by Amy Wolf
“Oh no, sir,” said the woman, “this is lent by a friend. We must return it at Basingstoke.”
Jeffries sighed and lowered his pistols.
“Megs, tell the gentleman what he must do,” he said.
I smiled, though this was lost on the man. Well did I remember playing the barmaid for Jeffries!
“As you have no money, sir,” I said, “you must perform your trade. It matters not what it is. If you are a barber, then please deliver a shave.”
Now it was his turn to smile.
“A curious custom,” he said, in tones so lofty he might have been onstage. He stood in the center of the road, his sightless eyes directed to the horizon. “I am a poet by trade.”
We all laughed except for Aventis, who regarded the man with respect.
“Then pray, recite us some stanzas,” he said. “If they be good, we shall let you know. If they be ill, we shall take your friend’s coach.”
The man, rather than being offended, almost seemed to beam.
“Very well,” he said. “Someone at least shall hear me. I have but lately produced a new work. I shall skip the introduction.”
“Praise God!” yelled Carnatus, and I admit I shared his feeling.
The poet tugged on a coat nearly as black as ours, thrust his wig from his face, and began:
The infernal serpent; he it was, whose guile
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equaled the most high,
If he opposed; and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky
With hideous ruin and combustion down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.
Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf
Confounded though immortal: But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate…
“Great God!” Aventis cried in a rare display of blasphemy. “I have not heard such lines since the Bard’s!”
“My ‘On Shakespeare’ was published in the Second Folio,” this poet proclaimed.
I heard Carnatus mumble from his place by the driver, “‘Adamantine chains.’ What infernal nonsense!”
“I did not comprehend a word,” the bound man agreed.
“My friend Aventis,” said Jeffries to the man, “who studied for the priesthood, appreciates such effusions much more than myself. Yet even I, a simple soldier, perceive that your lines have genius.”
The poet, much gratified, bowed.
“Sir,” I said, approaching him. He turned his head toward my footsteps. “I have not heard words more glorious even in Holy Scripture. It is like . . . the song of angels!”
The man smiled.
“Thank you, mistress,” he said.
“Oh no, I am a man, sir.”
I resolutely held my ground.
“Then I thank you, young man.”
“We shall delay you no longer,” Jeffries told the travelers as he gestured for Carnatus to free the driver. “I am certain I speak for all when I say we greatly anticipate the day your poem is published.” He paused, then whispered to the plain, “Even though you’re a Roundhead.”
The poet chuckled, for his hearing was excellent. It was then that I spoke up.
“I beg you, Mr. John. Please accept these coins. They are to further your work.”
From my purse (kindly replenished by the king’s men), I pulled out some guineas and thrust them into his hand.
“Again, I express my gratitude,” the poet said. “For outlaws, you have a certain nobility.”
Carnatus puffed out his chest as I doffed my hat. I knew the man could not see me, yet somehow it seemed fitting.
He allowed his wife to lead him back to the coach. Though she was young and pretty, and he old and severe, I could well understand her attraction.
“Farewell!” I called as that simple black coach rolled off. “Godspeed!”
Aventis and I remounted and we all loped back to the rocks.
“Not even a penny gained!” cried Carnatus. “At this rate, we’ll all become beggars!”
Aventis smiled.
“Come now, my friend. Would you have missed the chance to hear that glorious poem?”
“Damn’d if I wouldn't! I’ve had my fill of books! Why prolong my learning when I’m not even at school?”
“You are right. We should not subject you to it,” Jeffries said gravely. But he could not help but laugh—joined by me and Aventis.
“First some fool puts up these rocks,” Carnatus groused, “then we encounter another speaking of nothing but Hell! Five to three I can’t endure it.”
He rode off down the plain in a huff.
“Do you think he’ll catch up to Milton?” Aventis asked Jeffries.
A few months later, we had a grand adventure which did not involve highway robbery!
We were well aware that the summer sun was hiding, and, even in August, the air was unseasonably chill. At our various hideouts, I had taken to piling up blankets and sleeping close to the fire, and noted that even Jeffries, hardened by war and the road, spent the nights fully clothed.
In an effort to find some warmth, we rode again into London, where Carnatus commenced sighing before a cheerful coffee house.
“Come now, Jeffries, why not enter?” he asked, rubbing his gloves together. “If we stay out much longer, my rear will freeze to my saddle.”
“A sorry state of affairs,” said the captain, “for those who have to free you. But I fear these establishments have become a hotbed of politics. Therefore the climate within is too hot for us.”
“Nor am I allowed within,” said Aventis. Seeing me start, he explained: “No Catholics.”
“And no women,” I said easily. Realizing my blunder, I recovered with, “Not that that concerns us.”
“No,” said Jeffries. “I suggest we tie up our horses and mingle with some crowd. It is possible the heat of bodies might serve to warm our own.”
I knew I would be satisfied with just one body present. Still, I obeyed the captain, and, along with the others, handed my reins to a boy. We had to push past carts and flocks as
we crossed over London Bridge. What I noted with relief: even the famed Du Vall could walk unnoticed among these throngs!
As we stepped off the Bridge, I saw a sight I never thought possible! The river Thames, normally bobbing with ships and small craft all vying to get into port, was now a frozen sheet! Enterprising folk like those at Tyburn were selling pies on the river while Londoners of all ages engaged in that new Dutch sport—skating.
Aventis, always bold, was the first to stride on the ice. The rest of us were held back. Though I would not speak my concern, I had a fear of the ice cracking and being pulled underneath freezing water. Unlike many of my countrymen, I did know how to swim, but not in temperatures such as these.
Still, with Jeffries’s arm at my elbow, I found the fortitude to step onto the Thames. Though my boots were heavy, I learned to perform a sort of walk-slide which helped me maintain my balance during this extremely odd stroll.
I confess I felt a pang when Aventis strode out of sight (perhaps to visit Whiteh
all?), but was relieved when he soon returned, his arms full of Dutch skates. For his sake, I tried to look pleased, but would rather have cut a hole and dived under the ice then affix those thin blades to my feet.
“You look ill, Megs!” he teased, bending to fasten some thongs onto each of his boots. As he glided off without effort, I let out a deep breath, for I had not been urged to follow. Yet when he started to skate round our party, forming a tight circle, this proved too much for Carnatus.
“Intolerable!” he cried. “For a Spaniard to best us at sport! Remember the Armada!”
He seized a pair of skates, lacing them with difficulty around his enormous boots. Upon straightening, he nearly tumbled—directly on top of me!
“Carnatus!” I cried, “do not crush me like a fly!”
“Three to one I can outdo Aventis!” he said.
Though I knew little of betting, those odds did not sound promising. My instinct was confirmed as Carnatus waved his arms wildly, then promptly fell on his rear.
“Two to one?” he asked from the ice.
Neither Jeffries nor I responded.
“Hmm,” said Jeffries, staring down at two lonely pairs of skates. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall forego the pleasure. I often find that with new pursuits, being an observer can preserve health and life.”
I could not agree with him more. The sight of Carnatus tracing out snow angels was enough to elicit laughter even from those heavenly beings! It certainly did from me.
“It is easy to laugh, dear Megs,” said Carnatus from the ice. He was now being pelted with snowballs from mischievous lads. “Far harder to do.”
I could not dispute him; still, I did not wish to trust myself to four thin foreign blades. Even so, as small children whirled past me, I felt a sense of shame. I also had a strong second motive: Aventis was some yards away tracing a perfect circle. If I did not act, my chance to get him alone him might melt along with the ice!
Groaning like one of the damned, I managed to tie on some skates. Jeffries kept his hands on my shoulders until I found my feet, and with an excess of caution, I half walked, half stumbled toward Aventis, who when I reached him steadied my faltering gait by putting his arm through mine.
We both laughed, for once carefree, and free of Jeffries’s stern gaze. Why must it always be so? We shared every meal and lodging—every minute of the day and night—but must keep our feelings to ourselves. It was all so maddening I almost said to Aventis, “Come, let us fly!” But I knew him as a man of honor who would never desert the captain. Nor, for that matter, should I . . .
My dark thoughts dispelled as I spied a familiar figure—one I had hoped to not set eyes on again! It was the bishop, the one we had forced to ride backwards . . . on his ass . . . and he was glaring at Jeffries as if the captain were Milton’s Fiend!
Though I tried to skate back to Jeffries, my skill on the ice was such that I tripped and fell, gliding ten feet on my back until I lay with arms splayed at the foot of the bishop’s robes.
“A new acolyte?” he asked, his tone more chill than the air. “Do I not know you, boy? And that man hence? I believe the last time we met, you were both sporting masks.”
“How fare you, sir?” I asked, lifting my head. “I believe when I last saw you, you were sporting naught but your birth clothes!”
The bishop shook with anger. He crooked a white-gloved finger to some men standing behind him. From my low perspective, they looked like soldiers—of the ecclesiastical kind.
“Arrest them!” the bishop shouted. “They have robbed a son of the Church, and the Church herself!”
“As have you,” I breathed, reaching under his robe, gripping his ankles, and using them as a prop to propel myself toward Aventis.
“Have you managed to anger a bishop?” he asked.
“More than I can say,” I said, as he helped me to my feet. “We made of him an ass, and he means to make mincemeat of us!”
“Not if I can help it,” he said, unsheathing his sword.
He was joined by Jeffries and Carnatus, the latter skate-free, who slid/walked their way over. They were greeted by the Church guards, all of whom pulled out their blades.
“No pistols!” cried Jeffries, meeting a soldier with steel. “We do not wish to injure a passerby!”
“As if that would concern you,” the bishop spat.
“Rest assured that it does,” I said, engaging a foe with the skill taught by Aventis. After relieving him of his sword, I saw the fellow run down the ice, then trip and sprawl upon it, gliding out of my sight like a seal.
“The captain has more scruples than you!” I told the bishop as I took on another guard. “He does not pretend to be holy while thieving from the altar.”
The bishop went whiter than even the Thames.
“Do not heed him!” he cried to the guards. “This man is no more than a lowly footpad!”
“I beg your pardon!” cried Carnatus, dispensing two guards with as many flicks of his wrist. “How dare you insult us in that fashion? We are high tobymen—far higher than your stout self!”
The bishop snickered as Aventis came up behind him, taking on four guards by himself. He sent them hurtling onto the ice before they rose to continue to fight.
“Four to one?” asked Carnatus.
“I’ll take those odds!” I said, my breath forming a cloud as I challenged another soldier. I wished with all my might that I was burdened with just one blade and could break free of those on my feet!
However, Aventis used his to advantage: he glided, he whirled, he sped to each side of his foes in a near-blur of black. At the last, all four hit the ice and lay still.
“Well, bishop,” said Jeffries, approaching that robed figure. “Do you still desire to raise the hue and cry?”
Carnatus, Aventis, and I formed a barrier around the clergyman.
“I am certain we may resolve this,” he said, his eyes shifting to each of us, “in the way of Church . . . that is to say, in peace.”
“Very good,” said Jeffries. “In the spirit of peace, I shall ask for any offering. Your purse, sir, if you please.”
The bishop sighed and looked heavenward before removing that item and offering it to Jeffries.
The captain snapped it up and said, “In light of the crowds, I had resolved not to practice our trade this day. But our meeting is so fortunate it might have been, so to speak, directly ordained by God.”
“You will swing, blackguard,” growled the bishop. “And I will spit on your bones!”
“Perhaps one day,” said Jeffries. “In the meantime, I am glad not to have to view your flesh.”
The spectators on the ice, held back by our flash of swordplay, now felt they could approach. Jeffries turned to address them.
“All hail the English church!” he cried. “This generous bishop has granted you a shilling each!”
A cheer went up round the Thames as ruddy-cheeked children tugged at Jeffries’s cloak, their woolen gloves outstretched. He responded by taking handfuls of coin and tossing them in the air.
Aventis, myself—and even Carnatus!—followed, the downward drop of silver sparkling against the ice.
A Good Catholic
Unlike 1663, I wished the next two years had never passed.
They started off ordinary enough. We did what we did best: robbing coaches and travelers on all the main roads to London. Due to our many hideouts, I saw a great deal of England from behind my black mask. Even better, I had saved quite a sum, sequestered with a London banker courtesy of Moll. In fact, we saw her often when we took shelter in her home while Jeffries did so in her arms.
“These are nice,” I told her one evening, as she returned from the dressmakers with an armful of new frocks. She dropped them wearily on the divan which doubled as my bed.
“Do ya think so, Megs?” she asked, giving me a rueful glance. “You are the first of the captain’s men to care.”
“Well, yes,” I replied, my mind searching for a lie. “I had
several sisters and was raised in a feminine home.”
“It has done you good,” she smiled, giving my arm a pat. “You are not so loud or vulgar as the other high tobys here.”
“You cannot mean Aventis,” I said, perhaps too sharply.
“Oh no, he is just like a priest! But that Carnatus . . .” She shook her head. “One of him is worse than ten.”
I laughed as she went upstairs to join Jeffries. Carnatus and Aventis were out—gone to an alehouse so the former could sample its brews.
As for myself, I looked down at Moll’s purchases, trying to resist, but that was not my strong point. Fingering the Indian cotton, I set on a dangerous course, stripping myself of Megs and clothing myself as Margaret. Staring into a small glass, I smiled at what I saw: despite my fears, I had not become a man trapped in heavy muscle. What I saw was a young woman with long dark hair, a pretty face, and a low-necked bodice which revealed a woman’s figure. If I stared long enough, I could almost pretend that Megs had never been and this creature had lived in her place.
“Heigh ho!” yelled Carnatus, as he banged into Moll’s house. He was permeated by liquid: from the rain without and ale within. “What’s this? A pretty wench? Aventis, stand back!”
The latter, when he saw me, went as white in the face as Carnatus’s was red.
“Halt!” Aventis commanded. “This is but a thief come to steal our hostess’s plate.”
“Raise the hue and cry!” yelled Carnatus.
“Are you mad?” Aventis asked. “Think of what we share with her!”
Carnatus halted his advance.
“This time we do not call the watch,” said Aventis, taking me roughly by the arm. “Consider yourself lucky. I shall see you into the street.”
He opened the door with his boot and dragged me into a London storm.
“What do you think you are doing?” he hissed. “Do you wish to be caught?”
“No,” I said softly, my tears unseen in the rain. “I . . . I just . . .” I thought. What was it I’d hoped to accomplish? “You cannot know how it is,” I said, “to be someone else every day. To put aside your name and even your sex. I must always be vigilant. I must always pretend. After five years . . . ” I looked down, “it-it wears on a body. I no longer know who I am.”
