by Smith, Skye
It was only a matter of time before the women in their long skirts and silly shoes would be overhauled by the young guardsmen who were now running after them. Their only hope was that someone at Warwick's house would see their plight and send some help, but that did not seem to be happening. Worse, now there was the thumping of horses hooves. Of course the king's lifeguards would have brother officers mounted in the courtyard, and now they too would be joining the chase.
There were more shots, but these ones were louder and closer. Daniel had but one shot in his little pistol. If he shot the lead guardsman, it may give the women a few more moments of freedom. Hopefully by that time, help would be on its way from the house. Blake and a few dangerous men like him would be enough. He risked slowing his own pace to have a good look behind him and to choose a likely target.
Something was wrong. The sound of horses was not that of cavalry horses coming from the courtyard, but from a line of five hackney traps that were now galloping across the grounds to intercept the king's guardsmen. There was another warning shot. The smoke of it showed that it was fired by one of the half dozen musketeers who were holding on for dear life in each trap as they bounced over the grasslands with reckless abandon.
He called ahead to Warwick. "Rob, I think some of London's Trained Band have arrived. Do you want to get them organized or shall I."
Old Warwick was out of breath in any case, so he stopped running, turned and stared towards the approaching line of traps. "They will recognize me, so I suppose I should give the orders." He gulped a breath, and the sweat dripped down his face. "We need a plan. I will wave them towards me and have them keep to the traps until they are close by. In that way they will have enough time to form a firing squad before the lifeguards close in on us. Hopefully, the lifeguards will be wise enough to stay out of musket range, which means we will be out of pistol range."
Daniel interrupted with, "Tell the bandsmen to fire only on your order, and if they must fire, then to aim below the waist, and only below the waist."
"Aye, that's plan enough until we see what is what,” Warwick replied and then stood tall and waved the traps on towards him. By the time they reached him, the women and Montagu were almost at the low wall that ran along the road. The trap horses were lathered in sweat and ready to drop, and the trap drivers would surely charge the Earl top coin to replace any that died from this day's mad dash across London. The drivers were quick to jump down and lead the horses in a slow walk to calm their thumping hearts.
There were almost thirty musketeers, each carrying one of the Spanish match-lock muskets that Daniel had imported for them from Holland. They formed three lines, checked their primes, and raised the long guns towards the now slowing lifeguard. "No one fires till I give the order!" Warwick yelled out. "When you fire, aim below their waists. It would be most impolite to kill one of Charlie's own royal guard." The young musketeers, most still in their apprentice aprons, laughed nervously at his words but did as they were told.
The guardsmen were now stopped and looking towards their leading officer, who was no longer actually in the lead for he had stepped backwards to be behind his own men. A prudent move by any leader facing thirty muskets, half of which would be aimed at whomever was giving orders. Everyone on both sides stared at each other and caught their breath. The officer called out, "We are on the king's business. We come to arrest traitors. We have no quarrel with you."
"You lie,” Warwick called out. "You were chasing four good ladies to have your way with them, you filthy rapist dogs. Give us one good reason why we shouldn't shoot you down like the dogs you are."
"Sir, hold your fire. I spoke the truth. The king has arrived at parliament to arrest six members. Those members were forewarned and ran this way to escape arrest."
Warwick looked at Daniel and they both began to laugh. They had won. Everyone was safe. The Earl walked forward to stand in front of some of London's half Trained Bandsmen with their old fashioned second hand muskets. "Attention!" he yelled. All thirty of them lowered the butts of their muskets, and stomped feet and gun butts on the soft ground as they came to attention.
"All those who are members of parliament, take two steps forward,” Warwick barked. There were snorts of suppressed laughter up and down the lines. Warwick looked towards the lifeguard officer and shrugged. "It seems that non of them are members. Perhaps you should look elsewhere."
The officer realized he was beaten. The bright colors of the women’s skirts they had been chasing were now out of sight behind a low wall and some bushes. Not to be outdone by a militia, he called his own men to attention and then turned them smartly and marched them briskly back towards the palace. Meanwhile Warwick yelled to the Band and to the trap drivers that they should follow the guardsmen to make sure that they didn't double back, but at a safe distance.
Warwick could play at soldiering all he wanted but as for Daniel, he began to sprint to catch up with the women. He had seen a large red stain on Britta's white blouse that could be nothing other than blood. After clearing the low wall in one bound he ran flat out towards the house, and a wave to the gatekeep had the gate open by the time he reached it. The front steps he took two at a time, and rudely pushed his way passed the doormen and into the house.
"Where is Robert?" Susannah asked as soon as she saw him.
"With his Trained Band making sure that Charlie's guards return to their master. Where is Britta?"
"She has gone to her room to change her blouse. When the two guards grabbed her in the House of Lords, they grabbed her by the breasts, which is why she screamed, and why one guard lost a shin to Britta's boot. The other guard nearly lost the offending hand to Teesa's knife. But you needn't worry. I am sure the guard's blood will come out if she soaks the blouse right away."
Exhausted but relieved, now Daniel had the choice of joining the rescued MP's in the library and accept their praise and thanks, or joining his daughters upstairs and accept their hugs. A few moments later he noticed that the girl's bedroom window had a fine view of Westminster grounds. The Trained Band and the traps that had carried them here from London were nowhere in sight, but he could see Warwick as he scrambled over the low wall to gain the road.
Snow flakes brushed softly against the window. He didn't care. This bedroom had a warm fire. The window was suddenly boring compared to what was going on in the room, so he crossed to the fire and took his half naked beauty into one arm and his huntress into the other and they shared a three way hug. They were safe. Everyone was safe.
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The Pistoleer - Pirates by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 22 - Londoners storm the Palace in January 1642
A soft knock at the door forced Britta to push herself away from Daniel so she could reach for her cloak and pull it tight around her bare shoulders and chest. In her own village she would not have bothered with such Christian modesty, but this was London. The earl and his countess came through the door. Susannah had come to see how the girls were, while Warwick had come to find Daniel.
"Word just came that Charlie has left Westminster Palace for the Guild Hall in The City,” Warwick told Daniel. "He was livid that the trap he laid at Westminster caught none of his prey, so now he plans to address the City Council to scare them into surrendering his prey to him."
"What happened to your lads of the Band and their trap drivers?"
"I gave the drivers the contents of my silver purse, and sent them and the lads back to the city to rally the apprentices and the rest of the Band. If Charlie is so worried about protest marches turning into riots, then let him experience a big one, first hand, while on his way back to his Whitehall Palace from the Guild Hall."
"The king?" Teesa interrupted. "You say that King Charles will be traveling back to his palace at Whitehall. But that is just the other side of Westminster Abbey. May I go and see him? I've never seen a king. Oh please."
"Teesa dearest," Warwick replied, "not an hour ago you
sliced open a palace guard in the House of Lords. You are sure to be recognized by one of the king's guards."
"I still have my forest clothes in my trunk. I'll dress as a lad. Oh please, I've never seen a king before. Britta, are you coming with me?"
"Not on your life. I've had enough of the crush of men for one day. Parliament reminded me of working at The George during a college reading break. Every man seemed to have a hidden third hand reaching out to pat my bum."
"Amen to that,” Susannah chuckled. She was so relieved that everyone was safe.
Daniel stared at Teesa. She had always been a willful lass. If he refused her permission to go and wave to the king, there was an even chance that she would sneak out and do it anyway. "I'll take you,” he told her. "Go on, become the huntress again." While Teesa got Britta to undo her and help her out of her skirtly clothes, Daniel asked Warwick to loan him a cloak. His own navy blue cloak was quite splendid and therefore quite memorable. It was partially a ruse to get the earl out of the room while his two daughters were changing. It was obvious by the way the girls were shucking their fine clothes, that they didn't care if their host watched them undress.
By the time Warwick returned carrying a plain grey cloak, Teesa was dressed in her sheepskin jerkin and buckskin pants. The last touch was to braid her long yellow hair and hide the braids under a peaked cap. "Should I take my bow and quiver?" she asked.
"No,” Warwick beat Daniel to the obvious reply. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small wheellock pistol similar to the one that Daniel had drawn to get them free of the House of Lords. "Here take this. It is primed and ready to fire." He handed it to her. "Now show me that you remember how to snick the trigger lock off. Good." Susannah cried out her objection but he tut tutted her. "We practiced with it but a week ago. She fired off a few balls and then declared it useless for anything other than making a big noise."
"A big noise is exactly what you will use it for,” Daniel told her. "If we get separated and you get into trouble, just shoot the ball into the mud and I will come running."
Together they left the room, her with Warwick's pistol and he with Warwick's cloak and she led him along as she skipped down the stairs before anyone could bring up a valid objection. Teesa's appetite for adventure had only been whetted by their escape from Westminster. Now she wanted more.
Strode was near the front door, nervously keeping watch on the growing crowds thronging about Westminster grounds. "Do you think the King's men will come for us here?" he asked Daniel, trying not to show his fear.
"Not today, Will,” Daniel assured him. "Charlie is about to meet some of his adoring public. His men will all have their hands full. More than full."
Strode opened the front door for Daniel and the lad with him, and waved fare-thee-well to their backs as they trotted down towards the gatekeep. The gatekeep asked no questions as he swung open the door in the gate for them. Strode turned and went back inside the house.
"Who was that at the door?" Blake called to Strode from the library door. Behind him some parliamentarians were knocking back the earl's best Genever to restore their courage after today's close call.
"Daniel and a lad. I think they are off to see the king."
"A lad?" Blake thought about this for a while and then asked, "Was he a comely lad, fair and thin?"
"Very fair."
"Shit,” Blake cursed aloud and he ran to the front door and opened it to look out. He spotted Daniel and Teesa walking down the street in the direction of the Abbey. He grabbed up his cloak from a peg by the door, checked his pocket for his pistol, and chased after them. Over his shoulder he called out to Strode. "Tell the earl I have gone with Teesa."
"Teesa,” Strode stood confused for a moment. "But she is upstairs," he mumbled to himself. Perhaps he had misheard the words.
Blake caught up with them just beyond the Abbey, and they all walked together around Whitehall Palace and around the Royal Mews that fronted onto the square at Charing Cross. The City Guild Hall was on the other side of Saint Paul's, so when Charlie returned from the Guild he would come up the Strand and across Charing Cross square to reach Whitehall.
The three of them cuddled up to the marble of Queen Eleanor's Cross next to the Mews because it had an overhanging roof to protect it from London's filthy rain, a rain that seemed to eat away at marble. There was no need for them to find a viewing place along the Strand until Charlie's procession was within sight.
The wait was long and cold and they had to keep brushing the feathery snowflakes off their caps to stop it from melting. At least the snow was light and white, and therefore dry, instead of London’s usual heavy, grey, wet snow. Eventually they saw a procession far down the Strand, so the three of them stood and shook off the latest snowflakes and then trotted out from under Eleanor's roof and walked towards the procession along the Strand.
"This is the main street between The City and the Royal buildings of Westminster,” Blake told them, "so at one time it was the fashionable address of every Lord of means. It was they who built all the palaces on each side of it."
"Palaces?" Teesa snorted. "They all look a bit run down to me. That one coming up is abandoned, and hasn't the corner of that one across the street been turned into an inn and a pub."
"Well, they used to be fashionable palaces. Devereux, you know, the Earl of Essex, owns that one over there, but I don't think he ever uses it. It was designed before coal chimneys you see, so it doesn't have enough private bedrooms for modern city folk. I suppose that soon enough all of these grand palaces will be torn down and replaced by newer designs with many private rooms."
There were other people about, mostly men, mostly young men. The strange thing was that instead of standing near the edge of the roadway for a good view of the approaching procession of horse-guards and the fancy carriage carrying Charlie, they were huddled between the decrepit buildings and under the archways. Perhaps this was not so strange, since the snow was still drifting down from the clouds and the air was becoming bitterly cold.
Teesa thought them all fools for not standing as close as possible to where the king's procession would pass. She stood in the road and waved as the leading horse-guards came near. "Get out of it,” one of the horse-guard officers snarled at her ... er ... him, and then he purposefully angled his mount closer to Teesa to force the pretend-lad to step back.
There was a loud shout of warning from someone huddled between the buildings, "Watch it lad! That's Colonel Lunsford, and he likes to carve up protesting children and eat them for breakfast." The identity of the officer was echoed down the street on other voices, and those hiding from the wind began to stir forward towards the street. Instead of yelling his name, they were yelling "kiddy killer" and "cannibal".
The shouts put a name to the face of the officer who was now closing on Teesa, and woke Daniel's memory to the fact that he was the same man whose life he had save on the battlefield at Newbourne. For a moment he just stared at Lunsford's patch over his blind eye. Daniel was lost in memories of how some wild highlanders had propped up a dying man so that he could shoot Lunsford. He recalled that the dying man had been shot in the back by Lunsford, even though they were on the same side. Before the man died his shot cost Lunsford an eye. He shook the memories clear of his mind as Lunsford's huge war horse loomed over his step-daughter.
Teesa had always had 'the touch' with horses. From the time she could first walk she had been able to charm them. This officer's stallion was no different. Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward and grabbed the bridle and cooed gently at the great head, and stroked his nose. The stallion stopped still in his tracks and stared at her with gentle brown eyes.
No one will ever know what Lunsford was thinking. Perhaps he was angered that his well trained war horse had stopped still and was nudging playfully at a peasant lad. Perhaps he was worried because the lad had a hand on the bridle. Whatever he was thinking, he drew his sabre from its sheath in a long swoop of his arm. It was a
practiced battlefield move which usually ended with a slash of the blade against flesh and a gush of blood.
Daniel could not believe his eyes when he saw the glint of the sabre, the very sabre that Daniel had handed back to this man on the battlefield after Lunsford had surrendered. The Wyred sisters who interwove the fates of men were always perverse. Would saving this man's life in Newbourne now cost him a daughter?
Instinctively he reached for his small wheellock pistol and unlocked the trigger as he pulled it free of his cloak. He held it with the flash pan angled up to make sure that some of the powder in the pan would slide into the vent that took the flame to the main load in the breach. Wheellock pistols sparked the flash powder by spinning a steel wheel, rather than releasing a cocked flint-dog. On some types the wheel was 'cocked' backwards against a spring, but not with this one.
With Daniel's pistol there was no need of a cocking spring, for pulling of the trigger directly spun the sparking wheel. If the first pull of the trigger didn't ignite the flash powder, then you just kept pulling the trigger until it did. He raised the pistol to aim it, but at what? The man was wearing chest armour, so it had to be either the sword arm or the face ... which?
The crowd of men huddled between the buildings knew all about Lunsford, the butchering cannibal. His brutal repression of London's protesters had even forced Charlie to reassign him from commanding the garrison of the Tower of London, to commanding his lifeguard. When the crowd saw the hated Lunsford about to bloody yet another young lad, they rushed out of their cover and into the street to do for him.
From his higher viewpoint in the saddle, Lunsford saw the men rushing towards him. Suddenly the lad holding his bridle became the least of his problems, for some of the men rushing towards him were carrying muskets.