A Woman of the Road and Sea

by Amy Wolof

  “Not a bad start!” he said happily, trotting back to our side. “We have dealt with these troops before and showed them who is a man.”

  But that was in the Queen’s chambers, I thought, where there were no muskets or cannon!

  As the roar of the same rang out, Jeffries shook his head.

  “If we remain, we will be slaughtered,” he said. “Let us endeavor to find our ‘camp.’”

  “I could not agree more,” I answered, though Carnatus heaved a deep sigh.

  At last, we found some rebels hiding by the riverbank. My worst fears were confirmed: these men actually wielded pitchforks and curved-blade scythes!

  Jeffries closed his eyes against the sight.

  “What place is this?” he asked a soldier-farmer.

  “Bridgwater,” the man said.

  “I don’t s’pose you have any muskets?”

  “No, sir. But the duke’s sent men to Minehead to hopefully fetch ed six cannon.”

  “Let’s hope they make it back,” said Jeffries.

  The three of us dismounted and looked around for some food.

  “What is this?” asked Carnatus as he spotted a single egg. “A siege?”

  “It will be,” said Jeffries, his expression growing severe. “Megs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Since you are the youngest, ride out and find a high spot. From there, surveil the landscape, then return and provide a report.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, grinning at the thought of my “youth.”

  I remounted and spurred my horse, listening closely for the sounds of war. Though on the alert for redcoats, I saw none as I came upon a small village. Seeing that it boasted a church, I tied up my horse before it, walked through the open door, and proceeded to climb some steep stairs. This led me to the bell tower, which was nothing special—at least compared to St. Paul’s. As I went up the wall, I saw I was not alone, for I was joined by a man in uniform twined with much gold braid. Ha! Well met. It was only the Duke of Monmouth!

  “Do I know you, sir?” he asked. In one quick motion, he drew his sword.

  “You should,” I said, “for I have stopped you on the road twice.”

  “A tobyman!” he cried. “What brings you here to Chedzoy?”

  “A strange name,” I said, “but perhaps no stranger than an outlaw turned rebel. I am here with my band to fight for you against James.”

  “Has he come?” Monmouth asked, and I saw his sword hand tremble.

  “I do not know,” I said, feeling a stab of contempt. Jeffries would never be caught so.

  “Look there,” said Monmouth, and I followed the arc of his finger.

  “God’s blood!” I could see men at a camp which formed a vast red sea. “There must be thousands!”

  “As are we,” said Monmouth coolly.

  “I beg your pardon, duke, but those redcoats are trained soldiers. How can farmers and smiths possibly hope to defeat them?”

  “We must!” cried Monmouth, and I thought he sounded desperate. “I am about to order a surprise ambush tonight.”

  It is you who will be surprised, I thought. Still, I did not blink.

  “If that is your wish,” I said, “I will tell the troops at Bridgwater.”

  I gave him a smart salute, then ran down the steps. As I mounted and loped off, I heard the church bells ring heavily. Once I arrived back at the river, I related Monmouth’s “plan.”

  “Madness,” answered the captain. “He is as much a general as I am a serving maid.”

  “Even I,” said Carnatus, “would not attack on open ground.”

  “In the dark,” I finished.

  “The Romans,” said Jeffries, “might have succeeded, but not this arrogant stripling.”

  We three sat dejected as the poor men around us slurped some meager soup. It would not be dark for awhile, considering it was July.

  Jeffries took out his clay pipe, smoking as he sighed. Carnatus stomped down to the river and returned with three fine perch which we set about spitting. At least we would have full stomachs before taking on a vast army.

  When the sun set, just before ten, we were addressed by one Richard Godfrey, who, I understand, had been a farmer’s helper before his ascension to “general.”

  “Men,” he shouted over a procession of heads which now numbered as great as that army. “We are about to make history, to attack the hated foe that would oppress our land with the scourge of the Papist faith!”

  The citizen army around me responded with grunts and cheers.

  Oh, for God’s sake, get on with it . . . I thought.

  “They have cannon and fine muskets, but we have the blood of true England running hot through our veins!”

  “I’d rather have the guns,” I remarked to Carnatus.

  “None of us may come back . . .”

  “Seven-to-one that’s true,” my friend mumbled.

  “. . . but we go, perhaps to our deaths, knowing that the cause we fight for is the only that’s Just and True!”

  “Spoken like a true knight,” said Jeffries, gritting his teeth. “Now, I suggest we get on with it.”

  Godfrey must have agreed, for after a great cheer went up, he led us onto the Bristol Road. For some reason, we soon turned south. Though our numbers were strong—in the thousands, as Monmouth had claimed—which of these men on horse had ever fired a gun from the saddle? And who among the infantry had even seen a musket?

  Still, we followed Godfrey, the three of us and the men, even as he led us, strangely, toward an open moor split with ditches for drainage.

  “Attack!” Godfrey yelled.

  I saw a man on horse join him: the very duke himself! On a white steed, he almost resembled a god, his embroidered red coat and red saddle shining under the moonless sky.

  Jeffries, Carnatus, and I fell in with a line of horses, our own beasts treading carefully over those many deep ditches. From somewhere close, we heard two ominous sounds: one was a shot, followed by the pounding of hooves.

  “There he goes,” said Jeffries, nodding at a fleeing Horse Guard. “Off to warn Feversham, I warrant.”

  “And bring the Regiment upon us,” said Carnatus.

  So much for surprise: The Royalists came like lightning, and before we could even move, cannon were wheeled into place. As I peered through the mist, I thought I saw a horde of horses and men on foot in their red coats.

  “Ha!” Carnatus yelled, plunging forward to strike four soldiers whose pikes flew from their hands like sticks.

  Jeffries and I formed a force against the Royal Horse, and, as we aimed for the rider’s heads with our guns, we came so close to their mounts we could feel their hay-scented breath. Lead balls whizzed past me, along with clouds of white powder, but in the pounding melee, I remained unhurt. Thank God there were few of our foes possessed of Jeffries’s deadly aim!

  Turning my head, I saw him fight with the strength of ten men, barking commands at the rebels and—somewhat hopelessly, I thought—trying to put them in order.

  “See how the Horse attacks as one?” he cried. “We must follow suit!”

  But when he lunged his horse forward in an attempt the lead, the riders behind him were scarce: only me and Carnatus.

  “This is futile,” I groaned, and I had good reason: whichever direction I looked, I could see piled bodies—rarely those of the King’s men—but rather all sorts and age, some still clutching a green standard. “Fear Nothing but God” it read in yellow letters.

  Monmouth must have feared more, while yellow proved his true color. I watched in amazement as he wheeled that magnificent horse, then turned and loped from the field with all the speed of a coward.

  “What of your men?!” I yelled as I watched them fall like scythed wheat. But all thoughts of Monmouth fled as I saw Jeffries, flanked by Carnatus, loping toward the Horse with a pistol held in each hand. Time itself seemed to slow as I saw him hit, then hit again, by shots from a troop over which he had once served as captain.
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  “Jeffries!” I yelled, tumbling off my horse, uncaring of fire around me as I ran to kneel beside him. Blood spurted from beneath his surcoat, all too close to his heart, while a reddish spurt emerged from the side of his mouth.

  “Carnatus!” I cried, but he could not help, for he was hemmed in by Guards. I realized that at this moment, it would be just Jeffries and me.

  “What can I do?” I whispered over his face.

  Seizing a fallen canteen, I tried to give him some water, but his eyes moved past me, unseeing.

  “Nothing,” he said softly. “Margaret, you can do nothing.”

  “After all these years . . .” I choked, sobbing like a child. “They never c-caught you.”

  “No,” said Jeffries. “I had a good run.” He coughed as I wiped his mouth. “Tell

  Moll . . .”

  “Anything,” I gasped.

  “. . . that I love her. She must raise Charles herself. For that, I am truly sorry.”

  My whole body shook with sorrow. I became unaware of all: the fate of Carnatus, the still-furious battle, the roar of cannon and men.

  “Jeffries, I never said so, but I . . . I admire you so.” I took his gloved hand in mine. “By taking me on, you restored my life.”

  “Do not forget . . . the guineas,” he said, with a gurgle at the bottom of his throat.

  “No, captain! Please, I beg you, don’t leave me! I cannot—”

  “The count,” he rattled.

  “Yes. What of him?”

  But as I leant over his face, I was never to know. Like a true soldier, he expired upon the field. Even as I closed his eyes, I refused to believe it.

  “No, Jeffries!” I cried. “Not you. You are not allowed to die!”

  It took all of Carnatus’s strength to wrench me from the ground, seize our fallen comrade, and lay him across his horse. We walked away slowly from the one-sided battle.

  “He was the best of us,” said Carnatus, moving his hat to his heart. “Greater than du Vall—than all the rest put together.”

  “Twenty-five years,” I mumbled. All I could feel was numbness. “Twenty-five years of dangers, and he dies in a hopeless cause. I must confess, Carnatus, I think . . . I was a little in love with him.”

  “We all were,” he said.

  Farewell, Friend

  As we left that field which sprouted corpses like crops, I could not conceive that the figure across his saddle was indeed Captain Jeffries. How could this lifeless form be the famous tobyman who had skirted death at all turns? When I glanced at his body, I saw the Jeffries that was: loping down some hill, black cloak flying, his eyes sparkling above his mask at the prospect of guineas! Yet, he had also been noble: sharing gold with old comrades; prizing king and country far above his own self.

  When I could, I turned to Carnatus.

  “We must . . . deliver the body,” I said. “To Moll.”

  But my friend shook his head.

  “We cannot get to London,” he said. “Those thought to be rebels will swing.”

  “What then?” I asked through tears. “Are we to leave him here?”

  “He will be where he wants,” said Carnatus. “Buried close to where he fell.”

  I shook my head in agreement, since again, speech was beyond me.

  We two tramped on in silence until we reached a quiet wood. There, Carnatus and I used our hands and swords to dig a proper grave. It must be big, like Jeffries. When we were done, we picked up his head and boots and gently laid him down.

  “I suppose we should say a few words,” said Carnatus.

  How I longed for Aventis and his biblical quotes . . .

  “I cannot oblige on my own,” he went on. “But I can recite a verse I learned at Cambridge.” With that, he bowed his head. I removed my hat, following suit.

  “Ah, Jeffries,” he said over the open grave. “Thou were head of all Christian knights, and now I dare say, thou Captain Jeffries . . . that thou were never matched of earthly knight’s hand. And thou were the courteoust knight that ever bare shield. And thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrad horse. And thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword. And thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest.”

  I knelt, removed a few keepsakes, then helped Carnatus to pile fresh earth on the grave. “Farewell, old friend,” I said when we had done. “I know we will meet again.”

  “If there is a Heaven for highwaymen, then Jeffries surely awaits us.”

  “What of a marker?” I asked.

  “A man like Jeffries needs none,” said Carnatus. “May his memory serve as a marker.”

  With that, we both stumbled off, and even the giant Carnatus shed at least one tear. As for me, I could not envision a world that did not have Jeffries in it.

  “We must hide,” I said to Carnatus as we left the grave behind.

  “Let us pick a direction and ride decidedly toward it. If questioned, we become Royalists.”

  Indeed, in his scarlet coat, he certainly looked the part. As for me . . . I suppose I could pass as his man. I confess I was so heartsick I did not even care. Nor if the king’s men, scouring the woods with precision, found us and took us prisoner.

  “I do not feel right,” I said, “upon Jeffries’s Cleveland Bay.”

  “Who more would he want to have it?” asked Carnatus. “Besides, we are now matched.”

  That night, we slept rough in the forest, but I could not forestall the tingle which began at the bridge of my nose, then spread over my face to elicit a wrench of sobs. Carnatus, who usually fed all of his appetites, displayed amazing restraint when it came to the death of his friend. Though I knew he was in pain, he would not permit tears to fall.

  In this way, we rode for two days, and Carnatus shocked me again by not disparaging the fare at this cookhouse or that. What weighed on my mind was not just the buried Jeffries, but the very-much-alive Moll. When it was safe to enter London, how could I possibly tell her? How to relate to Charles he would see his papa no more?

  On that second day—I believe it was 8 July—we held back in a wild undergrowth as a troop of Horse cantered by.

  “Hmm,” said Carnatus. “I wonder why they venture from Somerset.”

  “I know,” I said. “They are searching for Monmouth. I saw his yellow-striped back as he spurred his horse from the fight.”

  “Bastard!” cried Carnatus, then gave a low laugh. “And so he is, eh, Megs?”

  I joined him in a smile, knowing that Monmouth’s mother had been mistress to the late king. Mr. James Scott, now a duke, had assuredly risen far, but he would no doubt fall—along with his head—courtesy of his uncle.

  I did not give a fig for that scamp! What worried me now was Carnatus, who, without Jeffries to guide him, thought it a wise decision to go in pursuit of the Horse.

  “No!” I said, but he was already well on his way. With reluctance, I loped to his side.

  “I say, sirs,” Carnatus was saying, with a tip of his hat. “Where do you ride with such haste?”

  “And you, sir,” asked a lieutenant, “where do your loyalties lie?”

  “Is it not apparent?” cried Carnatus. “I am a gentleman who supports our good King James.”

  “God save him,” said the lieutenant. “In answer to your question, we ride in quest of the traitor Scott. The king has offered five-thousand guineas to any who can secure him.”

  I saw my friend’s eyes sparkle.

  “God save him double!” he roared, then spurred his bay on to overtake the Horse.

  I had no choice but to follow. Though I despised Monmouth, I did not think I could join his army, fight on his behalf, then collect a reward on his head . . .

  By the time I reached Carnatus, I saw him surveying a scene that might have been comical had it not been so dire. We both stared as Monmouth, the upper half of his body poking out from a field of peas, lay at the mer
cy of several redcoats. The duke was even costumed as a simple shepherd!

  Carnatus barged his way through the soldier’s ranks.

  “Scurrilous dog!” he roared at the duke. “You flee like a girl while far better men gave their lives for you! Are you not ashamed?”

  Before Monmouth could answer, he looked over at me.

  “I know you!” he cried. “We met at St. Mary’s tower!”

  Fool! I wanted to yell, but there was no time for speech. One of the redcoats altered his pistol’s aim from the duke to me. A swift report, a flash, and I was shot point-blank in the gut! As I fell, I could feel the harsh blade of a sword slash across my right forearm. Not again, I groaned, for I had once been shot on the road . . . by a dubious Puritan! Carnatus stared down at my bleeding form, and I could tell by his face he was ready to take on all. Through the searing pain, I tried to shake my head “no.”

  When I awoke from blackness, I saw we were on the move, with Monmouth before me in chains, and myself straddled, like Jeffries, onto the back of my horse. Captain, I thought, perhaps I will see you sooner than expected . . .

  The harsh jolt of leather against my wounds caused me to faint again, but this time, when I came to, I thought we might be back in Somerset. That must be where we’re going, I thought. Monmouth to be beheaded, and I . . . my fate seemed no better than his. Especially when I saw blood spotting the ground beneath me.

  Things seemed to get worse when I heard a voice carrying across the road.

  “Stop! I beg you, sirs, halt.”

  Gods legs! I thought. Were we about to be robbed?

  “I thank you,” said the voice, as a man rode up from the trees.

  Most likely, I was gripped by fever, but I could have sworn it was Aventis!

  He walked his mount closer, still dressed in his highwayman’s garb.

  “And who might you be?” asked a redcoat, drawing his sword with a clank.

  Aventis put up his hands, which did not contain a weapon.

  “A subject of His Majesty,” he said. “I have just fought in his name at the Battle of Sedgemoor.”