Red Man

by Andrew Wareham

  Both girls were impressed.

  He glanced quickly at the pair, thinking the elder to be the more attractive – slower to smile, considering, her high forehead creasing in habitual thought. He liked her hair, black as the raven’s wing and contrasting to her hazel eyes. A strong face, he thought, and honest with a strong chin. Younger than him by a year or two but a woman grown. He would breakfast frequently for the chance of seeing and talking to her.

  The pasty was edible and little else, a little of meat in a lot of dough, but the beer was drinkable and welcome. He paid his penny and smiled and said he would be back.

  “A pretty pair of lasses, sir.”

  “So I believe. The elder girl is too grave for my taste – I prefer little Jane.”

  “I liked the elder – Catherine, is it?”

  “Just so. A clever girl, I doubt not.”

  Philip Skippon was ready for the day and had a deal of work for the pair.

  “Pikestaves, Mr Carew. There should be two thousands of them at the docks, come in from Spain and to be brought in to us before they may be nobbled by some villain from the Tower or a colonel seeking to raise his own regiment. We have already paid for them, as is normal. Mr Slater, you would oblige me by accompanying Captain Carew and discovering all he does. The men at the dockside warehouses are a strange breed and need be dealt with in their own fashion.”

  They acknowledged the order and set off for the wharves.

  “Two thousand of twenty foot staves, sir. We are not about to tuck those onto our shoulders and walk away with them.”

  “We are not, Red Man. The better part of fifty tons of them says two dozen of four-horse dray loads. Six loads in a day, perhaps, for each dray. We can hire four at the riverside.”

  “There are many wharfs, Captain Carew. How do we know which is ours?”

  “Spanish trade generally comes into the same part of the River. The captains keep in contact with each other, not trusting heretics such as us to deal honestly with them. I have been here before to make collections.”

  They walked the mile or so to the docks they wanted, finding only two Spanish ships tied up.

  “Most of the London merchants are strong for their religion, Red Man. They will not deal with papists willingly. They do not trust them to deal honestly. They believe that the Great Whore of Rome has ordered its followers to cheat and cozen all honest men. It is not so many years since ‘Killing no Murder’ was promulgated and that tells us how wicked they are.”

  Like every English Protestant, Micah had heard of the declaration that the killing of the Protestant Queen Elisabeth was no murder but the simple duty of every good Catholic. He knew from that the papists – none of whom he had ever met – were all very wicked.

  “Is it right that we should trade with them, sir?”

  “We need pikestaves. It is a measure of their depravity that they will willingly sell to us weapons that may be used for the discomfiture of a King who favours their sort. We will give them money – which is, after all, trash – to obtain the means to destroy the resurgence of Popery in England. We are to shake hands with the Devil today, Red Man, but in the best of causes.”

  Money might be trash, Micah reflected, but it was a vileness that every man needed if he was to live a prosperous life, feeding his children and wife and enjoying a degree of comfort besides. It was all very difficult for a young man still learning the trade of war.

  Their ship was at the wharf as expected, next to a warehouse with open sides. Men were running busily, transferring the long poles from her foredeck and swinging sacks and bales from her open hold. Captain Carew found the warehouse master - a wapper-eyed, weaselly little man and therefore obviously disreputable - and informed him he was there to collect their cargo of poles, consigned to them from the port of Cadiz.

  “Ah… There might be a difficulty there, master. Being as there warn’t nobody here when the cargo was being offloaded, as you might say, I took an offer for they staffs, as you might call them.”

  “They are ours, Master. You must refuse the offer, explaining it was taken by mistake.”

  “Can’t nohow do that. They is to go to the Armoury, in the Tower, as is.”

  “They belong to the Honourable Artillery Company and will go to them. Now. I will not permit them to be stolen.”

  “But, Master Ollershaw has paid for they! He is hiring drays this very moment, so he is.”

  “Good! We also have paid for them and the drays can be used to carry them to their proper owner. We shall load them as they arrive and send them off, Master Merchant. Red Man, would you care to hold this gentleman here while I speak to the drivers of the drays?”

  Micah smiled and drew his backsword, heavy and businesslike, not the toy of a man of fashion but the working blade of a killing sort.

  “My pleasure, Captain.”

  The little man rolled his eyes, seeming the more unnatural for so doing. Micah had heard that witches and warlocks – both of whom certainly existed – often were walleyed. He held his blade the more tightly for the knowledge.

  “Don’t you go to doing nothing foolish, soldier. I ain’t no man of war. No need for any mistakes.”

  “Oh, sir! I would never kill you by mistake! I never make an error in such matters!”

  The merchant believed his every word.

  “Sit thyself down, Master Merchant.”

  Micah pointed to the stool drawn up to a bench at the front of the warehouse, all that there was by way of an office. It seemed to him that the merchant was growing paler with each passing second, that he was like to swoon if he did not seat himself first.

  “Thank’ee, sir. So I shall.”

  “Do not fear, Master Merchant. You were discovered in error but now your malfeasance is in process of correction. I know you will not repeat your mistake.”

  “No, soldier. You know I won’t never do that. Wouldn’t ‘ave now was it not for Master Ollershaw persuading me as to how I wouldn’t wish to be crossing ‘im. Now, I crossed ‘im and you both!”

  Micah was almost sympathetic – the poor little man had been threatened by both sides, was wrong whichever way he turned. He suspected that much of the country, of the ordinary sorts of folk, was familiar with that dilemma.

  “Fear not, Master Merchant – it will come to an end, one day. For the while, Parliament is far stronger than King in London, so your most sensible course is clear.”

  There was a clattering on the land side of the warehouse. Micah saw bundles of pikestaves being loaded onto a dray with another empty and waiting to take its place. Captain Carew was stood watching the labourers loading. He waved to Micah.

  “All is well, Master Merchant.”

  “No it ain’t, soldier. That be Master Ollershaw a-running down the wharf this way.”

  A tall, lean gentleman, and an angry one by the looks of him, came puffing into the warehouse and stopped to catch his breath.

  “You, sirrah! What are you doing? I have purchased those staves. They are mine to take away. I shall call a watchman and have you taken up for robbery under arms! The Constable of the Tower will come to my aid, I warn thee!”

  “The pikestaves belong to the Honourable Artillery Company which bought them in Spain and had them shipped to this country at its own expense, sir. The staves are ours, sir, and we do not appreciate your attempts to misappropriate them.”

  “But, the Constable has instructed that all weapons of war shall be placed under his care. He will ensure they are placed to the use of His Royal Majesty, as they should be.”

  “Parliament rules in London, sir, and will soon in the whole of this sad country. The misguided man, Charles Stuart, must be brought to his senses, released from the evil advisors who have so set him astray. The pikestaves we have bought are ours, sir, and will be taken to Bishopsgate Artillery Park and put to proper use there with the Trained Bands.”

  “I shall call the guards from the Tower, sir, and show thee what is proper!”

  “Si
t you down, Mr Ollershaw. You may stay here until we are finished in our lawful labours.”

  Micah flourished the backsword and Ollershaw, who seemed unarmed, judged it wiser to sit where he was placed.

  “I shall have the law on thee, sir. What is thy name, soldier?”

  “I am Lieutenant Micah Slater, sometimes known as the Red Man. Bear my name in mind, sir, for I suspect you may hear it again.”

  Swaggering was fun, Micah thought – he was enjoying himself.

  The drays eventually loaded, a long convoy of them sent from the Tower, and took their cargo away and Captain Carew and Micah sauntered off behind them, tipping their hats to merchant and Master Ollershaw both.

  “Do you know the name, Ollershaw, Captain?”

  “Vaguely, Red Man. He has a place under the Constable at the Tower. He is a King’s Man, through and through and it is desirable therefore to frustrate him. He may well come to seek our arrest. I hope he may. The streets need but a spark to set off a great explosion of wrath against the foolish man, Charles Stuart. We need to go to war, Red Man, and soon, before the King shall beg or borrow troops from France or Spain to destroy our liberties. The men of Parliament are still much inclined to talk, to parley, to avoid bloodshed and especially, not to raise their hands against their King. Best that the stubborn recalcitrant King should hear that London has risen against him so that he shall bring an army to put down revolt. Many men who would rather sit at home will come to the cause of Religion and Liberty if the King shows himself no more than a tyrant.”

  It seemed cynical to Micah, but he accepted that there was no alternative to war. The King was determined to destroy the freedom of followers of the true religion and must therefore himself be put down. The ideal would be to force him to put aside his wicked, foreign, papist wife and take another of impeccable faith to create a new dynasty of trustworthy, Protestant monarchs. There was precedent in plenty from the days of Henry VIII for the removal of undesirable queens – the plan was sensible, had seemed so to Micah since first he had heard it.

  “The King is a foolish, misguided man, sir. Best he should be brought captive before Parliament and there be shown the errors of his ways and be put into proper habits of behaviour.”

  “Simpler to take his head, Red Man, and be done with all kings. We have a Parliament, what need we with a monarchy?”

  Dangerous words, Micah thought. Killing a king was easily done but might set a precedent too readily followed. If one man in authority, the greatest of all, was topped this week, who might follow next? Regicide might become habit-forming. Better to avoid it, unless the foolishness of the King made it an unfortunate necessity.

  “Easily said, sir. But the King has two sons and a daughter. Kill the old man and it will be needful to kill the young. ‘The King is dead, long live the King’, so I have read they say when one succeeds another. I have no desire to be the one who kills the children – and what I will not do myself, I will not recommend to another.”

  “Well said, Red Man. And right. To kill the one is insufficient; to kill them all is an act of wickedness. A quandary, indeed.”

  They reported to General Skippon that the Tower had tried to steal their staves but that they had forestalled them by holding the miscreants while they brought their goods away.

  “You ‘held’ them, Captain Carew?”

  “Red Man did the holding part while I loaded the drays and sent them off, sir.”

  “Tell me, Red Man, how did you perform this act of ‘holding’?”

  “Well, sir, I drew my sword and assured them that I would kill no man in error – they need not be afraid.”

  “Did you assure them you would not kill by intent, Red Man?”

  “Well… not in so many words, sir.”

  “I see. You will both remain close to my side these next few days, gentlemen. I do not doubt that the authorities, so-called, will attempt to take you up. That is not to be permitted. You might wish to inform the men of the Trained Bands that you are in jeopardy when you meet them for their exercises of a morning.”

  They gravely agreed that might be the course of wisdom.

  Chapter Three

  The story spread, became known over the whole of London, or so it seemed.

  The bold hero, Red Man, had stood up to the thieves sent by the King – in one version.

  The brigand and thief, the bloody-handed Red Man, had defied the officers of His Majesty said the other side.

  Captain Carew was amused – he it would seem had been nowhere present.

  “I must bestow a nickname upon myself, or so it would seem, Red Man. Otherwise I am not to be known at all. What say you, Mr Tixover?”

  Ensign Tixover was inclined to say very little while he did not know his own mind. His lawyer’s training told him that the pikestaves were the lawful, purchased property of the Honourable Artillery Company and that its officers had been within their rights to carry away their own property. His upbringing said that he was a King’s man and should show loyal to His Majesty. He was almost certain that the pikes, when their heads had been fitted, would be used by the disloyal elements of London Town.

  The real problem was that the bulk of his acquaintances made in London adhered to Parliament, regarding the King as a bully attempting to bring alien ways into Old England. Charles Stuart was, after all, only one generation from being a Scotsman, a foreigner and an enemy of the English for centuries. All of that agreed, he was nonetheless the King, the Lord’s Anointed, and it was difficult to set oneself against him.

  In the end, Red Man was a fine fellow, and he had the sound of home on his tongue. Mr Tixover was much inclined to follow his countryman and join the Parliamentary ranks. He wondered exactly where the Red Man haled from.

  “Why, Collyweston, Mr Tixover. My brother Jacob has two slate quarries there and is by way of being a leading man of the village. I met your good father but twice, and yourself, of course, never. I must confess, I thought it ill-done of the villagers to make away with the pikes and muskets your father had given them and place them to the service of Parliament. They should have paid for the weapons they will use to make war on his cause.”

  “Too late now, Red Man. I much fear my poor father to be dead. Letters from my brother say he has disappeared entirely.”

  “So I have heard, Mr Tixover. The countryside is still not settled after the Scottish war and it was unwise for him to ride off into the night almost unaccompanied.”

  Mr Tixover was forced to agree.

  “Come, Red Man, shake my hand and let us agree that I am to follow you to learn the ways of war. We must, it would seem, soon march against the King. It is not a course I have ever hoped to follow – but the foolish man leaves small alternative. We are not Frenchmen or Spaniards to be slaves to the whims of the Crown. We are freeborn men in Old England!”

  “We are so, Mr Tixover.”

  They shook formally.

  “I am Charles, Red Man – not the most likely of names for a Parliamentarian, perhaps, but mine!”

  “I am pleased to call thee so, Charles. I am Micah, but Red Man seems honourable to me.”

  “Enviable, as well – perhaps I may claim such a soubriquet one day.”

  The Trained Bands revelled in the tale, all of them now avowedly against the King. They were Londoners, they said, protecting their own against any and every tyrant who offered himself.

  Micah was pleased with their enthusiasm but wished it might translate into a greater facility with their pikes and firelocks. The cause was righteous, but battles were won with blade and ball not by the willingness to sing psalms and praise the Lord.

  “They must fire live, Daniel. Where can we muster the men to shoot? They have never felt the butt thump into their shoulder or heard the bang inches from their ears. They must spend powder or they will be taken aback when the day of blood comes upon them.”

  Captain Carew shook his head. It could not be done.

  “They would need to march for two hours
to come to open land where they could fire in safety, Red Man. Then they must come home again after more than an hour of firing. Six hours when they are committed to two only. It is not possible. When we march to war, then at the first evening’s camp, it might be feasible. Not before.”

  “Many will drop their muskets in shock at the noise, Daniel.”

  “I know, Red Man. I have taken green soldiers to war – by the state of their breeches after a first battle, better to call them brown soldiers!”

  Micah was shocked, a little, by such vulgarity.

  “Enough, Red Man. Let us take our ease for a while. We should beg our Mr Skippon for a leave of absence for three days and take ourselves out of London and its stinks and enjoy fresh air in the countryside. We should ride distant from the town, perhaps into Kent or out to Surrey and enjoy idleness.”

  It seemed a good idea and they took Charles Tixover with them as well, the three together, riding south to the little town of Croydon where they found fresh air and food at a small inn and a welcome from smiling chambermaids that caused them to venture no farther.

  “I had thought, Red Man, that we were to be puritan in our ways, as good followers of the men of Parliament.”

  “We are indeed, Charles. I am much attracted by the disciplines of the godly men, and shall, without doubt, adhere to them – but not for the next forty years or so. When I see three score years, I do not doubt I shall adhere to the course of virtue. Until then, best I study and learn what elegance of mind and body may be so that I may practice continence in the full knowledge of all I eschew.”

  “Red Man, it is I who is to be a barrister-at-law!”

  “Yet hypocrisy is open to the layman as well as the lawyer, Charles.”

  They laughed and called for another beer and relaxed before their evening’s pleasures at board and bed.

  “An excellent scheme, Daniel! I am refreshed and ready to face all the world may throw at me. What is happening, do you know?”