by Maria McCann
Ferris looked on the house, and on me, and on the house again. ‘Did they use you well?’
‘Some of them,’ I answered. ‘The Mistress had her good side. But Sir John was a sot, and the son…’ I could not find words strong enough for the son.
‘I was never in a house like that,’ he went on, staring at it. ‘So big.’
‘Don’t the citizens have big houses in London?’
‘Here, Fat Tommy’s behind us.’
We fell out and loitered. I rubbed my sore feet to colour our idleness and Ferris kept watch for the thin soldier. It was not long before he came up, bouncing a little on his skeleton’s legs.
‘Tommy, how would you like more rations?’ said Ferris. ‘Prince Rupert here wants tidings of his friends at that house.’
I showed him the different windows and doors while Ferris kept off Nathan and the rest of the men straggled past. Tommy was quick to learn. Then we got back into the lines and together went through the story, that he was a beggar. I warned him to keep mum before Godfrey. He was to try for a talk with Isaiah Cullen, or Peter Taylor, and find out what was become of the runaway servants.
‘On no account say a man in the army sent you, unless you can talk with Isaiah alone,’ I urged. ‘Alone with him, you may give my likeness.’
‘Once we strike camp,’ he said, nodding. ‘If I can get off.’
We agreed on a day’s ration, beer included, to be paid when he brought back the intelligence. Ferris and I would try to distract attention from his departure.
‘Your luck is in,’ said Ferris to me as I pushed forward to my former place.
‘What do you mean?’ I panted.
‘We won’t stop here, or in the next village either. There’s too much daylight left and they want to get to Winchester, then to Basing-House. Cromwell’s afraid the weather will break and mire his artillery in the mud.’
‘You didn’t tell me this before.’
‘Nathan told me while you were with Tommy.’
‘Oh.’ Nathan again, chattering to Ferris about the New Jerusalem.
‘Why do you frown, Rupert?’
‘You know, I should go back, and make restitution.’
‘I said, why do you frown?’
Restitution. It had a glorious sound. I could offer myself for punishment; it was most likely only a choice of deaths, for my head might be shot off in the field. Though powerless in the matter of Caro and Zeb, I could clear Isaiah’s name. But even as I warmed myself at this vision, something gnawed at me. I pictured myself back at the house and my resolution wavered: I could be brave enough now to deliver myself up, but once there, I knew my heart would fail me. At last I saw that it came to this, that Ferris would march on with Nathan, Russ and his other friends while I faced justice alone. At this thought my courage shrivelled like a withered gourd.
We put up for the night in one of those scoured villages. The men were ill content after passing more comfortable billets, and there was much grumbling as they pulled down bales of straw and spread themselves to rest. Tommy was bedded in the barn with us, which was surely the hand of God in my affairs. I asked the officer, who came round to see how we did, if this Basing-House was what they said, the lid on top of a secret hoard of treasure stolen by Papist priests.
‘It’s a nest of Papists entirely,’ he said. ‘John Paulet, that’s the Marquess, is a declared recusant and he has sworn to hold Basing-House for the King. To death, if need be.’
‘And the treasure? Is it really so much?’
‘Who can say? They have golden idols in their churches. We’ll find out, my lads.’
The men returned his grim smile.
‘Why are we to besiege a house?’ asked Ferris. ‘When there are whole towns held by the Cavaliers?’
I saw Tommy step out through the door and close it behind him.
‘It gives courage to the enemy. And, what some might consider worse, it blocks the wool trade, and there are solid citizens in London bothered thereby.’ The officer’s voice was steady. I looked at his creased face, the scars on his right temple, and wondered had he been at Naseby.
‘Their godless riches can be put into godly hands,’ he added in the same flat voice. This was a heart I could not read; I wondered if Ferris could.
We lay down in broken straw. In the night there was a storm overhead. I listened to the usual snoring, then the cough and stir of every man around me under the hammer of the rain and sudden boom of thunder. Some groaned, perhaps for the wet roads and the labour of the coming day. Waiting for Tommy, wondering if he would get back in time, I had not slept at all. When the storm went off I dozed a while, and was woken by water running down my neck. I shifted, and a hand touched mine. My messenger was wintry cold and the rain dropped from his hair onto my shaven head so that I jumped.
He whispered angrily, ‘That’s nothing man, it’s right through to my skin.’
‘I’m sorry for it, Tom. What news?’
He lay down beside me. ‘Rub my hands, for the love of God. They’re ice.’ I did so, and blew on them. Such cold and bony flesh, it was hateful. He could hardly keep his teeth from knocking together. That was like Zeb, feverish.
‘Thin folks feel the cold the most,’ he said.
‘Keep your mind on the ration,’ I suggested, chafing warmth into his fingers. ‘There, put them under your arms.’ The carcass hands slithered out of mine. ‘So, what news?’
‘What do you most want to know?’
I was unsure where to start. ‘Well. Who did you speak to?’
‘I couldn’t come at any Isaiah or any Peter. There’s no such men there.’
My heart sickened. ‘What, then?’
‘A maidservant.’ I almost cried out, but he went on, ‘French, pretty as you’d see anywhere.’
Madeleine. If My Lady had kept her on, Caro could not be returned. Or she might be in gaol. I waited in terror to hear Caro or Patience spoken of, unsure which prospect frightened me more.
‘But you asked after Isaiah?’ I urged.
‘To be sure. She said that she remembered him, and that he was run away; there was a great hurly-burly with the servants, just about the time you joined the army.’ He laughed hoarsely, throat full of phlegm. ‘There’s two men run off with a maid. That was the second maid they lost, she said, and a lad found dead in the pond. Fine house, by the sound of it.’
‘They’ve caught neither maid nor men?’
‘Still looking for them. Not in the right place, eh, Jacob?’
‘And the third brother? Isaiah?’
He hawked and spat.
‘Isaiah? He’s not dead, Tommy?’
‘Not that she knew. They took him before the magistrate. He had a whipping and was turned out of the house; they said he was more fool than knave.’
Whipped. O Izzy, forgive me. ‘If he was no knave, why turn him out?’ I asked. ‘He was a party to their going?’
‘Some said this, some that. They found a great many papers and pamphlets wrapped up secret and buried behind the stables, where this young maid who gave evidence, I forget her name, said the brothers used to go and talk. But again, he had stayed, and that argued innocence. The other servants gave him an excellent character.’
And the Roches turned him out, I thought. I could remember the name of this young maid – young whore, young spy – if he could not. We had buried nothing behind the stables, all had been burnt. I knew now what they were doing that night when I killed the boy, and most likely other nights too. Poor babes as we were, burning our reading and thinking ourselves safe, when these devils had already laid a mine there could tear us in pieces. My breath came in gasps. Suppose I ever came up against Cornish again, my first thought would be to run, be he never so fat and grey.
‘They do say one brother drowned the young lad,’ Tommy added.
In the darkness it was impossible to read his face.
‘They had an old mother,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose you have news of her?’
; ‘You never asked for any.’
‘And have they heard anything of this Isaiah since he was turned off?’
‘Not that she told me.’
‘No. Thanks, Tom. I’ll see you all right tomorrow.’
‘O, I nearly forgot. The heir is dead, poisoned.’
I thought I would faint from the shock. ‘Poisoned! By whom?’
‘The brothers, who else?’
Most likely Mervyn had brought the thing on himself. Or had Mounseer had the last laugh after all, and at our expense?
‘God rot all poisoners, I ate some soup there,’ Tommy said. ‘As for you, you’ll have to be cleverer.’
‘How, cleverer?’ I thought he wanted more of the ration from me.
‘I called you Jacob a while back. You never noticed.’
No more I had. As I tried to think how to recover my mistake Tommy moved away into the darkness. I heard him snort to himself, ‘Prince Rupert, forsooth!’
Anguish kept me awake afterwards. I was not sure that I had paid out my bread and beef for any good end. I could not make restitution now, be I never so willing. Izzy might be a soldier, a pressed man fighting for the other side. I shuddered. But no, I could not see either him – or Zeb – being well enough. Izzy was not strong enough to bear a whipping – he would be sick a long time after. Thanks to me, my wife and brothers were all of them destitute. I told myself that Zeb and Caro had the jewels. Did Izzy understand what Cornish had done to him? Did he try to prove that those devils buried the papers themselves?
I turned over and my thoughts flowed into a different channel. Now I marvelled at the coldness of Patience, who had lain in Zeb’s arms and plotted his destruction. Carnality is of the flesh, but this was a pure deep drink of the Devil. As for Cornish, he knew who it was had killed his boy, and had doubtless laid plans for me.
There are foes against whom it is no help to be tall and strong. I was afraid of a young woman and a man past his prime, because they outwent me in imagination. Now I was possessed of a friend who might help, yet I was afraid to lose him, as I had lost Caro, in the act of unburdening myself. Tommy had said I was not clever. I had spun myself a wretched web; but I would at least try to learn from my errors. Yet it was hard to see how that might be done, and I lay sleepless long after.
Ferris was awake before me and shook me until I opened my eyes. ‘Rupert. Tommy’s back.’
‘We’ve already talked.’ I rubbed my face. ‘I’m not much wiser than I was.’
‘But he did get there?’
‘He went all right. But all he could find was, they have whipped Isaiah and turned him off. No one else has been heard of.’
He patted my shoulder. ‘You can do nothing, then. That’s hard.’ He was righter than he knew, for I was in no position to return the jewels.
Grey air blew in through the barn windows. My friend sat beside me in the straw; he looked weary and when I studied his profile he seemed not much fatter than Tommy. I dreaded the day’s marching after my broken sleep. I could hear men outside moving carts and cooking pots, and I remembered that my rations were forfeit. Ferris opened his sack and held out a piece of bread.
I shook my head. ‘No, keep it.’
‘I can’t eat if you have nothing. Come on.’
We descended to the farmyard outside the barn. Someone had found eggs and laid them in the ashes to cook; the farmer would be angry, not only for the eggs but for the hen, which was doubtless under some soldier’s coat. Our morning food and drink was handed out, and mine went straight to Tommy. I had thought of refusing him payment, but could not in front of Ferris. My friend took some water from the cauldron in a pot he had and supped half his bread in it, then offered the mess to me. Musty as it was, the smell of it broke my self-control and I ate, urgent as a starved dog.
‘It’s warm at least,’ I said. I hoped Ferris would not be too hungry without it. Not far off the thief was handing hot eggs out to his friends, laughing to see the men juggle them from palm to palm. I saw Philip come up and beg for one. He waved to me and I nodded back. The thief refused him a share, and I was glad. Then the prentice pointed me out to another man. There followed a series of curious gestures, followed by laughter.
‘Was that the lad cut my hair?’ I asked Ferris.
‘What makes you think so?’
I watched Philip pat his skull, grimacing in mock amazement. ‘It was.’
Ferris shrugged. ‘What does it matter? It’s been shaved since.’
‘You talked once of bodily dignity.’
‘I’ve seen heads shot off.’
He seemed out of sorts. We had no drill that day, and as soon as the men had eaten and packed up their belongings we were ready to go again. Mud covered the road and we sank in up to our knees where those in front had churned it. The troops plodded on like cattle, heads bowed.
‘Do you still fear action?’ I asked as the soldiers just ahead moved off.
He nodded. ‘So will you, when you’re in it.’
‘When did you last engage, then?’
‘Bristol. We were there from late August to the tenth of September. We began the real assault at two in the morning, and it was eight before the Prince appealed for terms. We were two hours at push of pike. Two hours.’ He whistled.
‘A long time?’
‘You’re a pikeman. Work it out.’
‘Last engaged at Bristol? I thought you were at Devizes?’
‘Aye, Devizes! That was nothing. They surrendered straight off. But Bristol – first I got a blow on the head knocked me out, then a fellow who took a musket ball in the guts fell with his belly right on my face, bleeding into my nose and mouth. Russ pulled him off, else—’ Ferris grimaced. ‘I can still taste him.’
I shuddered as we squelched onwards.
‘It was just after Devizes we found you, Prince Rupert. Some of the men reckoned you were Plunderland himself, others thought how a black man was lucky, and said you’d brought us luck already.’ He grinned at the memory.
‘You didn’t believe it?’
‘No, of course not! God decides these things, not a man’s skin.’
‘Amen to that.’ Yet I wanted to be lucky to him. ‘Why you? Why were you the one to save me?’
‘O, it wasn’t just me. The prentices helped.’
‘You mean they cut my hair. You were the one gave me food and drink.’
‘Well, you weren’t very thankful just at first! They held you down while I poured it in.’ He laughed, and turned to me. ‘What does it matter? Rupert?’
‘It matters not at all.’ I felt strangely cold. Perhaps I was sickening for something.
‘Are you well, friend? Nothing wrong?’
‘Only hunger,’ I said and vomited up the bread he had given me.
By the time we got to Winchester I was sweating, dizzy, barely able to walk. Ferris dragged me onwards, saying that once we arrived I could lie down.
The troops had been ordered to conduct themselves in a Christian manner, to carry nothing away nor cause any nuisance or harm to the citizens, provided we were entertained without resistance and not obliged to assault the place. We waited, armed and ready, at the city gate while Cromwell summonsed the Mayor, one Longland, and demanded access into the city ‘to save it and the inhabitants from ruin’.
Word went round that Longland had half an hour in which to reply. Men picked lice from their bodies, rubbed their hands and stamped against the cold, while I fixed my mind on standing upright so as not to be trampled should we go in by force.
After a short time Longland returned to the gate, bringing the civil reply that the place was not his to yield up, but was in the gift of the Governor, Sir William Ogle, and that he himself would undertake to bring Ogle to it.
At this Cromwell would tarry no longer, and we burst in regardless of what Ogle might do or say. Their men barely resisted, so that the whole army was got in without hurt.
‘Sit here,’ said Ferris, leading me to a low wall. ‘If challenged, you a
re too sick to move. I will find out where you should go.’ He pushed through the mass of soldiers towards the nearest officers. I sat head in hands, wondering if I should die there without having seen action.
‘Rupert.’ Ferris was back and plucking at my arm. ‘They are laying the sick and wounded in a church near here. We must get you in.’
I rose, dazed, and allowed him to lead me where he would. Men were swarming like ants through the streets.
‘Ogle has shut himself up in the castle,’ Ferris went on. ‘So it’s to be siege, after all. I won’t be able to watch out for you.’
He was short of breath. I clung to him, afraid that once fallen, I would never rise again.
‘Don’t lean on me, you’ll have me down,’ he gasped. We staggered along; once I slipped on the cobbles and Ferris swore at me. At last I heaved myself up some steps and through the pointed archway of God’s house. I heard Ferris cry, ‘Help here, I beg of you,’ before I sank onto the flags of the church.
During the siege I lay on a hurdle, taking nothing but sips of beer and the odd spoonful of pease which someone gave me. At times methought I was talking to Zeb. At others I was with Caro, and newly espoused. I must have said something blushworthy, for the man who was in charge of tending the wounded grinned at me whenever he saw me after. Ferris told me later that the second day of the bombardment was a Sunday, which had boggled them somewhat at first, until Hugh Peter, chaplain to the train of General Fairfax, led them in prayer and preaching even as the artillery was set off. In the midst of this I lay drifting in and out of fever, perhaps coaxing the attendant with the honeyed words of courtship.
When I came to my right reason I first saw the roof far above me,its carvings and gilt. There was a stench of blood and other foulness in my nostrils, and on turning my head I saw a line of sick and wounded laid along the nave. Their screams and prayers echoed from the walls of the church, then slackened to an exhausted muttering. Camp followers, wives and women who passed for wives, wept over the flayed and shattered bodies they were come to nurse; men crazed with pain called on long-dead mothers who could once kiss a hurt away. Near me one panted as if from a hard fight, while on my other side a man wailed something I could not interpret, the words twisting into a howl as the pain opened up in him. From time to time a young lad, burnt and slashed into fever, gabbled hoarsely to ‘Jim’.
