by Amy Wolof
“I regret all oaths,” I said. “Especially mine to you.”
“I thank you for keeping it. Otherwise, you would bring her here and . . .”
“Yes.”
I well knew the consequence. Yet, it seemed odd that I—who sought freedom—lived her life constrained by two men.
“Aventis,” I began, “do you think—?” but I was cut short as Carnatus slammed downstairs.
“Gad, up with you!” he bellowed. “Head for the Ram and get us two stewed carp, three or four roast pigeons, a dozen pickled oysters, and enough ale to fill this tankard!”
He lifted a cup that could have sated a Viking.
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Gad, the only one present without a price on his head, scampered out the front door. He had not been absent a moment before Carnatus sighed.
“Dammee!” he cried. “How this confinement wears on one! But to step onto the street and feel the snap of frost; take a seat in some coffeehouse and berate that villain Oates.”
“I too feel like a prisoner,” said Aventis “Even though our captain is the finest of hosts . . .”
“Of course I am!” said Jeffries as he emerged on the stairs. “I have shown you the best of rough living, and now, in London, I forbid you to venture outside!”
“It is not your fault, sir,” I said. “It is the way of life we have chosen.” I looked around at our band. “All of us.”
“Yes, yes,” said Jeffries, resting one long boot on the bannister. Good thing Moll was not near to witness that. “However, that does not signify we must be locked up forever. If that were the case, might as well march to Newgate.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“I have a proposal,” said Jeffries. We all leaned forward. “As head of this august company, I suggest we go out.”
“Where to?” I asked eagerly.
“I am possessed of a notion,” he said, grinning like Little Charles.
“Name of God, Jeffries!” cried Carnatus, “do not be so close—tell us!”
“Oddly enough, he said, “our adventure begins at Newgate.”
“Oh no,” I groaned, while Aventis slumped in his chair.
Four Highwaymen Go on An Outing
As we headed out from Jeffries’s (at last!), we sported our tobyman’s masks. This was not only to hide our faces but to protect them from the winter of ’83. Though Moll had kept the home fires burning, my first feel of the season’s frost stung me right in the eyes.
“Good God!” I cried, “has England turned into the Pole?”
“I cannot speak to that,” said Jeffries, as our boots sunk into drifts. “But I would say that if this continues, we shall require skates.”
“Not for me,” I mumbled, recalling my last disastrous turn.
Aventis turned to Jeffries.
“Why Newgate?” he asked.
“You shall see,” said the captain, leading us through the snow.
As I fought to keep my feet, I did not look up ‘till we’d stopped.
Ugh. Those hideous buildings. I felt I’d explored them enough. Even Aventis, who did not know the Common Side, recoiled as if from the headsman.
Was it really wise, I wondered, to tempt Fate in this manner? From here I could see the Old Bailey, which meant that if we were recognized, it would be the ruin of us all.
Yet, Jeffries was five steps ahead, in thinking as well as distance. He handed some guineas to Gad, then nudged him toward the Press Yard. As we waited in the cold, I stomped my boots to get warm. Even my thick black gloves might not protect my fingers!
“Ah,” said Jeffries.
We all stared as Gad returned, but he was not our primary object. Behind him, held by two guards, was a sticklike figure in rags. His hair, long and dark, was clearly his own in its unbrushed state; and, from his gauntness, one could conclude he did not like gaol food.
“Well, well,” said Aventis, folding his arms. “What have we here? ‘Doctor’ Titus, I warrant.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Jeffries, dismissing the guards as he seized Oates by the arm.
“Who are you?” Oates asked, trembling. Had I been accosted by four masked men, I might have trembled too. “What do you want of me?”
“Un divertissement,” said Jeffries, taking a pistol from his belt and showing it to his captive. “For you have provided the same.”
Oates bit his lip and stayed silent. Over the next quarter-mile, Jeffries herded him south. I thought to offer him a coat, but, recalling Aventis’s tales, I let the blackguard freeze.
As we came nearer the Thames, we could hear a great din as if from a whooping crowd. Now, facing the spectacle, I gaped as widely like Gad. The river had frozen—again— but this time the ice was so thick that a full-blown Faire was in progress!
I saw merchants’ booths, offering food and drink, incongruously perched on the spot where boats had lately sailed. As our company advanced, I noted a horse on the river—even a coach-and-six!—flanked by my old nemesis: skaters gliding on their Dutch blades!
When I turned my head, I saw yet other strange sights: a merry rope dancer, puppets squawking at children, and a whole ox roasting!
“Look at those tents,” said Aventis, pointing at the cheerful booths. “They are like knights’s pavilions!”
“Minus only a king,” added Jeffries. “And that we shall soon put right.”
I looked at him, puzzled, as he dragged Oates along. Though Aventis regarded the skaters with longing, he would not budge from our captive’s side.
“I say, Carnatus,” said Jeffries, halting before a small set of stairs. “Do y’think that you and Gad could rustle up some wood? We require a large pole . . .” He gazed at Oates, “. . . about the size of his body sans head.”
“Wait!” Oates cried.
“And a block,” said the captain, “to contain that deluded skull.”
“No!” Oates protested. “You’ve no right! The king has justly put me in prison—”
“And we have justly removed you,” said Jeffries. “Carnatus and Gad, get to it!”
The former, festively dressed in green, set off with his man. While we waited, I saw Aventis’s eyes close.
“Do you pray, my friend?” I asked.
His lids fluttered open.
“No, Megs,” he said. “I contemplate the past.”
At this, Oates looked alarmed.
I was the first to see Gad swing round the line of booths. I cannot say I was shocked to note that he and Carnatus shouldered two pieces of wood.
“Very good,” said Jeffries. “Now, if you don’t mind cutting two holes in the block, like so—”
With a glare at Oates, Carnatus took out his knife, carving two small circles.
“Now, a third between them,” said Jeffries, “big enough for a head swelled to the size of a pumpkin.”
Carnatus smiled and did so. I looked at this contraption: what was Jeffries assembling? An answer of sorts was provided by Gad, who, with a pilfered hammer, nailed the block atop the pole. Then, at Jeffries’s direction, he moved the whole device to the top of the stairs.
“Writing implements?” the captain asked.
Aventis, who lived by the word, removed a quill and small inkwell from inside his coat. Uncapping the ink, he dipped in his pen, then affixed a small sign at the very top of the block.
Looking up, I saw that it read: “TITUS OATES.”
“I grant you the honor,” said Jeffries as he bowed to Aventis.
The latter grabbed Oates (none too gently), pushed him up the steps, then stuffed his hands and head into the empty spaces.
Oates was in the pillory!
“Let me go!” he sputtered. “The king—”
“—has heard your lies long enough!” Carnatus growled. “Stop your mewling or we shall be fishing you from the ice!”
Naturally, this spectacle—even with all those around it— did not go unremarked. A crowd, most of them skaters, began to gather round.
“Fellow citizens,” he said, his voice clear despite his mask. “You see before you, receiving at last his just punishment, one Titus Oates. Why, you may ask, does he deserve this public disgrace? We must begin some years back. This self-proclaimed ‘Doctor’ never took a degree, for he was described by his teachers as: ‘The most illiterate dunce, incapable of improvement.’”
The crowd tittered as Oates’s face reddened. His breath hit the air in cold spurts.
“Then, he was charged for perjury, the result of giving false witness. While waiting for trial in Dover, he escaped and fled to a ship, but, true to form, was soon cast out of the Navy.”
Oates opened his jaw but did not attempt to speak.
“Believe it or not, at one point, he became a Catholic.”
A gasp went up round the crowd.
“Naturally, he was expelled from seminary.”
“‘E’s a prize!” someone yelled.
“But wait, sir,” said Aventis, “ for we have not yet got to the heart of it. In 1676, he contrived his ‘Popish Plot.’ Whispering lies to Charles, he soon became the ‘Saviour of the Nation.’ This is where matters get serious. Not only did London arm itself, awash in false fear, but the man who stands before you has murdered sixteen men. Not with his hands, mind you, but with his vicious tongue. Among them were eight blameless priests; William Howard, Viscount Stafford; and the Archbishop of Armagh. The damage done to His Majesty includes naming his queen as a poisoner; and deeming his brother, the Duke of York, a traitor. Hence Oates’s sojourn in Newgate. But his perfidy continues. Even as we stand here, three good men are held in the Tower, one being Lord Arundell. Their crime? They dared to be born Catholic.”
Aventis raised his eyes to the frozen sky.
“And so this man deserves no pity. For are we not commanded: ‘Thou Shall Not Bear False Witness’ and ‘Thou Shall Not Kill’?”
The crowd began to rumble like a dragon in its lair. Some of them skated back to the booths to reappear with eggs in hand. Oates was soon covered in yolk, which, I thought, matched the tint of his spine.
Even I, who had known his crimes, shuddered at the mere sight of him. Poor Lord Arundell! I had only met him once—during a robbery—but he’d seemed pleasant enough! Now he was spending his days—and years—in the Tower, a victim of Oates’s slander.
I snapped back to the present as the assembled mob grew restless.
“Hang ‘im!” several shouted.
“’Give ‘im a taste of his own!”
In the pillory, Oates’s face blanched beneath its yellow stains.
“What now, captain?” I asked, surveying the crowd with concern. I knew it would not be long before a rope appeared.
“We have done what I sought,” he said. “Humiliated the liar. Carnatus! Gad!” Jeffries motioned for them to mount the steps and free Oates. “But, pray, retain the block. Let him continue to think on all that he has done.”
The two did so, and we marched Oates in his portable pillory all the way to Newgate. Some of the mob provided an escort, hurling derision and eggs. Once we reached the Press Yard, the same two guards were waiting.
“Here he is,” said Jeffries, pushing Oates and his wood block forward. “If I were you, I might march him about the gaol.”
“Yes, sir!” one guard cried with delight.
Our band stepped forward toward the dripping Oates.
“Farewell, cur,” said Carnatus. “With luck, today is but a prelude. I’d lay five-to-one odds on it!”
“You are a scourge,” I said. “Think on those you’ve betrayed.”
“Goodbye,” whispered Aventis as Oates went off between his guards. “Go away, and from this moment, sin no more.”
“Somehow,” I replied, watching his figure recede, “I don’t think he will have the chance.”
A Plot Revealed - 1683
Happily, we heard nothing from Whitehall about our seizure of Oates. I conjectured that Charles was glad to have him shamed. But what did I, an innkeeper’s daughter, know of the royal mind? Apparently very little, based on the visit of a man who knocked at Jeffries’s door.
“Vickers!” the captain greeted him, as an old Cavalier stepped into the sitting room. It being March, he looked only half-frozen. We all surveilled him coolly, hoping he would not spur Jeffries into another risky adventure.
“Did you hear that Oates was pilloried,” Vickers asked. “Right in the midst of the Frost Fair!” He accepted a glass of wine. “By God, I salute those responsible. What a dam’d admirable act!”
“I quite agree,” said Jeffries, trying to hide his smile. “Permit me to introduce my company: this is Carnatus, his man Gad, Aventis, and Megs.”
Vickers bowed gracefully.
“I am greatly cheered,” he said, “to find you among friends. However, I bring news as chill as the air.”
I could tell from the set of Vickers’ jaw that he was quite perturbed.
“I must caution,” he said, “that what I’m about to relate must remain in strict confidence. Defying this might imperil your lives.”
“You may trust all as you trust me,” said Jeffries.
“Here it is then,” Vickers continued. “The so-called ‘country party,’ composed of scoundrels and knaves, means to make an attempt upon His Majesty’s life.”
“Whatever for?!” cried Carnatus.
“You know that their Exclusion bill failed, and with Parliament now dissolved—”
“What did they wish to exclude?” I asked.
“Why, James, of course,” said Vickers, rolling his eyes.
“Not that again,” I groaned.
“Since Charles has no legitimate issue, his brother James must succeed him. And, as we all know, James is a fervent Catholic.”
I nodded, the Adventure of the Secret Treaty still fresh in my mind.
“But if James is their object,” I asked, “why target the king?”
“They must both be killed,” said Aventis. “For as long as Charles lives, he will protect his brother.”
“God’s blood!” I cried. “Will these intrigues never end?”
“No,” said Vickers. “The King and the Duke of York are presently at Newmarket. Upon their return, a country party cabal—led by Monmouth, that fool!—plans to ambush them at Rye House.”
“His own son?” I asked.
“Who wishes to take the throne,” said Jeffries. “And who is, conveniently, a Protestant.”
I could only shake my head, glad I was not of high birth.
Gad hesitantly raised a hand.
“What to do, cap’n?” he asked. “Warn the king, I s’pose.”
“It has already been attempted.” Vickers slapped the hilt of his sword. “He will not hear ill of Monmouth.”
“I confess, I am conflicted,” said Jeffries with a sigh. “I do not wish James to be king, but neither can I sit by while my own king is murdered.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Carnatus. “I think we are all in agreement.” Then his glance fell on Aventis. “Do I speak for our resident Papist?”
Aventis folded his arms.
“I am loyal to His Majesty,” he said. “If he is imperiled, I will, as I have done, defend him from all harm.”
“Well said,” said Carnatus, clapping him on the back.
“What now?” I asked Jeffries, who had commenced pacing.
“Well, lads,” he said, looking about the room, “it seems we are off to the races!”
The Rye House Plot
After so many months of inaction (discounting our exploit with Oates), I couldn't have been gladder to strap on my pistol and place my sword at my belt. Though we would not be robbing, these royal plots could stir the blood. I remembered the last, when we had saved Charles from himself. Now, as I clapped on my hat and followed the others outside, I thought we might do so again.
“Godspeed,” said Vickers, seei
ng us to our horses. “If I were not old and feeble, I would join you, by God!”
“Do not trouble yourself,” said Jeffries. “You did your service at Edgehill.” He gestured to our small band. “Now it is time for these men to take our place.”
Vickers bowed, but in truth I felt worry. What of Jeffries himself? Why must he be the one to always put the king’s business right?
Our troop swung into our saddles.
“I s’pose we ride to Suffolk,” said Carnatus atop his Bay.
“Why there?” asked Gad from behind him.
“Because, you simpleton, that is where Newmarket is.”
“How long must we journey?” I asked. “I have never been there before.”
“Some twenty leagues north,” said Jeffries.
I whistled. That would be a hard day’s ride. Jeffries led us over the Heath, where we found the Great Western. The remnants of robberies past seemed to surround us like ghosts. To make matters worse, there was also the Whale, only a short jog away. I thought of Sally and Ned whom I would see no more. I suppose I must have sighed.
“The Heath saddens you?” asked Aventis.
“Yes,” I said. “For what was, and what could have been.”
He nodded.
“I hope you do not regret having to give up Ed.”
“Ned,” I answered. “No, not at all. It is rather my home I miss.”
“Well,” he said, “here is something to cheer you. Our old haunt, Harlow.”
I smiled as we rode through, noting its old church and mill; the cookhouse where, thanks to Carnatus, I had been attacked by a pear! Soon enough, we came to other small towns. This part of the country was devoted mainly to crops, with so much green about that it seemed like a tamed forest. After witnessing all this food, I had to agree with Carnatus when he moaned about dinner. Still, Jeffries kept on, until we passed a place called Six Mile Bottom. Just as I thought I would droop from hunger, we reached the border of Newmarket. Since the sun had long since set, we handed over our horses and entered a bustling inn.
“These horse races are popular,” I remarked.
“Oh yes,” said Jeffries. “Especially with Charles here. Did you know that he personally rode a winner in 1671?”