by Smith, Skye
"There have been consequences to that already,” Hampden told him. "Have you heard of Prince Rupert, Charlie's German nephew? He is roving about the countryside holding towns for ransom with the threat of plundering them. He just did it to Leicester. Umm, Daniel, we were told that you helped Cromwell to save Cambridge's silver. Apparently the colleges in Oxford are now sending their silver to the king. Would you be willing to ..."
So that was why these two schemers were being so polite to him. "I can't, gents, sorry. I have other pressing obligations,” Daniel told them. Hampden immediately lost interest in him and left to go back into the house, but not Pym. He sat still and enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the warmth of the drink.
"Your advice is appreciated,” Pym told him. "I will send a message to Essex and suggest that he keep his army moving. Perhaps towards Stratford to come between Nottingham and Oxford. At least that will make it more difficult to deliver Oxford silver to the king."
For a few moments they sat in silence on the bench savouring the peace, the nutty taste of the koffie, and the fragrance of thyme and rosemary and basil. This kitchen garden was a tiny plot of Eden surrounded by a filthy stinking city.
"Riding through London last night,” Daniel told Pym, "I saw notices that yet another Catholic priest is to be executed at Tyburn for saying a mass. Some poor man called Bullaker. Can't you put these executions on hold? Bullaker is to be drawn, quartered, and then beheaded. That is barbaric, all that blood and guts and agony. If he must die, then why not just hang the man and be done with it."
"I agree with you Daniel. A priest is a holy man and even though he is a misguided recusant he deserves a better end. After all, the Lord Jesus teaches forgiveness. Unfortunately the London mob loves to see men torn limb from limb, and we have to give them something to do on a Sunday now that the cathedrals are closed and plays are forbidden in the theatres. Perhaps I should send a message to have him properly hung first. At least if he is already dead he won't feel the agony of the rest of his sentence."
"Lord Jesus would approve,” Daniel told him. The man actually took his cynical words as a complement. Was the whole kingdom going mad ... ripping a man to pieces just because he prayed out loud in a different language. Same gods, same gospels, different language.
Hampden came back outside to join them and under his arm he carried a black leather saddle bag. "John, the dispatches have arrived. You may want to give them a first reading before I call the Committee of Safety into session." He handed the bag to Pym and then spun on his heel and was gone at a trot. Pym poked through the papers inside.
"Hmm, it would seem that our big army has been noticed by the king." He looked up at Daniel and smiled. "Our spies in Nottingham tell us that the king has decided to move his army to Chester and leave Nottingham defenseless. He is stripping the Nottinghamshire militia of their weapons and disbanding them."
"So does that mean that he is on his way to Wales?"
"Possibly. That is the only one of his four kingdoms that has not yet rebelled against him. Ahhh, here is the king's latest refusal of our terms for a peace." Pym held up an elegant looking letter and read it to himself. "The man is living in a dream world if he thinks we will let him keep his bishops. We have already promised the Scots that the Church of England will become Presbyterian, and Charlie knows that."
"So he is willing to risk thousands of men’s lives just to keep his bishops?" Daniel asked, not expecting an answer. "The rebellion in Scotland was all about his bishops. In Scotland they are now calling them the bishop's wars."
Pym unsealed another dispatch and scanned it. "Lord Saye is asking if he should march his militias to Oxford. Too little too late I suspect, for the silver will be in Charlie's hands by the time he gets there. Most unfortunate. Cutting Charlie off from sources of silver was the least bloodthirsty of our tactics to bring him to heel."
"If Oxford is anything like Cambridge,” Daniel said, "the colleges will have kept back a fortune from him to keep the colleges running. In Cambridge Oliver took it all ... just to keep it safe of course."
"Of course. I expect the same will happen in Oxford." He reached into the leather bag once more. "And the last is from Essex himself." He was silent when he read it. Daniel was amazed that the man could read to himself without even moving his lips. "Wouldn't you know. He needs silver to pay his army. Well hopefully the silver left in Oxford will be enough."
"What's the matter? Are there no cathedrals around Northampton? Won't their treasures will need safeguarding?"
Pym laughed. Hampden did not. He had come back to collect the dispatches and had found Pym reading them out loud to a common soldier. "John, what are you thinking? Those dispatches were most secret."
"Oh pshaw,” Pym told him. "Warwick trusts this man with his life. How much more trustworthy can a man be. You on the other hand, are about to show them to Warwick's brother and we are still unsure of which side Henry is on." He stood and stretched and limped towards the kitchen door.
Hampden gave Daniel a hard stare. "You are not to speak of what you have just heard."
"Please,” Daniel added.
"Please,” Hamden added, and then asked. "So after hearing the dispatches, do you have any suggestions?"
"Yeh, have Essex chase Charlie into Wales and then block the border so he can't return. There is a lot of rough country in Wales, which means that your infantry will have the advantage over the king's cavalry."
"But the king's officers must know that,” Hampden replied, and then his eyes lit up. "Of course. He doesn't have enough men to face Essex. He is retreating to safety while his forces gather around him." He turned and skipped towards the kitchen to catch up to Pym, leaving Daniel by himself in the spicy perfume of the kitchen garden.
There was a patch of fennel growing behind Daniel, so after finishing his koffie he grabbed a handful of the seeds and popped them in his mouth to get rid of his koffie breath. He had come with Britta to find out what the latest news was from around the kingdom, and so far he had spoken with only two men. It was time to find other men to talk with, so he walked towards the kitchen door.
He didn't go in. From just outside he could see a very large women waving around the bowl of his ground koffie while she yelled at the kitchen staff. He turned and retreated. The big woman was obviously the cook and she was both angry and formidable. There was another door further down the same wing of the palace. He would enter there.
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The Pistoleer - Edgehill by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 18 - Bad news from home in London, September 1642
Walking towards the other door took him away from the kitchen garden and towards a flower garden brimming with blooming poppies. The other door was open and he walked into a large room, one of the women's rooms. He could tell that not just because there were a dozen women in the large room and no men, but because displayed everywhere in the room was a collection of costly clutter. On every surface there were lace doilies on which stood vases and statues. Every flat surface was crowded with knick-knacks and china.
"There is my guardian now,” a woman's voice announced his entry into the room. Daniel blinked twice to accustom his eyes to the inside light after being out in the sunshine. Britta was in the far corner and around her were sat three women her own age as if she were holding court. He pulled his elbows in so he wouldn't send any of the costly clutter crashing to the floor as he moved about, and then walked towards her. There was another group of women, an older group, on the other side of the room. A woman from that group called his name.
"Daniel, come and meet your hostess, Countess Isabella,” the Countess Susannah called to him.
Susannah was the Earl of Warwick's wife, and had been sweet to him in the past. The countess would be the Earl of Holland's wife. The two earls were brothers so what did that make the two wives? Countesses-in-law? Sisters-in-law-in-law? Perhaps sisters-out-law? Daniel stiffened his back and suddenly felt very s
habby. The two matrons were wearing a fortune in jewels and brocade silk and were waiting for him to be gallant.
"Sorry, love, for being a bit rough about the edges,” he said as he bowed to Isabella and kissed her offered glove. "I've been in the saddle for two days returning from the battles in Dorset. Ugh. Britta brought me along, you know, to report to John Pym."
Isabella put two fingers under his chin and lifted his face up so that she could see it. He was a very comely man. No wonder Susannah put up with his bumpkin ways. And then she stared into his eyes and gasped despite herself. Eyes to lose your heart into. Eyes to lose yourself into. Eyes to lose your self respect into. Dangerous eyes to any woman. "And how do the battles go?"
He stood to his full height but kept her eyes with his, and kept her hand in his. "The casualties in the skirmishes are light, thankfully, but the rule of law in the countryside is taking a beating. The only safe place in the kingdom seems to be London. I thank you for brightening the world with your silks, for the women in the country are now all in black."
"Have so many men been lost?" Susannah asked, in shock. The news sheets never mentioned any bad news unless it was good for parliament.
"Not a loss of life but a loss of livelihood, a loss of men's company, a loss of animals, a loss of winter stores. When the women are doing the work of the men, including the coming harvest, then they do not wear flights of silk." What had begun as a complement had been clouded by the brutal truth. This was not what these women wanted to hear.
"See, I told you,” Susannah told Isabella. "When we go out in public from now on we must dress in black. Gowns like these are fine for this room, in this company, but nowhere else. Not now. Not until there is peace again."
"That is like telling the poppies not to bloom,” Daniel told her. "What a dull world it would be if the flowers didn't bloom and the birds didn't wear their mating colors."
"Just until there is peace again." Isabella said. Was she bargaining? "So by next spring we will be colorful again. Yes, I agree. We can distinguish ourselves from Henrietta's court by being one with the women of the counties. If they must be drab, then so must we. If they are dressed for mourning, then so must we."
"I hope it doesn't come to that,” Daniel said softly. "My last mission was to tell a mother that she no longer had a son. I would rather charge the cannons. Please, keep wearing your silks. Forgive me for speaking."
"How can I chastise you for speaking the simple truth. No, my mind is made up,” Susannah told him. "Until there is peace all of my women will dress for mourning."
There was a swish of silks behind him and Britta whispered into his ear. "Now look what you've done. Twit. What fun will my life be without my clothes."
A naughty jest crossed his mind but he dismissed it as unworthy to put into words. Not in this company.
"If these two women dress in black, then within a week every woman in London will be in black,” Britta continued.
Isabella must have heard her, because she pointed out, "Only in public my dear."
"But that is when looking stunning is the most fun,” Britta blurted out. There were eleven other women in the room and they all stared daggers at her. She was used to such looks for even if she were dressed as a humble milk maid she would still outshine these women in their costly silk brocades.
To break the silence, Daniel pointed to one of the two large paintings hanging on the wall. "Is that you countess?"
Isabella blushed and then stepped closer to the handsome captain and turned so she could view it with him. "That was my wedding present from Henry, that and paying off my families considerable debts. It is by Mr. Larkin. He captured the colors of my gown exactly. I can't ever remember being that thin, but of course, that was before I bore ten children."
"You still have the same mischief in your smile,” Daniel told her softly, truthfully.
"The other painting is of Henry done by Mr. Mijtens about two years ago. I don't like it. It makes him look effeminate. He did one of me too, but I prefer Mr. Larkin's. Come with me and I will show you the other." Isabella hooked her arm into his and tugged him slightly towards one of the doors. "You stay here Susannah. I shan't be long."
Inwardly Daniel groaned, for he knew that this woman, this mother of ten, was using the painting as an excuse to get him alone. Was this to become an attempt at seduction. She was perhaps forty, but she looked sixty. Bearing ten children would do that to a woman. What choice did he have? None, so he allowed himself to be maneuvered along the hallways, up some stairs, and through a double door into what must have been the nursery.
While she was making a point of closing and locking the door, he stared through the windows at the view across the village of Kensington, and a large farm, and the manor house of the farm.
She saw him looking out of the window rather than at her portrait hung on the wall, and told him, "That is Kensington Manor. Every week I suggest to my husband that parliament should sequester it to be used for committee meetings instead of my house. Unfortunately it is owned by the Finch family, who are wealthy London lawyers, and they keep blocking any such action with legal arguments."
"I don't like this portrait of you,” Daniel told her. "Mr. Mijtens has done the same thing that he did with your husband. The scene, the clothing, and the body could be of anyone anywhere, and then he has simply painted a likeness of your face. And not even a good likeness at that."
"I asked him to make me look younger,” she admitted.
"Why, when your face has such character, the character of a mother of ten."
"Nine. I lost my first,” she told him as she came closer and pressed against him. He backed up, but she kept moving with him until she had him pressed up against a chest of drawers. "Do you really think my face has character?" Her hands were exploring the muscles of his arms and shoulders. "You are so strong,” she sighed.
He stepped away clumsily and she did not follow him but said, "I brought you here to beg you to keep Britta away from my husband and my sons."
"Why? Is there a problem?"
"There could be. There could easily be. So easily."
"Then that is between you and Britta,” Daniel pointed out. "Have you spoken to her about it?"
"Of course not, but I am on the edge of banning her from my house. If she weren't such a pleasant distraction for everyone in these serious times, I would have already."
"Have you spoken to Susannah about her?"
"We are not that close,” meaning there were bitter feelings between them.
"Susannah had the same problem. She decided to take the high road and be pleasant to Britta, but in return she extracted a promise."
"Which was?"
"That she would not bed any of her menfolk without first getting her permission." Daniel watched the words soften the woman's look. Why did women find it so hard to deal directly with problems?
"And Britta has kept her word?"
"There are many benefits to being one of Susannah’s inner circle. Of course she has kept her word."
A smile came to Isabella's face, and then a grin. "I've been a fool. For weeks I have carried this worry about with me, and for what?" She moved closer to him and again reached out to touch him..
"Sorry, love. I just can't,” he told her and backed away again. "Please don't tempt me for I am happily married." It was exactly the right thing to say because she actually blushed. "I think perhaps we have been alone in this room a tad too long. I came to your house seeking information about what is happening in Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire. My village straddles the border near to Ely."
"Would you like me to help you with that?" she asked while slipping her arm through his and leading him towards the door. "The new Earl of Manchester is having a meeting about exactly that. In the summer room. I will take you there."
Arm in arm they walked back along the long corridor and down the main staircase to the ground floor. She stopped in front of a heavy closed door with a doorman. The man did not question the
Lady of the House's right to enter, and opened the door for her, and then she ushered Daniel into the room, gave a half wave to the men inside, and then turned and left the room. The door closed behind him. There were eight men sitting around a table and they all looked expectantly at him. Edward Montagu, the new Earl of Manchester nodded to him and said, "Daniel, I don't remember asking you to this meeting."
"The Countess Isabella thought I might be of use to you." It wasn't quite a lie.
Montagu looked around the table. "Well we wouldn't want to upset our hostess. Does anyone have any objections? Daniel is Warwick's man so I have no objections."
Montagu was Warwick's son-in-law and the very man who Daniel had rescued from the king's clutches at the House of Lords last year. No one spoke. Most of the men just shrugged as if they were eager to get back to the business at hand. Daniel took a seat and Montagu quickly ran through the names of the other men for him, and then went back to the discussion he had interrupted.
"So are we agreed,” Montagu said, "to allow the association of the militias of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk as if they were regiments of one army, the Eastern Army, under one General. What about Hertfordshire?"
"I think it very likely that we will join,” John Wittewronge replied. He commanded Saint Alban's trained bands. "Wouldn't that get up William Seymour's nose." Seymour was the king's General Hertford now in Sherborne.
"Excellent. That would secure London's food supplies, and more important, their ale supplies. What about Cambridgeshire?"
"Except for the colleges of Cambridge and the sheriff and some of the manors to the west, the rest of the county supports us,” Oliver Cromwell replied. "I think you can count on us. That would give us an East Anglian army. Probably the first since the Normans invaded."
"Good point,” Montagu said. "Better still that gives us control of all of the ports closest to the Netherlands." This was no surprise to anyone. East Anglia and the Netherlands Republics had always been close in trade and culture, religion and politics. "How about Huntingdonshire?"