by Balefanio
He grinned at me. 'No breach as yet.'
I grinned back. 'What were you telling me about that lad? The pretty little piece.'
'It's not what I say, it's what they all say. He's more girl than boy.'
'Are you saying that I use him as a girl?' I kept smiling, and at the same time pushed him over backwards.
'No!' he shouted from the ground. 'Not you.' He scrambled up quickly, and I let him; I could easily knock him back again.
'Who then?' I demanded.
His face grew sly. 'Don't know as any names were mentioned.'
'Who says this?'
'Can't remember who told me. Rumour's a wicked thing.'
'Your days as a pikeman are over,' I said. 'Go and be something else, or you won't get through the siege.'A couple of good kicks and he was face down in the ooze. He rose spitting, the ground sucking at him as he staggered away from me.
Ask your dear friend Mistress Lilly.' It was sprayed from scarlet lips in a beard of mud. I lunged at him and he dodged between two men and ran.
They hanged men who were caught together. When I was eight I hid behind my father as they roped up a fellow, grinning and misshapen, perhaps an idiot; the word sodomite came to me from the
crowd but no other man was with him. He waited, raised above the people, his hands bound behind his back, while the executioners readied the other prisoner: a witch, bonnetless and with bloody patches on her scalp. One held her upright on the stool while the other fitted the noose. Her head fell forward onto her chest, giving him some difficulty, but he at last fumbled the rope into place. I saw the man in front of me scratch his arse and move forward, blocking my view. Then the people about us gasped, and laughed. My father swung round and lifted me. I saw the two of them thrash against the air. The woman's eyes were crossed and her tongue lolled from her mouth; this it was that made the people laugh. My father lowered me and led me away. I looked back before we turned the corner and saw them dangling black against the sky like the crows our gardener nailed to the trees at home.
'What's a sodomite?' I asked.
'One who mocks God and Nature.'His lips closed tight.
'What will become of them?' I meant the corpses.
'You know your Scripture,' Father answered me. 'They shall be cast into the pit.'
I did know. It meant burning, the worst pain there was. In Hell, though dead, you were as if alive, and you felt everything.
The rain came on again. The heat of my rage once abated, a leaden cold weighed on me. If I died of the flux, then farewell to Caro, Zeb, Izzy, Ferris. I ought to be more afraid of God, I knew it even then, but all my fears ran on what I had heard. That meant damnation: the soul insensible of grace and sin alike, following blindly its own rutted track to Hell. Instead of considering my eternal salvation, I picked at my filthy fear as a hungry man picks a fowl's carcass. Ferris and Nathan, it was true, was false. I would have given ten years of my life for Isaiah's advice. One thing I did at last recall: he had said that a man's character should be weighed along with his counsel. Philip had no character to speak of. Thus I resolved to consider it, but too late: the poison blade once entered, the venom was eating deep within. I stood in icy rain and up to my knees in mud, my garments chafing
whenever I moved an inch, and neither felt nor saw anything of the field before me.
What I did see were pictures, each held before my eyes an instant and then replaced by another: the brightness in Nathan's face as he laid his arm about Ferris's shoulders, my friend's smile as he told Nathan to keep praying for him. Again I saw them push at one another, like boys that roll on the grass, fighting in play; again I heard that laughter which had shut me out.
And then came the last pictures, the terrible ones. I felt these coming and tried to hold out against them, against the pawing and the licking and the— the rest of it. Ferris and Nathan were all over me, they were in my mouth, they closed over my head as the pond had closed over Walshe.
For perhaps an hour I stood scarce knowing where I was or what I did. The Voice visited me once without warning, and jeered, They play their game beneath your nose.
There is not opportunity, I answered silently, and in saying it at once saw where the opportunities lay. The Voice was already gone, leaving me in a pitiful state, and not only for what it had revealed.
There was in this — intelligence — something that was not like my father. Though he had warned me when I was a boy of the weakness and corruption of the flesh, yet his talk was mainly of clean living, of the sweet perfume of chastity, pleasing to God in a man as in a maid. Never had I heard him, even in impressing upon me the force of temptation, dwell lasciviously upon the sins of any person, no, not a sinner in the Bible, much less upon the shame of one known to me. He was a man of chaste and godly conversation, too wise to sully or heat a young man by a minute recitation of vice.
I bethought me of other things the Voice had said of late, and grew still more anguished when I recalled its promptings in the wood. Had it not fired me, at a moment when my blood was already up, with a furious thirst for mastery? It was not righteousness, and as I forced myself on the woman I loved, tearing her, the Voice had uttered no word of reproach.
Show him what becomes of a boy—
At this last memory I grew cold as the lad himself, though the sweat burst out all over for sheer terror. The thing was horribly of a piece. I knew now whose Voice spoke in my head and heart; who it was that hunted me for one of His.
The sky grew dusk and still the bombardment went on. Ferris might be shot or half dead of the flux for all I knew. Standing fire meant exposure to flying shards which cut into men more cruelly than any sword: it was one of these jagged pieces which had laid open his cheek at Winchester. From time to time gunners were brought past on hurdles, and then I was filled with agony lest I should spy him among those, pulped or gutted, for whom death could not come fast enough.
I walked in a daze to one of the fires where two men were saying the walls would heal themselves in the night, Basing being protected by charms and the power of Satan. A third rebuked them, saying such superstitious trash was not fit to be uttered save by the priests within. 'We will have them, my lads,' said he, 'never fear.'
The ration was handed out- bread, butter and beef- and, having eaten it alone, I pulled my coat round me and lay down where someone had spread straw over the mud. Though my muscles lacked strength, being constantly stiff and chilled, I was now grown half used to wet clothes and to sleeping in boots. These last were more use than latchets, which in the boggy ground could be sucked clean off your feet.
There was a bang, then screams; looking round I saw a man hold up the bleeding stumps of his fingers in the firelight, while a second nearby had his hands clasped to his face. Another gun blown apart. Comrades gathered round the one whose face was covered, trying to prise his hands away, and gritting their teeth in distress, while the man with no fingers seemed more surprised than pained. I guessed he would not feel it awhile, and then would come the torment. Philip, having passed Hugh the weapon which took off his hand, had left him. I hoped Hugh's other friends might prove more loving.
The man who had spoken of superstitious trash sat down next to me, his ration on his lap. I watched him chew doggedly on the beef
and cheat, licking his fingers so as not to lose so much as a skin of grease. He was a greybeard and had the look of one that had served before. I marvelled that a man who had survived one war would wish to fight another.
The old soldier smiled to see me bedded on the straw. 'Not long now, friend, before you can lie between sheets.'
'I have forgotten what they feel like,' I answered. 'Tell me, will the artillery go on much longer?'
'They'll be leaving off soon.'
At that I pulled myself into a sitting position. 'Some say we'll be in there tomorrow.'
'Perhaps. I wager we'll see splits in the wall at least. And once the thing's well opened up - no quarter!'He punched the palm of his hand an
d frowned. 'Mind you, I could wish us not so weakened with the flux.'
All this lying out in the rain.'
He nodded. 'The Scots do better. They have tents for their men.'
'Truly?' I had not thought that savage folk would take such care.
'Truly. This damnable weather is enough to turn a man Cavalier,' he went on.
'How, turn Cavalier?'
'For a leaguer-lady to bed down with. Devil take the lust, what I crave is the warmth!’ He laughed. The last thing I wanted to recall was my lying down with a woman, but I laughed too.
The guns quietened. Lights showed in the windows of Basing-House and I wondered what the Papists saw when they looked upon us, crawling wet and muddy over the earth. A young lad came and put some logs on the fire. I was mighty grateful, for my hands were dead meat. Rising, I fanned up a blaze with my coat, and in doing so saw Ferris cross on the other side of the flames.
'Ferris, man, stay!'
He stopped and turned. I ran up to him at once but faltered when I saw his look.
'What ails you, Ferris? Is your face worse?'
'I told you to treat Nat kindly,' he said.
'I begged his pardon!'
'Indeed. His arms are all bruises.'
Cursing my own folly, I stammered, 'I meant only to keep hold of him. Don't believe all you hear - I don't credit what they say of you—' and then shuddered, having started what I could not finish; I was unable even to name the thing.
Ferris looked scorn at me. 'Did you never understand, from what I told you of me and Joanna, that I care nothing for what fools say? Knowing a man for a fool, why should I trouble myself with his maggots?'
I breathed again; he might not listen to Tommy. But there was also Nathan. If he was to Nathan what Philip had said, his hard words on fools might be meant for me.
'You should worry, if any should,' he went on, 'with your skill in making enemies.'
'Have I made you my enemy, Ferris?'
'You are going the right way about it, tormenting Nat.'
'But I begged his pardon,' I said again.
'Don't deny—!'he shouted, then grimaced. I guessed that the angry twisting of his countenance had dragged at the wound. He screwed up his eyelids at the pain and jerked his head away until he could bring himself under command, then turned his face up to me and said quietly, 'If you will frighten off my friends, I needs must go with them.' His hand shot out to check me as I reached toward him, and he moved away, his walk stiff in the cold. I stood torn and miserable as he stepped into a group of men and was lost to view. That night I lay down alone, and as I sought the thin comfort of sleep, I remembered that Price was still not come back.
NINE
God's Work
There was news through all the camp: two of our officers were captured. The light being poor and a thick mist lying on the land, a party of enemy horse were crept out unseen and had intercepted Colonel Hammond and Major King. These two were on their way to speak with Cromwell, but found themselves instead taken inside Basing as prisoners. Some of our men grudgingly confessed the raid to be a bold move, worthy of Protestants. Cromwell lost no time, but straight made proposals to exchange them, and these being refused, warned the Marquess that should the officers be harmed, Paulet himself should not find quarter in the hour of the assault.
That hour was now come very close. The 'practicable breach' of which Ferris had spoken was made at last and I daresay filled me with as much terror as it did those within.
The first sign was a deep crack snaking down the defensive wall. Few of us saw it at once, but then a wild yell rose from the men at the guns, spreading through all the ranks, and I wondered if he made part of that savage cry along with his mates.
But this was as nothing: the wall itself, cunningly cut away from the base, now took blow after blow, and began to split upwards between the stones. Our cannonballs continued striking low until the thing started to collapse onto itself. Ferris, I thought, would undoubtedly get us into the house. I pictured him frowning, ramming down the powder, and I prayed that no matter what he inflicted, all their shot and shell should fall wide of him.
'This is it, soldier,' said a man standing next me in the field. 'They'll never scrape that lot together. I reckon we'll go on smashing away until we can all get in at a rush, and then it's in the hands of Jesus!'
My mouth was dry. 'Will that be today?'
'Tomorrow first thing, more like. Have you seen action before?'
'This is my first.'
He laughed at me, flashing yellow donkey-teeth. 'You picked a cursed time to start, soldier. Nothing so bad as the end of a siege.'
If we came through alive then that mask, Rupert, must be lovingly talked with again, and so made flesh and blood. Ferris must be got away from Nathan. The boy was unnatural; Ferris's care of him only spurred evil tongues. Besides, Nathan had Russ, and Tommy. My need of my one friend was greater than his. And then I thought that, were I indeed one of the damned, friends were not my rightful portion, and God would surely kill or maim Ferris to spite me, and I felt a worse fear than if I myself were to be maimed: to think of him hurt was to hurt in my own flesh. Were he in need, I thought, I would do for him what he had done for the gunner with no face, though they should hang me for it, and he never know his deliverer.
There came a hammer blow upon the ear: a ball had struck the house from the artillery stationed on the other side. Our lads played their part also, and fired off a shell that hurt the Old House front. Those within gave back fiercely, and shot began to rake the gunners. There were screams, which made me feel sick; smoke blew back onto us, stinging my eyes as I strained to see who was hit. The guns fired off again and again, like a bully that rains blows on a beaten man, and methought they were faster than the day before.
'There!' exclaimed the man. 'That's it.'
'What?' I cried, for I could see nothing like a breach. 'Are we through?'
'Not yet. But when they keep it up, like that - they reckon on it not lasting long.'
Men were running back and forth, craning to see. A babble spread like a wave through the lines, from front to back: 'Going!' The great wall was sinking down into itself, and as we watched, a well-placed
ball carried away part of the top. A scream of triumph went up from the ranks. Once, being very little, I heard a drunken crowd run past my father's house to seize a witch who had blighted an orchard, and they had bayed like hounds. I remembered Ferris's worse than dead. We saw another cannonball widen the gap; stones and earth trickled down, and again there came that terrible scream.
The next cut a gash further along the defences; our men now turned the bombardment on that, and widened it. Stones flew through the air; clouds of dust arose and mingled with the smoke.
All around me soldiers were cheering on the gunners. Brave lad, I said in my heart to Ferris, as if this could keep him alive. To my companion I bawled, 'They do well.'
Aye,' he called back. 'Tomorrow look to be blooded.'
We watched, deafened by crashes and shouts, my new friend hunting lice beneath his shirt as the guns beat a path for us. At last it was too dark to continue, and the mass of soldiery began pressing back towards the camp. I could not help praying, though I knew my prayers to be worthless, that somewhere unseen by me Ferris was laying down the rammer and sponge, smokestained and weary, but unhurt.
That last night, before retiring to his headquarters in Basingstoke, Cromwell went round pressing the men's hands, putting them in heart for the morrow. I wanted to make one of those whom he spoke to or touched, for he filled me with admiration. Not a few of the men would likewise have walked through fire for Oliver Cromwell; like Fairfax, he could win folk's belief to a degree that I scarcely ever saw in a man elsewhere, unless the man were Zebedee, and Zeb's conquests were different entirely. But Cromwell was no lady-killer; his ways were manly and direct, and the love he inspired born of merit: he was a fine tactician, and one that would undertake much for his soldiers.
He was known to write frequently to London, asking that his men might have this or that. Yet he would hang any caught pillaging against orders; there was iron within the man as well as without.
I pushed to the front for the privilege of being noticed by him. When at last he caught my eye, and took my hand with the square grip of a practical soldier, saying, 'You're a fine big fellow for the pikes,' my heart beat fast as if I were a boy.
'May I do good service,' I said, blushing at the fervour in my own voice. And what was he, this hero, this Christian Mars who had so reduced me? Why, the merest sloven, if one looked but on the outside, a man with thin, straggling hair, one whose inflamed nose glowed in many a soldier's joke. Nature had made our Nolly very plain, and he did not trouble barber or tailor to hide it, but this diminished him never a jot; rather, his valour and virtue made comeliness a paltry thing. I shuffled and hemmed like one in the presence of royalty. Then he turned to speak with an officer, and passed for a moment out of my view.
We had been instructed to wait, for he had particular instructions for all the troops. I looked about for Hugh Peter, Cromwell's own chaplain and a very holy minister, come all the way from Salem to help in our enterprise. He was another man I judged to carry the seeds of greatness in him, fertile in ideas, brimful of confidence in the power of God to direct our human works aright, so that I loved to hear his talk. In Salem, he had told the soldiers, there was neither wanton ease nor beggary, but for every man both work and food. This account greatly pleased me, but cost me also some pain, for to Salem had I once thought of taking Caro.
'Where is Hugh Peter?' I asked the man in front of me.
'Gone to tell Parliament that Winchester is fallen,' came the reply.
'Silence! Silence!' the officers were shouting. There was an immediate hush. Cromwell, mounted upon a platform that all might see him, was about to speak.
'Tomorrow,'he began, 'we fall on a nest of vipers.'He looked round him at the men. 'While you sleep, I will watch and wake, and think on the meaning of Psalm One Hundred and Fifteen, on heathen and idolaters. Know you that this man, John Paulet, has scratched Aimez Loyaute on every window of his Papish fortress, that is, Love Loyalty; but his loyalty is to crazed and brittle idols. Be the house never so
