by Amy Wolf
“Very well,” said Jeffries, from a table he had taken, oddly, in the middle of the room. “Let us keep our eyes and ears sharp.”
We sat there till afternoon and enjoyed a bite of their fare. Just as I became restless, a party of three entered. Bah! Puritans! Ever since “they” had shot me, I could not abide their presence.
“Listen well,” Jeffries instructed. He pretended to oil his pistol.
One of the three, clearly the leader, led them to a corner table. This man, whose fair hair fell to his shoulders in defiance of “Roundhead” lore, leaned forward to speak.
“So, it has come to pass,” he said. “Smith, your informer at V. was first-rate!”
“Versailles,” I said softly.
“Hyde, you were well-advised: that coxcomb Buckingham is ignorant as a babe, and it is likely the three English counselors do not know ‘the great secret.’” He snickered. “That’s what the fool king calls it!”
“If we could but secure their letters,” said the man called Hyde. “That would be proof enough.”
“It would be,” said the leader, “but such letters are usually hidden inside those addressed to others; and if they exist, are probably written in cipher. Louis loves cipher.”
“Where does that leave us?” Smith asked.
The leader—perhaps about forty—smiled.
“In the perfect locale,” he said, “to seize the final papers.”
The three fell silent before ordering wine.
At our table, the four of us turned to the captain.
“God’s wounds,” hissed Carnatus. “Jeffries, you must enlighten us. That whole exchange was a cipher!”
“Patience,” said Jeffries. “The fewer who know the details, the less there are to tell.”
Gad scrunched up his face, trying to understand.
“I will tell you this,” said, Jeffries, lowering his voice so we had to bend forward to hear him. “A treaty will be signed. The one presented to the public will declare we ally ourselves with France.”
“What of it?” I growled, ignoring my vow of silence when it came to politics. “Everyone hates the Dutch. It will be good to see them crumble.”
Even Aventis nodded. “Far better for trade.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jeffries hissed. “Did I not say that those terms are strictly for the public? I do not care if we battle Spain, Holland, and France along with the Holy Roman Empire!”
The rest of us fell silent.
“There is a secret provision,” said Jeffries, “which concerns every man in England.”
I cleared my throat.
“And woman,” he added.
“As to our mission?” I asked. For once, I was the one who remembered why we were there!
“Two copies of the secret treaty will be drawn,” said Jeffries softly. “One will be given to Louis—the other will stay with Charles.”
The captain balled his gloved fist.
“We must seize both and destroy them,” he said. “Never let them fall into enemy hands!” He jerked his head slightly toward the Puritans’ table. “Do you know who that man is?” he asked, indicating the leader.
“Cromwell’s ghost?” guessed Carnatus.
“You are close. That is Richard Cromwell.”
“God’s legs!” Carnatus cried, rising with a crash and putting a hand on his sword.
“Silence!” Jeffries hissed. “Sit down.”
Carnatus did so reluctantly.
“Ha, what a fine joke!” Aventis yelled. I was shocked, for this was so unlike him. “Pray, tell us another!”
The Puritans turned their gaze elsewhere.
“Carnatus,” Jeffries said, “in order for our plan to work, you must learn to master yourself.”
Carnatus nodded sheepishly, taking a mouthful of ale.
“That applies to all of us,” said Jeffries, looking around the table. “We must display the discipline and rigid self-command of . . . of Louis XIV himself!”
Unexpected Friends
Over the next few days, we laid low, taking care to avoid Cromwell and black-garbed men. On the first of June, proceedings at the castle ceased, for Charles and his sister took a brief sojourn. Upon their return, the princess and her train made haste to depart from Dover.
“Please, captain,” I asked Jeffries, as we stood together at the far end of the beach. We observed King Charles as he embraced his sister.
“What is it, Megs?” he asked.
“Tell me,” I pleaded, “that it is not back to France for us!”
Jeffries chuckled.
“Happily for you, no. We must secure Charles’s copy before he returns to London.”
I near collapsed with relief. All this to and fro-ing by boat had caused me to lose a stone!
That afternoon, I contrived to slip away from the others at Black Mast. Since Jeffries and Aventis were trying to work up a plan, I felt my absence would go unremarked. Whistling a sailor’s tune, I returned to the beach to view those chalk cliffs again. Indeed, they were pristine—white as the frost on the Thames—and as I looked them over, I enjoyed the fresh sea air. How marvelous was the ocean when one was not upon it!
“Good morning,” boomed a voice behind me. “Lovely day, is it not?”
I whirled, expecting to find more travelers like myself. Indeed, they were this and more, for I faced Cromwell and his two men—all with pistols drawn. I thought of the last time I’d been ambush—when Aventis had come upon me at Epping—but there was no friendly swordmaster here.
“Your weapons?” Hyde asked solicitously.
Defeated, I threw them to the rocky sand where they were scooped up by Smith.
“Out on a stroll?” Cromwell asked. In a menacing tone he added, “We well know who you are and why you are in Dover.”
“Likewise,” I spat. “You must wish to end up like your father: remains unburied, and head placed on a pike!”
The son began shaking with rage.
“You should not have left the nest of the three dunces,” he spat.
“The only dunces I know are those standing before me.”
“Do you note this?” Hyde smiled as he brought his pistol closer. “Richard, a wit!”
And that was the last I recall until I woke in a cold stone cell.
I clutched my head in pain, surmising that dear Mr. Hyde must have crashed his barrel upon it. I saw that as at Newgate, I was chained hand and foot, but unlike that ghastly gaol, I seemed the only inmate.
Now what? I wondered. Since the Puritans needed stealth, they could not have me arrested. Yet what would Richard Cromwell, ruler of England for less than a year, possibly want with me?
The throbbing in my skull forked down to my eye. While I moaned, I tried to think through the pain: where exactly was I?
Turning my head with difficulty, I saw that the stones in this cell were aged, though not so much as the Abbey. There was only one place in Dover whose walls matched these exactly: the castle.
As my bleary eyes cleared, I saw I was not alone, for Cromwell and his two friends had clanged in to join me.
“Well, Megs,” said Cromwell. “That is your name, is it not?”
Of course, I would never tell. The best I could offer was an ill-remembered verse from “The Whiskey in the Jar”:
And 't was early in the morning, just before I rose to travel
Up comes a band of footmen and likewise captain Farrell
I first produced me pistol for he stole away me rapier
I couldn't shoot the water, so a prisoner I was taken
“That does not even rhyme!” Smith cried.
I tried to refind my swagger.
“Do you think a mere crack on the head can loosen my tongue?” I asked. “For I have been shot and hanged!”
“Impressive,” said Cromwell, “though I’m sure Jeffries helped you. And I very much doubt that he can find you here.”
“See if he does not,” I said. “He has the will of your father and the resou
rces of the king!
Besides, what do you want of me? I am naught but a lowly apprentice.”
“But not despised,” said Cromwell. “I could tell by the looks they bestowed that your companions value you. Especially the tall one who calls himself ‘Aventis.’”
“Say what you will,” I yawned, feigning indifference. “They will be off shortly, having obtained the treaty.”
“Perhaps not,” said Cromwell, “for at this very moment, they are reading my note.”
I looked down, hoping that Jeffries and Aventis would place their mission’s import over their fondness for me.
Of course, it was not to be.
Just as the throbbing behind my eye eased, a lad ran in breathlessly, holding a small folded paper.
“Give it here,” Cromwell ordered.
The boy did so, and Crowell read the note, his rage mounting as he tore it in two.
“They shall burn in sulfurous fire!” he cried.
I tried to hide my smile.
“How did Jeffries respond?” I asked.
“‘Go to Hell.’ That is the entirety. I cannot fathom the infamous captain turning down five-hundred livre. He need only abandon his quest and we would give him the money and you.”
“He has guineas enough,” I said, wondering what Jeffries was up to. “Besides, I am not worth five shillings. Why not permit me to go?”
Cromwell motioned the boy out the door.
“Ha! We can use you,” he said. “You are small and you are hardy. Besides, you are a thief.”
“Did you mean to rob some coach?” I asked.
His icy blue eyes surveyed me.
“If you do not agree to aid us, I will see that your favorite, Aventis, is exposed as the queen’s former lover.”
Even in chains, I started.
“One learns so much at Versailles.”
I realized from knowing his past that his resolve had been forged by failure. This man would not stop until he felled Charles and persecuted the queen.
“Very well,” I said calmly. “Where do we begin?”
A Theft but Not of Gold
Hyde bent to unchain me, taking care to show me his pistol. I rubbed my wrists to ease them as he and his two friends marched me into the sunlight. I was able to view at close range the expanse of Dover Castle. Indeed, its several rock towers could have withstood an invasion.
“It survives due to my father,” Cromwell boasted. “He seized it during the war without having to fire a shot.”
“It has been restored to the king,” I said. “That is, its rightful owner.”
Hyde took the opportunity to prod me with his gun.
“Easy,” I cautioned. “I cannot aid your master if I am full of holes.”
“If only,” he growled.
I stumbled as this “godly” crew led me toward three waiting horses, subjecting me, Megs, a highwayman, to having my hands roped me and being plopped like a sack behind Cromwell on his saddle. God’s blood, did they think I was Gad? Still, I held my tongue as we reached the Dover Road. How I wished I possessed just a portion of Jeffries’s warlike brain! Where would Cromwell go now? How did he mean to enact his harm? If I could be perceived as a helper, perhaps it would be to my good.
“We should make for Shooter’s Hill!” I cried.
Cromwell grunted, then applied the whip to his mount. He rode twenty-five leagues without a significant stop, nearly killing all three horses. I likewise suffered, for the unnatural position of my arms soon caused me to groan. Still, Cromwell pressed on. The pain of man and beast was nothing compared to the prize he sought.
At last, after dawn the next day, we arrived at Shooter’s Hill. This had long been fabled—since the time of the Henrys—as a highwayman’s haunt, more so than even the Heath. Now, Cromwell bade me dismount, untied me, and shoved me back in his saddle.
“Recall,” he hissed from the ground, “if you do not secure the treaty, Aventis is god as dead.”
“That is . . . not . . . something . . . one . . . easily forgets,” I groaned, as the blood returned to my hands. I looked down at Smith calmly. “My weapons, if you please.”
He reluctantly handed up my pistol as he and his two friends aimed theirs squarely at me.
“My sword,” I requested. I would not let these dogs have the pleasure of getting the best of me!
Smith slammed the hilt in my hand. Now that pain now longer consumed me, my mind was able to work.
“What makes you believe,” I asked Cromwell, “you’ve outpaced the king and his party? “They do travel by coach.”
“They will have stopped,” he replied. “Charles will brook no discomfort on a journey of such length. No doubt he has taken his leisure at some Royalist country keep.”
This man is no fool, I considered, I must keep my wits about me.
In my wilder, younger days, I might have taken him on, and his two friends besides, but three against one were odds I preferred not to bet on. What I needed was that gamester, Carnatus, along with my two other friends! But who could say where they were now? In Dover, in London, or any parts between.
“There they are!” Cromwell cried, gesturing toward the coaches which I knew contained the king, his brother, and likely the lords who parlayed at Dover. It was a considerable train, the largest I had yet viewed, with so many mounted men it looked like a moving battle. I was overcome by a desire to flee, but then considered Aventis. If his dalliance with the queen was made known, it would mean his head and his honor. Shaking my head, I waited for the royals to pass, and then, mask affixed, began my gallop toward the gentry. Their coaches, with all their ornaments, faded into the road compared to that of the king.
“Stand and deliver!” I shouted, wheeling my horse into their path. I wanted to follow with, “Your money or your life!” but for second time in my career, money is not what I sought.
“All coachmen, dismount!” I cried, “or I shoot this one between the ears!”
I aimed at the first box.
Those three drivers must have been friends, for each one clattered down.
“What’s this?” A bass voice thundered from inside the first coach.
“All will be well, sir,” I said, remembering my training. “In the meantime, if you could enjoy the view . . .”
“Damn your dam’d effrontery!” I heard, as the coach door slammed open, revealing a richly dressed lord.
“I’ll thank you to stop your progress sir,” I said, “or, like those in the Press Yard, your next steps will be your last.”
“Impudent!” roared the lord, but he halted where he was.
“Drivers, face down in the dirt,” I said, “with hands behind your backs. That’s it, gentlemen.”
How I missed Carnatus and his skill with a rope!
“Very good,” I continued. “Let us enjoy the morning while I search your person and coach.”
I raised my hat to the lord. How was I to know then he was Henry 3rd Baron of Arundell?
As Jeffries had instructed, I at first searched his clothing . . . including his breeches’ waistband.
“Outrageous!” Arundell fumed, “I have just returned with the king!”
“I know it,” I said with sympathy, then noticed the large crucifix hanging over his surcoat. On a whim, I withdrew mine and showed him. “God bless the True Church, sir.”
“What’s this?” he cried. “One Catholic robbing another? Has the world gone mad?!”
“It has, sir,” I said, using my sword to sweep his coach’s rich lining. Besides a thick Roman Bible, there were no other papers.
“Sorry to disturb,” I told him. “Now, if you’ll just follow me.”
And so I continued. Though I was unaware of their titles, I held up in succession: Secretary of State Lord Arlington; Sir Thomas Clifford, parliamentarian; and one Sir Richard Bellings. The first two had nothing I wanted (besides their purses, which I did consider taking). However, the last least ranking gentleman led to my success. Inside his waistcoat I fou
nd a folded document, and though it was all in French, I could discern English signatures, along with that of de Croissey! If this was not what Cromwell sought, then I best turn in my spurs!
While adjusting Bellings’s coat, I found my arm was struck by yet another Crucifix! For a sect with so few numbers, they certainly had many nobles!
“Best of health, sir,” I said to Bellings. “And to the Pope as well. What’s his name again?”
“Clement! Clement X!” Sir Richard replied in a huff.
“Thank you all for your time,” I told the three gentry who huddled by the last coach. “For now, you may keep your coin, but we may well meet again!”
I gave them a merry wink as I vaulted onto my horse.
“God save the king!” I shouted, riding back up Shooter’s Hill. By the time I stopped before Cromwell, he was pacing like a madman. Snatching the papers from me, he began to read. I could see his smile grow bigger as he perused each page.
“Glorious!” he cried. “Charles has, with his own hand, consigned himself to the headsman! There is not a moment to lose. We must seek the queen directly.”
“The queen?” I asked. Was she expected to wield the ax?
“Quiet!” Hyde ordered. “Hand down your weapons.” As he and Smith aimed pistols, I thought it best to comply. Hyde turned to his master. “May I kill him?” he asked.
Cromwell shrugged, then thought a bit.
“No,” he said. “We may require an extra hand when it comes to breeching Whitehall.”
Dear Lord, I thought. Has he come completely undone? After robbing three prominent lords, he was proposing we break into the palace! For a fleeting moment, I longed for my old life: one devoid of nobles, kings, queens, and even the errant knight!
Her Majesty
It did not take long to arrive in the heart of London. As always, there were crowds about, and I considered crying out to alert them to my plight. But who would believe that a Puritan had taken a highwayman hostage? Or that the one with the fair hair bore the surname Cromwell! People would think me a madman, and Bethlam, by report, made Newgate look like a spa. Far better for me to determine how Cromwell would gain an audience with one who was his arch foe!
