Again that quasi-silence engulfed us while the snow continued falling steadily. The sky grumbled and flickered, almost as though it were talking to itself.
Taking over from Solomon, tall, skeletal Rabbi Zachariah now had the Chief Rabbi in his arms, carrying the ancient man like a small child. In his heavy kaftan and tall hat he made an unlikely figure, praying audibly as he made his awkward way over the ice. The rest of us encircled him, ready to fire if he came under attack.
Another great roll of thunder shook the ice. The surface continued to move underfoot. I could hardly keep my balance. We were likely to be sitting ducks soon and Prince Rupert knew it. Almost desperately he peered this way and that, trying to see what surrounded us. We crept on. Where was the longboat supposed to meet us? Lightning flashed and snapped. Up on the left bank the crouching dark mass of the Bloody Tower was suddenly revealed, a massive, solid outline against the darkness, its battlements no doubt lined with Cromwell’s musketmen. Then the prince at last saw something.
‘A longboat, look. There!’
I saw an outline, rocking gently. I could just make out the shape of a big skiff moving at the edge of the ice. Then I spotted the light, dancing ahead of us like a will-o’-the-wisp. I was puzzled by this until I realised she was signalling. Rupert, an experienced seaman, knew exactly what was happening.
From what I saw, the longboat was in no way big enough to carry us all. The six rabbis, Master Elias and Prince Rupert were in most urgent need of escape. The rest of us could probably split up and find our own ways to safety. When I put this to him, Prince Rupert nodded briefly. He had a mission to accomplish, having given his word he would be first to tell the queen how her husband had died.
The prince made his way carefully to where Athos stood with his lantern ready. The musketeer now lifted his lantern to shoulder height. Then he began to work the shutter, signalling to the boat. There came a long, pregnant pause. ‘I can’t risk widening the shutter,’ Athos muttered.
We waited. Then, all at once, we saw a light flickering behind the longboat! It became almost immediately obvious to us that the ship was signalling back. I heard Prince Rupert murmur a brief prayer under his breath.
‘It is dangerous for the brig to be anchored in midstream,’ he said. ‘The ice breaks up but floats downriver in large pieces. Any one of those slabs could hole a vessel. Look, see. That’s our ship.’ He pointed to a great black shape rearing out of the waters of the Thames. Then he turned. ‘Let us get you into the skiff, your honour.’ He reached out his arms to take Master Elias.
‘Assuming the ice doesn’t break her up or lift her,’ said Prince Rupert, ‘D’Artagnan and Athos, perhaps, could go with them, being the lightest. Then we’d have to hope the brig can afford to wait long enough for the skiff to return for us.’
Aramis was adamant. First the rabbis and their charge should go, together with Prince Rupert. ‘You have your duty to the queen.’ The rest of us would use muskets and pistols to hold the Roundheads at bay until the skiff came back.
As we argued we neared the edge of the ice. The skiff was a good-sized boat but she already held four or five sailors. At a pinch there was room for Prince Rupert and possibly all six rabbis and their charge. Those of us remaining were well armed with guns and swords and could hold off the Parliament soldiers if they advanced across the ice.
After a quick discussion we agreed. Duval stepped on the ice close to where the skiff waited and Prince Rupert called out urgently.
‘Duval! Take care, man!’
We watched in horror as the ice slab sank down under his feet and flooded with water. He was as careless as he was courageous. ‘You’ll have to bring her in closer,’ he called, his legs astraddle to balance himself.
The answer, a little muffled by the weather but amplified by a brass speaking horn, came in Dutch-accented English. ‘We cannot draw any closer, meinheer. The ice is very treacherous. Those sharp edges already threaten to hole us. If you step in a fraction closer, however, it will press the ice down. Perhaps you can board that way.’
Duval and Prince Rupert thought this over until at length the Cavalier prince agreed. ‘Throw us a rope, meinheer, at least!’
An acquiescent grunt. Then, out of the darkness whipped a heavy strand of rope. Almost toppling into the icy water, Duval made two unsuccesful attempts to catch it. On the third cast he fell, landed on one knee but caught it. He leaned back, using the rope to steady himself as he got up.
We all moved slowly and carefully as Duval backed towards us. Then we began to take our own places at the rope. Nevison, the last, wrapped it around his waist, using his weight where he now lacked strength. Duval’s oldest lieutenant was showing weakness from the wound he’d received that afternoon. We got the line as straight as possible. Duval had shown how the rope could be used as a kind of rail, absorbing some of our weight. Rabbi Phineas would go first, with Master Elias on his back. Phineas was the smallest and lightest of them. He had the best chance of us all. He would not put as much weight on the ice and it was not as likely to sink under him.
Porthos and I now joined Nick Nevison. Together they gathered a few turns of the rope around their waists. Then they got as far back onto the solid ice as possible. At Prince Rupert’s signal Phineas began to inch forward.
For a moment all was silent again. The thunder was a distant, threatening grumble. The snowfall was still light. We heard the slapping of water underfoot as the boat bumped against the great slab of ice on which we all stood. I knew if any one of us slipped into the water they would die almost instantly.
Now Phineas and Chief Rabbi Elias were a few feet away from the skiff. We watched intently as hand over hand the young man inched his burden over the ice.
Phineas was almost into the boat. Then we heard another sound. At a different time I might have dismissed it as the cackle of a wild duck. But Prince Rupert recognised it at once. ‘Nixer!’ he cried. ‘That’s his lunatic laughter! Where?’
Was Nixer aboard the Dutch ship?
‘We’ve been tricked!’ Porthos cursed. ‘They have already taken the ship!’ Had we indeed been outmanoeuvred by the Roundheads? I strained to peer through the falling snow. All I could see was the looming shadow of the Dutch brig. Who commanded her?
54
REMEMBER!
Nixer showed his position in a very dramatic way. We heard splashing oars. Then a boat, rowed by redcoat troopers, appeared suddenly in a thin channel of black water running between us and firmer ice. The Puritan stood in the prow easily identified by his thin, cruel face. Lit from below by his lantern, the Intelligencer General’s features had a demonic cast. Satan gloating at his harvest of souls!
As if confirming who it was advanced against us, I heard the bellow of Nixer’s tromblon. Depending on its charge, one of the nastiest weapons of the time, the blunderbuss belched a massive charge of shot and small nails. We heard a wild shriek. Metal whistled past us on both sides. Suddenly somebody yelped with pain. Young Mordecai stumbled and went down. I watched in despair as his body slowly slipped from the ice and disappeared into the ebony water. Rabbi Uriah, horrified, dabbed at a wound on his cheek as Nevison scrambled upright on the unstable ice, trying to reach the downed Jew.
‘It’s Nixer, true enough.’ Duval swore. He peered in the direction of the shot. Two big horse pistols appeared in his hands. He cocked them, aimed. But the Intelligencer was invisible again. ‘Nixer, you murdering coward! Shooting at unarmed students and a frail old man!’
‘Oh, ’tis General Nixer sure enough! Traitors! I have been expecting you!’ The pipsqueak’s jeer brayed out of the darkness. It could belong to no one else but Cromwell’s swaggering Intelligencer General. Anticipating our plans Nixer with his Old Thunder had been lying in wait for us. Foolishly we hadn’t considered this strategy. His boat swung heavily in the current. Now I saw the Intelligencer General’s ratlike features contort with glee in the light of his own lanterns. Reloading, he reached for his powder horn, turning his t
romblon’s muzzle up on its prow-mounted swivel.
‘Did you think we’d so easily let a traitor escape our justice? Or let ill-gotten revenue escape our nation?’ pomped out Nixer. I glimpsed him packing down his powder with his ramrod. Then he vanished in another patch of blackness.
‘You’ll not give English gold to Rome!’ I heard him swear.
‘You’re under a misapprehension, Master Nixer,’ called back a mocking Rupert. ‘And an amusing one.’ The prince could not help himself. He struck a brave pose and, when the boat swung into the lamplight again, studied the Intelligencer General as if he were especially disgusting vermin. ‘But you’ll not exert your new authority unless you put that vulgar thunderous blunderous toy of yours down and meet us with pistol and sword like a gentleman. Would you become a gentleman, sir? You must learn your manners, Mr Nixer, if you’re to rise in King Oliver’s new court!’
‘Bah! You don’t understand, do you, “Rupert van Rijn”? You’re as much a dullard as any other Stuart. Courts and kings have been abolished by Parliament. Like your foolish uncle’s, yours will be the next head on the block. All your kind are peacock proud until persuaded by a sentence of death. Then I’ll warrant you’ll be spitting excuses all the way to the scaffold.’ The prow of his boat rocked in the bleak water. Falling, Nixer reached hastily for the side.
Prince Rupert smiled as if at a poor joke. He began to turn away. Then Nixer, abandoning his tromblon for the moment, bent and brought up a musket. Grinning he aimed at Rupert, fired, missed and fell sprawling back into his boat. The ball had passed through the decoration of Rupert’s hat. The prince’s laughter was spontaneous. ‘You owe me one bent ostrich feather, Mr Intelligencer!’
Nixer was beside himself with rage. He scrambled up. He frantically finished loading his big gun. Fixing it back on its swivel, he swung it towards us. A slow match began to spark. Behind him, a soldier, seeing his chance to kill one of us, lifted his musket. Before I realised what was going on, he had fired at Nick Nevison.
The ice began to flood under our feet. Nevison, already shin deep in water behind us, roared, a wounded and defiant lion. Unsteadily he brought up his own big barker and returned the Roundhead’s fire. The redcoat threw up his arms, fell like a stone into the water and remained down. Duval, too, let off both his horse pistols and killed another soldier.
Our booted feet were up above the ankles in water. The huge slab rocked and jerked under our weight. We slid back and forth. We found it almost impossible to keep standing. We had to balance and pray the slab did not disintegrate beneath us.
The remaining rabbis were now all settled in the skiff. Prince Rupert stood guard over them, looking to where we had last seen Nixer. Master Elias sat in the middle, a tiny figure so light I thought he would float on the wind if the boat sank. His face was intent as he smiled back at me, lifting his hand. His voice, thin and high, sounded above the shrieking night as he called out: ‘Quickly, Master Michael. We shall both go to High India when all shall be made clear! When the great time comes!’
Privately I wasn’t sure the old man had the strength to get to Amsterdam, let alone ‘High India’. I watched as the darkness folded around him. I regretted I had been allowed no more time with him.
I lifted my hand to wave goodbye. As I did so a great bolt of lightning smashed down upon the Tower. I fell backwards, just recovering myself. I thought for a moment the castle was totally destroyed. For an instant a light blazed out. I saw the brig herself then. She was anchored some yards downriver. She lay at the very edge of creaking and squealing ice. The ominous outlines of broken slabs loomed high over her decks. Seamen moved in the rigging, hurriedly unfurling her sails, ready to weigh anchor. No wonder they had shown such urgency! The sailors had every reason to be terrified. The ship was drifting dangerously near the slab on which we stood. Any one of the huge blocks of floating ice could hole her and sink her. She would go down like a stone in minutes. The captain and crew showed enormous courage by remaining in such treacherous water. Meanwhile, the rowers in the ship’s boat urgently bent their backs, back and forth, like so many machines. The gap between the two narrowed. Our ‘Treasure’ was almost there.
Beside me, Nevison sighed. ‘He, at least, will—’
A cannon sounded suddenly from the shore. A massive ball whistled through the night. I felt it go by. It fell with an explosive gasp into the water. The ice rocked wildly and the skiff almost capsized.
‘They’re done for,’ muttered Nevison painfully, preparing his musket. ‘Nixer’s won.’ But he was only expressing his fear. A moment later and the ship was hidden in darkness again.
Another great boom of thunder. This one was so loud I took it for more cannon fire from the shore. Everything vibrated. The boom was followed by another burst of brilliant light. Then, to my complete astonishment, I saw the gold-painted name across the brig’s swaying stern. A single admonition. Remember. I shuddered when I recognised it. The king’s last word to Prince Rupert! How on earth could they have anticipated that? Or was the name of the ship just a coincidence? Or was there a secret to which I was not party? REMEMBER. An odd name for a ship, if so. We’d been told she was a Dutch brig. Certainly Amsterdam was her home port inscribed below her name. She was a good-looking vessel, probably refitted from one of the royalist ships fled to Holland on the defeat of Charles at Worcester. I could now hear the voices of her crew. They were chiefly English. The mate was a West Countryman. Her captain a Yorkshireman.
REMEMBER.
For all its high-sounding resonance, I hadn’t a notion what it actually signified.
Another loud report from Nixer’s boat. We had almost forgotten him. I heard him cheer. Next there came a stifled gasp and something fell heavily against me. I tried to catch it. A body. A giant. Nick Nevison, down again.
Duval shouted ‘Nick! Mon ami!’ and ran towards us. I bent down, trying to help him. His face pale with pain,the giant highwayman lay on the drowning ice. He had lost his hat and his clothes were soaked. With my aid he struggled to his feet, swaying as the wild ice rocked under us.
‘Nick!’ Duval saw his friend trying to clamber upright. The rope he had wrapped around him now lay in coils below the water. ‘Get up, man! You’ll be drowned!’
Nevison clung to my arm. Dazed. He frowned. He stared around himself, as if he did not know where he was. He reached into his belt to tug free another pistol. Then, releasing his grip on me, he drew his sword.
‘Nick! Get back!’ Duval and Porthos tried to join us now. As the ice grew more treacherous, they inched their way towards their wounded friend. From the boat, Rupert looked anxiously behind.
The big ship swayed and groaned. I heard orders being shouted. As far as I could make out, the voices were mostly English.
With a loud clap, the unfurled sails smacked down. The wild wind snapped into them and they bulged at their rigging, straining like living creatures. I heard someone shout from the yardarm. The sailors were getting Master Elias and the others aboard the REMEMBER. But surely there was no hope for us. Buying as much time for our friends as we could we would have to stay and fight to the death. I thought of my children. How foolish I was to let myself be engaged in this adventure.
‘Are you hit?’ asked Aramis, seeing my expression. I shook my head. At that moment I was trembling with anger and despair, certain I would never see my children again. The anger was directed as much at myself as our enemies!
Another shot from Nixer’s boat. It went harmlessly through the rigging.
Then, almost at once, the ship’s longboat, having delivered her cargo, pushed back away from the brig. As the ice parted the daring oarsmen struggled to head for an ebony shard, a thin black channel of water. By remaining there the brig was in serious danger. So were we all. I could hear the ship’s oaken timbers creaking. The pressure of the ice tested every plank in her.
Nixer was now preparing his gun to fire at me again. I was tired of accepting his attacks so passively! I raised my big flintlock and
settled it on its rod. Aiming at him carefully, I pulled the trigger of the musket.
And fell back, deafened by the loud explosion!
The musket butt had slammed violently against my shoulder. I was sent staggering to the edge of the slab. Unwounded. As was the sniggering Nixer.
The boat pulled closer. The rat-faced Intelligencer General leered and slowly turned Old Thunder on me. As I stared into the tromblon’s muzzle, I steadied myself with the spent musket and tried to tug out my pistol. I was a sitting duck. Looking into his wicked, triumphant face I could have been staring into the eyes of Lucifer himself. We both knew I was a dead man. Standing there, my legs far apart on the rocking ice, I prepared to make as good a show as possible when I went down.
Bang!
Shocked, I felt sick, knowing this was the end. I was filled with remorse. I had betrayed my children. It took some moments for me to realise the shot had come not from Nixer, but from the brig. The Intelligencer General snarled out my name, clutched at himself, glared around him, sputtered in pain and rage, then fell down in an untidy heap while his men tried to help him. Clearly believing him dead, Nixer’s remaining redcoats turned their boat hastily. In confusion they headed back into the shadows of the Tower Hill shore. Meanwhile from all around me came a great cheer of victory. My friends were congratulating the marksman. He stood at the rail. For a moment his face was illuminated by a ship’s lantern.
A little unsteadily, his free hand waving a greeting, Rabbi Solomon balanced himself at the rail brandishing the musket that had saved my life. That intellectual man of God was almost comically pleased with his prowess. With a grateful grin I saluted him. Then the ship turned at her anchor and he disappeared into darkness.
Now one of the brig’s seamen brought the longboat in close to the ice. Watching from the brig Prince Rupert appeared again. He raised a melancholy hand, sweeping his hat from his head in an elegant bow, the kind of romantic gesture which made him such a popular field commander.
The Whispering Swarm Page 51