“The King will turn us all into his slaves, if he can, lads. Parliament is standing against him, to let us live in the old way as free-born men. We pay our Poor Law and that is it, but the King wants to dip his hand into our pockets with more taxes. We are to fight for our freedoms to go to chapel rather than to church, to work for ourselves rather than see some lord come along and tell us he owns the quarries and we must labour for him. I hope the army of the saints assembled will do the fighting, but you must be able to look after yourselves when the soldiers are not here. You cannot just hope they won’t come here – you must be ready if they do.”
Micah was not entirely convinced by his own words. The Catons seemed to accept them, possibly because they were used to being told what they must think.
They spent another two hours at loading and firing and then cleaning their barrels before lining up to accept their issue of match and ammunition. Most seemed more nervous than elated to be taking home their own personal musket.
“Stack them clear of the fireplace, men. Do not let the children play with the apostles. Keep everything dry.”
Jasper recited his litany of warning and advice, shaking his head resignedly.
“No matter how much I tell them, Lieutenant, they will not be in the habit of looking after dangerous weapons and there will be accidents. Let us hope they will not be too bad. With your permission, sir, I shall come to divine service here tomorrow morning and then join them for their two hours of the afternoon.”
“Certainly, Corporal Albright. Bring any others of the section who may wish to join you. You will stand with my family in chapel, I presume? Better than being alone, isolated from the villagers.”
As Micah suspected, Jasper was not displeased at the prospect putting himself at the side of the girls next day. He had a quiet word with his brother.
“The corporal, Mr Albright, is to become an officer as soon as may be possible, Jacob. He does not know it yet; we are making the arrangements now. He is a good man and any of the girls might do worse than him, Brother.”
The thought of one of the family marrying a foreigner had never occurred to Jacob, but he could see the advantage of bringing an officer, a gentleman, into kinship with them.
“We rise in the world, or so it might seem, Brother Micah.”
“It may be so, Brother Jacob. I hope so. Is all well at the quarry?”
“The old, disused part? Yes. We have worked the face further forward under the soil and have thrown the spoil back to fill in the worked-out part rather than leave an unsightly hole to fill with water. There is a pile some fifteen feet deep already.”
They said no more about Squire Tixover’s grave, content that it was to be forgotten.
“There is to be an addition to the garrison, Micah, to replace the original and now effectively defunct companies. A troop of Yeomanry, or so I gather from the little Major Figgis has conveyed to me. I believe he has been in contact with the Lord Lieutenant and has expressed concern relating to our loyalty to the King.”
Micah was surprised by Captain Holdby’s words – he had regarded the major as a hopeless old drunk, unaware of anything around him.
“I doubt the old man did much himself. He probably put his name to words written for him by the King’s men in the town. Whatever, the effect has been to bring this addition to the garrison, due to arrive in the next few weeks. How many, I do not know. A troop may be the size of a company of foot or an amount smaller. Much depends on the success of recruiting in the county. Yeomanry are no more than a Trained Band on horseback and, having to supply their own horses, must come at least from the bigger farms, most commonly from the landed estates. A nuisance now that we have no pikes… not to worry! Cavalry are at a disadvantage in town where they can be shot down from the cover of buildings. Much depends on how this Yeomanry troop is equipped.”
Micah thought back to the Scots horse he had seen, his sole close experience of cavalry.
“A long straight sword and a pair of horse pistols, I remember, Captain.”
“Breast and back and morion as well, Red Man, and often a carbine, for heavy horse – dragoons, they often call them. Light horse are less common, especially in England. Saw them in the Germanies quite often – Hungarians mostly – armed with a sabre and commonly nothing else. Useful for scouting out the countryside and for foraging. Valueless on the field of battle until the enemy begins to retreat; properly employed then, they can cut up the foot as they fall back and turn a withdrawal into a rout. Most generals want heavy horse – but they cost money! Big horses, which need feeding; expensive armour; strong men who are also experienced with horses. Most horsemen are smallish chaps in the nature of things.”
“Not likely to be more than half a company in size, fifty or so, would you think, Captain?”
“Fewer, unless they can muster volunteers from more than one county – which is unlikely. The Trained Bands are based always on the single county or great town. It would be difficult to pay for them if, as an example, men from Cambridgeshire were to be sent to Lincolnshire to join a troop there. The Lord Lieutenant of Cambridge would not want to dip into his purse to protect the people of Lincolnshire, and vice versa. Besides that, to send his few Yeomanry away is to leave him with foot only, and less well protected as a result. Cooperation is unlikely.”
They spent a little time discussing the best use of a troop of Yeomanry, of how they might be disposed on the field of battle. Captain Holdby had seen heavy horse in action on several occasions in the Germanies, at their side and standing against them almost equally.
“Pikes, provided they are well-trained and resolute, will keep horse at a distance. They are vulnerable to the pistols when the horse are properly trained. As a result, pikes must be backed by shot. For the while, it is fair to say that heavy horse are masters of the field. An army that contains large numbers of dragoons will prevail against one that is composed almost all of foot. The exception arises when the foot are backed by artillery, by light, travelling guns, of which there are very few, generally. Needless to say, horse cannot take a fortress.”
“We have no artillery at all, Captain.”
“None. There are guns here in the castle, old and dating from the days of Good Queen Bess. I would not wish to stand within fifty yards of one that was to be fired. I much suspect their breeches are corroded beyond toleration. I would like to see a few of robins and falcons and sakers brought to our use – but that is unlikely in the extreme.”
Micah was not familiar with the sorts and sizes of guns. He told himself that he must find out, one day.
“There is news from London that the arch-despot Strafford has been beheaded at Tower Hill, as is only right, Red Man. The King betrayed him in the end though he was one of his greatest supporters. An untrustworthy friend this King of ours – how can any man believe in his good character after this? He will send a loyal servant to the headsman for no better reason than that it is expedient to do so just now – no doubt crying great tears as he did so! His word cannot be trusted – if he will betray a friend, what will he do to an enemy with whom he has made a compact? Parliament can never believe any promise that he may make, for he will break his pledged word for no better reason than that he might discover a temporary advantage by so doing. This King is a stranger to Honour, Red Man.”
“His word is not his bond, it would seem, Captain.”
“Well put, Red Man. Considering that is a Scottish saying in origin, one might expect a Stuart to know better. However, we must live with the world as we find it, not as it should be. We have a King who is no fountainhead of honour and that is no more than the reality of our existence. I am for a little relaxation in town this evening, Red Man. Join me?”
Micah accepted the invitation – it was almost impossible to refuse his senior’s company and he would enjoy an evening with him. He had not been aware that Stamford was a town in which it was possible to relax, assumed they would spend an hour or two in a decorous tavern.
&nb
sp; They walked out after their dinner, across the river and up the hill leading out of town towards Burghley House before coming to a large place separated a little from its neighbours. Like all of the buildings in the ancient town, it was made of the drab local grey stone under a Collyweston slate roof of much the same colour. The door was broad and arched, almost like that of a church, filled with a heavy oaken slab with an iron knocker.
“Like a church, Red Man? Not really!”
Captain Holdby thumped on the door and a manservant opened it partway and turned a lantern on his face.
“Welcome, Captain Holdby. Do come in, sir. And your companion, sir?”
“Lieutenant Slater who commands a company in the garrison.”
“Ah, yes. The red-haired gentleman who we have all noticed to be a loyal follower of yours, sir. Please be welcome, Mr Slater.”
The door was closed firmly behind them and the servant led them into a large room facing towards the walled gardens at the rear of the house. There was a woman who Micah thought was as old as his mother who greeted them and offered glasses of some sort of wine – a drink Micah had little familiarity with.
“Captain Holdby, a pleasure to see you again, sir. And this must be the Red Man who you mentioned so favourably? You are most welcome, sir, in the Captain’s company or on your own.”
Micah smiled and thanked her, somewhat puzzled.
“Your normal, Captain Holdby? Go through, sir, to the usual room. Red Man – if I may call you so – do you just come with me. I have taken the liberty of making a choice for you.”
A few seconds and Micah found himself in a secluded chamber distinguished by the presence of a large feather bed and a naked young woman. He was taken by surprise but raised no great objection to her showing him precisely what came next. He wondered for a few minutes whether he should not leave the premises, preserving his state of innocence; he discovered a rather urgent reason why he should not. He knew what Pastor Doddington must say – and that seemed good enough reason to stay. He was liberated from the strictures of existence in what was, after all, a very small and insignificant village.
The pair left the house before dawn, it being preferable that they should not be noticed on the morning streets.
“Well, Red Man?”
“Very well, Captain.”
They chuckled together and wandered back to the castle, shoulder to shoulder.
They met again over an early breakfast, both men hungry.
“Tomorrow, Red Man, a good day for a march through the streets. Time to remind the townsfolk that their protectors are still here and looking out for them.”
“Before the Yeomanry arrive, you mean, Captain?”
“Just that. It might not be a bad idea to talk with Mr Fuller again… It seems not unlikely that there are malignants in the town who have begged for support from the Lord Lieutenant. He will know who they are, or might be, and could, perhaps, be persuaded to take action against them.”
“Now, while they are without support? Before circumstances can change?”
“Just so, Red Man. If this town is to be purged of evil elements, then we have a final opportunity in the next day or two.”
It made simple good sense.
“Might it be argued that Major Figgis is one of the ill-minded, Captain?”
“It surely could, Red Man, but, all things considered, it might be wiser not to take action against him. A trial of a senior officer might draw attention… Better, perhaps, that his foolish and sinful alcoholic excesses should catch up with him. A seizure, a failure of the heart, might be seen as no more than divine justice for a sinful existence. Colonel Knighton could appoint me major to take charge of the garrison if Major Figgis was to die a natural death. An urgent messenger on horseback, so that there might be no absence of command in these troubled times, do you not think, Red Man?”
Micah did not entirely like the implications. It was too cold-blooded for his taste. It might even be called murder. It might also be called necessary if the town was to be held safe from the tyranny of the foolish King.
“It would be easier, you know, Captain, was the King to be a wicked man rather than an untrustworthy weakling. He cannot be left to take England to perdition in his wake, yet he is not in himself evil. That, of course, cannot be said of all of his followers! Major Figgis is a sot, and that is inexcusable in any man. He must be replaced, Captain, and that may only be achieved by his departure from this life. Smothered in his bed, sir? Tonight?”
“Yes, but not by you, Red Man. I will not see that sort of blood on your hands, not yet. You will see a sufficiency of killings in the coming years, that I doubt not. You do not need this one. I will deal with the matter.”
Micah could not but admit he would be happy not to perform that particular task. He wondered if he was a coward for being unwilling to commit the act.
“We can agree it to be a necessary act, Red Man, for the greater good, and so it is. That does not change its essential nature – the killing of an unarmed and weak man in his own bed, without warning, with no chance to make a final prayer. We must ask which is worse – that he should live or that he should die. In life he can, and will, however unwittingly, do harm to very many. Therefore, he must, and shall die. At my hands, Red Man, because I am nearly twenty years your senior and have seen and done acts that you cannot yet comprehend.”
That left Micah, for the first time in his life, faced with a moral quandary. Right and wrong had always seemed clear cut to him. Pastor Doddington knew what was proper and what was not and had found no difficulty in laying down his precepts for his flock to follow unquestioningly. There had never been the need to ask what was the correct thing to do at any given moment – it was known, black and white, simple and straightforward.
Now, it was the case that to kill an old man asleep in his own bed was undoubtedly murder and a sin of commission that would blacken a soul for all eternity. It was also the case that to let the old man live was to jeopardise the well-being of a whole town. Not to kill the old man was a sin of omission that would set him at risk of Hell-fire.
To act was to damn himself. Not to act was equally to destroy his soul.
“We are lost men, Captain. The times have conspired against us and we cannot act in a fashion that is not to some extent evil.”
“That is why I shall deal with Major Figgis, Red Man. I have lived in these times for many years. The wars in the Germanies were – still are – truly dirty and no man can come away from them with clean hands, yet they must be fought. Our Religion cannot survive if we do not fight the Papists – yet those of us who have joined that fight cannot claim to be saints. Far from it! Let us hope that the war that may come here will not be so vile. Enough of this – what must be done will be done. Today’s business, Lieutenant Slater! You will march your company up the hill and into the town and through the marketplace and out to the Spalding road and then back to the old monastery and round through the main street and back to the river and into the castle again. Not a lot more than two miles but take a full hour to complete the round. Be seen. A pity we still have no drum for the boy.”
It had proved easy to recruit a youth but the purchase of a musical instrument had been impossible. It would seem that music, even that of a marching drum, was a tool of the Devil, designed to seduce good men into dancing and then into who knew what evil. No shopkeeper in Stamford sold such sinful machines.
Micah found Sergeant Patterson and gave the orders, specifying that they would march loaded and with match lit.
“Let the people see that we are not playing, Sergeant. We are to protect the right-thinking folk of the town.”
“And warn the malignants, no doubt, sir.”
“Even so. A word to the corporals – we are to ignore cheers and catcalls quite equally. We will not tolerate stone-throwing and the least attempt to offer true violence will result in deaths.”
Sergeant Patterson agreed gravely – they were not there to be abused by wicked me
n.
“I shall march at the head of the column, Sergeant Patterson. On foot?”
“Cobblestones all the way, sir, bad for horses. We do not expect to take up malignants this day and you will not need to be seen in order to give commands. Add to that, we are the protectors of the ordinary folk, the people who do not own horses. Best you should show as one of them, sir.”
“So we should. A good thought, Sergeant.”
The clouds were threatening, there was rain in the distance. If they were to march with match lit, they had to do so quickly. The company was brought to the parade ground and hurriedly formed up into column of route and stepped out at a quicker pace than was ever attempted on the road.
“Damned weather, Sergeant Patterson! What do we do in the field if it comes on to rain?”
“Go home, sir, hoping there are pikes enough to protect us while we do so. The matchlock is a fair-weather friend, sir. If we are in a trench or behind a sheltered wall, that is a different matter, but out in the open, a shower of rain could leave the whole company defenceless. Make war when the sun is shining, sir, and be good and sure you have a weather prophet in the ranks to tell you when to march and when to stay home.”
The crowds showed willing and stood to the side of the road and cheered – not especially loudly but encouraging enough. The men did their best and stepped out in proper form and looked sternly to their front and held their muskets at the correct angle on their shoulders. Micah supposed that they had heartened their friends and discouraged those who thought or prayed wrongly, and no more than that could be asked for.
He glanced back at the following of small boys with sticks on their shoulders and wearing martial scowls. He was slightly amused, worried more that a very few years might see them in buff coats and carrying real muskets.
“I could wish it was no more than a game, Sergeant.”
“So might we all, sir. The people like us, sir, and that is all we can hope for. I wonder if they will cheer just as loud if the King’s men come marching through.”
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