Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

‘Oh my God,’ groaned Gabriel irritably. ‘What now?’

  ‘She won’t go home,’ said Sam. ‘Mr Morrell found out that we’ve been meeting at the Lilburnes’ house and there was one hell of row which ended up with Bryony running to my lodgings. Only it wouldn’t be proper for her to stay the night there, so I thought —’

  ‘You thought you’d bring her here to me,’ finished Gabriel blightingly. ‘But if either of you imagines I’m going to tuck her up in bed while Jack goes frantic with worry, you’ve missed your mark. I won’t.’

  ‘You must!’ Bryony released Sam in order to cast herself on Gabriel’s chest. ‘Uncle Jack says I can’t see Sam ever again – so I won’t go back. I won’t! And if you make me, I’ll run away again and s-sleep with Sam and then we’ll have to be married.’

  Gabriel gazed up at the ceiling and swore quietly.

  Smothering a grin, Major Maxwell rose from his chair and murmured, ‘I think I’d better leave you to it.’ And went.

  Gabriel detached Bryony’s hands from his coat and looked her in the eye.

  ‘I’m taking you back to Shoreditch. And that is final.’

  Bryony shouted that she’d sooner die and burst into tears. Gabriel retained his grip on her wrists and shook her.

  ‘Stop it or I’ll slap you!’ he said. And to Mr Radford, ‘Go home, Sam. And thank you.’

  Samuel hesitated, wanting to comfort Bryony but realising that staying would only make matters worse. Nodding at Gabriel, he said wearily, ‘Try to understand, Bryony. It’s not that I don’t love you – and, if all else fails, I’ll willingly marry you without your uncle’s permission. But I won’t force his hand by compromising you. Not today, not ever. It’s a matter of respect. And that’s why I’m going to let the Colonel take you home. Goodnight, my dear.’

  Bryony howled as the door closed behind him. She shrieked as Gabriel took her downstairs and threw her up before him on his horse … and she wailed all the way to Shoreditch. Consequently, by the time they walked in on Jack and Annis, Gabriel’s temper was on a decidedly short rein and he was past the stage of being tactful.

  Ignoring Annis’s white face and Jack’s muffled exclamation of relief, he hauled Bryony into the parlour and said bitingly, ‘Before you both overwhelm me with your gratitude, allow me to point out that the credit for her safe and unsullied return belongs, not to me, but to Sam Radford – who has more sense than the rest of you put together.’

  Jack stiffened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard – and I’m not staying to argue. Quite frankly, I could have done without coming here at this time of night altogether. But since I’ve been forced to do so, I may as well say this. What happened tonight will happen again – and, though you can trust Sam not to dishonour Bryony, there’ll come a point when he’ll agree to an elopement. And I, for one, won’t blame him.’

  Bryony crumpled abruptly on to a settle.

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ snapped Jack. ‘It’s thanks to him that she’s thick as thieves with Free-born John!’

  ‘So? I can think of worse people for her to associate with,’ came the impatient reply. Then, to Annis, ‘Do you want to end up locking her in the attic?’

  Her brows contracted. ‘No. Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Then talk some sense into Jack. I’ve already told him why it’s not such an unsuitable match. Sam’s got character and he knows how to handle her – which is more, just at the moment, than either of you do.’

  ‘I don’t think,’ observed Jack coldly, ‘that I like your tone. And what makes you such an expert?’

  ‘Common-sense,’ returned Gabriel irascibly. ‘You should try it some time.’

  And, turning on his heel, he walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  *

  In the week that followed, Fairfax allowed himself to be persuaded that it might be as well to secure the King’s person before Parliament could do so, with the result that two responsible officers were despatched to the Isle of Wight. Meanwhile, Lilburne and Ireton continued the argument that neither of them would ever win and were only prevented from going their separate ways when Colonel Harrison told Lilburne that Ireton had agreed to his suggestion for a new committee of Levellers, Army officers, civilian Independents and Members of Parliament to draft the Agreement.

  With this division temporarily healed, there was a sudden upsurge of activity.

  On November 30th, the Officers’ Council issued a Declaration demanding the immediate dissolution of Parliament and announcing its intention to march on London; Fairfax asked the Lord Mayor for forty thousand pounds towards arrears of Army pay; and the officers who’d been sent to the Isle of Wight were ordered to remove the King from Carisbrooke.

  On December 1st, the Commons listened to Denzil Holles’s account of the final answers given by the King at Newport, ignored a plea that the Army should be declared a collection of rebels and authorised payment of the money Fairfax had asked for. On the 2nd, the Commons quaked as the Army entered London and established itself at Whitehall; and on Monday 4th, it learned that the Army had once again seized the King – this time transferring him to bleak, inaccessible Hurst Castle on the Solent.

  For a few hours next day, Gabriel began to hope that, having the King securely in their hands, his more moderate colleagues would be tempted into a change of heart on the matter of the trial. Then, while the Officers’ Council was busily amending Lilburne’s Agreement, the Commons voted that the King’s answers at Newport could be considered grounds for the settlement and peace of the Kingdom. And suddenly everything was back in the melting pot again.

  Immediately summoned to a meeting of officers and MPs at Whitehall, Gabriel took a boat to Westminster Stairs and then strode up King Street in a mood of black preoccupation. He did not notice the initially startled and then frankly venomous gaze that followed him from across the street. There was, of course, no reason why he should.

  The meeting was neither better nor worse than he expected. Ireton and Harrison urged the dissolution of Parliament in accordance with the recent Declaration of the Army, on the grounds that purging would merely result in a mock-power. The Members replied by somewhat dryly pointing out that, since the bulk of the people still wanted the King restored, a general election at this stage was unlikely to produce the result the Army wanted. And after hours of circuitous argument, it was finally agreed that – Parliament having forfeited its trust – it was the duty of the Army to put a stop to such proceedings by means of an immediate purge, closely followed by total dissolution. Inevitably, yet another committee was appointed to set out the criteria on which members were to be excluded.

  Leaving the rest to their deliberations, Gabriel slipped away unnoticed into the chilly night air and set off moodily back towards the river. A shadowy figure erupted from the Axe Yard and another detached itself from a doorway just in front of him. Steel gleamed dully in the fitful light. Gabriel stopped abruptly and drew his sword. Then the assailants closed in on him.

  He despatched the first easily enough with a swift, vicious thrust to the shoulder of his sword-arm but the other was more tenacious. Also, Gabriel was grimly aware that it would be silly to kill the only man who could answer several burning questions. So he opened a fast but careful attack that pushed his opponent gradually backwards whilst demanding curtly, ‘Who sent you?’

  The fellow reserved his energy for the fight and declined to answer.

  Gabriel encouraged him by slitting his left sleeve from elbow to shoulder.

  ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ came the taunting reply.

  Gabriel disarmed him with a savage twist of his wrist and heard the sword clatter to the cobbles several feet away. Then, just as he was about to pin its owner to the wall, a group of noisy youths flooded drunkenly into the street nearby from The Leg tavern and, in the split second that Gabriel’s attention was diverted, his attacker wriggled from his grasp and bolted.

  Ga
briel swore and gave chase, running back past Whitehall and the Tiltyard towards Charing Cross. And there, inexplicably, his quarry vanished. Gabriel spent ten fruitless minutes searching alleys and doorways and then gave up. Ramming his sword home, he strode furiously to the river and hailed a boat. He’d had his chance and made a mess of it; and the most annoying thing was that it was no one’s fault but his own.

  He arrived back in Cheapside to find Wat sitting by the fire with a beef patty in one hand and a mug of ale in the other. For a moment, Gabriel debated keeping the evening’s events to himself and then, deciding against it, pulled off his sword and laid it across a stool.

  ‘Clean that, will you?’ he asked negligently.

  Mr Larkin froze, patty in mouth. Then, slowly removing it, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was attacked by hired bravos. Again. So it looks as if you were right all along. Someone wants me dead.’

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Wat. He stared down at the remains of his supper and then threw it in the fire, wondering if he’d allowed Ellis to lull him into a false sense of security. He said tersely, ‘Your half-brother was hereabouts the night you nearly fried and for a few weeks after. But I don’t know where he is now because I stopped watching him once you’d been back a week or so and he was still seemingly minding his own business.’

  Gabriel sat down, an arrested gleam in his eyes.

  ‘And what,’ he asked, ‘is his business?’

  ‘Coining. There’s four of ’em in it. The work’s done near the Lion in Blackfriars.’

  There was a long, meditative silence.

  ‘You appear to know an awful lot about it. But what interests me is how come you were able to recognise dear Ellis – since, as far as I’m aware, you’ve never laid eyes on him.’

  ‘Ah.’ Wat half-drained his mug and then, since there wasn’t much alternative, he said grudgingly, ‘He wrote to the missus the day before the fire, asking to see her – and she asked me to go instead and get rid of him. So I did.’

  ‘That was nice of you.’ Gabriel leaned back and folded his arms. ‘And neither of you thought to mention it to me?’

  ‘No. But if you’ll cast your mind back, you’ll know why.’

  A faint smile touched the hard mouth. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘There’s no perhaps about it,’ retorted Mr Larkin. Then, sourly, ‘I’d better find the stupid bugger again – though how I’m to do that and guard your back, I don’t know.’

  ‘Then you’d better leave me to guard my own back, hadn’t you?’ Gabriel stretched out his feet to the fire. ‘After all, the tools Ellis is using – if, of course it is Ellis – haven’t been very efficient so far. And though I’d as soon not go on repelling random attacks on my life, I’m not quivering with fear just yet.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Wat, grimly. ‘But from now on after dark, where you go, I go. And then we’ll see, won’t we, if we can’t catch the murdering sod red-handed?’

  ~ ~ ~

  TWELVE

  The following morning found Wat hammering on Gabriel’s bedchamber door before it was fully light and then sticking his head round it to say rapidly, ‘Major Maxwell’s just sent word that our boys have been ordered down to Westminster. I thought you’d like to know.’

  Colonel Brandon was suddenly wide awake and out of bed, reaching for his clothes.

  ‘Get my horse saddled.’

  Wat stared at him.

  ‘You’re going down there?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To ram Eden’s teeth down his throat,’ came the not entirely flippant reply. And then, ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’

  By the time Gabriel arrived at Westminster, two regiments were deployed in the surrounding area and the Trained Bands who normally guarded Parliament were being advised to go home and see to their wives. Ignoring this and narrowing his eyes against the driving sleet, Gabriel rode on until he found his own fellows outside the entrance to the Commons. Then, fixing Major Maxwell with a blistering gaze, he said, ‘Do you know what’s going on here today?’

  Eden nodded warily.

  ‘A purge of the House.’

  ‘Precisely. So – knowing my views as well as you do – why the devil did you bring my troops to assist in it?’

  ‘What choice did I have? You may feel like countermanding an order from the Commissary-General – but I don’t.’

  Hard grey eyes locked with cool hazel ones.

  ‘You mean,’ said Gabriel silkily, ‘that you didn’t want to. Which gives you a problem, Major – because I’m ordering you to take our men back to the Tower. Now.’

  The scarred face tightened fractionally and, for a moment, Eden looked as though he wanted to argue. Then, shrugging slightly, he said, ‘On your head be it.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Gabriel glanced around him. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  ‘Colonel Pride.’ Eden jerked his head towards the steps of the House. ‘He’s up there with Lord Grey of Groby.’

  Gabriel’s brows rose slightly but he forbore to remark that the former drayman and the grinning dwarf made an odd combination and instead, said smoothly, ‘Then I’ll inform the Colonel of my change in your orders. Meanwhile, Major, you may take the men back where they came from.’

  The bells of St Margaret’s were already striking eight as he ran lightly up the steps and Members of the House were already starting to arrive. They looked nervous, Gabriel thought, and he didn’t blame them. The heavy military presence must have already told them what was afoot.

  Outside the door to the lobby, with his hat in one hand, his list in the other and Lord Grey to identify those members he was not himself familiar with, Colonel Pride was politely arresting those who had either supported the previous day’s motion that settlement could still be reached with the King or voted against declaring everyone who had assisted in the Scots’ invasion to be traitors.

  Gabriel waited while William Prynne was hauled off, loudly protesting that this was a breach of Parliamentary privilege. Then, stalking up to Colonel Pride, he said curtly, ‘I can’t stop what you’re doing but I won’t have my men used in it and have therefore had them removed. I shall also – in case you’re wondering – be informing the Commissary-General of it.’

  ‘I see.’ Thomas Pride eyed him with acute disfavour. ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said, is there?’

  ‘Only one thing. Does Fairfax know about this?’

  ‘He will,’ came the flat reply. ‘When it’s finished.’

  A total of forty-one Members spent the morning under guard in the Queen’s Court while their colleagues in the House sent out demands for their release which eventually procured the liberty of Nathaniel Fiennes and Sir Benjamin Rudyard. The remaining thirty-nine – Sir William Waller and Sir Samuel Luke amongst them but not, oddly enough, Denzil Holles – were detained overnight in an uncomfortably chilly room below the Exchequer, satirically known as Hell. By then, Henry Ireton’s hand had been unexpectedly strengthened. Some twelve hours after Colonel Pride had purged Parliament and having left Major-General Lambert to prosecute the siege of Pontefract, Oliver Cromwell rode back into Westminster.

  *

  The following day, while the newly-culled Commons was formally congratulating the Lieutenant-General on his various successes and also learning that it must answer the Army’s demands before the restrained Members would be freed, Colonel Brandon told the Lieutenant-General’s son-in-law precisely what he thought of the purge.

  ‘I don’t accept that it is the Army’s place to turn Parliament into a farce by forcibly removing the duly elected representatives of the nation,’ he said bluntly. ‘And I don’t see the difference between what was done yesterday and what the King did back in January of ’42 when he tried to arrest Holles and the others.’

  ‘Your views on the subject have been well-noted,’ responded Ireton pointedly. ‘They are, however, insufficient grounds on which to supersede my orders with your own. And it
is that which we are at present discussing.’

  ‘I’m aware of it and have already expressed my regrets that it should have become necessary. But I don’t care to be associated with unlawful interference in matters which lie outside my province as a soldier. Particularly when it has the ultimate aim of taking off the King’s head.’

  There was a frigid silence during which, beneath the ice-cold façade, Ireton’s temper began to stir.

  ‘The King,’ he remarked, ‘is the author of every trouble which as beset this nation for the last six years.’

  ‘Is he? Did the King make war on the Parliament – or was it the other way about? At best it’s a moot point and I doubt you’ll find one in twenty people across the country who are as convinced of his guilt as you are. Or perhaps the will of the nation isn’t important?’

  ‘Of course it’s important! But the people’s main desire is for a secure and stable government – without which they and their posterity have nothing.’

  ‘True. But as far as the common man is concerned, stability is not to be found in a puppet King and Parliament whose strings are being pulled by the Army,’ retorted Gabriel. Then, ‘Do you know how resentful and confused people are these days? There is no such thing as a Bishop or King – nor Peer but in name or show. That’s what they’re singing. And it frightens them.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t realise that – or that I wanted the situation to deteriorate this far?’ snapped Ireton. ‘But the King has given us no choice with his constant refusal to accept any terms at all. And you are in danger of sticking your neck out beyond what will be forgiven you.’

  Grey eyes met black.

  ‘Are you relieving me of duty?’ asked Gabriel evenly.

  ‘Not yet,’ came the clipped reply. ‘But I suggest you put a curb on your tongue while you consider your position. And that, Colonel, is a warning you would do well to heed.’

  Outside in the street, Gabriel watched a gaggle of children skipping round in a circle, chanting.

  Then let’s have King Charles, says George

  Nay we’ll have his son, says Hugh