Pistoleer: Edgehill

by Smith, Skye

  Cleff was still surrounded by knot of women and still trying to get to the inn as Daniel threw his gear and his guns into the cabin of the One, and then dashed off to the Post Coach office to use the privy. There were no messages left for him in the privy, so he dashed back to the One and cast her off as he leaped aboard. There was no sign of Cleff or the women so they all must have been inside the inn. Poor Cleff. He would never forgive him.

  He took the tiller while his four crew worked the oars to get her out of the harbour, but once the sails were set and they were under way towards the Thames estuary, he handed off the tiller and ducked into the cabin to fetch his charts.

  "Do you like it?" a soft voice came from the deep shadows of the cabin. Sarah stepped into the light and twirled slowly about. She was wearing a gown in the French style, and it had the effect of making her look very, very expensive. "I bought it when were first got to Dover, and the seamstress finished the alterations just yesterday. What do you think?" Her face was beaming with happiness.

  Instead of complimenting his wife on how lovely she looked, he made a typical male blunder by yelling at her. "What are you doing here?"

  Her bright happy smile immediately turned into a frown, and her soft voice took on an edge that could slit leather. "I'm going to London with you, or hadn't you noticed." She folded her arms over her barely hidden breasts, and gave him a hard stare.

  He had two choices. Turn back or make peace. He took a deep breath and told her, "You look stunning in that gown. The women of London will hate you." It was exactly the right thing to say to bring happiness back to a woman's face. With that smile and that gown, she immediately looked ten years younger. "Now take it off before I muss it up."

  What happened next should have been very romantic, complete with a slow strip tease out of revealing clothing, passionate kisses, and endless gentle love making ... but not in the damp musty cabin of a working cargo ship as it bounced over a freshening chop, and certainly not while the woman was wearing the finest clothes she had ever owned. By the time she had ever so carefully folded and packed the clothes away, the heat of the moment had cooled and there were calls from the man on the tiller wondering where the charts were.

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  The Pistoleer - Edgehill by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 5 - Admiral Robert Rich in London, March 1642

  Daniel was so glad to be taking Sarah to dinner at Warwick House rather than his other wife, her older sister Venka. Venka was a formidable woman, and ran their village of Wellenhay, but she had lived all her life in that village and was very much an aging Frisian milk maid. Sarah had married into a well-to-do family from Cambridge, and had dined at the fine houses in that small but wealthy city before widowhood sent her back to Wellenhay.

  They were not staying at Warwick House for it was a madhouse of activity what with the political climate changing so quickly. Instead they had been staying with Tom and Alice Smythes, who ran a goldsmith shop at the Saint Paul's end of Cheapsides. For a few years now Tom had acted as the clan's London banker so Daniel was always welcome to use his guest room. Alice was the little sister of his friend Robert Blake.

  "I'm so nervous I could pee myself,” Sarah told him as Daniel lifted her down from the horse-and-trap.

  "Relax, you look wonderful." And so she should, for she and Alice had been getting her ready all afternoon. He bent to kiss her on the cheek but she pulled away and told him not to muss her.

  He paid the trap driver and then turned and bumped into Sarah. She was frozen in place staring at Warwick House. "Big isn't it?" he said. "I don't know why they call it a house." He led her forward through the outer gate and then through the brand new inner gate that been added for security reasons. A girly scream floated down from an upstairs window, and they looked up in time to see Teesa wave and then disappear back into the room.

  They had a problem at the front door. Along with the new gate there was a new rule against guests carrying weapons. They were to be surrendered into safe keeping at the front door. Daniel was a battle trained pistoleer and no one ever came between him and his guns. In deference to polite company he had never brought his skirmisher pistols to this house, only his pocket gun, his small wheellock and he was damned if he was going to give it up. The doormen refused to let him pass until he did. It was a standoff and tears filled Sarah's eyes because she knew that her mule headed husband would go home rather than be stripped of his weapons.

  "George,” a voice called to them from across the entrance hall, "let him pass." It was Teesa.

  "Can't ma'm, not while he's carrying," the doorman replied. "The Earl's orders. Not even if he were the Prince of Persia, which he ain't cause I already told the Prince to hop it."

  "Give him your gun Daniel,” Teesa told him. "Go on, give it to him. Trust me." She watched as her step-dad handed his costly wheellock to George. "Let me see that pistol George." She held out her hand and George handed it to her butt first. "It is too costly to leave at the front door,” she explained. "I will put it somewhere safe." She then turned and motioned her step-father and her aunt to follow her upstairs.

  When they were out of sight of the door she handed the pistol back to Daniel. "Here, put it somewhere safe,” she told him with a grin. "No exceptions, bah. It was that very pistol that had saved the reform leaders from being arrested by the king at Westminster. George however, would not know that. He is new." Her giggles lasted all the way to her bedroom door.

  Britta and Lady Susannah were waiting for them inside the room. In the privacy of the room they all had a proper reunion of hugs and kisses. Ten minutes later Daniel was shoved out the door so the women could preen themselves, so he went to find out who else had come to dinner. With his pistol kept well hidden he walked back downstairs and first took a look in the dining hall. The dining hall where large dinners were held, as opposed to the dining room where dinners for less than twenty were held. The dining hall was certainly not set up for serving dinner, though every table and chair was in use. It seemed to have become an office where a small army of scribes was at work writing and copying and moving paper about.

  Across the corridor, the dining room was set for dinner. He counted sixteen chairs, so the inner circle of the Providence Company only. There were no people in the room so he kept walking towards the library, the man's room. It was the only room in the house where Susannah allowed the men to smoke tobacco. Every chair was therefore occupied.

  John Hampden was in the far corner speaking quietly to John Pym. When he saw Daniel he stood and came to shake his hand and greet him. "Well met, Captain. Have you brought Rob Blake with you."

  "The last I heard of Rob he was back in Bridgwater,” he replied. "I brought my wife instead."

  "Brave man to bring a wife to London in the winter,” Hampden told him. "My wife spends the winters in our house near Aylesbury because of the smoke that hangs over London. Bad for the children's lungs she says. No worry at all for my lungs."

  These were the first social phrases Hampden had ever spoken to Daniel in all the times they had met. Rather than soothing his mind, it put it on alert. Something must be up for the tactician behind both the Providence Company and the Reform Party to be so nice to a nobody like him. "She came to visit her nieces, Britta and Teesa."

  "Ah, then she must be related to Lady Susannah."

  Daniel bit his tongue for letting that slip. In order to admit two Fen's country lasses like Britta and Teesa into Warwick's social circle, Susannah had introduced them as her nieces. Not as her husband's nieces, for that would have been taken a whole different way. "Very, very distant,” was all he could think of to say.

  Pym waved to him, but did not get up. His face looked grey so he still was not well. Daniel went over to say hello. Twice he had saved Pym from imprisonment, which in his sickly condition would have meant the death of him. "Still poorly? Have you been eating a bit of Turkish yogurt with every meal? The last time we ate together you promised
to try it." Pym mumbled some excuses, mostly to do with how his physician didn't believe in foreign remedies. Daniel just shook his head. The man had gut and bowel problems. Why wouldn't any good physician fill him with Turkish yogurt right away?

  A pageboy walked through the room calling them to dinner. In this house the men were sat before the women were called, to allow the women to make an entrance. Daniel helped Pym to his feet and then played the role of his cane as they moved slowly towards the dinner table. Once Pym was sat, he danced through the throng of men that had allowed Pym to go first, and made for the kitchen. It was a very busy place, because not only were they serving a formal dinner, but they were also feeding an army of household staff, guards, and scribes.

  With a finger to his lips to keep the kitchen girls from telling on him, he crept up behind the biggest woman in the room and put his hands around her eyes and kissed her on one of the rolls of her neck. He got an elbow in the ribs for his greeting. He played up the hurt to his side and pretended to be falling, which forced Lydia, the baker, to catch him.

  "Daniel, you are back. Did you bring me anything?" She meant spices. Besides trading in aqua vitae and guns, Daniels clan also traded in spices, condiments, and colognes. Anything light weight and expensive.

  "Nothing this time love. I was in Dover not Holland. The only spice they use in Dover is salt. Not a single shop sold drinks like cacaolait or koffie. Do you have any yogurt on the make?"

  "Aye, fresh today. Got a poorly tummy av'ee," she said sweetly, and then in her sergeants voice bellowed out, "Katie, get this man some yogurt." She angled her head for another kiss on the neck and then she got back to work.

  By the time Daniel returned to Pym with the small bowl of yoghurt there was only one chair still vacant, the one beside Pym. He set the bowl down and then asked him where the women were to sit.

  "We don't invite women to the table anymore,” Hampden replied for Pym. "Dinner is when we hold our general meeting. The women will be eating upstairs in one of the bedrooms."

  "I feel a fool,” he told Hampden. "My wife went to such care and expense to look her best for this dinner, and now she won't even be making an entrance."

  "You are a fool if you think that women dress for dinner parties to impress the men. The only women who dress for men are alewenches. The rest of them dress for other women ... the cruelest of their critics."

  The rest of the men were already talking politics with the guest of honor, Algernon Percy who was the Earl of Northumberland, the Lord High Admiral of the fleet. The man now sided with the reformers because Charlie's foolish wars against the Scottish Covenanters had taken such a toll on Northumberland. The discussions were all about who was to be the admiral of the 'summer guard' fleet which beefed up the normal fleet during prime sailing seasons.

  Daniel hated the long winded explanations of these well educated parliamentarians, and he would have gone and joined the women to eat if the topic had not been of vital interest to anyone who smuggled guns and liquor for a living. He spent the next half hour playing with his food and trying to understand all the four and five syllable words that these men threw about so easily. Then he noticed that everyone had stopped talking and were looking at him. He focused to bring the last of their conversation to mind.

  "Well Daniel, what do you think?" Warwick asked. "It was you who told us that Admiral Penington had traveled to Holland with the Queen. Him being out of England is the perfect excuse to appoint a replacement. Do you think the navy would agree to me being Penington's replacement?"

  "They want anyone but Penington,” Daniel replied. "At the Battle of the Downs he ordered his gunners to target Dutch ships rather than Spanish ones. That order cost every man jack on the English fleet a fortune in prize money. Is it any wonder the English gunners made sure that their shot killed fish rather than Dutchmen."

  "You see,” Warwick continued. "From a man who was there. Appoint me as the Admiral and we will send it through parliament along with the Militia Bill."

  "The king will never agree to that bill,” Northumbria replied. "Why waste time. Just declare it as an Ordinance."

  "I'm sorry, I don't know this use of the word Ordinance,” Daniel spoke out. "I thought ordinance was a fancy name for cannons and balls."

  "That is ordnance without the 'i',” Warwick explained. "An ordinance with the 'i' is a fancy word for a decree. You were the one who reported that the king is on his way from Dover Castle to York Castle. You reported that he left yesterday, and that it would take him most of a week to march to York. Do you agree."

  "What has that got to do with this Militia Bill?" He had already gathered that the Militia Bill would put the control of the lord lieutenants of the militia, and their arsenals under the control of parliament rather than under the king, and so obviously the king would refuse to sign it.

  "With the king on his way to York, and with the Great Seal still in London, and with the situation with the rebels in Ireland getting worse, then parliament is justified in passing a decree that the kingdom should be put in a posture of defense. Under that decree we can enact the Militia Bill without the king's signature. Since it will take effect without being sealed, it is an ordinance, not a bill."

  "Then do it,” Daniel shrugged. "It should have been done long ago, instead of filling Westminster Palace with hot air. Most of the Trained Bands answer to you in any case." For some reason parliamentarians called the militia units 'Trained Bands'. Daniel was sure there was an old English word for the same thing. He changed his mind over to think in Frisian and the word popped into his head ... 'the fyrd'.

  "Only those of the south,” Warwick explained. "That is why the king is going to York where he can use what is left of Strafford's army to secure the northern trained bands and their armouries." Warwick turned back to the rest of table. "So we will pass the Militia Bill as an ordinance, say, within three days.

  Meanwhile on the strength my appointment by Admiral Percy, I can take control of the main naval depot at Chatham and begin requisitioning the summer fleet. I think it better we don't give the king a chance to veto my appointment, not just yet. Give me more time to ensure that all the captains side with us first. It would be best if Admiral Penington learned that he has been replaced through the fleet gossip, and then let he be the one to take the bad news to the king."

  Though he had never been there, Daniel knew that Chatham was on the River Medway in Kent, with direct access to the Thames estuary. Queen Bess had placed the depot there, and then had built Upnor castle to protect it. Taking control of Chatham away from the king was a giant first step in taking control of the entire navy.

  The summer fleet was at least fifty ships, a dozen of them men-o'-war. There it was, the reason Hampden had been so sociable with him. Warwick would need fitting transport to visit the various captains, which meant he needed a sleek fast ship. Meanwhile all of the Providence Company ships were still in the Caribbean, and who else did Hampden know with a sleek fast ship?

  "Daniel, do you mind if we extend our charter of your ships?"

  "What? All of them?" Daniel asked just to be difficult.

  "The Swift of course,” Warwick replied, "I need to travel on the fastest ship I can lay my hands on. My own safety may depend on it."

  "She is in Rotterdam. When do you need her by?" Again Daniel was being difficult. "Don't tell me, let me guess ... as soon as possible." He looked from face to face around this table of wealthy men and blurted out, "Not that I have any say in this, but you lot seem to be poking a hornet's nest with a stick. The trouble is, if violence breaks out between your men and the king's men, it may ruin the lives of a lot of innocent folk." This simple truth created a lot of angry stares. Had he said too much?

  "I agree with the good captain,” Pym spoke up. "We should always try for a peaceful solution and leave violence as a last resort."

  "The king was quick to use violence against the Covenanters, and against us,” Haselrig, sitting next to Northumberland, replied. "Would you
say the same if he had arrested us at Westminster on charges of treason, a capital offense."

  "An eye for an eye you say?" Pym replied. "That thinking will make us all blind. We've had word that the king will interrupt his journey to York at Newmarket. I propose we send a deputation to him and ask him to return to London under our protection so that he can resume his duties and we can discuss his duties without the need of militias. Let's use the apple and the stick method with him. The threat of passing the Militia Bill as an ordinance will be the stick."

  "Blind, you are all blind, or at least turning a blind eye to what is happening at Tyburn,” Daniel told Pym. "Every second day they are executing another Catholic Priest. Not the best way of keeping the peace with Charlie."

  "Those are the priests who were found guilty of giving mass. Some of them have been in custody for five years,” Pym replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Queen Bess made it a capital offense, not us. Charlie has yet to repeal the law but he did stay the execution of the priests as a courtesy to his Catholic wife. Queen Henrietta is no longer in England to protect the priests."

  "Are they being executed to punish Henrietta for stealing the Crown Jewels?" Daniel asked. "It sounds vengeful to me."

  "Are you forgetting that our so called queen has gone to Holland to forge foreign alliances against her own subjects." Haselrig pointed out.

  "As we make alliances against Charlie with the foreign Covenanters,” Hampden interrupted in hopes of bringing the discussion back to topic, "which, of course is our apple to match the stick. We offer to approach the Scots on the king's behalf and ask them to send a Covenanter army to Ireland to protect the Scots who have settled in Ulster from the rebels. The king has to agree. It will not only bring peace to Ireland, but will take the Covenanter army away from the English border."