Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart

by Leslie Hatton

Margaret put down her needlework and stood to face us… probably the three most filthy bedraggled guests to ever have been invited into the castle.

  ‘I think you also need some hot water and a change of clothing gentlemen.’

  ‘Margaret my dear, I would like to introduce you to our new King: Charles II.’

  For just a moment, Margaret stood silent and frozen in disbelief, her mouth open and her eyes wide. When she recovered her composure she curtsied.

  ‘It will be an honour to serve you my Lord. If you will excuse me for a moment I will find you some fresh clothes and hot water, then I will prepare your rooms.’

  ‘They will be staying in the solar chamber my dear,’ said Jacob.

  ‘You are most kind,’ called Charles as Margaret was leaving the room.

  ‘As you can see, Stokesay is more of a fortified Tudor manor than a castle.’

  ‘What is the solar?’ I asked.

  ‘We are in the north tower at the moment in quarters I share with my wife and daughter. Above us are the residential rooms of my Lord Craven, and over those rooms there is a secret solar chamber which can only be reached from partially concealed steps at the rear of the tower. The only other way to the solar chamber is from the south tower using a bridge. From inside the chamber you can spy into the great hall through two peep holes. I will show you round properly later.’

  ‘From your description… the solar chamber sounds an ideal place to hide,’ said Charles.

  ‘It is my Lord, the room was quite clearly built as a survival shelter for use in extreme emergencies, and that is where you’ll be housed for the duration of your stay, which I hope will be no more than a couple of days.’

  Margaret took us to a washroom where we took turns to bathe in steaming hot water, and to put on clean fresh clothes, we then returned to the kitchen where a hot meal was waiting for us.

  Mr Wager waited until nightfall before showing us around the castle… eventually taking us up the rather hazardous moss covered steps to the solar, where we were pleasantly surprised to find bedding for three and a fire burning in the grate.

  ‘My wife and daughter have prepared your room, I do hope it is to your liking.’

  ‘Much better than we could have hoped for, and most decidedly better than the ditch where you found us.’

  He threw keys onto the table. ‘Lock yourselves in and try not to make too much noise, Margaret or my daughter will attend to you.’

  ‘What will you be doing while we are hiding my friend, I would not want you and your family to suffer on our behalf?’

  ‘I will not be here my Lord, I have a plan to get you away from Stokesay as quickly and as safely as possible, but to make my plan work I have to see someone in Ludlow. Before I go is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘Our belongings, including our swords, are still in the barn,’ said Thomas. ‘And as soon as you know we are safely away from here could you tell Joseph Phillips we are safe. It was he who warned us that Patrick Craig was about to betray us.’

  ‘I already have your belongings, I will have Margaret bring them to you tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope it is his daughter that brings them. I wonder what she looks like.’ Charles whispered, more to himself than to us.

  ‘I hope it is not his daughter,’ said Thomas.

  Jacob Wager was gone for three days, and when he returned it was at the head of a convoy of four carts, full of men, women and children… about fifty altogether. The carts stayed outside the gatehouse but the noisy and excitable individuals came into the castle grounds, stopping in the courtyard where they sat down and waited to be served refreshments. A man started to play a flute, and some of the younger ones started to dance.

  The guards just stood watching, astonished and looking slightly bewildered.

  ‘There is safety in numbers my Lord, so when they all start to move back to the carts I will walk to the leading one, I want you to follow a few paces behind, and join me. Your belongings are already in the leading cart.’ Then looking at Thomas and me he said, ‘I suggest you two mingle, you have plenty of carts to choose from.’

  The guards got bored of watching and drifted back to their lodgings in the gatehouse.

  ‘Will King Charles not be recognised?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘I doubt it, but if anyone does, they would not betray him, they are all passionate Royalists.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We are going to the village of Broome, two miles from here to pick this year’s crop of hops.’

  ‘Hops… hops for ale?’

  ‘Yes my Lord, the hop-pickers come every year, usually a little later than this. That is why I had to go to Ludlow to arrange for this year’s crop to be picked two weeks earlier. I went to find my good friend Herbert Peterman, he was the estate manager under Sir Michael Woodhouse at Ludlow Castle until Cromwell took control in 1646. The castle is now the home of Parliamentary governors and used mostly as an administration centre. When they took control they stripped the place of all its valuables and sold them off to fund their army, as they always do.’

  ‘So we are now going hop picking?’ said Thomas.

  ‘Yes sir, it usually takes two weeks… no longer.’

  ‘What about Patrick Craig,’ asked Charles, ‘what are you going to do about him?’

  ‘If I sack him it may cause alarm, and then the soldiers will start asking questions. So I am going to put him in charge of the potato pickers, giving him some authority should please. He has his faults, but he is a good worker.’

  ***

  Picking hops was one of my happiest memories at a time of adversity and anxiety, the pickers seemed to regard the hop picking more as a holiday than a job. Being one of the younger ones, I spent most of my time up a ladder and loved every minute. A massive breakfast was provided every morning and another meal in the evening… but for that we had to work from dawn until dusk. There was also tables of food and fresh ale available during the day to eat while working.

  In the evening there was singing and dancing, the women picking up their skirts and skipping around with their partners laughing and flirting.

  Charles had been advised to keep a low profile, but that was not in his nature, he was an extrovert who loved women and dancing. Dancing the peasants’ way was unfamiliar to him… but it looked so much fun he could not resist getting involved.

  Two girls, about my age, pulled me up to dance with them, which pleased me because I wanted to join the fun, but did not have the courage to enter on my own.

  Even a reluctant Thomas was coaxed up by a large buxom lady who despite her size seemed to have more energy than any of us.

  When the fires had burned down and everyone was tiring, they all slowly crept away in ones and twos to sleep on, or beneath, their carts under a mountain of blankets provided by the work-masters.

  It took ten days to gather in the crop of hops by which time even Charles was beginning to look and talk like a peasant, and I must say he was happy to be acting the part.

  The carts were piled high with the hops and the convoy was ready to return to Ludlow with three pickers more than when they started. I wondered how we could all fit into the carts, now that they were stacked so high, and was sure that we would have to walk. That was until I saw the younger children climbing onto the top of the harvest, which had become for them a giant bouncing bed.

  No one recognised Charles who worked just as hard as everyone else, all three of us creating our own separate group of friends, and all three of us being accepted as hardworking farm labourers.

  We saw nothing of Patrick Craig or the soldiers and when it was time to start the return journey to Ludlow, I was glad to be travelling with my two new girlfriends Molly and Floss. I sat between them high on top of a bed of hops. I found them to be excellent company but the only problem was, they asked too many questions…
questions that I could not answer.

  Charles and Thomas sat each side of Herbert Peterman on the way to Ludlow, he was the work-master and the only person who knew our true identity. He was also the one leading the procession.

  We covered the six miles to Ludlow in a couple of hours, stopping in a crofter’s field close to the cottage where some of them lived… that was where most of the pickers left us including my two flirty girlfriends.

  Thomas watched as we kissed, one shouting: ‘You will come back next year William?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I called as I waved them goodbye.

  Thomas then beckoned me to join them on the front of his cart. After a short break all the remaining pickers… about a dozen, joined together and the convoy of carts continued on its journey… dropping people off on the way.

  ‘You should be helping us plan our escape instead of chatting up the local girls,’ joked Thomas. ‘And where did the name William come from?’

  ‘I suppose it was from the same place as your Mr White.’

  ‘Well now that you have no distractions… Herbert has some ideas he wants to put to us.’

  ‘You were lucky at Stokesay,’ said Herbert Peterman. ‘Jacob Wager’s hatred of Roundheads is without equal, he would go to any lengths he could to frustrate them. But from now on, I would suggest you avoid castles altogether. Cromwell is determined to punish any aristocrat, Lord or Royalist supporter who opposes him. He must have visited every castle in the kingdom at one time or another, and anywhere he is denied entry, he wrecks or destroys. That is why Sir William Craven ordered Stokesay to open the doors and invite them in, as we did at Ludlow. At Stokesay the only damage done was to part of the curtain wall, and the reason he didn’t damage Ludlow was because he wanted to use it as an administration centre for Wales. Some castles he completely destroyed, but not before stealing all their treasures and selling them off to pay his army.’

  ‘It was my idea to call at Stokesay,’ said Charles. ‘I guess we were lucky with Jacob Wager, he clearly loathes the Parliamentarians as much as we do.’

  ‘I must say that Jacob’s idea of mixing you in among the hop-pickers was a touch of genius, moving cartloads of hop-pickers around the towns and villages at this time of year is quite a normal sight.’

  ‘Did he tell you of our plans?’

  ‘Only that you want to join the River Wye and to follow its path until it reaches the River Severn… is that correct?’

  ‘My idea was to avoid Worcester,’ I said, ‘which we have done, and then to continue south until we found the Wye. I realise we will have to pass through Hereford but I hadn’t thought that far ahead as yet, have you any better suggestions sir?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes I have. It’s twelve miles to Leominster from here which is where we are delivering these hops to.

  ‘That’s also where our remaining pickers will be leaving us. The River Lugg runs through the town and continues south… joining the Wye five miles south of Hereford.’

  ‘South of Hereford,’ Thomas said as he pulled my hat down over my eyes. ‘Why did you not think of that Toby?’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t spot that on the map. I don’t know how I missed it, but what I do think is that we should listen more to the local people, they know more about the area than we do.’

  ‘Five or six miles beyond Leominster there’s a safe place where you can rest, it’s called Dinmore Manor… though it is more like a church than a Manor House.

  ‘It has always been some sort of a religious building, but it changed during the Holy Wars when it was taken over by the Knights of St John. They converted it into a command centre and hospital and later added a chapel. During the Dissolution of the Monasteries, a number of families from Tintern Abbey escaped persecution by moving around the county. They continued spreading the gospel wherever they could find a congregation. But some opened places of shelter for travellers, Dinmore is one such place. If you call there you will be offered food, shelter and a bed where you can rest and gather your thoughts. When you are ready to continue on your journey you just join the Lugg and follow its path south.’

  We looked at each other, each waiting for a reaction from the others, but this time it was Charles who made the decision.

  ‘We will take our chances with Dinmore.’

  Thomas and I nodded, Herbert just smiled. ‘I think you made the right choice,’ he said.

  Dinmore Manor

  After depositing our hops at the brewery, we pushed on for another five miles until we came to a crossing in the road where Herbert Peterman reined in his horse and pointed to a track to his right.

  ‘Those buildings you see in the distance are Dinmore Manor.’

  They were no more than half a mile away, and we could see the Manor quite clearly. The sun was still giving out plenty of light, but would soon be slipping silently behind the distant hills.

  ‘I think it better if you arrive on foot. The River Lugg is just to our left. God be with you my Lord and good luck.’

  He turned his cart around and trotted off out of our lives, just as he had entered it two weeks earlier.

  ***

  The door was ajar so we walked cautiously through to find ourselves in an impressive room with a high vaulted ceiling and luxurious furnishings, we stood for a moment to admire and appreciate the splendour and grandeur of the place.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when a low powerful voice behind me asked: ‘Are you looking for shelter my friends?’

  We turned to find we were facing a mountain of a man, taller than Charles but twice as wide. He had a thick chestnut coloured beard, was wearing leather boots, a black bolero coat with a white kerchief tied around his neck, but no hat to cover his balding head.

  ‘For a day, perhaps two,’ replied Thomas.

  ‘I am Friar Dominic, follow me,’ he ordered.

  His big strides covered the ground so quickly I almost had to run to keep up.

  Thomas was right behind him and asked: ‘Have you any other guest at the moment?’

  ‘We can accommodate fifty at one time, but at the moment we have only four travellers, a couple of vagrants and a score of unwelcome guests.’

  We followed him round the cloisters where impressive stained-glass windows were casting a kaleidoscope of colour onto the supporting columns. It would not be too long before the last of the afternoon sun dropped behind the distant trees, and day turned to night.

  We trailed behind him to the western tower from where we had a magnificent view of the gardens and the Malvern Hills… a truly impressive sight in the twilight.

  ‘Who are your unwelcome guests?’ I asked.

  ‘A score of Cromwell’s soldiers. They are looking for a dark young man two yards tall, a boy possibly dressed as a woman, and an older man. I have brought you here to my private quarters to ask: Are you those three people?’

  Charles did not answer but looked to Thomas for guidance as he always does.

  ‘I can tell by your reaction that you are,’ the big man said, ‘but you need not fear me or anyone here at Dinmore. Follow me my Lord, I will take you to a place away from suspicious eyes where you can rest in safety for as long as you wish.’

  ‘A meal, a bed for the night and perhaps advice is all we ask,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I will help if I can, what are you plans?’

  ‘We were thinking of following the Wye to its end at Chepstow and from there to find someone with a boat who will take us across the Severn to Somerset.’

  ‘I will bring you bedding, some food and cider, then I will retire to reflect on your plan. I am sure I can come up with a better idea than yours.’

  Content with our surroundings and thankful that Herbert Peterman had brought us to this place, we all slept well in our beds and by morning were anxious to be on our way.

  Thomas insisted we visit Dinmore’s Chape
l which was dedicated to St John of Jerusalem, and to give thanks to God for our deliverance this far.

  When Friar Dominic returned with our food, Thomas asked him if it would be alright if we used the chapel here at Dinmore. He said he would like to come with us, and join us in prayer.

  After prayers, he came back with us to our room. He said he wanted to discuss his ideas for the next leg of our incredible journey.

  ‘I have been thinking about your plan, and realise that it is not a plan at all. You are proposing to go blindly south in the hope of finding a way across the Severn to Somerset, and eventually across the channel to the continent. I have a plan that I think will get you as far as Somerset by using people I know and trust… people who would gladly risk their own safety to help you on your way. If you choose to take my advice, I think you should start by meeting Friar Adam, he is domiciled at Flanesford Priory, which is just a mile or so from Goodrich Castle.’

  ‘Do continue,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Firstly I think with so many soldiers searching for you, it would be unwise to travel during the day.’

  We all agreed that made good sense.

  ‘The soldiers here at the Manor are billeted in the outbuildings. Every day they split up and search the surrounding area, usually returning early evening. I will keep watch until I see their lights go out and then walk with you as far as the river.’

  ‘You are most kind Friar Dominic.’

  ‘You will find the River Lugg has many twists and turns but it does eventually join the Wye about five miles south of Hereford, by this time you will have walked roughly eleven miles. Where the two rivers merge, follow the flow downstream, passing the town of Ross. You may be able to save a little time by cutting across some of the corners in the river. From Ross, go south overland, skirting around Goodrich Castle to avoid bumping into any of Cromwell’s patrols.

  ‘You will find Flanesford Priory and Friar Adam no more than half a mile south of the castle. You will see the castle quite clearly from miles away, so you should not get lost.

  ‘Goodrich Castle was seized by Parliamentary forces during the war and partly damaged. It is now the home of a platoon of Roundheads… about fifty I think.