by Balefanio
well defended, yet with God's help shall it be but scattered stones: think you on Jericho and Babel, and the cities of the plain, or if you still doubt it, look you to that Psalm I spoke of, One Hundred and Fifteen,' here he glanced round at the men, some of whom nodded fervently, 'before you lay you down to sleep. Every man to be up and ready before dawn. At six will be the signal for your falling on, four shots of the cannon.'
He raised his hand in farewell and dismounted from the platform. Sober, as men who were now about serious business, the soldiers began to wander away.
That four shots of the cannon sounded in my ears like a death knell. I could not stay alone, but went on the prowl and discovered Ferris cooking some pease. Despite our falling out, happiness sprang in me to see him alive and unhurt. Going timidly up to my friend, and bowing, I asked if I might look in his Bible. That he had one I knew, for I had seen him read it sometimes while in camp.
'So Hugh Peter directs your devotions now, along with Cromwell's,' he said. I had never seen his face so weary. He groped in his snapsack for the Holy Book and handed it me before turning back to his cookery.
'He's a godly man,' I said, glad to be talking.
'Nay, say a god and have done.' He curled his lip. Steam rose and he shielded his cut face from it.
'May I not choose my own reading? Who's the tyrant now?' I asked. 'What has Hugh Peter ever done to you?'
'To me, nothing. He exults too much over the fallen.'
'But this is God's work. You said so yourself. If God's foes fall, we should exult.'
'Ah yes,' Ferris sang out. 'God's foes!'
I was baffled. Had he not spoken of the work which was to be finished?
Ferris looked hard at me. 'Well, at any rate I don't force my doctrines with fists. I leave that to Hugh Peter and those like him.'
'Not force doctrines! You are in the army!'
'I know it,' he snapped.
'Don't you put your hand to God's work any more?'
'O yes. I can put your hand to it, too,' and he took my hand and laid it on his cheek. The skin was hot, and crusted with dry pus and blood. 'Lovely, eh? Tomorrow I'll do God's work on someone else.'As he let go of my hand I saw that the locks of hair next his cheek were singed. 'God's work,' Ferris said, 'is living in peace, manuring the land, working by persuasion.'
'But some must be persuaded by force,' I said.
'Persuaded. Do you think I love the man any better who did this to me? That's not it. And Basing-House won't be it, either.' He smiled coldly. 'Don't you know it is to be a Golgotha?'
'You don't know it yourself
'I can see it. There's you reading your war songs, that one over there - he's ready to break up any idol, provided it's of gold—' He pointed out a lad shouting and gesticulating, surrounded by excited listeners. 'Just as well I fed you up, got your strength back. You'll do great execution tomorrow.' He turned to the cooking pot as if it sickened him to behold me, and this I could not bear. I put my hand on his arm. He knocked it off.
'What! To me!' I shouted. I pushed him in the chest. The pottage went flying into the fire and Ferris lay on the ground.
'Leave be, whoreson!'There was a crack, and a flash. Someone had hit me over the head from behind. Pain dazzled me. My mouth had bloody needles in it: I had bitten the inside of my cheek. Someone was twisting my fingers fit to break them; as I tried to pull my hand free something was torn from it. I looked down and saw my knife on the ground, and it came to me that I had drawn it on Ferris. Despite the twisted fingers I could still feel the slap of my palm on his coat. I lowered my arms. Men rushed up to help him, but he waved them away, coughing as if winded. I covered my eyes for shame. I heard Ferris get up and come towards me, as if to embrace me in forgiveness, but he stepped to one side and spoke into my ear.
'That's been coming a long time,' he panted into the silence that was grown round us. 'But to play those games, you must get a bigger friend.'
'I can't help it!'I cried aloud.
'The worst thing you've said yet.'
I heard him spit.
Pain battered at my skull; the murmur of men's voices swelled up again. I uncovered my eyes and looked about me, the other men avoiding my gaze. Ferris was gone. At last I saw him sitting some way off, with Nathan and Fat Tommy. The pease in the fire began to smoke and stink.
'Here,' said a voice. The man behind me was holding out my knife. 'Save it for the priests, eh?'
I bowed as I took it from him.
There was nothing to colour my loneliness and shame except Ferris's Bible. I lay down, feeling thus less exposed to men's stares, and turned to Psalm One Hundred and Fifteen. The firelight danced on the holy words:
Wherefore should the heathen say, Where is now their God?
But our God is in the Heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased.
Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands.
They have mouths, but they speak not: eyes have they, but they see not:
They have ears, but they hear not: noses have they, but they smell not:
They have hands, but they handle not: feet have they, but they walk not: neither speak they through their throat.
They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them.
They that make them are like unto them. But Papists and other idolaters can hear and see and smell, though their idols cannot. I laid the book down to come, if I could, at the inner meaning. Then I remembered we were about to assault the house. I read on: The dead praise not the LORD, neither any that go down into silence.
Go down into silence. We were to leave them like unto their idols, utterly unable to see, hear, smell, touch, walk. Ferris was proven a true prophet: Basing should be made a place of desolation, a Golgotha.
I knew what it was to send down a soul into silence. There was rage, and a violent flurry of the body, and water swirling over a boy's head.
Though I remarked prayer and Bible-reading all around me, I saw also that men were plucking up tenderness by the root. There was a new ugliness in them; as they passed between me and the fire their faces were hard. I wondered, with some dread, what I would see on the morrow. Ferris looked sad because he already knew it; his knowledge made him thin and weary. Philip was most likely looking forward to the assault. It was rumoured there were many noblewomen in Basing-House: a feast for him, and Hugh now unable to restrain him. My own friend had seemingly cast me off.
The urge to return the Bible grew. I knew it was only so that I could speak to Ferris again, beg his pardon, and I made myself lie where I was. No one else came to keep company with the bad angel, and I could read no more after that psalm. I put the book inside my shirt and closed my eyes, seeking the way back to a time when all was full of fair promise. That day in the maze with Caro. Her tongue in my mouth, and the hissing of the bees. Caro and Patience hanging out linen the summer before; the three of us brothers side by side, teasing one another as we worked.
I turned over to ease my hips, and heard one nearby say it was ten o'clock. It would be some time before all of our company were settled for the night. I was not ready for sleep myself, wanting only to keep quiet and out of the way. Thoughts of Caro and my brothers could no longer hold me; I turned over again, and opened my eyes.
Nathan was there, his curls dropping forward almost into the flames. I watched him from under half-closed lids. He must have taken me for asleep, for he paid me no mind and swirled round the contents of his cooking pot. Pease again. I remembered Ferris's pottage knocked in the fire, and supposed Nathan come back to make a second lot.
I studied the 'pretty piece'. His hair was springing up as it dried; he had a creamy neck like a girl's, and with a girl's care he bent over
his preparations, unmindful of me. His sleeves, pushed back, revealed a scholar's hands and smooth, slender arms. Not much to him in a fight: that thought warmed me. I wondered would Ferris come and help with the food, or if I would pass the night without
any sight of him. He was as harsh with me as one whose love was lost for good. A draught blew on my back and all the side of me turned away from the fire. Tomorrow my body might lie out to freeze on the field, none to bury it. Well, it would be an end.
My attention caught by some flutter, I saw Nathan peering at me. His head turned away at once and his shoulders stiffened. I sat up, hope stirring.
'Nathan?'
He scuttled sidewise, getting the fire entirely between us.
'Nathan, pray hear me. I was sincere when I begged pardon. I fear you mistook.'
He nodded, and kept stirring the pot. 'And your pardon, Rupert, if I offended.'
"The fault was mine, I am hasty and choleric. I hope you can forgive me for it?'
Aye, Rupert.' A flat dissembling voice: he was still afraid of me, though his lips curved upwards towards cold blue eyes. A real viper's mouth. I felt in my cheek the smart of the bitten place. Let me once get you alone, I swore to him in my heart, you'll know what it is to be bitten. It was like promising myself the best wine, and on the strength of it I smiled on him almost tenderly. 'Be so good, Nathan, as to tell our friend Ferris we are reconciled.'
Aye, Rupert.'
'We should not wrangle when we may find our judgement day tomorrow.'
'I will tell Ferris.' He backed away from me. My spirits rose, for he had left the pot in the fire. I lay down again, feigned sleep and waited for it to be rescued. Gently, humbly did I rehearse words of loving-kindness against my friend's coming.
He came without speaking, to the far side of the fire. Like Nathan, he bent over the food, and the light showed up his disfigured face, now much thinner than when we first met on the road. I sat up and
waited for him to notice me. He met my look at once, without a bow or even a nod.
'Yes, he's told me,' he said. 'And I'm come over, not to see you, but because he's mortally afraid to fetch a pot of pease while you are there.'
"The Bible,' I said, holding it out to him as he wrapped the iron pot in a cloth.
He made to take it, then backed away. 'I'll come for it later.'
Perhaps he wished to sit down with me. But no, it was only because he needed both hands to manage the pottage. He went off with the smoking mess to a group of men some distance away; I knew without looking that Nathan was among them. Sitting on the ground, my knees drawn up and head on my arms, I was wretched as a child none will play with, having said nothing to Ferris of all the fine words I had framed in advance. I snatched up the Bible and put it back inside my shirt, then lay down again. Fat Tommy would still be with him: I shuddered at all the tales he could invent about one Cullen who was run away from his master. No truth so ugly it can't be made worse. Now the men were calling me bad, and Nathan was afraid to come back to the fire. A shivering, fierce as an ague, took possession of me when I thought of Ferris giving ear to Tommy.
When I looked up my eyes went straight to that knot of men and I caught my friend staring at me. He at once looked away.
After this I was afraid either to see Ferris or to miss him. As often before, I escaped misery in sleep. I was asleep while the rest were still eating and talking, and for a marvel, I did not dream, though I was constantly waking through the night.
Once, looking about me in the early hours, I saw the guard wall ripple as men dropped from it in the moonlight. I should have raised the alarm, but something told me these were no skirmishers but poor wretches hoping to escape the Armageddon John Paulet had brought upon himself and all that were his. They were servants, as I had been, and I let them go.
Before dawn I awoke again, unable to lie longer. I felt in my shirt: the Bible was there, warm in the darkness. The moon was behind cloud. I
crawled to the fire and took out a brand, then, blowing on it for light, picked my way across the grass. I saw Tommy, and heard his snores; for a moment I thought of putting the brand in his spiteful mouth, but this was not the time.
At last I came to the one I sought. Ferris slept on his back, breath quick and shallow. His soldier's coat, despite the cold, was open. Nathan, lying beside him, had rolled so that his head rested on my friend's chest and Ferris's arm curled over the boy's shoulder.
I took the Bible and laid it on Ferris's shirt front, brushing away a few strands of Nathan's hair. When I again raised my eyes to his face, Ferris was looking directly at me. We stared each at the other, his gaze black in the firelight and so level, it might well be unseeing. Perhaps, I thought, he was rapt: one of those who dream eyes open. Then Nathan shifted, pressing his face into my friend's breast, and Ferris drew his coat over the boy's head as if to shield him from me.
I backed away. Men swore as I stumbled over to my own place by the fire. Lying down again, I drew my knees up to my chest to ease the pain that was there.
I must have slept again, for soon after came the call to rise, and for the first time, most men around me prayed rather than cursed. I heard them on all sides, imploring God that they might come safe through the assault, be worthy, get home soon to Margaret or to Father. I made no such prayer, but held Caro and my brothers a minute in my heart, and then stood, pierced by the usual aches. Someone had fed the fire nearest Ferris during the night, and the flames gave off just light enough for me to see him rise and the Bible fall from his chest. He picked it up, and before he could stop himself, looked over in my direction. I bowed. He turned away.
TEN
Golgotha
The bitter gloom before dawn was thick with the rustling of unseen men, ghosts condemned for some hideous crime perpetually to arm themselves and fight. The officers got us into formation with the aid of dark lanterns, that is, lanterns which showed no light on the side of the enemy, and part of me thought, as calmly as if I were a scholar studying a sermon, what an apt name dark lantern was for false religion. As the soldiers filled their bandoliers, and rinsed their throats with drink, the stench of powder battled with that of Hollands. This liquor I had always refused, being disgusted by its smell. Now men passed huge flasks of it back and forth as they waited for Preacher William Beech to furnish them with more spiritual comforts.
'What's this?' I asked as I was handed a weapon.
'Pikemen are to have brown bills for today,'said the man in charge. 'And swords.'
I looked at the bill I had been given. It was shorter than the pike, and hooked. Evidently we were in for much mauling and grappling. My heart began to knock in my breast.
'Swords also,' the fellow insisted, passing a baldric round my neck.
'Here.'The man next to me pushed a flask into my hand. 'Get that down you.'
I took a pull at the foul stuff and it seared my throat. Spitting, I made to pass it back but he would not let me. 'Drink, soldier. It gives courage.'
Gasping, I let more of the poisonous brew into my belly.
'And blunts pain. Good lad.'My comrade took the flask, up-ended it at his mouth and downed all that was left.
William Beech was begun. He waved his arms at us as if herding cattle, stamped the earth and had evidently a month's mind to his work.
'They are open enemies of God,' he called in a hoarse voice which seemed to have got the damp of the place into it. Each time he passed before a lantern I saw his words fly away in clouds to join the mist which lay about us.
'Papist... vermin ... deserving of the fate of all who stand against His might...'
His urgings came to me in drifts, cut across by coughs and wheezes on every side. Staring about for Ferris, unable to see him, I wondered how he looked, angry or despairing, as he listened to that sermon. My eye fell on a man nodding and clenching his fists: this was Colonel Harrison, whose hatred of recusants and other 'vermin' outwent even Beech's. I had reason for noticing this officer, for on an earlier occasion some soldier had pointed out Harrison for his pure, fierce love of God, and I had seen Ferris's jaw set with loathing. Now I saw God's Executioner breathe hard as he strained to catch the sermon through the raw air and the barking of soldiers trying
to clear their throats.
'... the fate the Lord of Hosts justly meted out to Sodom and Gomorrah ...'
Men swilled down as much Hollands as their sides could hold. Beyond the crowd, the land, hacked up and trampled, lay desolate. There was a great 'Amen' roared out. On every side I saw helmets pulled on over caps, a wisp of straw stuffed into the hole at the back as a field sign. I weighed the brown bill in my unpractised hand.
Commanders moved along the lines, making sure we were in our right order. First through the gap were to be unhorsed cavalry, who were the freshest of the troops and had good buffcoats beside. It came to me that by the time I got there we would be treading the wounded underfoot. Then the commanders went back to their posts, and something like a shiver ran through the field. My mouth grew suddenly
dry, so dry I could scarce swallow, and I felt I must piss at once, let go there and then unless I would do myself some hurt. Fumbling with cold hands in my breeches, I realised that the man next to me was untrussing likewise.
He observed my surprise and said, 'It is always thus before battle,' in the harsh voice of our shared thirst. 'Look about you.'
I did so, and observed a frenzy of pissing among the ranks. Steam, smelling of stewed apples, rose from the mud. It was a practice, like that of the Hollands, never read of in Sir John Roche's drill manual.
The church bell tolled six, and was followed directly by four cannon shots. I thought my heart would come out of my mouth.
'Christ be with you! And no quarter,' cried my neighbour. The drummers gave the order to advance; the troops began moving forwards, walking at first and then trotting until we were in a headlong run. I could no longer hear any drum and it was all a man could do to keep level with his fellows. When we were halfway across the park the gaps in the wall suddenly filled with soldiers, ready and waiting.
Men were screaming, 'For God and Parliament!' I saw the first of ours run up the breach and fling himself on the defenders. There were flashes, followed by the sounds of musket fire, and screams. I struggled to run with my weapon upright and not fall over it. At the front I could see a great mass of men packed and heaving together. A little further forward and we were pressing into the breach, those inside jabbing at us with bills. Slashing back, I laid a face open. Muskets fired on us from the upper storeys, hand grenades rained down and I saw a man's head shot to bits in front of me, felt his blood and brains fleck my skin. Those in the gap, lacking time to reload their muskets, had fallen to clubbing one another. Men fell screaming and were pressed onto the stones, the scrape and clatter of their helmets adding to the hellish noise. The drum struck up again nearby but was straightway drowned in shots and cries. A sudden warmth bathed my leg: someone was bleeding on me. He fell backwards against my chest; I saw brown eyes turned up to mine and blood on his teeth before he sank beneath our feet.
