Pistoleer: Edgehill

by Smith, Skye

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  In the morning Jacob told Daniel how to find the old Ridgeway bridal path that ran just to the north of Beaminster. It was an ancient route that kept to the high ground and led all across the southern downs of Wessex. His actual route to London was decided hour by hour at each hill's viewpoint, for he certainly did not want to meet any marauding men from either army. Two days later he approached London from the south and rode through Southwark at dusk. It was a very subdued Southwark compared to the last time he had ridden through it.

  He stopped in an alehouse to quench a thirst and to tidy himself a bit before approaching the guards at London Bridge, who were very particular who they allowed across the bridge after dark. "Why are the streets so quiet?" he asked the ale wench, who only five years ago would have been a divine young thing.

  "Plays have been banned,” she said as she slammed a pot down and turned away to serve the next table, a table of well dressed men.

  "What play has been banned?" he called after her, but she was gone.

  "Any play that serves up royal propaganda,” one of the men at the next table replied. He beckoned Daniel over to their table so they could speak without yelling.

  There was that word again. Propaganda. He was thankful that the word had already been explained to him, otherwise he would have felt a right fool in front of these strangers. "So what, there must be many other plays."

  "Why do you think all the theatre companies are named the King's this and the Queen's that. All of the plays are about kings and queens and princes and they all put the royals up there sitting beside God Almighty."

  "So parliament has banned them?"

  "Of course, though they never have admitted their true reasons. The ordinance says something about frivolity during dire times, but it's all about propaganda. They control all the printing presses, you see, so they spread their version of the news to those who can read. The theatres were spreading a different version of the news to those who can't read. Banning the plays was just their way of warning us to behave."

  "No wonder Southwark's streets are quiet, what with all the theatres closed."

  "Oh, they ain't closed. They just can't put on a play. Any other kind of show is fine. Music, comedy, even short bits of plays where the scene doesn’t have any royals in it. It'll take a few days to adjust but then Southwark's streets will be as crowded as ever."

  This news put Daniel deep in thought. Was propaganda so important? But then it dawned on him, that of course it was. Every bible thumping zealot he had ever met was always spouting his own interpretation of the Bible, his own propaganda. What are most church teachings and sermons other than propaganda to.... He asked the man, "Where does the word propaganda come from?"

  A spirited discussion started up at the table. Apparently these men were all theatricals of some sort and therefore very literate. The better dressed ones were actors, the worse dressed ones were writers. Eventually they agreed on what to tell him, "It comes from the word propagate, as in spread your ideas around to make them popular."

  With his hair brushed and tied back and the days of saddle grime and some left over dried blood wetted and wiped off both him and Femke, he looked quite presentable at London Bridge and was allowed into the city despite the hour. The shine of the scroll work on his dragon always marked him as a wealthy military officer to other military men, and the guards spent more time looking at it than at him.

  He had decided that since Britta now had her own house, that he would ride directly to it and she could put him up. Unfortunately, although he knew the street well, for it was the same street that Oliver now lived on, he did not know which of the houses it was. He was about to knock on Ollie's door and wake his wife Betty to ask her, when there was the sound of girly voices from the front door of a house two down so he walked over to ask them. Britta was standing in the doorway saying goodnight to Bridget Cromwell, Ollie's willful daughter, the one who used to hang about with Teesa.

  On seeing the large, rough looking stranger at the gate, Britta pulled Bridget back into the house and slammed the door. Daniel was forced to beat on the door for a good minute before they were convinced that yes he was actually Daniel Vanderus, Britta's stepfather. After he had unloaded his gear and saddle from Femke, Bridget was kind enough to lead the knobby mare to the stable at her grandfather's large house at the end of the street.

  Daniel stepped inside the house and gazed about. It was well furnished in the way of women with many fabrics and cushions. "Is Sarah still here?" he asked as he followed Britta along a corridor.

  "Auntie Sarah? Why would she be here?" Britta asked and then stopped and turned to face him and her eyes danced in joy. "Is she coming? That would be such fun."

  "She came to London on the Swift over a week ago. I thought for sure she would look you up. The Swift was carrying prisoners to the Tower. You never heard anything of that?"

  "Why yes, it was in all the news sheets. I didn't realize that it was the Swift that brought them. So where is Auntie? She has been to Warwick House before. Surely she would have asked for me there." Her eyes stopped dancing and narrowed. "That cow Anne. She has turned Sarah away and without telling her where to find me."

  "Who is Anne?"

  "Junior's wife. Robert Rich Junior. Susannah is letting her run Warwick House while she is in from the country. Well I knew she didn't like me but that is such a mean spirited trick."

  Britta began to tell him about Anne's petty jealousy, but by this time Daniel was asleep on his feet and had no patience for palace intrigue. He was saddle sore and smelled of horse and sweat and other things not so nice. At the door his finely clothed daughter had not even given him a hug. He eventually did get a welcome hug but only after she had scrubbed and rinsed him clean and rubbed a fortune in Dutch cologne into his hair, beard, and pits. "The aqua vitae base of the cologne kills off the humours that cause the stench,” she told him. "It also loosens and washes away all the flea and lice nits."

  It took her another half hour to trim his beard and mustache in the current fashion ... short and pointed, and for most of the trim he was asleep in the chair. She had given him a man's nightshirt to wear, a short one made of silk, but he didn't ask who it belonged to. That would have been rude.

  She saw the askew look in his eyes and guessed what he was thinking. "I receive many gifts from wealthy men but I know better than to allow any of them hump me. I already knew that in Cambridge when I was serving ale to all the wealthy students that came to The George. Humping them just takes away the veil of mystery and desire, and afterwards the rich gifts stop arriving."

  "The last time I was in London you were humping Robert Rich,” Daniel pointed out. Perhaps that was why she wasn't humping anyone else. Because the Earl would not have approved.

  "Occasionally, when he was able,” she told him with a mischievous grin. "And look what I got for it." She opened her arms and as if to introduce the luxurious bedroom they were sitting in. "A London house in exchange for making him happy and young at heart. Actually I quite like the old fart, so I'd have done him anyway."

  He smiled at her and gave her another hug. The women of Frisian clans were generous with their favours to men they liked. It made them feel good to make others feel good. He could not hold her this close long, however, for he was in nothing but a silk nightshirt and she was in nothing but her silk slip, and he did not want to risk getting carried away and doing something with his enchantingly comely step daughter that they would both regret afterwards.

  She batted a hand at the tent pole under his night gown and told him, "If you promise to keep that thing away from me you can share my bed. I get lonely at night, always sleeping alone. You can keep that shirt, by the way. It fits you well."

  "To keep me from embarrassing your maid?"

  "To save your life,” she told him. When he shrugged that he did not understand, she explained. "There is a Turkish silk merchant on Cheapsides that swears to me that the wealthy warriors of Turkistan always
wear silk under their armour."

  "So that the armour doesn't rub their skin raw, and cause an infection?" he guessed.

  "Bah, even cotton and linen will do that,” she told him as she led him to the bed. "Silk is so fine that it molds around whatever weapon is being poked into you, whether knife or bodkin or ball, and the silk is pushed into the wound with it but does not tear. By pulling on the silk you can pull out the weapon and when it comes out, it brings with it all the corruption that would otherwise be left in the wound. You better than most know how important it is to properly cleanse a wound."

  He crawled under the clean linen-cotton sheets and Britta rolled into his arms. Now that he gave it a thought, wearing the silk did make sense, especially if a pistol ball hit you and drove deep. It was so difficult to find and remove all the bits of cloth and leather and grit from a deep wound. That was why blood poisoning was so common on the battlefield. "Thank you for the shirt,” were his last words before he was snoring. She brushed his lips lightly with her finger to shut them up.

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  The Pistoleer - Edgehill by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 17 - At Holland House, Kensington, September 1642

  "Not to Warwick House?" Daniel confirmed. After breakfast Britta had offered to take him to visit Parliament's Committee of Safety who were now directing all of the militia bands.

  "No, they meet at Holland House these days, ever since Robert Junior brought his family in from the country to live at Warwick House. Holland house is Robert's brother's palace. You know, Henry Rich, the Earl of Holland."

  He knew Henry by sight but they had never been formally introduced. A few years ago on the Scottish border, Daniel had dented Henry's armour with a pistol ball ... not to kill him, mind you. Just to give him a brusque message from General Leslie of the Covenanter army. It was very doubtful that Henry would recognize him unless he was reminded of the incident. "But he rode with the King's army. He is one of the Queen's favourites. Why would he be on the Committee of Safety?"

  "I don't know,” Britta replied as she tried on yet another pair of shoes. "Perhaps because he is Robert's brother. Perhaps because he is a member of the 'Peace' party that John Pym has created to push for diplomatic solutions with Charlie as an alternative to thousands of men dying in battle."

  "And you are sure they will let us into Holland House?"

  "Darling,” Britta said as she did a trial curtsey to make sure that the girls did not pop out of her gown unless she wanted them to, "Henry wants me so badly that he drools when he kisses my hand. Of course they will let us in."

  She was right, of course. The guard at the gate of Holland House, which until Henry had married Isabella Cope had been called Cope House, took one look at Britta sitting in the hired carriage and ordered the gates swung open. The long driveway gave them a full view of the immense palace. Three well dressed gentlemen were waiting for their own carriages at the front door, and each of them leaped forward to take her hand and help her down, and the two she ignored stood back and stared with envy as the third took the opportunity to put his hands around her waist and swing her down. Daniel they ignored completely.

  The guards at the door did not ignore Daniel. They were the same men who used to protect parliamentarians at Warwick House, and now had the same duty here. They instantly stood to attention for the skipper of the Lord High Admiral's personal yacht. He shrugged his shoulders and gave them a wry grin and they relaxed. They bowed low for Britta, and accidentally forgot to ask Daniel if he were carrying.

  Whey would they ask such a redundant question, because they knew him well enough to know that he never went anywhere without a pistol. If they asked the question, he would answer it truthfully and then refuse to surrender it. It was easier just to forget to ask him, and besides, it won them a friendly smile from the most beautiful woman in all London.

  Word of her arrival must have preceded their reaching the depths of the grand palace, for they hadn't gone far before Britta was dragged away by two women about her own age. A valet standing close by and keeping an eye on the tall scruffy stranger told Daniel that they were two of Lord Henry's daughters.

  Daniel was quite pleased by this and said so, "It is comforting to know that Britta is welcomed by Henry's wife and family?"

  "By those two young incorrigibles, yes," the valet whispered. "Her grace, however, refers to Miss Britta as 'Marie Neuveau'." When the scruffy man did not make the connection, he explained, "I think, sir, that it is a reference to Madam Marie de Rohan, Lord Henry's long time lover. Madam Marie has just returned to France because Cardinal Richelieu’s last mass was said over his remains. Perhaps you do not remember Madam Marie by name, but you must remember her involvement in the scandalous affair between Buckingham and the Queen of France."

  Since Daniel was not up on his palace gossip, and had no desire to be, he just nodded as if he had remembered and then looked around for an excuse to get away from the fawning twit. John Hampden gave him that excuse, for at that moment John came out of a smoke filled room and saw him. "Captain Vanderus. Excellent. Come with me. There is koffie being served in one of the lounges, and I need to ask a question of you."

  John Pym, looking healthier than the last time Daniel had spoken with him, was sitting on a couch balancing a fragile looking cup of some dark steaming liquid. A maid was hovering over him. Everyone else had to serve themselves but not Pym. "Look who just arrived,” Hampden called to Pym. The others in the room looked around but quickly went back to what they were doing as soon as they saw the shabbiness of the new arrival.

  "Don't get up,” Daniel told Pym, as he settled carefully on the couch so as not to upset the man's cup. Pym's only reaction, other than the practiced false smile of a politician, was a barely noticeable nod to Hampden.

  Hampden took the queue to tell Daniel, "Our main general, the Earl of Essex, is gathering our many militias together to form one large army at Northampton. Thousands and thousands of men. What are your thoughts on that?"

  "Why ask me? Don't you have military officers to advise you?"

  "Then we get a military point of view. You rode as a militia pistoleer in the Netherlands. How would a Dutch pistoleer react to the news?"

  Daniel chose his words carefully for Hampden was as smart a man as he had ever met. Scary smart, even smarter than Pym. "They would say that big armies have few advantages over smaller armies, and many disadvantages."

  "What are the advantages?"

  "There is only one really. Safety in numbers. No one in their right mind would attack them. Essex is pulling the militia towards him for his own protection."

  "And the disadvantages?" Hampden asked.

  "Everything else,” Daniel chuckled. "Feeding them, keeping them good, moving them, organizing them, giving up any hope of ever surprising your enemy."

  "What do you mean by moving them?"

  "You can't let a big army sit still like you can a small army. They eat and drink and shit too much. The only way to keep them fed, to keep them from being dangerously bored, and to keep the latrines from making them all sick, is to keep them on the move. Move them towards a new supply of food, keep them busy taking down and setting up camp, and move them away from the fouled latrines." Daniel stared at Hampden to watch his reaction when he asked, "So is the big battle with Charlie going to be in Northampton?"

  Hampden's face betrayed nothing. "There is not going to be any big battle. When the King sees the size of our army he will talk terms and peace. At least that is what Essex assures us."

  "Well then, hopefully none of the king's officers will advise him to stall for time until the foul latrines breed a plague to rid him of your great big stationary army in Northampton."

  Pym leaned forward and whispered, "So what do you suggest we do?"

  Daniel leaned forward and replied in a confidential whisper, "Ask the Scots if you can trade General Alex Leslie for bloody Essex. And while you're at it, keep Bedford in London so he
is kept out of the way of Colonel Balfour in Sherborne."

  The other two men tried not to laugh, but they couldn't help it. Daniel tasted his koffie and made a face. It tasted like charcoal ash. "The bloody cook is pinching pennies,” he said and stood and walked out of the room. Hampden put down his own cup and helped Pym to his feet and they followed him into the kitchen out of curiosity. There they found him pulling a small sack out of the pantry. Surrounding him was a ring of kitchen girls all telling him that he shouldn't be there.

  In a voice loud enough for the entire kitchen to hear, he told Hampden, "I like my koffie lightly roasted and made with lots of beans so it is strongly flavourful. The cook is re-roasting the beans to blacken them so that the drink seems strong but uses less beans per cup. That is why it tastes like ash in your mouth rather than the rich nutty taste of koffie."

  He shoved one of the cooks assistants out of his way and began to grind some of the beans from the sack he had found. A minute later he poured hot water over his grind. While it was steeping he grabbed up some mugs from a draining tray. Man sized mugs, not sissy cups. Once they were filled with his new brew, he passed a mug to each of the other men and invited them to taste the difference.

  "Oh yes, that is very different, very delicious,” Hampden said while smacking his lips.

  "Aye, it's a sin to over roast the beans just to save pennies. In Holland the koffie drinkers would pillory this cook for wasting good beans." At the time they were standing beside the back door to the kitchen which opened out into the kitchen garden. "Come, let’s go and sit on that bench in the sun."

  The sun was warm and the warmth had lifted the fragrance of the herbs into the air around the bench. When they were settled, Pym asked, "So you do not agree with Essex gathering all our forces into one army?"

  "By gathering his arm in Northampton, Essex will have blocked the king's army in Nottingham from marching towards London." Daniel replied. "That makes sense, but only if the king is also gathering his forces into one big army. That isn't the case because I know first hand that there is a fair sized army still in Sherborne. What about the hundreds of towns and villages that Essex has left defenseless."