By The Sword

by Alison Stuart

  Even after the rest of the household were in bed, Kate still prowled the house unable to rest. She kept telling herself that she would know if Jonathan were dead, that she would sense it somehow but her ruthlessly logical side dismissed that notion for the folly it was. She had not ‘known’ about Richard. Why would it be any different now?

  The figures for the harvest that she had turned to in an effort to distract herself wavered and tears blurred her eyes. She dried her tears like a child on the sleeves of her dress and forced herself back to the books.

  Through the open window of the study where she sat and the silence of the night came the distant, unmistakable beat of horses’ hooves on the Kidderminster road. She sprang to the window, hearing the hooves skittering on the gravel of the forecourt and men's voices coming towards the house.

  Unable to move she waited, facing the study door as she heard heavy boots on the stairs then in the corridor. The door opened and to her unutterable relief Jonathan stood there. Kate saw his face beneath his hat, unshaven and dirty, his buff coat streaked and stained, and smelt the unmistakable smell of powder and sweat.

  She all but fell into his arms, pressing against the leather of his coat, her fingers meshing in his dark hair, damp with sweat from the hard ride north. They kissed desperately and urgently but their coming together was momentary as Jonathan pushed them apart.

  "My darling girl, I've no time,” he said. “I have the King and some of his men in the kitchen."

  She stood transfixed with a sudden anger. “The King? You fool. Why bring him here? This will be the first house they would search!"

  Irritation flashed back from his bloodshot eyes. “Kate, we will be gone within the hour and I do not have time for any lectures from you. We need a respite. We have fought and lost and it has been a long and brutal day. Few of us have had any sleep in twenty-four hours. Now come and tend to your guests."

  This was an order. The man who stood before her now was not her lover but a soldier giving a command. She nodded helplessly and the look on his face softened.

  He caught her arm as she passed him. “Sweetheart, I would not have brought danger to this house if it could be helped but the King has fought bravely today and is weary beyond measure. We just need a little time to work out what we are to do."

  She looked up at him. “Jonathan, what of Giles?"

  He turned back towards her, his eyes full of pain. “I don't know, Kate. Giles stayed to cover our escape. We can only pray that he is a canny enough soldier to look after himself."

  A suppressed gasp came from the doorway and they both saw Nell, her hand over her mouth. She had heard the last of the exchange. Jonathan took her gently by the shoulders and held her in his arms.

  "Nell, I'm sure Giles will be fine."

  She looked up at him her eyes, full of tears. “But you cannot be sure, can you?"

  Slowly he shook his head and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come, Nell, you have a kitchen full of tired, hungry men who need the sight of a pretty face to cheer them."

  Kate followed and as he put his hand on the banister of the stairs, she noticed the bloodstained remnants of a scarf tied around Jonathan's left hand.

  "You're hurt,” she said.

  He looked down at his hand as if noticing it for the first time. “Just a cut, nothing serious,” he said. “Ellen will be able to patch it in a moment."

  The kitchen seemed to be full of men, all, like Jonathan, tired and filthy. The cook and the kitchen scullions already circulated amongst them with cold pie, bread and cheese and ale while Ellen tended the assorted cuts and scratches.

  A tall, dark young man, his face already old beyond his years, stood by the fire, staring into its depths. He looked up at their entry. From his clothes and his demeanour and the deference shown to him by his companions, he could only be the King.

  "Mistress Ashley.” A smile lit the King's saturnine face. “I am truly grateful for your hospitality. Sir Jonathan has been singing your praises since we so unceremoniously departed the fair city of Worcester."

  Kate and Nell swept into deep curtsies and, tired though he must have been, the King stepped forward and graciously offered Kate his hand, as if he were at court and she was a fine lady in a beautiful dress, instead of a plain, ordinary housewife in a faded russet gown. As Kate looked into his eyes she knew why these men had been so willing to lay down their lives for this man.

  As he kissed her hand, Kate cast a glance at Jonathan, reminded of her terse words. He winked at her and smiled. She had the grace to blush.

  "Your Majesty,” she said, “may I present Lady Longley?"

  The King took Nell's hand and kissed it as he had done Kate's. “Ah, Lady Longley,” he said, “I only wish I had your husband with me but he insisted on staying behind."

  "I am sure he'll be safe, Your Majesty. Giles has always been blessed with the luck of the devil,” Nell said, unsuccessfully trying to disguise the fear in her voice.

  The other men were quickly introduced. Buckingham, Derby, Lauderdale, Wilmot ... the names all merged among the faces.

  As Ellen seemed pre-occupied with more serious wounds, Kate sat down with Jonathan and gently unwound the bloodstained cloth. It may not have been serious but it was still an awkward, nasty cut and would take a while to heal. While she dressed it Jonathan bent his head towards the little man who had been introduced as Lord Wilmot. They talked hurriedly in whispers and Kate closed her ears. It was not in her interest to know their plans.

  She was concentrating so hard she did not see Tom until she felt a tug on her sleeve. The boy was half dressed, with his nightshirt tucked into his breeches, his hair tousled from the bed.

  "Mother, what's happening?"

  Jonathan turned around when he heard the boy and smiled with a real and deep affection. “Tom! What are you doing out of bed?"

  Tom looked down at Jonathan's bandaged hand. “Are you hurt again?” the boy asked.

  Jonathan laughed and rumpled the boy's hair. “It's an occupational hazard, Tom. If you've finished, Kate, the boy must meet his King."

  Tom bowed deeply and gravely when he was introduced to the young man by the fire. From somewhere the King produced a smile. Then slowly and thoughtfully he took off the Order of St. George from around his neck.

  "Master Ashley,” he said, “can you find somewhere in your house where this will be safe until I have need of it?"

  Tom flushed red to the roots of his hair. “Oh yes, Your Majesty. I'll keep it quite safe,” he said, holding the precious George close to him.

  His wound dressed, Jonathan became the commander again. He ordered the others to divest themselves of their heavy amour, which they did, leaving a large pile of metal in the middle of the kitchen.

  Jonathan turned to Kate. “When we are gone, drop all this into the moat and you will never know we have been here."

  He clapped his hat, which had incredibly survived the day, onto his head and joined the small band of men in the stable yard where the Seven Ways stable lads had fed and watered the horses.

  Kate wanted to remonstrate with him, beg him to stay by her side, plead with him to surrender—anything as long as she knew where he was and that he was alive, but the words would not come out. Instead she had to content herself with a last, brief, loving kiss before the night swallowed the men up and she and Nell were left alone in the empty courtyard.

  The last helmet and breastplate lay at the bottom of the moat and the two women sat in the kitchen. They were too absorbed in their own thoughts and too tired to talk. Kate had not seen Tom since the men had left and she assumed he had gone back to bed but as she rose to go to her own bed, he emerged by her side, dirty and smelly but with a huge grin on his face.

  She looked at him, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “Tom, where have you been?"

  "Hiding the George, like I promised,” he said triumphantly. “I've put it in a place where they'll never look."

  "Where?” asked Nell.

  K
ate's nose wrinkled. “I can guess,” she said. “You've hidden it in the refuse heap!"

  The boy nodded and the women laughed. The first and possibly the last time they would have cause to laugh for many days to come.

  * * * *

  In the long, relentless ride northward away from Seven Ways, the King's small party stopped for a respite of a few minutes to water their mounts. Buckingham, his malicious mind undulled by exhaustion, turned to Jonathan and said languidly.

  "Mistress Ashley is a little different from your usual taste in women, Thornton."

  Jonathan, too tired to heed his own advice to Giles, to leave George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, alone, snapped. “What the hell do you mean by that?"

  "Well, it can't be her looks, so she must be a goddess in bed."

  The Duke's handsome, smiling face was clear even in the dark and for the first time in many years, Jonathan's rigid self-control snapped. A well-aimed right hook under the chin sent the elegant nobleman sprawling. As Buckingham rose to his feet, snarling and spoiling for a fight, Wilmot, small and furious, came between them.

  "God's death, gentlemen, there has been enough fighting today without us fighting each other! Now get on your horses, both of you. We must be at Whiteladies before light."

  Twelve

  Jonathan knew The Black Cross Inn at Bromsgrove from his earliest days. He and Giles had spent many evenings in the congenial warmth of the front parlour under the watchful but amused eye of the innkeeper, Joseph Bramble. Old Joseph had been dead many years now but his son, Harry, still ran the inn and Jonathan trusted Harry's loyalty implicitly.

  He and the others had left the King in the hands of Lord Wilmot and the loyal Penderel brothers at a house called Whiteladies. The fewer who knew what plans were made for the King's escape the better. Buckingham had even begged the King not to tell them. With the King in safe hands, they had to concern themselves with their own safety and when night had fallen on the day after Worcester, they had gone their separate ways.

  In the stillness of the night, Jonathan led his horse across the deserted stable yard into the stable and placed it in the furthest stall, well into the shadows. The other horses stirred and nickered but did not wake the stable lad, whose stentorian, drunken snoring came from one of the stalls

  He looked around for a suitable place of concealment and decided the beams in the roof were strong enough to provide him with reasonable support—if somewhat lacking in comfort. He climbed up one of the stalls and swung himself into the beams. Slats had been laid between the beams to provide some storage for hay and he managed to make himself reasonably comfortable. Well concealed from a casual eye, he allowed himself the luxury of his first real sleep for days.

  At daybreak, the stable boy came to life. He retched into the filthy straw and staggered out into the courtyard. Jonathan heard water being pumped and the sound of splashing before the boy began his morning chores. The presence of an extra horse did not seem to unduly alarm him and Jonathan's faithful mount shared the morning's rations.

  The sight of the horse's feeding reminded Jonathan that he'd not eaten for some considerable time. He gritted his teeth and set himself to wait. It was well into mid-morning before a familiar face appeared at the stable door looking for the errant stable-hand who had fallen asleep again.

  Harry's sister, Sally, had been a cheerful, pretty girl with flaming red hair. If she liked a man she had been more than happy to share her considerable favours and Jonathan had been sixteen when Sally had cast her eyes in his direction. He had been only too happy to follow where she had led. He knew by repute that she now had five children, all with different fathers, and presided over her brother's taproom—a loud, cheerful and formidable presence.

  A few years older than Jonathan, time had not dealt kindly with her, but he still saw a trace of the girl in the large, frowzy woman who stood in the doorway.

  "Sal!” he hissed from the rafters, not wanting to rouse the sleeping stable boy.

  She looked up with a start, peering into the gloom but her surprise turned to a grin of delight as Jonathan slid off the rafters and landed ungracefully in the hay below. He stood up and brushed the straw from his clothes, shaking out his cramped limbs.

  "I'm getting old, Sal,” he said ruefully.

  "We all are, love but I'm right glad to see you,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

  Jonathan suffered her embrace. For all her faults she had a heart of gold, and he still had an enormous affection for her.

  "I need your help, Sal,” he said.

  "Aye, I guessed that. I doubt that ‘ee would be hiding in my roof in the hope that it was my body you were after,” she said. “This wouldn't have anything to do with that scrap at Worcester the whole county's in a tizz about?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, you've picked a fine time to be skulking in my stable. I've a troop of Parliament horse in the front room,” Sal said, looking around as if she expected them to appear. “You need to stay put until it's a little quieter. I'll send my boy John out to you with something to eat and drink."

  As Jonathan looked up at his perch in the rafters, a movement in the hay made them both start. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and he swung around on his heel. The stable boy, roused by their voices, cowered in alarm at the sword. Jonathan looked anxiously at Sal.

  She smiled reassuringly. “Don't you mind Abel,” she said and tapped her head. “He's a bit daft but he'll not give you away. Will you?” She directed the last at the boy, who shook his head furiously.

  True to her word, John, a hefty lad of about fifteen, appeared with bread, cheese and a jug of ale and kept watch while Jonathan wolfed down the food. Without any great enthusiasm Jonathan resumed his lofty perch and waited. It proved to be a long day and a longer evening. Twice, soldiers appeared at the door of the stable and gave the place a cursory glance, even prodding half-heartedly at the larger piles of hay. Jonathan held his breath and prayed they did not think to look upwards.

  It must have been past midnight before Sal appeared at the door of the stable with a lantern. Stiff, cold and hungry again, Jonathan stumbled into the large, warm kitchen of the inn where Harry Bramble, as large and cheerful as his sister, waited for him.

  "It's good to see you safe, Sir Jonathan,” he said. “Parliament soldiers aren't leaving a stick unturned anywhere in the county. Gave us a few hairy moments today, didn't they, Sal? Anyway we thought it best to wait until the soldiers were long gone afore fetchin’ you in."

  "I owe you both a debt of gratitude,” Jonathan said humbly. God alone knew what fate would befall the Brambles if he had been discovered in the stables. “Just give me something to eat and I'll be gone in within the hour."

  "Well, you're going to get nowhere looking like that.” Harry cast a critical eye over Jonathan's unmistakably military appearance.

  Sally picked up a wicked looking pair of shears.

  "We'll start with your hair,” she said. “Needs roughenin’ up a bit."

  With no great skill but plenty of enthusiasm, she wielded her shears. Jonathan's clothes were replaced with an old brown doublet of Harry's father's, a little short but large enough, and a greasy leather jerkin, his boots with a serviceable but uncomfortable pair of shoes. Reluctantly he added his sword to the discarded pile of clothes.

  "What do you want us to do with ‘em?” Harry asked.

  "Can you look after the horse and when the hue and cry has died down take them to Seven Ways?"

  "I heard there's a new Mistress at Seven Ways and her sympathies may not be all that they should be,” Sal said doubtfully.

  Jonathan nodded. “She can be trusted, Sal."

  She looked at him knowingly and bundled the clothes and the sword into Jonathan's cloak.

  Harry sat down and contemplated the transformation. “Not bad. What do you think, Sal?"

  Sal laughed. “If your mother could see you now, I swear she'd not recognize you. Now I reckon you'll be needing this."
>
  She completed the picture by clapping Jonathan's own, now somewhat battered beaver onto his head, pulling it down over his ears.

  Harry leaned forward. “Tomorrow I will be taking a wagon of ale to my cousin in Ludlow. You can ride along with me. It may take us a couple of days and there'll be troops on the road."

  "Harry, please don't take this risk for me."

  Harry shrugged. “I only wish I could take you further, Sir Jonathan."

  His mind raced ahead. From Ludlow he should be able to find a way into Wales, where a boat could be found for Ireland. That would do. The way north would be heavily patrolled, as would the road to London and the road south through Gloucestershire.

  He looked at the two familiar friendly faces and smiled. “I cannot thank you both enough."

  "Aye well, there'll be time enough for thanks later.” Harry said. “You can doss down on that mattress there and we'll be off at daybreak."

  * * * *

  The victorious Parliamentary army had wasted no time, and it seemed as if their full wrath had descended on Seven Ways. The whole household had been assembled in the great hall while from all over the house came the sound of furniture being upended, beds scraping, and splintering wood.

  Kate forced her attention onto Colonel Price, who watched her with malicious triumph. He wore a military uniform, but to judge by its pristine condition and his generally well-rested demeanour he had obviously seen precious little of the fighting, if any. Price, angered by the sacking of his own home, now sought the opportunity to revenge himself on the woman who had cheated him of Seven Ways.

  He rubbed his hands together. “Well you must know why I'm here, Mistress Ashley."

  "No? Tell me.” Kate's voice was cold.

  "We're seeking traitors, escaped from the battle which the Lord in his mercy gave to us,” Price replied.

  "Well you'll find none here, save old men, women and children,” Kate replied, indicating her household.

  "Come, Mistress Ashley.” The gleeful smile widened. “It's common knowledge that those two malignants, Giles Longley and Jonathan Thornton were here before the battle."