by Smith, Skye
Skippon looked astonished by the order. Daniel was the one man who could start the most dangerous rumour of them all - Plague! - so sending him into the ranks was a great risk. On this day of victory, however, he knew that Essex would not endure to have his orders questioned, so he kept quiet and watched Daniel ride away towards the town gates on his bony pony .
Daniel was pleased to be away from the general and his staff. Save for Skippon, they were like a gaggle of silly geese following the biggest gander about. As he rode he could see those geese bellowing orders at the long column of men. It seemed to be working for the ranks were standing straighter and the drone of hundreds of whispers was becoming more of a low moan. Closer to the town gate, however, the rumours were still being voiced and sometimes in raised voices rather than whispers.
As he rode along behind their lines, he yelled out, "Quiet in the ranks; or hold your tongues; or the one that worked the best - Shut It." It was obvious that the thousands of militia men, mostly from London or from Berkshire, were upset by something. Close to the gate a sergeant, a big man, had picked up his shout of 'Shut It', so Daniel had Femke push gently between the men to go and have a word with him. "What's going on? What has caused such disquiet in your men?"
The sergeant didn't have a chance to answer before a musketeer answered for him. "We're owed three months pay, and instead of payin' us, Fat Robin has told us that there won't be any spoils from this win. He's put the town off limits to us, and since the bloody royalist cavalry are being allowed to ride away with all their gear and their horses, then we stand a good chance of getting nowt. It's not fair, is it?"
The royalist infantry marching, or limping past them seemed to step up their pace. The voices of the rebel infantry they were passing were beginning to have the tone of an angry mob. Daniel stretched up in the stirrups to have a better look. The last of the infantry were now clear of the town gate and the royalist cavalry were just beginning to come through. How different they were compared to the sickly and bedraggled infantry.
The cavalry had formed themselves up in twos and were riding high and cocky resplendent in tailored uniform jackets that looked brand new. Normally they would have worn armour rather than jackets but under the terms of the surrender, they were not allowed to wear their armour or to have their guns close to hand. That was all to be packed behind them on the saddle, and so it was.
Now the grumbling in the ranks took off again. All around Daniel men were making the obvious comment that a fortune in battlefield gear and booty was riding away from them towards the bridge and from there to Oxford. Once the obvious grumbling had everyone's lips moving and ears listening, Daniel heard a more dangerous rumour start up. "Our cavalry has entered to town by the London Road gate. We've been ordered to keep out, but Fat Robin is allowing the cavalry in to have first chance at the town loot."
Suddenly the grumbling of the ranks became a lot more like the shouts of a mob, including insults and curses being yelled at the cavalry gentlemen. Essex's officers and sergeants increased their efforts to keep order in the ranks, and for a short while it worked and the infantry stood back to give the cavalry lots of room to do their prancing. That all changed when a young woman ran out from the gate and threw something at one of the cavalry officers. On first seeing her, Daniel had stood up in the stirrups so he saw clearly as she threw a pail of slop at the high and mighty royalist officer.
She was screaming at him like a harridan, and her voice did not do justice to her for she was a pretty little thing. Her words were, "You rapist mother fucker. I hope that your cock falls off," or words to that effect. At first the men in the ranks laughed, not just at the officer who was now dripping with piss and crap, but also at the ribald comments from some of the ruder youths in the ranks who wouldn't have minded a turn with the comely lass themselves.
The other riders side-stepped around the stricken officer, but did not slow their pace. There was a dangerous feel to the mob and they wanted to reach the bridge without incident. In anger the stricken officer ran his horse towards the lass, to scare her into not shrieking profanities at him any more. He was partially successful and turned his horse, but then he said something very stupid in a loud voice with a heavy German accent, "Everyone knows that English women are all sluts and whores."
An infantryman wearing the green coat of a Berkshire regiment, so likely a local lad, reached his hooked pike forward, dug the hook into the officers shitty new coat, and with a mighty tug dragged the man sideways out of the saddle. As soon as he hit the ground he was given the boot by all of the men standing where he fell, but that just started the original pikeman yelling and pushing closer to the officers horse to claim the armour and weapons strapped behind the saddle.
The penny dropped in hundreds of minds simultaneously and then there was a wave of men breaking ranks and rushing forward to drag the royalist cavalrymen from their saddles, and that wave moved quickly all along the column of perhaps three hundred fine horses. By shear weight of numbers, the cavalry were hauled to the ground, where they were pummeled, but thankfully not pummeled for long, for the real prize was their armour, weapons, personal gear, saddles and horses.
Fat Robins officers were powerless to stop such a spontaneous attack, so instead they set to work trying to get the cavalrymen to their feet, and moving towards the bridge on foot. If the gear hadn't been such a valuable prize, then none of the cavalry would have left that mob scene alive. As it was their escape to the bridge was like a race with each other to escape the beating that any laggards would surely endure.
Daniel had a different worry than the safety of the royalist cavalry. He was concerned about the safety of the townsfolk if this mob entered the town, and the safety of the mob if they claimed the flea and lice infected clothing and bedding of the departing garrison. He told Femke to push through the mob to the gate, and as she did so, he was yelling at the top of his lungs, "Close the gate! Close the gate! Don't let the mob through!"
The men keeping the gates understood his timely warning too late, and by the time they acted it was impossible to close them against the sudden crush of the mob trying to get into the town. Daniel then changed his tactics and tried to use Femke's bulk to block the road so that a gap would open up between the first of the mob through the gate, and the next lot. Hopefully that would give the gate keepers enough of a space to close them. Instead of that, he too was dragged from his saddle, slammed to the ground and given the boot as if the mob had mistaken him for a royalist cavalryman.
* * * * *
Drizzle and angry looks filled Daniel's view. He was lying on his back in a mud puddle, with the breath knocked out of him by the fall, and with angry faces staring down on him. He was trying to shout out to tell the men that he was one of them, but it was like one of those nightmares where you wanted to yell for help but your voice would not work. One of the men lifted his knee and his boot, and then all Daniel could see was the muddy sole of a boot coming down towards his face.
It never did reached his face, for a giant chin was suddenly blocking his vision and then a giant mouth with giant teeth were crunching on the boot. There was a scream, and the giant teeth let go of the boot, and finally he could see properly. Femke's neck was reaching out across him and her head was swinging back and forth and in and out with teeth bared and she was roaring in a most unhorsely manner, almost like the roar of a bear. He could tell that she was overbalanced by her stretched neck because she was stumbling forward, and he girded himself ready to be crushed by her, either as she fell on top of him or as she stepped on his chest to regain her balance.
Ah, but this was Teesa's trick pony, and instead of stepping on him to regain her balance, she reared so her hoofs could slash at any man unlucky enough to be standing nearby. No longer were there angry men’s faces looking down on him. Now there was only the drizzle, the low cloud, and the terrifying image of Femke's belly rising up and down as she twisted and circled trying not to step on him while she lashed out with teeth and wit
h her hoofs at all four corners.
"Shoot the fuckin'orse," came a call, "a'fore she kills someone.” A shot rang out and the drizzle now tasted of gunsmoke.
Daniel closed his eyes and mouth and prepared himself to be crushed by a falling Femke.
"Back away from the man and his horse you fools," came the deep bellow of authority. "He's an infantry officer, one of ours. D'ya think a cavalryer would ride such a nag? Back away now else my men will shoot at more than the ground.
The gruff voice was familiar, so Daniel opened his eyes again. Femke was still dancing and twisting above him, still trying to defend him from all directions without stepping on him.
"Calm yerself, love," came the soothing tones of the gruff voice. "He's safe now, love, calm yerself. No one's goin'a hurt yee. No one's goin'a hurt he.” Femke stopped dancing, but she still stood above Daniel like a guard dog. "You and he are blockin' the gateway, love. May we drag him over to the side and out'a de way? That's a good lass, that's a good lass. Quiet now.” Femke stepped to one side so her belly was no longer stopping the drizzle from falling on Daniel's face.
Daniel groaned in agony as two men grabbed an arm each, half lifted him, then dragged him away from the town gate and over to the muddy verge of the road outside the wall. Half reclined like this he could see Femke standing with a stout corporal with upper arms the size of thighs. He was holding her head down with the bridle and was softly rubbing her neck to calm her down. Daniel looked into the faces of the men who were trying to make him comfortable in the long damp grass. They were the gun crew who had helped him to protect the bridge from Rupert's raiders.
"Where's it hurt, mate?"
"Side and back," Daniel hissed through clenched teeth, "but only when I breathe," and then he passed out.
* * * * *
"I thought you said he was awake," came a voice from far, far away.
Daniel didn't hear the answer from the other man, but it did make him open his eyes. The room was dark, fuzzy, and moving. It made him feel almost sea sick, and he never got sea sick. A face came closer and he recognized it. "Colonel Skippon," he whispered, "I'm sort of awake. I feel drugged."
"You are drugged, and with my own personal supply of poppy juice. They used quite a bit of it on you because they didn't want you thrashing about. Try not to move."
"What has happened?"
"Poor man must have concussion," another voice said. "He doesn't remember falling from his horse."
"I remember falling," Daniel whispered. "I meant what have I hurt?"
"A lot of bruising, but that's not the worst of it. Though your skin was not broken, you seem to be bleeding inside," the other voice said. He must have been a barber. "You likely fell hard on something like a raised cobble. All you can do is to stay quiet in bed and give your body a chance to heal itself."
"Cobble, bullocks," came a gruff voice from the doorway, "boots is more like it."
"Colonel," Daniel whispered with a dry tongue, "when first I came to Reading I was actually on my way to meet with the Earl of Warwick in Portsmouth on important business. Can you get a message to the admiral to tell him that I am unavoidably detained. Wait, what day is this? How long have I been in this bed?"
"Three days. You missed a lot. Our army breached the gates and ran riot through the town. Today the churches are full of them all praying for forgiveness. Of course I will send a message to the admiral. In Portsmouth you say? Consider it done."
"Where am I?"
"Still under house arrest, I'm afraid." Skippon told him. "The general insisted on it. Luckily he has moved his headquarters into the town, so now you have this manor almost to yourself. It is serving as our officer's hospital. Mostly the inmates were injured at the same time as yourself, and for the same reason."
"Moved his headquarters into the town? But my warning. Surely ..."
"Shhh, calm yourself," Skippon interrupted. He turned to the barber and the gunnery corporal and asked them to leave him alone with the patient. When they were gone and the door closed he stepped stealthily to the door and listened at it. Satisfied that no one was on the other side he came back to the bed, but now he sat on the stool beside the bed and put his mouth close to Daniel's ear so that they could whisper ever so softly to each other. "You must never say that you warned the general about the sickness."
"But now that the army is in the town our men may catch the same sickness as those cartloads of royalist infantry. I told you to tell that to the general. You said you had. My advice was to quarantine Reading and leave the royalists in place until the epidemic ran its course."
"You aren't listening. I told the general nothing, because you told me nothing. No one had any forewarning of any sickness or epidemic."
"But ..." Daniel could not believe his ears. Was this a bad dream brought on by the poppy juice. Was he actually still asleep.
"Dammit man," Skippon hissed. "I'm trying to save your life. It can never be told that the general knew about the epidemic before the surrender. Never. He must retain his deniability. If the general ever fears that you have loose lips, and that the truth may reach the ears of the king, then most surely you will meet with a fatal accident."
"The king? Who gives a rat's ass about the king. What about the men. What about the infantry conscripts and volunteers on both sides, for surely a sickness that is spread by the vermin on blankets will spread like a wild fire amongst them."
"I have given orders to thoroughly clean all of the places where the royalists were billeted, paying particular attention to vermin."
"It's too late. You said yourself that our men were unleashed for two days within the walls. They will have claimed every scrap of cloth for themselves. They will be complaining of an ague within the week, hundreds of them, if not thousands."
"Ah but by then, the royalists in Oxford will also be stricken," Skippon told him. "They won't have taken any precautions at all, so they will be hit even harder."
Daniel stopped speaking and tried to control his shock and his anger. Essex was willing to risk his own army falling down sick because the king's army would fall down first and sicker. What was the big word Skippon had used? Deniability. It must be from deny. What was the logic of it? But of course. Essex needed to be able to tell the king that the calamity of the illness had befallen both armies, and so it was an act of God. An act of God that would cause the king to surrender because Essex's army would still be on their feet, while the king's would be on their backs.
"You said yourself," Skippon whispered, "that it is the fever and dehydration that kills, not the ague. Just knowing that much will save many lives in our camp."
"Culpeper said that. But that was just from his memory of translating some ancient texts. That was a best guess, a hope, and nothing more. I won't be a party to this. The men must be told how to stay healthy and what to do if they are stricken."
"Try that and you won't survive the day," Skippon told him, "and neither will the gunners who saved your life. Why do you think they were assigned as your guard?. If you prove to have loose lips, Essex will silence any men that you are likely to have told, and those gunners will be at the top of his list, as will Culpeper."
Daniel wanted with all of his being to strike down this colonel so he could escape this manor and run through the ranks spreading the word, and then disappear from this army taking the gunners with him. It was a fine and brave intention when he was trapped within a body that could barely sit up. Instead he howled in frustration. From outside the room there came the sound of running boots, and the door flew open.
"It's all right," Skippon told them. "He tried to sit up to write a message. I will write it for him."
Daniel howled again. He wasn't even to be allowed to write all of this in his message to the admiral, a man whose disdain for Essex was well known. Skippon would never transcribe such words. He eased himself back down into his blankets, blankets that he was now suddenly suspicious of, and the touch of which made his skin crawl with phantom vermin. S
oftly in a controlled voice he dictated a message to the admiral, and no where did it mention the plague.
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Roundway Down by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-15
Chapter 24 - Training Green Dragoons in Thame in June 1643
It was June and Daniel's house arrest in Reading had become a house arrest in Thame. Essex had marched his army out of Reading to try to stem the spread of the sickness, and to be closer to a plague infested Oxford. Thame was a small town close to the main road between Oxford and London and just seven miles west of Oxford.
Though frustrated at being moved rather than released by General Essex at a time when he was supposed to be planning a voyage to Bermuda, at least the endless time waiting had given his body time enough to heal, sort of, almost. His humour had not healed, however, due to the irony of his situation. He had originally gone out of his way expressly to warn Essex about the possibility of a plague in the town, and now it was that very warning that was keeping him a prisoner.
Such abnormally moral behaviour in men is never ignored by the Wyred Sisters of the Fates, and they are quick to weave irony into it. Daniel hated it when the Fates had a good time at his expense, but it was the most maddening when it was despite his good works, or perhaps to spite them. If he had been a Christian, he would have cursed their God, but when he asked Christians about such irony they kindly consoled him with their fable of Job. Even John Hampden had consoled him with that ancient fable from a desert land far away and far different from the swamp that was now England, everywhere a rain soaked swamp.
