by Stella Riley
Ireton was answered by Thomas Rainsborough, the only senior officer wholly and openly in sympathy with the Leveller cause.
‘I hope so. For I think that the poorest man in England has a life to live as well as the greatest; and therefore I think it’s clear that every man that is to live under a government ought first, by his own consent, to put himself under that government. And I think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to a government that he has not had a voice to put himself under.’
Gabriel silently conceded that Rainsborough had a point. Ireton didn’t. He merely fixed him with a saturnine dark gaze and said, ‘Your argument relies on natural rights but denies all civil ones. For my part, I think that no person has a right to share in choosing what laws we are ruled by unless he has a permanent, fixed interest in the Kingdom – either in land or in one of the trading corporations.’
‘Nothing can convince me why any man born in England should not have his voice in elections,’ snapped Rainsborough hotly. ‘All Englishmen are subject to English laws – and the foundation of all law lies in the people. Where does it say “I am a poor man – therefore I shall be oppressed”? And I would know what we have fought for, if not for our laws and liberties!’
A number of people tried to speak at once and the debate started to strain in several different, impassioned directions before Edward Sexby adroitly moved the argument on to a new level.
‘There are thousands of soldiers as poor as myself who have ventured their lives for their birthright and their privileges as Englishmen,’ he said. ‘Yet now it seems that, unless a man has a fixed estate, he has no birthright – and that if he were granted one it would be to the destruction of the Kingdom. Well, if that’s so, I should like to point out that I consider myself to have as much birthright as any here – and I will surrender it to no man!’
‘Rather than disturb the good constitution of a Kingdom where I may live in godliness, honesty and peace,’ returned Ireton caustically, ‘I will part with a great deal of my birthright and my property.’
For the first time in several days Gabriel found himself grinning wryly. You had to hand it to Henry. He was an absolute master of the lofty principle. And if one hadn’t already known how devoted he was to the rights of landowners, one might almost have believed he meant it.
Somebody Gabriel couldn’t see tried once more to insist that such radical change to the existing franchise would never be accepted.
‘Then what has the soldier fought for all this while?’ mocked Rainsborough. ‘Has he fought to give power to rich men – and to make himself a perpetual slave? I think not. If we are afraid of change, why did we fight the late war? Why, indeed, are we here now?’
There was, of course, no answer to this and, pressing his temporary advantage, Rainsborough proposed that the question of suffrage be referred to the Army as a whole. He received insufficient support, however, and had to accept the passing of a counter-proposal that this and other matters be placed before a committee.
Rejoicing at not hearing himself named to serve on this, Colonel Brandon walked back to his quarters intending to spend the evening with Eden Maxwell over a jug of ale – only to change his mind as soon as he entered his room.
Wat was back.
*
‘My God,’ said Gabriel by way of greeting. ‘You took your time. I’d begun to think you’d found yourself a nice little widow and settled down with her.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ grunted Mr Larkin. And then, coming straight to the point, ‘Do you want the full story?’
‘Traveller’s tales and a blow-by-blow catalogue of events? I don’t think so. Just the gist will do.’
‘All right, then. I found him but he’s not coming back – and it wouldn’t be much good if he did.’
A frown touched the dark gaze. ‘Why not?’
‘Because the sodding idiot’s done the one thing that’ll never be forgiven him,’ said Wat bitterly. ‘He hasn’t just turned Papist. He’s actually enrolled himself in a Jesuit seminary off the Rue St. Antoine and is training for the priesthood.’
There was a long catastrophic silence. Finally, Gabriel said, ‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Eventually. He said God has called him to a new life.’
‘That’s nice.’ The crisp voice was suddenly infused with a blast of rare temper. ‘And does he take no thought for what’s left of the old one?’
Wat spat in the fire.
‘Not so as you’d notice. Oh – he shed a few tears for the worry it must all be causing his mother, but at the end of the day he said that his sister will have to do what she thinks best because he’ll never come back to England unless the Order sends him.’
‘So he’s washing his hands of it and letting the rest of us bear the consequences? Wonderful. What kind of man is he, for God’s sake?’
‘The kind who prefers visions to nasty reality.’
‘As if we haven’t enough of those here,’ muttered the Colonel, running a weary hand through his hair. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t the only one looking for him. Found myself hard on the heels of a tall, fair-haired fellow … sounded French but wasn’t and shabby enough to be a Cavalier. And Clifford knew all about the will before I saw him.’
‘Ah.’ Gabriel dropped into a chair and folded his arms. ‘So the fair Venetia did send someone after all.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Which means she knows everything we know – more if her messenger sought out my half-brother as well. Not that Ellis coming back can change anything.’ He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I imagine she’s fit to be tied.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Wat sourly. ‘But not to you. So you’d better go and have a quiet chat with the Lieutenant-General and then leave for the Continent with his letter of recommendation in your pocket.’
‘I wish it were that simple.’ Gabriel stared sombrely down at his hands. ‘Running away isn’t going to solve anything … and, if I once start, I’ll be doing it for the rest of my life. And do you really think Cromwell is going to help me escape what he’ll see as a moral duty? He won’t. He’ll be too glad to know of another northern stronghold safely in the hands of one of his own officers.’ He paused and then, an ironic smile twisting his mouth, said, ‘No, Wat. I wish I could just cut and run and not care what kind of mess I leave behind me but I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself afterwards.’
Wat looked at him with profound disgust. Then, ‘Sod it,’ he said pungently. ‘I thought as much. You’re going to marry the blasted wench, aren’t you?’
It was a long time before Gabriel spoke and, when he did, his voice was dry as dust.
‘It’s beginning to look as if I’ll have to.’
~ ~ ~
EIGHT
It was perhaps fortunate that, during the latter part of October, the Colonel was too busy keeping abreast of other developments to devote much time to his personal concerns. While the Army Council discussed the authority of the King and the increasingly thorny question of Army discipline, the Council Committee continued trying to form an acceptable amalgamation of the Agreement of the People and the Heads of the Proposals. The Levellers, who were by no means happy that any alterations were being made, managed to offend Ireton so successfully that he stormed out saying he would not attend another meeting. And Lord General Fairfax reluctantly set a date for a general rendezvous.
By Sunday November 7th, Putney was crackling with tension and, fearing an outbreak of Leveller-inspired mutiny, Cromwell used the next day’s Council Meeting to order all officers and Agitators back to their regiments. Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief and hoped for a period of quiet in which to calm his men down.
Thanks to the brothers Lilburne, he didn’t get it. On November 9th, the Commons released John Lilburne on bail. On the 11th, warned, so rumour said, by Henry Lilburne of possible threats to his life, the King achieved the impossible and caused a blaze of wild speculation whe
n he slipped quietly away from Hampton Court. And on the 15th, at the rendezvous on Corkbush Field, Colonel Robert Lilburne almost succeeded in making the long-feared mutiny a fact.
The rendezvous to which Gabriel’s regiment was bidden was far more orderly than that held at Corkbush Field. However, it wasn’t until Fairfax had restored order by promising to support the dissolution of Parliament and the King was known to be safely back in captivity on the Isle of Wight that Gabriel was finally able to snatch a few hours in which to visit his foster-family. And when he did, it was to find that Annis had gone into premature labour.
Alone in the parlour while servants, midwife and doctor all ministered to his wife, Jack Morrell paced up and down with a face as white as paper and his hair all on end.
‘They won’t let me see her,’ he announced by way of greeting. ‘They just keep telling me to be patient. But how can I be patient? That’s my Annis up there!’
Over the rumble of voices above and the hurried feet on the stairs, Gabriel heard the unmistakable sounds of Annis’s travail and knew a craven desire to be elsewhere. But since he obviously couldn’t abandon Jack in his hour of need, he said uncomfortably, ‘Yes. But I’m sure she’s being well looked after. And you’d only be in the way, you know.’
Jack ignored this and took another turn round the parlour.
‘Why is it taking so long? Dr Chamberlen told me that early babies often come quicker. But this had been going on for hours. What if something’s wrong and they haven’t told me?’
Gabriel tried remarking, somewhat unconvincingly, on the number of seven-month infants who grew into perfectly healthy children. Jack eyed him witheringly and, without breaking stride, asked what the devil he knew about it. Not without relief, Gabriel gave up attempting to offer intelligent comfort and ransacked a cupboard in search of the brandy bottle instead.
The afternoon wore by on leaden feet. Gabriel drank rather more of the brandy than Jack but retained sufficient sense to keep quiet about his own affairs – even though the purpose of the visit had been to discuss them. And then, at a little after four o’clock, the air was pierced with a thin, reedy wail and Jack stopped dead in the midst of his perambulations.
‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered. ‘It sounded … it sounded like a baby.’
‘Amazing,’ grinned Gabriel, hazily. ‘Especially as that’s precisely what we’ve spent the last four hours waiting for.’
Jack didn’t stop to listen. He hurled himself at the door and took the stairs three at time. He had to wait a little longer, of course, before they let him in – but by then he didn’t mind for they’d told him the only thing he wanted to know. Annis was weak from exhaustion but no longer in any danger. The baby, though small, seemed healthy enough and was a boy.
Inwardly shuddering, Gabriel listened to Dr Chamberlen’s enthusiastic dissertation on the use of short forceps – invented, so he said, by his grandfather – and, with rather more interest to his insistence that simple hygiene could prevent the spread of infection. Then, when the doctor had finally left, he dutifully admired his foster-brother’s son and heir and agreed that he was beautiful – even though all babies looked the same to him and this one was redder and more wrinkled than most. After that, he left Jack sitting with a grin a mile wide beside his wife’s bed and returned to the parlour in time to catch Bryony returning from unwilling banishment in a neighbour’s house.
‘What is it?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Is Aunt Annis all right? Will they let me go up?’
‘It’s a boy and your aunt is sound asleep. And yes, I’m sure you’ll be able to see them both. But not, if you don’t mind, before you’ve told me whether or not you’re still associating with Samuel Radford.’
The brown eyes widened but she did not look especially guilty – just impatient to be off.
‘From time to time. Why?’
‘Because he’s under arrest for his part in the recent Corkbush Field fiasco.’
‘Under arrest?’ she said indignantly. ‘But that’s monstrous!’
‘No it isn’t. If he insists on mixing with people whose main aim is to murder Cromwell in his bed, it’s his own fault.’ He paused. ‘Are you … particularly fond of him?’
She caught his meaning but, for a moment, because the question was so ridiculous, she couldn’t believe he’d asked it. Then she said shortly, ‘No. Of course not.’
‘Good. Because I wanted to point out that it behoves you to watch your step. In fact, I’d like your promise that you will. Otherwise, I’ll have no alternative but to discuss the matter with Jack.’
Bryony opened her mouth on a hasty retort and then thought better of it. After all, the fact that he cared about her welfare was undoubtedly a step in the right direction and might be turned to even better account when she had time to figure out how. An odd gleam entered her eyes and she said mildly, ‘All right. I’ll promise to be as careful as you like. But only on condition that you do what you can to get Sam out of gaol. How’s that?’ And, without waiting for an answer, she turned and ran lightly upstairs.
Minutes later, Jack joined Gabriel with the amused observation that, between mother and cousin, his son wasn’t going to lack cossetting.
‘He’ll thrive. They’ll see to it,’ nodded Gabriel. And then, ‘Jack … I know this isn’t the time but I may not find another. Within the next few weeks, I’m going to have to go back to Yorkshire. And unless Venetia Clifford stands on her principles, it’s becoming more and more likely that I’ll have to marry her.’
Jack stared at him, the smile evaporating from his face.
‘That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it? Are you sure?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ And, in as few words as possible, he related the tale of Wat’s discoveries, before adding dryly, ‘So you see, I can’t just ignore the situation or vanish and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Why not? It’s what Sir Harry Clifford is doing, isn’t it? And he’s the one who ought to be worrying about his family – not you.’
‘I know. But he won’t. And if I follow his example, what does that make me? I don’t even have the excuse of a divine vocation … just a life I’d have preferred to keep.’
‘And a woman you don’t want to marry?’
‘Yes.’ A crooked smile twisted the lean mouth. ‘That, too. But perhaps closer acquaintance will alter that.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then I’ll just have to make the best of a bad job – or do what other men do and find an accommodating mistress,’ returned the Colonel flippantly. Then, differently, ‘I don’t have a choice, Jack. If I did, I’d take it – believe me. But with things as they are … well, I just wanted to prepare you for the possibility of having to receive the lady as my wife.’
‘Your wife?’ echoed a shocked voice from the doorway.
Gabriel and Jack swung round to find Bryony gazing across at them, the colour slowly draining from her face.
‘Your wife?’ she said again, uncertainly. ‘You – you’re getting married?’
‘Oh lord,’ muttered Jack.
‘Yes,’ replied Gabriel expressionlessly. ‘At least, it seems very likely.’
Bryony stared at him with all the intense, suffocating emotion of one barely past her seventeenth birthday and for a moment there was utter silence. Then the floodgates opened.
*
Colonel Brandon waited until the inevitable chaos of moving the Army’s Headquarters to Windsor was over before seeking an interview with the Lieutenant-General and, when he got it, stated his dilemma with the least possible fuss.
Oliver Cromwell – thickset, wart-faced and potentially one of the most powerful men in England – listened in silence and then said simply, ‘No one rises as high as he who knows not where he’s going. I take it you have sought God’s counsel over this?’
Gabriel hadn’t but he knew better than to say so. One of several things he disliked about Cromwell was that gentleman’s te
ndency to cloud everything with religion. Neatly sidestepping the question, he said, ‘Over the last few weeks, my duty in the matter has become increasingly clear.’
‘Mm.’ There was a pause and then the Lieutenant-General said abruptly, ‘Lambert’s been keen for some time now to see you promoted. I suppose you knew that?’
‘No.’ Behind his serviceable buff leather was a feeling of sick disappointment for what might have been. ‘No, sir – I didn’t know. And naturally that makes me even more reluctant to resign my commission.’
The thick brows rose.
‘Resign? Why on earth do you think you need to resign? It’s quite possible to be both a landowner and an officer, you know. I’m one myself – as is the Lord General and a score or so others I could name.’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the wry response. ‘But, if you’ll excuse my saying so, all of you were bred to it. I wasn’t.’
‘Then you’ve have to learn quickly, won’t you?’ Cromwell regarded the younger man consideringly for a moment. ‘You’ve a promising future, Colonel … and, because it would be a pity to waste what the Lord has given, I’ll see you get leave of absence from the beginning of December. But if you can’t sort out your affairs in Yorkshire and be back at your post by Easter, I’m afraid that it will be wasted. Do I make myself clear?’
A hint of rare colour stained Gabriel’s cheekbones. It was the reprieve he hadn’t dared hope for and, if only he could take advantage of it, the future might not be quite so bleak after all.
‘Quite clear, sir,’ he said formally. ‘And I’m more than grateful.’
‘Good.’ Nodding curtly, Cromwell got to his feet and then frowned as the door burst open on his son-in-law. ‘Well, Henry? Hounds of hell chasing you, are they?’
‘No.’ Thirty-six years old and perpetually immaculate, Henry Ireton’s enigmatic dark eyes dwelled briefly on Gabriel and then turned to the Lieutenant-General. ‘I just came to inform you that the messenger we’ve been waiting for will be passing through Holborn tonight. But perhaps I’d better come back later when you’re less busy?’
