  * * * * *

  The fastest way for a mounted man to cross old London to the Tower was to follow Watling Street until near London Bridge, and then follow the Thames passed Billingsgate. By the time Daniel reached Billingsgate he knew something big was afoot, for every Londoner seemed to be in the street. Men, women and children were either standing beside buildings gossiping, or were in the center of the street and walking towards the Tower. He was thankful that his mare was still knackered and therefore subdued, and happy to plod along. As long as she walked just slightly faster than the crowd, the crowd had time to ooze out of her way, and then ooze back into her wake.

  When he reached the open grounds that surrounded the outer walls of the tower, he was even more thankful for being mounted, for at least he could see over the sea of heads that were between him and the wall. Strangely there was no sign of the fine carriage that he had seen Warrick, Teesa, Brooke and the others climb into at Warwick House. In truth, there were no carriages or traps of any kind, just two carts. Coal carts. He took a closer look at them and spotted Teesa standing on the seat of one of the carts so he made his way towards her.

  This day was getting stranger and stranger. Usually when tomboy Teesa was doing man's work she dressed as a man, or at least as a lad. Not today. Today she was looking very feminine in a riding skirt and a short cape and a lace bonnet. As he was watching, she leaped from the seat of the coal cart onto the back of one of the two horses that drew it. Or rather, would have drawn it if they could have gotten through the crowd. The cart horses were stalled by the mob, but now she was astride one of then she could urge them on personally with whispers into the pricked ears. The horse was so large and she so slight, that to do this she had to lean right forward over the wide shoulders and neck.

  Whatever she told the horse, it worked, for the cart lurched ahead, and then so did the cart behind it. Only once it was moving again did other folk scramble back aboard, and that was even stranger, for the first one aboard was Susannah Rich, closely followed by Robert Rich, and then the rest of the men from the political meeting at Warwick House.

  Eventually Daniel caught up the to the lead cart and his horse fell into step beside a front wheel. "What's happening?" he called out to Susannah. The richest woman in the kingdom was a complete mess, and covered in fine black dust. The lace of her dress and bonnet were shades of grey, her hair hung down in clumps of dusty curls, her hands were black, and so were her cheeks and forehead.

  She flashed him a very white smile and replied, "I've spent the day giving out lumps of coal to children. Today I am the most popular woman in London."

  A voice he recognized was booming out from the back of the second cart. John Pym the reformer and orator was rallying the mob. Daniel heard only some of the words, "The only Trained Band who still sides with the king, is the Trained Band that garrisons the Tower. It's time for them to switch sides." He stopped his mare so the second cart could catch up. J
ohn Hampden was in the back of it with Pym, holding the great orator steady as he spoke from the moving platform. Both men were covered in black dust.

  "Here he is,” Pym yelled out when he recognized Daniel. "Here is the brave man who captured Colonel Lunsford and is holding him for trial." A cheer went up from the crowd fifty deep in all directions from Pym. The men standing closest to Daniel reached up to shake his hands, and he did so with pride. Lunsford had been the Tower's Lieutenant for only five days, yet every day had been bloody. Lunsford's horse guards had ridden through London's peaceful protest marches swinging their sabres to maim any man, woman, or child that got in their way.

  "The king has fled London, fled Londoners,” Pym continued, "and he will not be back until you Londoners invite him back." More cheering. "So it makes no sense that his Lieutenant, John Byron, should remain in command the Tower garrison, and it is time that the garrison's band was on the side of you the people."

  Thusly did Pym call out all the way to the Tower's gate. There the two carts were set back to back so they made one long platform, and from there Pym invited various men, local men, up onto the platform to yell out to the guardsmen on the walls. They were calling for the guards to open the gate and surrender the Tower to the people.

  At this point a column of men came marching down the embankment and through the crowd, looking neat and military despite the odd mix of uniform coats, and the odd mix of old matchlock muskets. Muskets many of which had been sold to Daniel by the battlefield gleaners of the Netherlands, who then sold them to Warwick who supplied them to London's trained bands. The column stopped with a stomping of feet, and the presenting of the muskets.

  Their leader called out to the guardsmen on the wall. "I am John Conyers, the newly appointed Lieutenant of the Tower, and I have come to replace John Byron. Open the gate and be smart about it." There was a hushed silence while the mob waited for an answer from the guards on the walls, but of course there was none. They could not answer until word was sent to the officer's mess.

  More and more guards were now leaning out over the walls and waving to their families and friends and loved ones down on the grounds. There were calls back and forth encouraging the guards to open the gates. There were calls telling them that today the families of the other Trained Bands were given coal by parliamentarians as a thank you for remaining true.

  Eventually a man who looked and dressed very much like the king peered over the wall and the mob jeered. It was Lord Byron. Then there was a growing hush as everyone waited expectantly for Byron to say something. From Daniel's perch on his saddle he could see only part of this mob, and could not gauge its size, but from up on the walls it must have looked immense, as if the entire city had turned out. And perhaps it had.

  Byron looked straight down at the area closest to the wall. A dozen children were chanting a nursery rhyme and dancing in a ring, and laughing and screaming in merriment. "So be it,” Byron called out to the crowd. "I hereby resign my commission, and hand over control of the Tower to the people of London."

  The immense cheer must have spread through the entire city, so loud did it become. It was followed by much hugging and shaking of hands, and then the gate was flung open and the two sets of Trained Bands, those from inside, and those from outside, came together and began slapping each other's backs. Every Trained Band in London now sided with Parliament. Peace within the city was assured. The folk were joyous.

  In truth, though the Lieutenancy changed hands, most of the original Trained Band remained on the walls. The inner guard of the Tower, who guarded the King's prisoners and treasures such as the crown jewels were members of the King's lifeguard, the Yeomen of the Guard. It took a half an hour of convincing arguements by Lord Byron, backed up by the Reform Party Lords, to convince the Yeomen to surrender the keep.

  They finally agreed when they were promised carts to take them and their personal possessions safely to Hampden Palace. Once that was arranged, the mob began to thin. Finally the carriages of the Lords could draw near, and with them came a host of physicians hired by the families of the prisoners who were kept inside these walls. Prisoners who for the most part would immediately be set free.

  The mob stayed joyous as families were reunited and as pamphleteers and printers were released from their cells. Some prisoners were not released but they were mostly Catholics, including a few leaders of the Irish rebellion, plus a few priests who had been caught giving Mass. Only once that day was trouble threatened and that was when the Yeoman guards saw the carts that were to take them to the palace. Coal carts.

  "But we will be filthy before we leave the grounds,” a sergeant argued, "like that hag over there." He pointed to the old woman that a tall fair man was lifting down from the cart.

  The prettiest young lass came close to him and smiled sweetly. Her fine riding skirt was grey with coal dust. "Ah, so you wish to be carried in the same carriages that the lords and ladies arrived in,” she said loud enough for all the Yeomen to hear.

  The yeomen were joyous to have someone from the mob speak their case, and someone so pretty. "Yes, that would do us splendidly,” the sergeant replied to the cheers of his men. They watched as the lass walked over to the hag and took her hand and led her towards them.

  "May I present Lady Susannah Rich, the Countess of Warwick, and possibly the wealthiest woman in the kingdom. Who else could afford to spend the day giving out ten tons of coal to the poor of London. You have her permission to use her carriages, and you have her permission to use them now."

  The Yeomen's jaws dropped and they looked at the lass, and then at the grimy face of the hag, and back to the lass. Last of all they looked at the tall fair man who now had a pistol cradled in his arms. And what a pistol, for it had two barrels and was ornately scrolled with silverwork. "Load em up,” the sergeant yelled to his men. Perhaps the hag was the Countess of Warwick, or perhaps she was not, but she was wearing a ruby the size of a robin's egg on her wedding finger and that was proof enough for him.

  That night, despite the cold wind, there was dancing in the streets of London. For almost six hundred years, ever since William the Conqueror, the people of London had lived in terror of the Tower of London and of the vicious rulers that controlled it. On this day that rule of terror was ended, for now it was the real folk of the city who controlled the castle that controlled London and its port.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Pistoleer - Edgehill by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 3 - Prince Rupert in Dover, February 1642

  Where were they? They should have been here two days ago. Daniel lowered the aim of his kijker, his looker with the spectacle lenses, and scanned the castle that rose above the other bluff of white cliffs on the other side of the steep Dour valley . Dover castle had always amazed him. It was so big, so tall, so ... so ... formidable. He pulled the kijker from his eye and looked straight down below him at the town and harbour. The area inside the castle walls seemed larger than the area inside the town's walls.

  There was nothing of interest happening in the town so again he scanned what he could see of the castle. King Charlie and his family had arrived yesterday during a storm, a storm so foul that ships could neither enter nor leave Dover harbour. That was why he was so upset that his own ships were late arriving, not because the were late, but because they could have been sunk by that same storm. His clan was still trying to recover from the loss of a ship with its entire crew but two years ago.

  He was standing on some ancient cut stones from some ancient stone tower. The innkeep of the Drake Inn where he was staying had told him that this had once been a pharos, a lighthouse. He kicked at one of the stones. It was cut not quite square so it had been either a part of a curved wall, or a part of an archway. The mason who shaped this one knew exactly what he was doing. He felt humbled that anyone did such fine work here in Dover, and hundreds of years before his own ancestors had come to these shores from Friesland.

  With a ho
p and a skip and a jump, he abandoned the pile of ancient rubble so he could move closer to the cliff face. As he neared the edge he slowed his pace and took more care, for it was a long way down, and a sheer drop. Down below him was the entrance to the harbour which was also the entrance to the estuary of the small river Dour that had carved the deep valley through the cliffs. The long pier that kept the entrance from silting up had been built by King Henry the Cock, but that was before the great earthquake of sixty years ago.

  The innkeep had told him that the town had been double the size back then, but between the earthquake and the huge flood had had come almost immediately afterwards, most of the buildings outside the town wall had been destroyed. Those buildings had yet to be rebuilt. Why would you when another earthquake, or another flood, or a Spanish Armada may destroy them again. Instead of spreading along the coast, the town was now spreading up the river valley well above where the flood had reached..

  Today was certainly the nicest day of the week so far. The wind was light and the air was soft and warm with a promise of spring. A glint of light caught the corner of his eye, a reflection of sunlight. He dashed back up the pile of rubble and put his kijker to his eye and then adjusted the combined length of the two leather pipes to have the spectacle lens of one pipe focus with that of the other. The reflection had been from a grand coach approaching the main gate of the castle.

  Yesterday he had assumed that the king had arrived because of the increased number of guards within the grounds. Before the king there had been less than twenty guards per watch, times three watches which meant a standing garrison of perhaps sixty. Today he had calculated four hundred guards, many in the gaudy uniform of the king's lifeguard, the Yeomen. Today there had been grand coaches coming and going as the manor born of Kent paid their respects to the royals.