Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  *

  During the course of the night, Sir George Lisle – veteran of the first war – slipped out of London with a large party of Royalist gentlemen to join their ranks. And Lord Norwich returned from Chelmsford with the news that Sir Charles Lucas had successfully persuaded the Essex Trained Bands to continue bearing arms for the King. His lordship had also arranged that their own force would join that of Sir Charles on the following day at Brentwood.

  This, as Will Compton remarked to Francis while they prepared to decamp, was the only sensible decision the Earl had made since before Maidstone. There was little they could achieve by themselves and nothing worth going back to Kent for. If rumour was to be believed, Fairfax had relieved Dover, and Canterbury was about fall to Commissary-General Ireton; and though Deal, Walmer and Sandown still held out for the King, it was anybody’s guess how long they could continue to do so because that part of the Fleet which had remained loyal to Parliament was already blockading them.

  The rendezvous at Brentwood was accomplished amidst a fog of mutual relief on June 8th. Lord Norwich’s motley collection of soldiers, apprentices and watermen combined with Sir Charles Lucas’s army of Militia and countrymen to form a total strength of some four thousand men. Then the two forces set off en masse through the continuing showers for Chelmsford.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, you know,’ said Will to Francis during the course of the ride.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Captain Langley had progressed a good deal from the young man who’d gone off to the second Bishop’s War with the hazy idea that the quality of an army was directly related to its size. ‘Most of our boys are raw recruits and less than half of them are properly armed. Or am I merely allowing myself to be depressed by the weather?’

  ‘Probably,’ returned Will promptly. ‘I never knew such a fellow for wanting to keep his coat dry and his boots clean. However. I was about to point out that – although the troops themselves aren’t up to much yet – at least we now have the advantage of a couple of superb officers.’

  ‘You and I?’ grinned Francis.

  ‘In addition to you and I. George Lisle served with distinction right through the war and, as for Charles Lucas, soldiering’s been his life. You know they say he was among the first to step through the breach at Breda?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know that. And as long as he doesn’t say it, I daresay I shall like him well enough.’

  Major-General Sir William Compton sighed and gave up.

  ‘You know your trouble, don’t you? You won’t join the rest of us in exchanging a few bloodthirsty war stories.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve noticed that. I’ve been living in absolute dread of your giving me a day-by-day account of the siege of Banbury.’ A faint smile lurked behind the sapphire gaze. ‘But your diagnosis was only half-right. My real trouble is that – though I’ve finally learned to do it adequately – fighting offers me nothing I want. In short, I’d rather be somewhere civilised with a book in my hand.’

  *

  They stayed the night at Chelmsford before departing again for Braintree – having been joined this time by Lords Loughborough and Capel. Colonel Whalley dogged them every step of the way but plainly didn’t feel he had enough men to risk an attack. He did not even attempt to prevent them invading Lord High Admiral Warwick’s house, staying to dine and marching away in possession of two brass field pieces, three hundred muskets and pikes and a goodly supply of match, ball and powder. He simply did what he’d been doing ever since Maidstone. He followed.

  At Braintree they spent some time trying to organise their army and holding a Council of War. The original intention had been to press on into Suffolk or Norfolk but Sir Charles Lucas suggested that it might be better if they marched instead to Colchester. Having been born there, he explained, it was possible that his name might bring in a substantial number of new, much-needed recruits. This seeming as good a plan as any other, Lord Norwich and the other senior commanders were pleased to agree. Consequently, on the following morning, to Colchester they went.

  Or that, at least, was the intention. Turning it into a fact proved rather more difficult – mainly because they found Trained Bands blocking their way at Coggeshall and the ubiquitous Whalley was still hounding their rear. It was also rumoured that, having dealt with the bulk of resistance in Kent, Fairfax was now in hot pursuit of them as well. The result was they ended up having to double-back through Braintree and make a night march by way of Halstead before finally arriving outside Colchester in the early morning of Monday, June 12th.

  Judging by the sixty or so armed horsemen spread across the road before the Head Gate to deny them access, their coming had been expected and was less than welcome.

  ‘Oh dear,’ murmured Francis. ‘Perhaps Sir Charles isn’t quite as popular hereabouts as he’d hoped.’

  Sir William shrugged.

  ‘The place isn’t exactly known for its Royalist sentiments – but I don’t think it’s in total sympathy with Fairfax either. At any rate, we’ll soon know.’

  Even as he spoke, a party of gentlemen left Sir Charles’s side at the gallop and bore down on those standing before the turnpike. A scattering of pistol-shots tore the air and one of the Colchester men dropped where he stood, causing the rest to part like melting cheese.

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Francis. ‘This isn’t exactly the kind of beginning calculated to foster friendly relations.’

  ‘It’s no use thinking of that,’ replied Will. ‘We’re committed now. And where else can we go?’

  Veteran of both the German and the English wars, Sir Charles Lucas was not the man to be daunted by a small skirmish. Once the way was cleared, he led the army on with the kind of exquisite confidence that Francis couldn’t help but admire and opened a dialogue with the suspicious faces peering down on him from above the gate. He pointed out that, having been born and bred not a mile distant, he needed no introduction; he spoke persuasively of the King and warned of the coming of Fairfax. But it wasn’t until he vowed that his men would neither plunder the town nor molest its inhabitants that the gates were finally and grudgingly opened so that he and the army could make their way inside.

  After that, Francis found that things started to happen very quickly. Lords Norwich and Capel sensibly set aside their seniority of rank and handed responsibility for defence over to Sir Charles – who, like them, held a commission under the Prince of Wales but who, unlike them, had the advantage of being a professional soldier. And within an hour, Francis and his brother officers found themselves being subjected to a brisk but thorough briefing.

  ‘Our scouts report that Fairfax has met up with Whalley and Honeywood’s Trained Bands at Coggeshall and could therefore be here by tomorrow,’ said Sir Charles briskly. ‘That means we have very little time, gentlemen – and so must put that which we do have to good use. We didn’t come here with the intention of withstanding a siege and I still hope it won’t come to that. But, just in case it does, I want barricades erected on all the surrounding roads and supplies brought in from the outlying district as quickly as possible. Cheese, flour, gunpowder, pitch – all the usual things. And cattle, of course. There is, however, just one stipulation. No beasts are to be commandeered from any but those you know to be our enemies. Clear?’

  There was a rumble of reluctant assent and Francis murmured wickedly to Will, ‘Exactly how does one recognise a Roundhead sheep?’

  ‘One doesn’t,’ came the equally soft, sardonic reply. ‘One merely takes ’em all and hopes for the best.’

  ‘And now,’ continued Sir Charles, ‘to the matter of the town’s defences. Naturally, you will see them for yourselves as you go about your duties – but, basically, we are protected to the north and east by the River Colne and surrounded for the most part by a wall some six to seven feet thick. Unfortunately, however, the walls follow the line laid down by the Romans and, except at one point, allow us no bastion from which we can hope to take our enemy in the flank.’ He paused and then, smi
ling wryly, added, ‘On the other hand, we can command the London Road from a battery in St Mary’s churchyard; and my father’s house – being situated on higher ground just outside the town – will doubtless prove a very useful outpost. And that, gentlemen, is all I can profitably tell you. Accept your individual assignments from Major Savage – and don’t expect much sleep tonight. That’s all.’

  Will Compton got the task of posting look-outs and arranging duty rosters. Francis found himself despatched in search of provisions. He set off with half a dozen troopers and a couple of carts and resigned himself to a difficult and tiring afternoon.

  In fact, it was past ten in the evening before he returned – damp, hungry and bad-tempered – to the room in the tawny-stone Castle Keep where Will and a handful of other officers were snatching an hour’s rest. Pulling off his hat to eye its bedraggled feather with acute disfavour he said irritably, ‘They say the sun shines on the righteous. Have we erred in some way?’

  Sir William looked up from his lists and grinned.

  ‘What’s the matter, Francis? Had a bad day?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I’ve ridden along countless muddy lanes, wasted a good deal of charm on red-faced fellows reeking of onions, missed my dinner and come back with a cart-load of turnips, two sacks of flour and a few cheeses. I’ve had an absolutely splendid time.’

  There was a scattering of weary laughter and, pushing a plate of bread and cold meat in Francis’s direction, Lieutenant Ross said ruefully, ‘It sounds as though you did better than me, at all events. Every farmer I approached with a view to acquiring some livestock swore blind he’d been heart and soul for the King from the first.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have asked them,’ observed Will calmly.

  ‘But Sir Charles said —’

  ‘I know what Sir Charles said – but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. This is an emergency. If my fellows in Banbury had worried which were loyal cattle and which weren’t, we’d have starved to death in ’44.’

  ‘As I understand it,’ remarked Sir George Lisle from the hearth, ‘you were down to your last two horses as it was.’

  ‘We were. And that is precisely the point I’m trying to make,’ returned Will austerely. ‘When you don’t know what you’ll need, you take everything you can get.’

  ‘There’s a quaint family motto in there somewhere if only I could be bothered translating it.’ A chunk of beef in one hand and a cup of wine in the other, Captain Langley subsided with less than his usual grace on to a settle. ‘But let no one say that I’m a mere frippery fellow. What orders do we have for tomorrow?’

  ‘You really want to know?’ Tossing down his pen, the young Major-General stood up and stretched. ‘Word has come in that Fairfax is a mile and a half away at Lexden with a couple of troops of Whalley’s Horse. They’ll presumably wait for the rest of the Army to arrive before they come any closer … but Sir Charles thinks we can expect to see some action in the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘So?’ yawned Francis.

  ‘So we’re going to draw up in battle formation across the London Road and give the Lord General a warm welcome.’

  There was a small, tense silence. Then, frowning at the slightly frayed end of his sash, Francis said gently, ‘And how many men does popular rumour credit Sir Thomas with?’

  ‘Around five thousand,’ replied Will tersely.

  ‘Is that all?’ The sapphire eyes rose again, blandly smiling. ‘Then – aside from the fact that they’re well-trained, well-armed and every other thing we’re not – we don’t have anything to worry about, do we?’

  *

  Taking Lieutenant Ross and a dozen of his own troopers with him, Francis set off at dawn on another foraging mission and this time came back with ten sheep, half a dozen cows and most of his customary sangfroid. He found the rest of the army busily deploying in full battalia – infantry in the centre, as usual, with cavalry on either wing. And pitifully small wings they were too, he decided gloomily, as he rode in search of Major-General Compton and his orders.

  ‘My scouts say Barkstead’s Foot has just come up to join Fairfax, so we can expect them fairly soon I should think,’ Will informed him. ‘Lord Norwich has put you on our right under Colonel Farr. You’ll find your outer flank protected to a degree because the land drops away to the river just there. I myself will be over on the left beyond the Maldon Road with Sir George.’

  ‘Protected by what?’

  ‘Pikemen and musketeers in the nearby hedges,’ he shrugged. ‘The devil of it is that we’ve only about six hundred Horse altogether.’

  ‘My own thoughts precisely.’ Francis turned to go and then, looking back, drawled gently, ‘Ah … and don’t try to be a hero, Will – there’s a good fellow.’

  Sir Thomas Fairfax sent the usual summons to surrender and word filtered through the Royalist throng that Lord Norwich had replied that, having heard that the Lord General was sick with the gout, he would shortly ‘cure him of all diseases’. This inspired a certain amount of witty bravado and then everyone settled down to await the inevitable attack.

  Waiting with his men, Francis employed his usual tactics of maintaining a gentle flow of eloquence. He suspected that his fellows would probably prefer a neck-or-nothing officer with a repertoire of bawdy jokes to one who remained apparently calm and had a peculiar brand of humour. He didn’t know that his style and elegance were a source of pride to his troops and that his deliberate coolness had a way of steadying even the most faltering nerves.

  Although he took care not to show it, Francis always hated the last hour before a battle. He did not consider himself a coward but he found that, once everything was done, you were often left with too much time to think of what lay ahead. And the result, naturally, was that when Fairfax’s regiments finally came into sight, he was extremely glad to see them.

  Drums were beating and colours flying. It was clear from the first that the New Model’s cavalry severely outnumbered their own and equally clear that the Lord General hoped to enter Colchester as quickly as he had Maidstone. He launched an immediate attack with his infantry but had them thrown back by cannon-fire from St Mary’s churchyard. Francis tensed in the saddle and waited for Colonel Farr’s signal. Then, when it came, he raised his sword high in the air and shouted, ‘Now, gentlemen – for God and King Charles!’

  He’d learned the art of the successful cavalry charge from Rupert of the Rhine. At the military academy in Angers, he’d been taught to pause half-way in order to discharge his pistol – but the Prince had changed all that. ‘Let your horse do the work,’ he’d said. ‘Ride as fast as you can in close formation and smash into the enemy. That’s the way to win.’ And he was right. It had been the way to win … until Cromwell picked up the idea and taught it to his fellows as well.

  Away to his left, Barkstead’s infantry was being hotly repulsed by Sir Charles, leading Lord Norwich’s raw recruits. Francis experienced a moment of faint elation. Then he and his troopers met the enemy cavalry head on and the battle exploded around him.

  As always happened at such times, thought was suspended in favour of pure reflex. Controlling his horse with his left hand and the pressure of his knees, Francis alternately attacked and defended himself with his sword-arm – slashing and thrusting, swivelling and lunging with a good deal of force but no finesse whatsoever. An iron-helmeted trooper swept down upon him and was disabled by a savage blow to the wrist, only to be replaced by another and another. Francis’s ears were filled with the sounds of steel on steel, of men screaming as they fell; and of his own voice, yelling commands and encouragement. Further away, the rattle of musket-fire was again being punctuated by the dull boom of artillery; and somewhere, a lone trumpet urgently reiterated the Recall. Francis didn’t know that their own infantry had already repelled Barkstead’s Foot once and was about to do it again. He simply blocked out everything except for a fragment of song which echoed eerily in his head while he addressed the job in hand.

  Captains
in open fields on their foes rushing

  Gentlemen second them with their pikes pushing

  When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

  He who would honour win must not fear dying.

  Well, his men weren’t fearing it – but against such superior numbers, sheer courage was not enough and gradually they started to give ground. Suspecting that his losses were already higher than their little army could afford but with no idea what was happening throughout the battle as a whole, Francis fought on while they continued to be pushed further and further back on their own lines. Then, choosing to save what he could rather than allow his fellows to be massacred, he started bellowing an order to retreat. Five minutes later, he became aware that the cavalry on the other wing must have suffered a similar fate, for Sir Charles Lucas was already withdrawing the infantry back inside the town walls. The battle for Colchester, it seemed, was over – at least for today.

  But, of course, it wasn’t quite over. There was still the miserable business of fighting a lengthy rear-guard action around the Head Gate while the Foot completed its withdrawal – during which they managed to capture a Parliamentary cannon but were unable to prevent the last four or five hundred men being killed or taken. After that, however, things grew marginally brighter.

  Scenting an easy victory, Colonel Barkstead pressed on through the Head Gate and fell straight into the trap Sir Charles had thoughtfully prepared for him. A body of Horse galloped hell for leather downhill at him from the street ahead and a party of Foot nipped him in the flank. Taken by surprise and caught between the devil and the deep, the Colonel’s men turned and fled. The Head Gate slammed shut behind them, its bar dropped reassuringly into place – and Lord Capel pegged it with his cane.

  Amidst the chaos within, Francis slid from the saddle and wiped the sweat from his eyes. It was growing dark and he was bone weary but there was still work to be done, making sure that those houses which had been fired during the fight were properly doused. And after that, as evening became night and Fairfax attempted to storm their defences, it was necessary to somehow find yet more energy to repel the attack.