Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  With a rough march ahead of them, they left the artillery at Knaresborough Castle and set off across the moors for Skipton and the west. Rain had turned streams into raging torrents and roads into quagmires of mud but they reached Gisburn on the night of August 15th and, on the following day, held a Council of War at Hodder Bridge.

  According to the latest intelligence, Hamilton had reached Preston and showed every sign of continuing south. But Monro’s Irishmen were at some distance to the rear and Lieutenant-General Middleton was currently taking the main cavalry across the River Ribble in advance of the infantry. This scattering of the Royalist army was too advantageous to be ignored. But the most vital question was whether the New Model should stay on the south bank of the Ribble to prevent Hamilton advancing further into England – or whether it should follow the north bank in order to separate Hamilton more securely from Monro and cut the Scots off from any possibility of retreat to their homeland.

  It was another thorny choice and the stakes this time were enormous. If a battle was fought and won, the Scots were completely undone; if it were fought and lost, they were at liberty to continue their marauding march southwards. Cromwell argued in favour of the north bank and eventually got his way. Gabriel kept his tongue between his teeth and confined himself to issuing the necessary orders.

  After a chilly, uncomfortable night spent in the grounds of Stonyhurst Park, the Army arose on the morning of Thursday August 17th to another grey and inevitably wet dawn. Tents were dismantled, pikes and muskets and swords resumed and, marching columns grumblingly reformed. Then they embarked once more on the weary road to Preston … until their advance guard suddenly collided with Sir Marmaduke Langdale’s van.

  Langdale had formed his troops up across the New Model’s line of march and was apparently prepared to contest its passage whilst awaiting reinforcements from the main army.

  He’d positioned himself well, too, decided Gabriel clinically, when he had a chance to observe the lie of the land. But that was only to be expected. Langdale was a professional; a raw-boned Yorkshireman who’d fought throughout the first war and become known as ‘The Ghost’ on account of his talent for appearing where least expected, then vanishing like mist. And today he had demonstrated this quality by drawing up his three thousand or so men, only a small portion of whom were cavalry, amidst the hedged fields which surrounded the lane leading to Preston.

  By the time Cromwell’s dispositions were complete, with his own Horse and that of Colonel Harrison commanding the approach to the lane and a line of Foot stretching out a thousand yards, the afternoon was well-advanced. Gabriel’s regiment was on the right wing and had the task of protecting the infantry while it dislodged Langdale’s men from their hedges.

  This, as it turned out, was easier said than done. Impatient to enter the fray but with little to do as yet except command, Gabriel watched the best soldiers in the world hurling themselves again and again on the Royalist position only to be repeatedly repulsed by a hail of musket-fire and fierce hand-to-hand combat. It was clear that their casualties were going to be heavy. No one, he thought grimly as the day wore on, could deny that the Cavaliers were acquitting themselves like heroes. And the truth was that they needed to. Cromwell ordered up fresh troops to reinforce those being picked off by Langdale’s musketeers and the balance started to swing in their favour. If Langdale had perhaps had a thousand more men, thought Gabriel, he might have held his ground. But he didn’t get them. With the exception of a few Scottish lancers – amongst whom, if the flag was to be believed, was his Grace of Hamilton in person – no reinforcements came up to aid Sir Marmaduke in his unequal struggle and he was left to stand or fall as best he might.

  He and his little army held their ground for four long hours before finally falling back upon the town. And that was when Gabriel said crisply to Eden, ‘Bring up all our troops that haven’t been engaged so far. I want to follow Cromwell down the lane.’

  ‘So as not to miss all the fun?’ asked the Major.

  ‘No. So as to try and make sure that, if surrender is offered, it’s accepted,’ came the austere reply.

  They poured into the narrow streets of Preston in pursuit of Langdale’s infantry, gradually turning the retreat into a rout. With few options left to them, the Royalist Foot surrendered virtually en masse; and Gabriel, insinuating his own men amongst those of Thomas Harrison, made sure that – unlike at Basing House – no men were cut down in the act of yielding their swords. Most of the Royalist Horse, meanwhile, slipped away to find Monro, leaving Sir Marmaduke and Hamilton to struggle across the swollen Ribble with a mere handful of their respective followers.

  While Cromwell swept down on that part of the Scottish army which was still trying to cross the river, Gabriel gained Lambert’s permission to undertake a mopping-up operation in Preston itself where a few intrepid Royalist officers were trying to round up sundry groups of panic-stricken troopers. And that was how, as dusk was just falling, he came face to face with his half-brother.

  There was noise and confusion all around them but neither was aware of it and, for a moment, they eyed each other mutely. Ellis – soaked, dirty and dishevelled and mounted on a horse he’d just stolen from someone’s stable; and Gabriel – equally wet and lightly mud-spattered but otherwise remarkably tidy. Then Ellis said venomously, ‘Well, brother. It seems you’re destined to be forever in my way.’

  ‘So it appears,’ agreed Gabriel. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Not what I’d like, unfortunately.’ Ellis had discarded his pistol after his ammunition ran out and, with Roundheads swarming throughout the town, wasn’t prepared to waste time and court capture by drawing his sword. Characteristically, however, he couldn’t resist saying, ‘And what of you? What are you going to do? Shoot me in cold blood? No. I don’t somehow think so. Arrest me and damn the consequences? Yes – perhaps. But it really wouldn’t be very wise, you know.’

  ‘You fascinate me,’ said Gabriel – who, since there was little point in asking a man if he’d tried to have you killed and expecting a truthful answer under the present circumstances, would have much preferred to avoid this encounter altogether. ‘What consequences? In case you hadn’t noticed it, this is war – and you and I are enemies.’

  ‘So we are. But not, you’ll agree, because of the war.’ Ellis’s teeth gleamed in a malicious smile. ‘Just consider. If you make yourself personally responsible for my capture, what are you going to tell Venetia?’

  ‘The truth.’ Gabriel allowed his gaze to drift past Ellis to the fight taking place between some of his own fellows and half-a-dozen Cavaliers about twenty-five yards away at the end of the road. Then, looking coolly back at his half-brother, he said, ‘Since you’re heading North, I assume you’re not intending to join in the general retreat?’

  ‘In this weather? No. I don’t think so. And I’ve already done as much for the Cause as I can today.’

  ‘Ah well. I don’t suppose they’ll miss you,’ came the derisive reply. ‘However … since I’m sure the answer would be disappointing, I won’t ask where you are going. I’ll simply point out that you’d better go now – before I’m left with no option but to stop you.’

  Ellis’s hand clenched hard on his reins.

  ‘You think I want favours from you?’ he spat.

  ‘I’m not doing you any. I’m merely saying that I’d prefer to have as little to do with you as possible but that I’m not prepared to risk my reputation by letting you go under the eyes of my men – who, by the way, are getting rather close.’ A chilly impersonal smile touched Gabriel’s mouth and then was gone. ‘For future reference, on the other hand, you should know that my toleration won’t last forever. And if we meet again, there’s likely to be a reckoning.’

  ‘Behold me – positively shaking with fear.’

  ‘I’d rather not behold you at all.’ The fight eddied back down the street again but Gabriel didn’t expect the retreat to last. ‘Make up your mind. Are you goin
g or not?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kicking his horse into motion, Ellis rode a little way past him and then paused again. ‘But before I do, just answer me one question. If you don’t sleep with your wife – who do you sleep with, Colonel? Whores, kitchen sluts … boys? Or are you just incapable?’ And then, as Gabriel swung to face him, ‘After all, a man who can resist such a tempting armful to the point of failing to consummate his marriage must have some reason for it. And Venetia’s no coy little virgin waiting to be seduced … as I know only too well.’

  Something shifted in Gabriel’s stomach and his hands curled into fists.

  ‘God, but you’re sickening,’ he said disgustedly.

  ‘What’s the matter? Surely the possibility must have occurred to you.’ Ellis smiled tauntingly. ‘We were betrothed for five years – and there was a war on. Did you really think we’d never done more than hold hands and exchange the odd, chaste kiss? Venetia’s not the ice-maiden she appears, you know. But then – despite having been married to her for eight months – you’ve yet to —’

  ‘If you talk much more,’ said a light, deadly voice from out of the gloom beside them, ‘the Colonel is likely to shoot you in the head or expire from pure boredom. I myself wouldn’t blame him for either one.’

  Ellis jerked his head round and swore. Gabriel turned slowly and found himself looking down into the barrel of a pistol. Its owner – a brown-haired man in shabby buff leather and a frayed blue sash – grinned faintly and said, ‘I apologise both for my unintentional eavesdropping and my interruption. As for my unknown colleague’s big mouth … I’d be more than delighted to give you time to shut it for him except that I’m in something of a hurry to acquire your horse before your troopers arrive to prevent me.’

  Beneath his mingled rage and disbelief, Gabriel was aware of distant amusement. He said, ‘And you really imagine I’m going to give her to you?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m the one with the pistol, you see.’

  ‘Why don’t you just shoot him and have done with it?’ demanded Ellis, furious at being deprived at the reaction he’d hoped for.

  ‘And advertise my presence unnecessarily? Try not to be a bigger fool than you can help,’ returned the stranger. Then, ‘Are you lost? If you’re looking for what’s left of our army —’

  ‘To what end?’ snapped Ellis bitterly. And, since there was plainly further point in staying, set spurs to his horse and galloped off.

  ‘He who fights and runs away …’ murmured Gabriel, reaching stealthily for his own pistol while the Cavalier was apparently still watching Ellis’s retreating back.

  ‘Is probably wise but not the sort you’d like at your back in a tight spot. I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ Even in the gathering dusk, the expression in the light, clear gaze was unmistakable and Gabriel’s hand stilled. ‘Now. Your horse, if you please.’

  Although he rather admired the stranger’s nerve, Gabriel was not about to part with his favourite mare. He said, ‘It may have escaped your notice but your fellows appear to be surrendering to mine. And, that being so, I’m afraid you’ll just have to risk it and shoot me.’

  ‘Ah.’ A quick glance verified the truth of Gabriel’s statement. ‘Is that your last word?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Pity,’ came the half-regretful, half-cheerful reply. And then, with a tiny shrug as he turned to vanish into the murky alley he’d first sprung from, ‘You win. The damned thing’s not loaded anyway.’

  *

  With a thousand of their number dead and four thousand captured, the Scots used the hours of darkness to make a desperate march to Wigan and were three miles on their way before Cromwell found they’d gone. Leaving the Lancashire levies to hold Preston and instructing that all prisoners were to be put to the sword at the first sign of Monro’s troops, the Lieutenant-General set off in belated pursuit – and had the immediate satisfaction of finding Hamilton’s entire stock of powder and shot which someone, unbelievably, had failed to destroy.

  Rain streamed down incessantly and the New Model was constantly harried by the Scottish cavalry – apparently eager to make up for its lack of activity the previous day and justify its presence on English soil. Responding with an ease born of long practice, Gabriel formed and reformed his men to meet each successive sally and told himself he was enjoying it. The truth, however, was that he wasn’t – mainly because, thanks to Ellis, he had other things on his mind. And the only really bright spot in the whole day was discovering that, amongst a host of other captives, was Colonel Hurry; the man famous during the first war for changing sides more often than anybody else.

  By the time Gabriel’s regiment had struggled through the mud to Wigan, the starving Scots had already been through it like a plague of locusts and moved on. The New Model – dirty, weary and wet – spent another miserable night in fields just south of the town. And Gabriel came to the conclusion that he should have taken his lying, malicious half-brother by the throat and shaken him until the truth emerged.

  August 19th dawned and the chase continued to within three miles of Warrington before the Scots finally turned and gave battle – selling their lives dearly and standing their ground through several hours of tightly-knit charges and close combat until, with a further thousand dead and two thousand more taken, they disengaged and resumed their dispirited flight. And by then, as Gabriel pointed out somewhat hazily to Eden, their own fellows were so tired they could have slept standing up.

  Surrender finally came before nightfall that day at Warrington and both sides were unreservedly glad of it. Hamilton and Langdale slipped away south with a body of Horse and four thousand more prisoners fell into the Lieutenant-General’s already over-full hands. It was over.

  Surely, wrote Cromwell that night to the Speaker of the Commons, this is nothing but the hand of God; and wherever anything in this world exalts itself, God will put it down. And further down the page, Take courage to do the work of the Lord in seeking the peace and welfare of this land … and they that are incapable and will not leave troubling the land may speedily be destroyed out of the land.

  While Cromwell was writing his despatch, Colonel Brandon sat beside a cosy fire for the first time in several days and forced himself to face the possibility that Ellis might – just might – have been speaking the truth about having bedded Venetia. Given their circumstances at the time, it was by no means unlikely; and nor, if it were the truth, had he himself any right to feel betrayed by it … except, perhaps, in two particulars.

  She ought to have told him.

  And she ought not to have told Ellis that their marriage remained unconsummated.

  ~ ~ ~

  TWO

  It seemed to Venetia that the only thing which had gone right in recent weeks was the sale of the cloth. She and Dick Carter had taken it to Leonard Thomson in York and received prompt payment – for which she thanked, not only God but also Gabriel for his foresight in arranging the sale beforehand.

  But the incessant rain threatened to ruin the corn and had so far prevented them from pulling more than half of the flax; every lane on the estate had become a sea of mud in which carts inevitably got stuck; and the local physician said that Mistress Sophia was suffering from Dr Harvey’s ‘influenza’.

  Sophia was certainly suffering. So to, in different ways, was Venetia. When not closeted with Mr Carter or out and about getting soaked, she spent her time helping to nurse the invalid and trying to stop the sickroom filling up with Sophia’s motley collection of pets. Neither was easy and, as fatigue started to take its toll, she could feel her temper beginning to shorten. From time to time, she even contemplated asking Phoebe to come and help her but she never did. The harvest at Ford Edge would be no better than the one at Brandon Lacey.

  The news from outside was fragmentary and mostly depressing. The Parliament continued to toy with the idea of opening fresh talks with the King – but announced that all who had aided the Prince of Wales in his piratical ventures in the Downs were
to be regarded as traitors. Those incarcerated in Colchester and Pontefract continued to hold out but small rebellions in Portsmouth and Oxford were soon suppressed. And while John Lilburne was finally freed from the Tower, his brother Henry declared for the King at Tynemouth – and died in a surprise assault the next day.

  The New Model Army’s brief sojourn at Knaresborough Castle sent all Venetia’s nerves into spasm. Then, within forty-eight hours of the event, news of the battle at Preston put the final, catastrophic seal on all her hopes. She had not wanted a second war but, once it began, she had not been able to help praying that it might end with the King’s restoration. But that chance now looked very slender indeed; and, as if that were not quite bad enough, she was also aware of an inexplicable and apparently involuntary concern for her husband’s safety.

  By the evening of August 20th, the only bright spot in Venetia’s life was the fact that Sophy was gradually improving. Everything else, she decided gloomily, was about as dire as it could possibly be. Wearily clutching a candle, she went back to the little room where she kept her ledgers for another unrewarding tussle with the household accounts … and found Ellis sitting there.

  The candlestick dropped from her fingers, splashing her with hot wax and plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, there was total silence and then Ellis drawled, ‘My apologies. I’d have warned you if I’d known how.’

  Venetia reinflated her lungs.

  ‘Why didn’t you just ride up to the front door?’ she hissed. ‘You might as well have done. This is insane!’

  ‘Yes. Well, when you’re as wet and hungry as I am and you haven’t a groat to your name, you tend to look favourably on the odd risk,’ he replied. ‘I’m not complaining, of course – but do we have to talk in the dark?’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ She knelt to try and locate the candle and found that her hands were shaking. ‘There’s tinder on the table beside you, if you can find it.’