by Amy Wolf
“So?” I said. Everyone I knew was Anglican, and besides, Aventis could not run for office . . . not with his chosen profession . . .
“You see, dear Megs,” Aventis leaned over his saddle and said in a comic whisper, “I am a Catholic.”
“Ahh.”
If he had professed to be Charles, I could not have been more shocked! So that’s why Catherine favored him—they shared the same Popish faith. I snuck a look at my friend, but, despite his facial hair, he looked the same as most men. Could he really be an agent of Satan? Conspiring with Papist allies to hand England over to France?
Aventis gave me a grin that was more like a grimace.
“I assume you’ve never met a Catholic,” he asked, “before today?”
“Well—” I thought back to those I had known, both in Middlesex and London. “Not knowingly.”
He laughed, the sound echoing on the broad Heath.
“You need not fear,” he said. “I will not force you to kiss the Pope’s ring or accept the Eucharist wafer as the true body of Christ.”
“But … but the plots,” I breathed, thinking of all the wicked ones I had heard at the Whale.
“I know it must be fantastic to hold these two thoughts in your mind, but one can be a good Catholic and a good Englishman.”
He was right: from anyone else’s lips, I would not have believed this, but there was something in his manner which had always led me to trust him.
“Is your faith the reason you joined Jeffries?” I asked.
“There are few professions open to me save this,” he said.
“Though I would hate to see you depart—” I said (he could not know how much!), “—why not return to Spain?”
He sighed. “It is as foreign to me as it is to you.” Then resignation turned to defiance, and he balled his fist. “No! This is my home, ruled by my king and future queen! I shall forsake none of them.”
Especially the queen, I thought. Though it might cause me pain, I forged ahead with this subject while it was still fresh.
“As to Catherine,” I began, “it is a widely held belief that she has always been chaste.”
“Yes,” said Aventis.
“I do not believe it is known that she ever had a-a—”
“Nor should it be.”
“How came you to meet her?” I asked. Even though my blood raced, I strove to convey an air of calm.
“As a young man,” he said, “I journeyed to Lisbon to study at seminary.”
This took me unawares and my eyes widened: Aventis, a would-be priest!
“I first spied Catherine when she was the Infanta,” he said. “She had the most extraordinary ringlets, and though her stature was small, I thought her a true beauty. Alas, she had a mother who guarded her like a dragon.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
“Mind you,” he went on, “it was a no small feat to sneak past the palace and gain entrance to the convent which Catherine called home. I was forced to bribe a few nuns.” He made the sign of the Cross. “Well, once I arrived, she took a fancy to me. It was no secret to either of us that she would be pledged to a king.”
“How dreadful for her. To be forced into a marriage!” I cried.
He gave me a meaningful look.
“Our liaison could not last long,” he said, “not with her sharp-clawed mama. I returned to England while she stayed at the convent until Charles came along.”
“Yet you are devoted to him?”
“As a subject, I am. Far better a rakish Charles than a joyless Cromwell.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I barely remembered the Roundhead, but his closing the theatres and taverns was enough to make me hate him.
“We best catch up,” said Aventis, and he kissed to his mount.
As we both loped down the road, I asked, “Who else knows your tale?”
“Only you,” he said. “I wanted to tell the others since we do not keep secrets, but . . .”
I was instantly wracked with guilt. If he thought his secret was bad, what about my own?
As we headed toward London, we finally caught up with the others. Jeffries turned to give us both a rueful glance. How much did he know, I wondered, about my feelings for Aventis? Based on his harsh expression, more than Almighty God!
Yet as I glanced at Aventis, I felt my unease vanish like a shadow at noon. I resolved at that moment to be particularly nice to Catholics . . . if I happened to meet another.
A Latter-Day Robin Hood
Our company remained idle in Middlesex as Jeffries sought a broker for our glittering bounty. He at last found an acceptable “friend,” and returned to where we sheltered at the home of one of his doxies. On our second afternoon there, the captain slammed through the door with a song on his lips and a fat purse in his hand.
“How now, my merry companions?” he cried, giving our landlady, Mary, a long kiss on the lips.
I felt my spirits plunge—not that I had feelings for Jeffries. Rather, it was this woman, so soft in her hair and dress, able to openly be what I could not. I looked down at my doublet and breeches. Had I become so hard—so mannish in gesture and dress—that I was no longer a woman? Was I now a sort of creature who strode between the two sexes?
Jeffries must have noted my sadness for he clapped me on the back.
“I have something to liven you up!” he said. He stood at the kitchen table as we all took our places around it. “Who wishes to receive some guineas?” he asked, spilling out his purse’s content. So many fat coins struck wood that the sound nearly deafened!
“For you, friend,” Jeffries told Carnatus, “fifty guineas.”
Carnatus took up a few and made a quick inspection.
“Not too badly clipped,” he nodded.
“Megs, the same.” Jeffries handed me my share.
“Thank you, captain.”
I glanced down at the mound of gold spilling out of my hands. I smiled, then winced as I saw the visage of Cromwell staring up from the guineas. God’s wounds, would we ever be free of this man?
“Aventis, you’ve earned a hundred,” said Jeffries. “Without your ties to Catherine, we would all be swinging from a gibbet instead of enjoying these spoils.”
“Very kind of you,” said Aventis, placing a coin between his teeth to test the mettle of its metal. He exhaled with satisfaction. “Real,” he said.
As the sun passed through an open window pane, I could not help but note how handsome Aventis appeared. He was the very model of a highwayman from the top of his plumed hat down to his knee-high boots. It was clear from her blushes that Mary was not immune.
Carnatus turned to me.
“At what are you smiling?” he asked. “Dreaming of a doxy of your own?”
I laughed, somewhat nervously.
“My friend, you discern my thoughts,” I said.
The next morning, we left for London, where Jeffries had another hideout (and doxy). My God, this man had a woman not in every port but street! Compared to him, Charles was a monk! As we rode north toward the city, the captain did not share his plans, but when on the Great Western a sole coach rolled by, why not seize the day? Or in this case, the purse?
Still, this conveyance concerned me. Two soldiers were seated on both sides of the driver, though they seemed at their ease, their muskets and pistols held downward as they traversed the road.
“Let them pass,” Carnatus shrugged, as we trotted our mounts out of sight. “Such a drab little coach with guards prepared to shoot. Perhaps it is just the army moving about supplies.”
“Oh, it is the army all right,” said Jeffries, a gleam in his eye. “But what they are moving might interest you, for that is the paymaster’s wagon. I know it well from my years in the war.”
“But, captain,” I said, a sudden burst of regret washing over me like the tide. “Is not that money intentioned for soldiers? Assuredly, they are not rich. Should we as ‘honest thieves’ deprive them of their living?”
“God help us!
” Carnatus cried, pulling up his mask. “In future, he’ll ask the ladies if they be widows or orphans!”
“Megs, your intent is correct,” said Aventis. “We must never rob the poor.”
“Fear not,” Jeffries told me. “That haul will go to soldiers. Merely not the ones they expect.”
I had no time to reflect as Jeffries spurred his horse on with the heel of his boot. A pistol in each hand and a dagger between his teeth made him look like a landbound pirate.
“After him, lads!” cried Carnatus, and we all loped after him. Aventis and I went round to the far side of the coach, where we were immediately shot at. I was enveloped in powder and smoke which struck me all at once. Thank heavens, a lead ball did not.
Aventis was not so fortunate. I saw him lurch back in his saddle as he clutched his upper right arm. His formerly all black sleeve now showed a spatter of red.
“Aventis!” I cried, watching as he fought to retain his seat.
“Heigh ho, lads,” Carnatus said to the guards on the opposite side of the coach. They were so young and untried it took but a wave of his pistol for them to drop their own.
“Step down, if you please,” drawled Jeffries. They—and the driver—complied in a fall of bodies. “Now, on your knees, in a soldierly row—with your hands clasped behind. Just so.”
“Thieving son of a whore,” the old army driver cursed. “We shall raise the hue-and-cry and you will swing by morn.”
“Well now,” asked Jeffries, “who are you thinking to raise? Poor farmers with their pitchforks? Or the local watch, who make you look like a stripling? This road is our domain, and for you to pass it, you must pay a toll.”
“Filth!” spat the driver.
Carnatus, who I thought would be offended, merely laughed into his mask. Behind him, Gad did the same.
“Megs,” Jeffries called, pointing for me to go round to the wagon’s rear door.
I dismounted and strained to undo the bolt, which would not yield. Impatient, I took out my pistol and blasted off the lock. As the door yawned open, I was nearly blinded, for before me, piled to the roof, was a gold sea of Cromwells!
“Huzzah!” I shouted. “Captain, I fear this load is too heavy for us to bear!”
“An admirable dilemma!” said Jeffries. “Let us then take the wagon. Carnatus? Will you and Gad oblige?”
Those two proceeded to march their party of five to a nearby copse. With ease, they soon had their prey tied to the trunks of three close-spaced trees.
The captives chose not to speak except for one young soldier.
“When you rob us, you rob the king!” he cried.
“Yet the king has robbed others who now must be repaid,” Jeffries said.
“Lookee—he thinks he’s Robin Hood!” the old driver spat. “Where’s yer bow and quiver?”
“Here.”
As Jeffries laughed, Carnatus crossed the road and withdrew those very items from his saddle. Returning in just a few strides, he notched one arrow and let it fly, striking the driver through the crown of his hat.
“Huzzah!” cried Gad. “Master’s better’n Robin and Willem Tell!”
“Dam’d right,” said Carnatus.
“Hold!” cried the driver, shaking. “No more darts, I beg you. You outlaws have proved your point.”
“And you have been stuck with it!” I said, as pleased with myself as Carnatus.
“Enough,” said Aventis weakly. He had removed his falling band and was using it to staunch his wound. “Let us take the wagon and flee.”
“Farewell,” I bid the roped men. “Do not be troubled. The Great Western is well traveled, and you will be freed shortly.”
“Hmph,” the driver growled, but with an arrow clean through his hat, he must have thought it best not to speak. As Gad took his place on the box, we provided a tobyman’s escort and trundled back to our hideout on the Heath.
“Gad! In the cave!” Jeffries instructed, and with little difficultly, the horses were unharnessed and the wagon pushed by Carnatus and Jeffries into that dark space. I assisted by piling thick branches over its front.
Jeffries went round to the back. Then, he did something curious: instead of dividing the spoils, he emerged with three bulging packs. I could see the sharp glint of coins peeking out from the tops.
“Wait for me here,” he told us. “I shall not be long.” He faced Aventis and for the first time noticed his wound. “My friend, you are hit! Shall I summon a doctor?”
“No,” said Aventis. “The ball did not penetrate far.”
“Thank God,” Jeffries answered as he tied the packs to his saddle. With a leap, he mounted and turned to me. “Megs, I leave Aventis in your care. Do not disappoint me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I restrained an impulse to salute. Jeffries was clearly a man used to giving orders—and having them obeyed. In this case, I did not mind, for I wanted, more than anything, to aid the man I had come to regard with love.
Looking up at him, I saw his waxen parlor.
“Aventis,” I said, with a hint of Jeffries’s command, “let me help you dismount.”
With Carnatus’s aid, I did so, then motioned for my injured friend to sit.
“Please, show me your arm.”
He groaned as he unwrapped a long black cloth. Though not unaccustomed to blood (primarily my own), I flinched at the sight of a hole a few inches above his elbow. Now that the wound was revealed, the lingering scent of powder caused my eyes to sting.
“We must remove the ball,” I said. That seemed to make sense. But what to use as an instrument? Surely not bark or heath? Then my eyes lighted on Carnatus, and inspiration struck.
“Carnatus! A fresh arrow, if you please. And some wine.”
“Does ‘e think to get the dart drunk?” asked Gad.
Carnatus swatted his head, then directed him toward his horse.
I was hardly a surgeon, but knew, by virtue of being alive, that most men died not from gunshot; rather, it was infection that did the deed.
“Carnatus,” I asked, once Gad had returned, “if you had a wound on your arm, what would you do to clean it?”
He stood there and thought.
“As much as I loathe the practice, I would take a hot bath.”
“Hmm.” I thought for a moment. “Gad, could you fetch some fresh water?”
He nodded, then took up a jug and scampered off through the trees. I then turned to my patient.
“It would be best if you could drink this,” I said, and presented him with a cup spilling over with wine.
“I do not require encouragement.” He easily downed the whole contents. “I believe I am now fortified against your barbarous surgery.”
Noting his pun on “barbers,” who often served as doctors, I grinned.
“Excellent. Hold onto your good humor.”
“Even if it’s bile?” he asked.
I had Carnatus light a fire, so when Gad returned, I poured water into a pot which I hung over the flames. Carnatus looked away as I broke an arrow in two and plunged in the half with the tip. After heating this up for a moment, I fished it out with my sword.
“Careful, lad,” said Carnatus. “No harm must come to Aventis.”
I nodded but noticed that my hand shook as I held the heated arrow over Aventis’s arm.
“Now!” I cried in an effort to spur myself.
Using the dart’s sharp head, I probed for the hidden ball. Thankfully, it was not lodged deep in the flesh, and with a will I did not know I had, I drew out the round piece of lead.
“Par excellence!” cried Carnatus.
“Good ‘un!” said Gad.
.Aventis merely nodded as he downed another cup of wine. I tried not to look at the blood coursing down his arm in driblets.
“Very well. Now . . . we must close the wound,” I said. I tried to keep my voice steady, for I could not show weakness—not before Carnatus.
“I happen to have the matériel,” that very man said, withd
rawing from his coat pocket a needle and packet of thread!
“It is to close up my own material. One never knows when a rent in one’s stocking can ruin the entire day.”
“Of course,” I said, silently thanking God that he was such a fop. “Hand it here, will you?” I asked.
After threading the needle (at which I excelled, I confess), I first bathed the wound, then set about stitching it up. After a lifetime of mending, I was well up to the task.
“Excellent, Megs!” said Carnatus. “A London tailor could not as well!”
He clapped me heartily on the back.
I coughed. “Thank you, friend.”
Aventis and I now surveyed my handiwork. It was true, his arm was whole, but oddly tinged with a thread of blue!
“I thank you, Megs,” said Aventis. “You have saved my life. Though I am not a popinjay, I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am.”
His words brought tears to my eyes—always dangerous in front of Carnatus. In an effort to distract him, I did the most manly thing I could think of: I cursed like a sailor on shore leave.
“Those goddamned sons of bitches!” I shouted. “How dare they shoot at us! Dammee, I’ll be dam’d if they don’t go to bloody Hell!”
As Carnatus howled, I made sure to wipe my eyes. Again, just barely, I had escaped detection.
Captain Jeffries was absent for a full week. Though I did not wish to voice my concern to the others, certain scenarios—none of them pleasant—unspooled at the back of my mind. Was he running through all that gold as highwaymen frequently did? Spending lavishly on doxies, French wines, and gallery seats at the theatre? Or was he really enriching poor soldiers as he had stated? I wanted to trust Jeffries—he had given me no reason not to—but still, unease plagued me. I said nothing to the others, for Carnatus would just have laughed and Aventis was still resting. In the meantime, we did not starve, for Carnatus was a great hunter. I spent my days doing what I liked—which meant taking care of Aventis. When after a few days he grew stronger, we took a walk in the woods.
“Tell me, Megs,” he asked, as we made our way around brambles, “how came you by your fine speech? Not many innkeeper’s daughters express themselves as you do.”