by Amy Wolof
My eyes widened. Was there nothing a king could not do?
“I say, innkeep, we are starving!” bellowed Carnatus, who elbowed his way to a table. “We shall require a joint of beef, a spitted eel, roast partridge, pickled cucumbers, pottage, and for desert, a gooseberry pie.”
Our host just stared at him.
“Get to it, man!”
“Yes, sir.”
When the first of our dishes arrived, I set to like a second Carnatus. Our very long day of riding had left me both weary and hungry. After I found myself sated by sampling every dish, I leaned back and turned to Jeffries.
“What is your plan?” I asked.
The captain lowered his voice.
“We know the ambush is planned for when the royals depart here. So . . . we must speed their departure.”
“How?” I asked. How did one hurry a king?
“I have a scheme,” said Jeffries, “though it may prove perilous.” He sighed. “Innocents might be harmed.”
From across the table, Aventis frowned.
“Is there no less bloody alternative?”
Jeffries shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he said.
That night, due to the crowds, Jeffries bribed our way into an inn. Our room was the size of a closet which housed a single bed.
“Gad, to the floor,” barked Carnatus. I threw him a single blanket. “Megs,” he went on, “you best be bordered by others. I recall I made some advance when we first had met.”
My cheeks flared. Must he bring that up now?
That night, I slept between the captain and Aventis, which freed me to do naught but squeeze the latter’s shoulder. How handsome he looked, his fine face in profile, his hand instinctively reaching for mine. My love, I thought, even daring to touch his long lashes. Someday, we will be free. I did not know how, or when, but the certainty of hope carried me until morning.
“It is race day!” Jeffries crowed, shrugging into his coat. I kept the blankets close until the others had gone, then hastily donned my own garb. After a breakfast downstairs, Jeffries asked for the horses, and we loped to the racetrack.
What a sight!
Magnificent steeds which put ours to shame flew past in a blur. The jockeys sitting astride them boasted colorful garb, complementing those of the owners sitting their mounts off the track. A hawk-shaped cloud glided over a small pavilion whose purpose I could not guess. All the colors that greeted me—the green of endless grass, the blues and purples of racing coats—dazzled my eyes so much that I could not spot the king! Then, I found him. He was at the edge of the course, surrounded by a large party: his brother, James; a man in rich silks I would learn was the Duke of Sunderland; and so many courtiers it looked like a ball was in progress!
I had seen Charles but once—at Dover—but now, alas, he looked old. He was still tall and majestic, but the dark wig that fell to his shoulders framed a clean-shaven face which from my perspective looked lined. Poor king! He must not only rule England but concern himself every day with keeping James as his heir. Perhaps, I thought, watching him stroke his chin, he would be happier running the course . . .
“Well,” said Aventis, nodding at Charles, “he does not travel alone. We must divert his whole party to achieve our aim.”
“They are not my concern,” said Jeffries. “There are only two who count: Charles and the Duke of York.”
Aventis sighed as Carnatus approached a man in a large hat.
“Two guineas to win on Pudding!” he cried, “and two more on White Buttocks to lose.”
“Good Lord,” said Aventis. “Carnatus—what do you know about these horses?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “That’s what makes it so exciting!”
Alas, Mr. Row’s Crop won, and Pudding finished last. The king, however, seemed a wiser judge of horseflesh, for I saw him smile as he accepted some guineas. Since Charles loved to spend, of course, this made him merry!
We stayed down at the Round Course for two more races, during which Carnatus lost as much as Charles won. His Majesty must have been bored, for he removed himself to his coach and soon rolled off with his friends.
“We must follow,” said Jeffries, and, with Carnatus’s groans, we did. Our two fine Bays snorted goodbye to even fancier breeds.
We made sure to remain far behind Charles’s train, which, from our view, seemed to snake on for miles. At last, the king halted at a manor nestled on some great street. There, some lord or other bowed him onto a horse, and he was joined by James, three falconers, and their sharp-clawed birds.
“Good,” said Jeffries, “while he seeks prey, we must do the same.”
When the hunting party had gone, Jeffries bade us ride past the house, and head, to all places, the stables!
“Horse fever got you?” asked Carnatus.
“Hmm,” said Jeffries, but his mind seemed elsewhere. He dismounted, throwing his reins to Gad, then strode up to the spotless barn.
A young stable boy greeted him.
“Hullo, sir,” he said, a halter held in one hand. “Come fer a tour, ‘ave you?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Jeffries. He motioned for us to stay, then followed the boy through a door. He was absent a full hour, which spoke to the size of the place! When he at last emerged, he handed the boy a shilling.
“I thank you,” said Jeffries. “The Duke of Sunderland has a fine herd indeed.”
The boy smiled and bounded off.
“Indeed,” said Jeffries to us. “He must have sixty head. Tonight, we conduct our business here.’
Aventis looked troubled.
“Tell me that no man or beast will be hurt,” he said.
“I cannot guarantee it,” said Jeffries. “But I will do my best.”
Jeffries remounted and rode back toward the house. The rest of us trailed him to a shady copse. I glanced at Aventis, who only shook his head. He knew as well as I that Jeffries would reveal nothing until he had no choice.
Carnatus whistled tunelessly until the king returned. Charles liked to keep on the move, for he boarded his coach, his train rumbling behind like oxen. While we waited, the sun lost some of its glow.
“Aventis,” Jeffries asked suddenly, “what is the date?”
“I believe . . .” said Aventis, “. . . we left on Tuesday, so today is 22 March.”
“Very good,” said Jeffries.
“Captain, what does it signify?” I asked.
“I heard today at the races,” he said, “that Charles is set to depart on the first of April.”
“I see,” said Aventis.
“Our role tonight,” said Jeffries, “is to foil the Rye House plotters.”
Carnatus and I nodded, letting our horses graze. At last, the sun’s dim crown sunk below the horizon.
“Leave the horses here,” ordered Jeffries.
Noiselessly, he led us back to the stables. But this time, when the door opened, he greeted the stable boy not with a coin but a pistol.
“Beg pardon, lad,” said Jeffries, “but I must ask you go. Take every man with you and have them lead the horses.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy, though it took him a moment to move. When he did, he set up a holler. As we stood guarding the entrance, a parade of Barbs, Turks, and Arabs passed: all horse breeds, of course.
“Get as far from here as you can,” Jeffries yelled to the grooms, and they picked up their pace. When the last was no longer visible, he turned to us.
“Masks on,” he ordered. “If you are accosted, be sure your aim is true.
He led us inside the barn. From his pocket, he removed the flint-and-steel which had lit so many campfires. But their purpose became more deadly as Jeffries kindled a spark . . . at the edge of a wooden stall!
“Jeffries!” cried Aventis. “I must disagree with your methods. To save the king and duke, must we imperil the town?”
“If need be,” said Jeffries grimly. “Charles needs a reason to go, and I am providing one.”
I saw that Aventis was torn: between his love of king and the dictates of his faith. He put a hand to his eyes, shook his head, and made up his mind. Seizing a red lantern very much like Noah’s, he carefully lit its candle from Jeffries’s random sparks.
“Megs!” Aventis commanded.
He threw me a second lantern and I knew what I must do. We ran in different directions, swinging our lights wildly as we sprinted from stall to stall. I saw Jeffries, Carnatus, and Gad engaged in the same sort of business. The whitish smoke that sprang from the wood—devouring buckets, troughs, and straw—forced me to raise my mask above my eyes. God, I hated fire! As if the Great one in London had not been enough for one lifetime!
The infernal heat of this blaze sent sweat down my brow as I coughed and fought for breath. To my right, I heard an answering cough.
“Out, out!” cried Jeffries, and we ducked flames and crackling beams as they split and fell from above. Once out in the cool night air, my eyes, watering furiously, spied Jeffries, Carnatus, and Gad . . . but where was Aventis?
“Aventis!” I yelled, and, without even thinking, dashed back into the barn. I was now the only thing living amongst charred wood and smoking straw. As I stumbled further inside, it took all my will not to faint from the searing heat.
“Count!” I cried. “Bernardino!”
Even if he could answer, would I be able to hear above the roar of this conflagration?
“Aventis!” I yelled again, then bent double, overcome. For some reason, the air near the floor seemed cooler.
“Ah!” I cried, as a burning brand crashed down on my plumes. I flung my hat aside as if it were an adder. Now what? I thought. Would Aventis and I both die from our own handiwork? So many had tried to kill us: it seemed absurd that at this last, we had secured our own doom.
I cowered by a stall door, making one final attempt.
“Aventis!” I tried to shout, but the flames which leapt in walls chased me from where I was. They came for me like an orange Hue-and-Cry, and I resolved, as I rolled to the ground, to meet my God at last. After twenty-three years as an outlaw, I would expire in my own hell. Dam’d shame, I thought, growing woozy, but at least I will be with Aventis.
The next sensation I had was that of being carried—in a man’s strong arms.
“Margaret?” Aventis asked, and I saw he was leaving the barn behind. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” I coughed. “Wha-what about you?”
“I heard you calling,” he said, never breaking stride, “and found you overcome.”
“But—”
“I’m afraid I went through the back door,” he said.
“Do you not prefer the front?” I hacked.
“In this case, it was on fire.”
“Oh.”
“It must have been my hard head,” he said, “that aided in our escape.”
“Aventis,” I said, putting a hand to his soot-covered cheek. “I went in to save you.”
“We are both safe,” he said. “That is all that matters.”
I rested my head on his arm as he made for Sunderland’s house.
“Jeffries, Carnatus!” he called.
“God’s legs! It’s them!” cried Carnatus, running up with Jeffries and Gad.
“Thank the Lord,” said Jeffries, who to my eyes looked limp. “If we had lost you two, I could never forgive myself.”
“We are fine,” I said, as Aventis put me down. “Perhaps a bit overdone.”
“Where is your hat?” asked Carnatus.
“It has gone up to Heaven,” I said.
“Damn,” he replied. “I rather liked that style. I shall buy you another.”
“Enough talk of fashion,” said Jeffries. “Let us leave here at once!”
None of us cared to argue as we flung ourselves on our horses, leaving the worst flames behind. But as we thundered toward the main streets, I noted that as with London, the wind continued high, with half of Newcastle burning.
“How is the king?” Jeffries shouted to some men who formed a brigade.
“He is unharmed, they say,” said one, “for his house has been spared. But as there is still some danger, he’ll stay with the Duke of Sunderland.”
“I thank you,” said Jeffries. Turning to us, he said, “Doubtful. And the blaze will discomfit Charles—a state that he despises. I predict he’ll soon go home.”
Jeffries’s prophecy could have been biblical, for, just four days later, on the twenty-sixth, Charles decamped from Suffolk. We heard later that he was so vexed, he canceled plans to stay in Cambridge, instead hastening straight for Whitehall!
On the day of the king’s departure, I saw Jeffries untense. We had been forced to take rooms on the unburnt side of town, but the smell of smoke was pervasive.
“Ugh, Jeffries,” groused Carnatus, “can we not follow the king? The races are cancelled, and Newmarket is, frankly speaking, a ruin in search of a mason.”
“Hmmp,” said Jeffries. “That is one way to put it. But being a favorite of Charles, it is sure to be rebuilt. Until it is, you are right—let us leave the scene of the crime.”
And so we returned to London in the wake of the king. Once at Jeffries’s house, I saw him hug his own Charles tightly. But neither we nor the city could escape The Rye House affair, since it was only beginning . . .
Once June rolled around, the Plot was revealed to the public, and it would not be long before thirteen plotters were hanged, drawn and quartered, or both—in what was called “the Stuart revenge.” With Monmouth fled to Holland, Charles issued a proclamation which said: “. . . it pleased Almighty God, by His Wonderful Providence to defeat this . . . Horrid and Execrable Plot of Assassinating Our Royal Person . . . by the sudden Fire at Newmarket . . .”
“Well, Jeffries,” said Carnatus, lifting a tankard of ale, “it appears that our merry monarch equates you with God Himself!”
“And if you are,” I said, “I suggest you float down to Whitehall and demand payment due.”
Jeffries laughed as he played with his son.
“You well know, Megs,” he said, “we serve our king not for guineas, but out of love and loyalty.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Aventis.
“I already possess a fortune,” said Jeffries, “in the form of my wife and child. Not to mention—” he raised his glass “—the three greatest friends in the world!”
A London Coffeehouse
Jeffries, content with his lot, did not go out on the road—at least for the next two years. I did not wish to encroach on his family, and even encouraged the others to take lodgings with me nearby. But Jeffries fiercely opposed me as if I were a Roundhead.
“No, a thousand times no!” he thundered from his seat in the kitchen. “I must say, I am greatly insulted that after all this time, you wish to walk away!”
“But, captain—” I said, about to embark on a speech on his need for privacy.
“Do you lack for anything, Margaret?” asked Moll, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. “Have we offended?”
“No, no,” I insisted, wishing I had never brought up the matter. “But you two and Charles should enjoy a hearth unsullied by outlaws!”
“Pfft,” said Jeffries, waving a hand. “Whatever is a hearth for, if not to host one’s friends?”
“Really, Megs,” said Carnatus, walking in. “How can you think to leave with that delightful Ram close by?”
“I . . .” My posture slumped as I palmed a small cake. “To all, I beg your forgiveness.”
“Granted,” Jeffries declared, as an eleven-year-old Charles bounded in from upstairs. As always, he oozed energy, and was constantly begging Papa to teach him to shoot or wield a blade.
“Mister Megs,” he said, when the others had left us alone. I thought he looked like a tiny Jeffries with his mop of dark hair and waistcoat.
“Yes, Master Charles,” I said, gulping down my cake.
He looked around to ensure that no one was listening.
“I pray you not to leave,” he said. “I do not care so much for the others, but you are the one I like.”
“Now, sir,” I answered, “do not place too low a price on my friends. Aventis is wise and just, not to mention a master swordsman; and Carnatus has saved my life more times than I can count. On the road, one could not hope for better.”
“I mean no disrespect,” said Charles. “It is just that your manners are softer, and I feel that you care for me more.”
I wiped my hand free of crumbs and gave his own a squeeze.
“I can assure you,” I said, “that none would have called me ‘soft’ when I first joined your papa.” I sighed. “Perhaps the ensuing years, and . . . and all that’s passed in have doused some of my fire. Perhaps, like your papa, I should finish my days drinking wine.”
“I think not, Mister Megs,” said Charles. “I only meant that you are fonder of children than any besides my mama.”
I smiled and tousled his hair.
“You are a good boy,” I said, “and an excellent judge of people. Do not let that ability lapse.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, then ran out. He nearly collided with Moll, who had come in to make supper.
“Watch yourself, young sir!” she admonished.
“May I help with the meal?” I asked, hoping she would say ‘no.’
“Oh no, Margaret,” she laughed, “last time you confused the ingredients for ox cheeks and pickled salmon.”
“I am worse than useless,” I said, “in the domestic sphere.”
“What does it matter?” asked Moll, “when you are so fierce in a fight?”
That made me feel somewhat better. While I still held her esteem, I determined to speak on a matter which had been gnawing at me.
“Forgive me,” I said, “but after these years of confinement, I long to go out.” She gave me a look of concern. “Not as Megs, of course. I was wondering—”
“I understand you,” she said, wiping flour from her hands and motioning me upstairs. We both stopped in her chamber. “What do you require?”
I had to close my eyes, for it had been so long!