by Smith, Skye
"But doesn't the Earl, umm, want you?" he asked cautiously before gently testing a nipple with his lips.
"Him, 'e is a noble. 'e does not want me so much as 'e wants what other men want. 'e is the 'appiest when other men see 'im with the lovely me on 'is arm. It ees the only time 'e grows a coque. By the time a noble has twenty years, 'e 'as already 'umped a 'undred kitchen girls. 'e does not pay good money for 'umping, only to be envied."
"So you and your friend go out with him in public?"
"Every day to the King's Court at Whitehall. We 'ave a standing invitation from the king. Ow, what is that? I told you no pistol in this bed."
"That is not a pistol,” he gasped as she grabbed it and began gently squeezing it.
"So you say,” she whispered.
"A standing invitation So you must, uh, favour the king?"
"This is naughty to ask. Alors, but I love to be naughty. The king, 'e likes best the pretty pretty boys but he refuses his boys the court or the palace. When I first arrived from Paris, he made a big show of leading me to his chambre and slamming the door. No one ever opens a door that is slammed by a king, not 'ere, and not in Paris. We spent an hour together alone. I try many things to excite him, et voila, finally I understand him. I took off my gown, and let 'im put it on. Oui, my gown. And 'e is a bit bigger than me so the seams, they ripped, and then 'e mounted me like I was one of his pretty boys."
"Sick."
"No, quite 'ealthy 'e was. I do not favour men who 'ave the pox."
"And the Earl of Traquair, what excites him?" he mumbled as he came up for air after finding her other nipple.
"Ah, but that would be telling. A courtesanne is discrete above all things, otherwise her career, eet is over."
"But you told me about the king."
"That is different. It is no secret what 'e did with me, because 'e is always watched, even behind a slammed door. The walls of Whitehall 'ave many peep holes. That is why the pretty boys are forbidden from it."
Daniel rolled away from her goddess place and lay on his back staring at the flicker of candlelight on the ceiling. She curled under one arm, kissed his ear, and eventually her little squeezes stopped, and her breath slowed and became the softest of snores. Long after the candle gutted, she woke enough to use her mouth to moisten him, and then she squirmed into a spooning position and took him inside. That was the last thing he remembered until the door to the room opened and spilled light into the room while a kitchen girl put a morning tray down on the small table beside the bed.
Even then he only awoke because the girl was stifling her giggles at seeing the two of them so closely entwined. Giselle clucked at the girl's rudeness and sent her back to the kitchen to bring a pitcher of hot water so she could wash. "You 'ave magic in your skin, cherie. When you spoon me and so much of our skins touch, it is divine. Did you know this? I am so 'appy to sleep with you and not that bastard Scot."
"I know. There are seers in my village who know these things."
"Seers?"
"Wise women. In my village there is no such word as bastard."
"Wise women. What is this word 'wise', eh?" she asked as she tore off a piece of the still warm bread and stroked it across the butter and popped it into her mouth.
"A person who knows not just the what, and the how of things, but also the why."
She was silent for a moment, and did not understand until she had done the translation. Le sage femme. Le quoi et le comment des choses, mais aussi le pourquoi. "Ah oui, but it is not so clever en Francais."
"That is because the word is from the Frisian half of English, not the French half."
"I think your folk must be very wise to have no word for bastard."
"Bastard is a French word, not a Frisian word. We Frisians are a clannish folk where the house is passed from mother to daughter, not from father to son."
"But of course, for every mother knows her child." She popped some buttered bread into his mouth so he could say no more, and then laughed. "In France there is always the question, who 'is the pappa, and many murders within a family because of it. I like your way better."
"Hmm,” he said munching, "that is what all women tell me."
"Ah, cherie,” she rolled out of bed and found her robe and put it on but did not tie it. "I must go and tease the Earl by dressing in front of him, for that is what 'e likes the best. I think today I must dress for Court."
"I think that today,” he corrected, "you must dress for the Royal Exchange."
"That is not the court?"
"That is the place where greedy men exchange bits of paper with hidden values. It is the Bourse."
"So 'ow should we dress?" she asked, suddenly unsure of herself.
"In boots to keep your hemline high out of the slop, and take a crop for hitting at the pigs who reach for your breasts."
"Oooh, tres coquine. May I borrow your pistolet?" She put down the bread and picked up the pistol. It was much heavier than it looked, but it also felt much smaller in her hand than she had expected.
It was loaded, so even though the safety latch would stop the trigger from moving, he reached across her to take it from her, "No need. I am coming with you to the Exchange."
She wrestled him for the pistol, and one thing led to another, and eventually she was holding both his pistols. "I like your pistolet," she whispered into his ear. "What would it cost me?" He was moaning so she added, "I mean the metal one."
"Oh, perhaps the same as two weeks with the Earl," he replied, but he was just guessing between the spasms of delight. "Henry sometimes gives them as gifts to people he ... likes ... would like ... would like to stay alive. Oh please. Don't let go. Don't leave me like this. Not just yet."
"Is it worth a pistolet?" she said through pursed lips.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 10 - The search for muskets in Rotterdam in March 1639
The last time that Daniel had been in Rotterdam, it had been overcrowded with soldiers. That was back in the summer of '38 just after the Kallo disaster. Rotterdam's port had been the regrouping point for the huge Dutch army that was retreating from their ill-fated attempt to capture Antwerp from the Empire. He and Robert Blake had ridden as militia pistoleers, but not during the attack for that was an amphibious operation with little need of horsemen.
The Dutch army marched towards Antwerp with the confidence earned from the capture of the city of Breda, and with the knowledge that their French allies had just captured Saint Omer. The capture of Antwerp would finish the endless war with the Imperial army for control of the Spanish Netherlands. The Imperial army would have to retreat inland, and thus the Netherlands and France would finally share a land border. Dunkirk would be surrounded on land and cut off from reinforcements from Burgundy, so the Dunkirkers would have little choice but to surrender.
Robert and he had watched the start of the battle for Kallo from the safety of the northern bank of the Scheldt River, the one that led to Antwerp. The Dutch so out-manned and out-gunned the Imperial army defending the southern bank, that the landing on the southern bank took but a day, and within two days the Dutch had captured the fortresses around the village of Kallo. With the riskiest work done, Antwerp was within their grasp, so no one in the Dutch command bothered to plan for the possibility of a retreat.
The Spanish counterattack came at three places at once, and in the black of night. They put the run on a few camps of overconfident Dutch who were supposed to be guarding the gun barges. Once the Dutch began to run, there was no holding the Spaniards. A third of the Dutch army was caught between the Spanish breakout and the mudflats of the river bank. That night Robert and Daniel and the other militia pistoleers saved a company of Scottish mercenaries, not by giving them covering fire, but by physically dragging them from the river and emptying the water from their lungs.
At the time there had been no hiding the scope of the disaster from
the citizens of Rotterdam. Five thousand men were missing, as well as all of the siege guns and the barges that the guns had been floating on. Without the guns, there was no sense in continuing on towards Antwerp so the Dutch focused on holding onto Breda. The Dutch folk were stunned. They were used to winning the small battles of this grinding war. Not only had their largest army lost a battle, but they had lost control of the Scheldt river, and therefore the city of Breda was again at risk from the Imperial army.
All of the gains made by France and the Netherlands since signing a mutual protection treaty back in '35 were gone in one loss. Also gone were the hopes of capturing Dunkirk so it could no longer be used by Spanish ships to supply the Imperial army, or by the Dunkirkers as a privateer haven. The Dutch politicians were already planning the peace that would have come from the taking of Antwerp, and now instead, the Imperial army would hold out for yet another year, especially if Spanish supplies and reinforcements reached the ports of Dunkirk.
These memories flooded back into Daniel's mind as he walked along the line of warehouses that backed onto Rotterdam's quays. The last time he had walked this way these warehouses had been serving as temporary shelters for shaken and wounded soldiers from the Kallo disaster. He turned away from the quays at the next street, but still there were warehouses. Warehouses were a main business in Rotterdam, for now it was the Netherlands’ designated Staple Port.
A Staple Port was unlike other ports, for all goods coming into a staple port by ship from overseas, or by barge from the network of rivers that led into the Germanies, must be unloaded and displayed and offered for sale locally for three days before the goods could be shipped to other places. It was because of the Antwerp disaster that the Staple Port had been moved from Delft to Rotterdam, for here the Dutch army and navy bases had three days in which to buy anything that happened to pass through the busiest port in the world.
He thought he was lost for all these warehouses looked the same, but then he saw the sign "Company of English Merchant Adventurers" on the next building. What he was looking for was behind the company warehouse, a long brick building with bars on the windows and two green doors. Over one door was a cross and a sign, "The Company Chapel" so he knocked on the other door.
There was no answer, so he knocked again. A tiny shutter in the door opened and a face masked with a fuzzy red beard stared out at him and in Dutch asked, "Wat wil je?"
"I'm looking for Jock, Jock Douglas. Is he still in Rotown?" Rotown was what all Brits living here called Rotterdam.
The fuzzy red voice changed languages from accentless Dutch to heavily-accented English. "Aye, and who is it that is asking?" The heavy Scottish burr almost smothered the English words.
"Daniel Vanderus."
"The pistoleer?"
"That I was."
The door swung wide open and a hand the size of a melon grabbed Daniel's. "Danny, it's me, Connell, d'ya not recognize me?"
"Connell, of course, though you've put on a bit of weight." As in a hundred pounds.
"Aye, back to my normal size. Starvation rations in a Spanish prisoner camp can take it out of ya. And that’s where I had been for six months before you dragged me out o' the river."
"So is Jock still in Rotown?" Daniel repeated, still not quite believing how such a skinny lad had filled out to be such a giant.
"Aye, he's in the workshop. Come on through." Connell barred the outside door and then led the way through another door. There was an immediate complaint about lack of privacy, and do not disturb, and other like phases, but the voice was familiar. It was Jock Douglas.
"And a stranger,” Jock said as he glanced up from a worktable where he had been showing a well-dressed man something shiny. "Of all times to bring a stranger through. Yer brains are in your toes, wee Connell, and that is no lie."
"Jock, it's me, Danny." Daniel walked forward with his hand outstretched, and while Jock shook it, he snuck a look at the workbench, before the stranger could cover it over with a cloth.
"Danny, this is Alexander Hamilton. He's an artillery officer with the Swedish army."
"Swedish?" Daniel said as he held a hand out to the officer, "Well ,that explains the name then."
"Call me Ham,” the man told him. "I'm paid by the Swedes, but I hail from Scotland."
"Danny, what are you doing here?" Jock asked. "I haven't had time to collect more pistols for you." He turned to Ham explaining, "Danny deals in cheap old pistols and cheap new Genever which he takes to England."
"Takes, or smuggles?" Ham asked but no one responded to so foolish a question.
"And you,” Daniel asked Ham, "you are here to buy old matchlock muskets for the Swedish army?" Again there was no response. "Come now, you have a musket in pieces under the cloth on the workbench." He turned to Jock. "Before you sell off your muskets to the Swedes, ask me if I will better their offer."
Ham's stare turned icy. "Is this how you do business, Mr. Douglas?"
Jock swung a leg out so that he could hobble over to his workbench. His left leg from above the knee down, was wooden so it did not bend. If Danny hadn't sawed it off and cauterized it that night after he had been pulled out of the Scheldt River, he would not have survived the gangrene. With one sweep of an arm he whipped the covering cloth away from the bench. "Danny's a kind of a partner. I keep no secrets from him." He picked up a lump of shiny metal and handed it to Daniel.
It was a musket lock. Daniel turned it over and over as he looked at it. Simple, so cheap to make. Just a pivoted trigger, a spring-loaded flint dog, a pivoted steel cover and all attached to one steel plate with mounting holes drilled into it. He looked down at the musket on the workbench. It was a Spanish matchlock. Nothing remarkable. One of tens of thousands issued to Imperial musketeers. Mass produced. Shitty in wet battles because the match-cord had to be kept lit, and because the powder flash pan was open to wind or rain.
"You're a fuckin' genius Jock!" Daniel exclaimed as he put lock and musket together and suddenly saw the light. All you had to do to make this musket far, far better than anything the Spanish musketeers carried was to take off the match-cord trigger arm, and screw on this flinted lock. He positioned the lock on the musket by making the pivoted cover fit snugly over the flash pan.
When the cover was in place over the pan, not only was the powder out of the weather but it was also a safety, for if the flint dog accidentally snapped down its sparks wouldn't get to the powder. The lock wouldn't ignite the powder unless you first pivoted the cover to open the pan, and then the flint could strike the steel cover and cascade sparks into the pan.
But that wasn't what made Jock's work a marvel. What made it a marvel was that it was all on one plate, so any musketeer in the field could fit the lock in place with screws, and turn his matchlock into a snap-lock. As soon as he had let go of the lock, Ham picked it up and held it tight. "Can I assume, then, that the Swedish army is not buying matchlock muskets, but buying these locks?"
"Why would we buy more Spanish matchlocks?" Ham laughed. "The Imperial army throws them down whenever we chase them, and we chase them a lot. In the North my Field Marshal has collected so many that we melt the barrels down to make horseshoes. This is what we need. This simple lock that makes them worth picking up out of the mud."
"And which Field Marshall would that be?"
"Alexander Leslie, of course. The unbeatable Ace Leslie."
"And you are who? His purchasing agent?"
When Ham shut his mouth as if on a secret, Jock answered. "Ham is Ace's artillery commander. He is in Rotown to meet with the Dutch admiralty about borrowing some cannon. Now he has found something just as important as cannons."
"Nothing is more important than cannons," Ham interrupted. "Especially light four and six pounders that can be mounted on cart wheels and moved across open country as fast as retreating Imperial infantry. The Dutch Navy rarely uses such small cannon anymore, so they have a warehouse full of them."
"Spoken like an artillery officer,” Jock said
and laughed and then pointed to the lock in Ham's fist. "Right now it takes one of my apprentices a day to make one of these locks. If you give me a big order, then I can set up jigs and workers to make hundreds of all the bits and pieces, and then each apprentice can assemble them, perhaps ten a day."
"I must leave by the end of the week and I will take with me all that you can make by then. I will have Ace's army test them. If you have the jigs and workers and apprentices working by the time I leave, I will pay for a hundred more. If the lock tests well in the field, and your price comes down, then this order could increase to say, ten thousand."
"And you have the authority to promise this?" Jock asked cautiously.
"I have the authority of gold. I will leave you with enough gold to cover the cost of setting up the fabrication, and produce the first hundred. The rest of the order will be paid for as you go, in gold, in advance. Paid for lot by lot in the Dutch way, not payment on delivery in the Scottish way."
"Sounds good, Jock,” Daniel interrupted. "Sounds very good."
"So,” Ham turned to Daniel. "Now that you know my business with Jock. What is yours?"
"I am here to buy five hundred to a thousand cheap muskets, depending on the price and condition. Cast away Spanish matchlocks like that one on the bench."
"For whom?"
This Daniel could not risk telling them. These men were Scots. They would know that John Stewart was the King's man. The King had political and religious troubles with the Scottish Parliament. If it came to violence, then which side would these men take? "I am to deliver them to Scotland, to a port near to Edinburgh."
"Has the Covenanter rejection of the prayer book and bishops thing gone so far now,” Ham said in a gruff voice, "that the lords are importing muskets?"
"Damn the fuckin' Stuarts,” Jock cursed. "May Charlie's fancy papist wife give him the pox so we can be rid of him."
Well, there was no doubt about which side they would be on. "So how many matchlocks can you get ready, and how soon?" Daniel asked of Jock.
