Pistoleer: Roundway Down Page 4
The Eastern Association had combined the Trained Band Militias of Essex, Hertfordshire, Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridgeshire to help assure mutual aid and mutual peace for the duration of this civil war. The Earl of Manchester had been appointed by parliament to govern the association. Oliver was in charge of the logistics of it, while the Earl was kept busy with the politics and financing of it. The association's main goal was to provide a peace and stability in a farming and fishing area that could feed most of the kingdom, so long as farmers could farm, and teamsters could haul, and fishermen could fish.
"It is the politics of food, gentlemen," Oliver concluded to the rest of the prisoners. "Whom ever wins, and whomever loses, and however long this war drags on for, the people must be fed else we will all suffer a visit from the four horsemen. The idea has been such an immediate success that now Huntingdonshire and Lincolnshire wish to join our Association. I wish you all to realize that I do not view you gentlemen as enemies, or as prisoners of war, but as breakers of the peace. The peace that is needed if we are all to survive."
"So what is to happen to us?" came a voice from the shadows of the cellar.
"Normally we would ask for your names and an accounting of yourself, have you surrender your military weapons, and have swear to keep the peace. Once that was done you would be sent to your homes. Unfortunately for you Lowestoft is the closest port to Holland, and Dutch Admiral Tromp has just broken Holland's neutrality by helping Queen Henrietta land a foreign army on our shores. You will be put under house arrest in Cambridge until the outcome of Henrietta's invasion is better known."
There were groans all around until Oliver continued with, "We will attempt to finish the interviews today, and that will be you opportunity to plead any hardship that this may impose on you or yours."
"And our men? What of our men?"
"After they have identified themselves, and have sworn to keep the peace, they will be released. Probably not today, for they may not get home before the curfew. Tomorrow morning then. Without their military weapons, of course."
This began endless mumbling so Oliver left them and went back to doing the personal interviews. Mighells dutifully took the minutes, Edward made some personal notes, Daniel marked the location of each of their estates or warehouses on a parish map, and all of this while Oliver asked the questions.
To Daniel the interviews well showed Oliver's training in law and so he was surprised when those being interviewed did not keep their answers terse and unhelpful. Instead, most of these men told Oliver more than was needed. The first thing he would say to each man was about how he commended and admired him for taking a stance and declaring for the king, at a time when so many were hedging their wagers. More than one he pointed out that this showed leadership, and the courage of convictions. Blah, blah, blah.
How easily these wealthy and prosperous men were taken in by his charm. The next thing he did was to ask if their temporary absence to Cambridge would cause their family or business any insurmountable hardships. How easily they were taken in by him. Each of them in one way or another betrayed information that was useful to Oliver or to the Association or to parliament. Each of them eventually did a disservice to the others who had stood with them, or to the king's officials.
Oliver would surely have become a very successful lawyer, if fifteen years ago he hadn't take up the cause of the Fen's cottagers who were losing their common land to drainage enclosures. This cause had put Oliver up against some of the richest nobles in Lincolnshire and Huntingdonshire, as well as against Charlie's own interests. Even in his youth he had a way with twisting men’s words against them, and so had made all of those influential men seem like petty thieves. Was it any wonder that the king's Star Chamber had silenced him and fined him into poverty and obscurity.
As the interviews progressed the parish map that Daniel was marking became more and more cluttered with x's, until Daniel saw a pattern emerge. Of the men interviewed so far, half, the leading half, were of the petty nobility with grand estates stretching inland from the town. The other half were those men's merchant/importer/agents from the town. The men they had brought with them to stand at the barricades were not yeomen or freemen, but their employees.
The map also showed who had not been captured at the barricades. Gentlemen with the same interests who did not get to the barricades in time, or who escaped capture and went into hiding. Putting all of this together with some of the comments that Oliver had wriggled out of these men made Daniel sure of one thing. The fifty that had been captured were less than half, nay less than a third of the men who could have shown up to man the barricades.
That meant two things to him, but he could not speak of them with any of the Lowestoft men present. The first was that there must be a cache of weapons somewhere in this town. The other, and more important, was that Oliver and his men were in danger of a counter attack by perhaps a hundred men, all of whom would know the town, the parish, and the lay of the land. Bugger, bugger, bugger.
During the next interview Daniel bided his time until the right moment and then interrupted Oliver's friendly patter to ask a direct question of the man being interviewed. "It's a bitch that we arrived a day early, eh, else it would be you questioning us?"
"I was just saying that very thing in the cellar," the man replied. "If Allen's cousin in Yarmouth had not been wrong in her dates, you'd have been outnumbered two to ... oh. Oh dear." He had stopped talking because Edward had spilled his ink and had interrupted him in his rush to blot it. That and because Mighells had stopped writing and let out a groan.
The last man to be interviewed, Captain Allen, gave his name and address and that was all. Even when Oliver threatened to judge him as a common pirate for the theft of Yarmouth's best fishing boats, a hanging offence, the man would say nothing in his own defense other than repeating that Oliver's tribunal had no authority to even question him never mind judge him.
All of the men save Allen were sentenced to be placed under house arrest in Cambridge for a period of not more than three which would be time enough to notify their families and the king, and hear any appeals. Allen was to be placed under close arrest indefinitely pending appeals, and pending petitions against him from any boat owners who wished him charged with piracy.
* * * * *
That night the Swan Inn was not nearly as busy as Martha had expected. As the Swan was catering to officers and gentlemen, the tap room was put off limits to most of the other men. The interviews continued until ten at night, and afterwards the men bedded down early in hopes of catching some sleep before they were called out for their watch. Daniel decided to leave his door unbarred after all. He would certainly not sex the woman, but he wouldn't mind holding a woman close all through the night, especially when he already knew that the goddess was strong in her.
The door did indeed open, but it was not Martha who slipped quietly in, but Sherwood who barged in and fell onto the second bed. "Sorry to intrude but Edward asked if I could not give him some privacy tonight. I only need the bed for another three hours. Then it's my watch."
Sherwood was asleep almost before he could answer. Daniel laid on the bed staring at the roof beams above his head and at the huge slabs of slate that were laid across them. Every time a gust of sea wind hit the slate, grit fell down into his eyes and mouth. As a way of putting himself to sleep he tried to estimate the weight of each slab, and then the weight of the ten that were above his bed. It was a crushing load if ever they collapsed. Well that wasn't helping him to sleep. With the rising wind the slate was beginning to creak, but then he came to realize that the creaking wasn't from the slate, but from the bed in the next room. There was a certain obvious rhythm to it. In out, in out, in out. Now he knew why Edward needed his privacy, and why Martha hadn't slipped into bed beside him. He was almost relieved. Almost.
Much later, Daniel struggled to leave an endless nightmare, but even though he wanted it to end it seemed to take forever to open his eyes to the morning light. I
t was the worst kind of nightmare. No, not the kind where you are being chased by a cavalryer with a long bloody sabre, but the kind where you have to relieve yourself in the worst way, but you can't find a polite place to do so. The true nightmare is knowing that you must wake yourself before you do indeed find that polite place in your dream and relieve yourself.
He pulled on his boots and dressed himself just in the white silk night shirt that doubled as his under shirt. In just boots and shirt he ran to the downstairs privies. Damn, they were all in use. He ignored the giggles of the women baking the morning bread. They were watching him, watching how the silk clung to him as he made for the stables. If the stable floor was good enough for the horses, then it was good enough for him. What a relief.
It was also a relief that they were almost back to equal-day-equal-night after such a long, cold, dark winter. He didn't mind these earlier mornings so much since there was no longer a need to chip the ice out of the latrines before you could use them. On his way back passed the kitchen, a woman who could have been none other than Martha's mum offered him some warm water for a morning wash, and he eagerly accepted. For the most part, the English still hadn't realized the advantages of the communal bath houses that Frisian clans had taken for granted since time began. It was so much easier to stay clean and healthy when there was warm water to rinse you, and a sweat lodge to cleanse you.
He was bent well over running the last of the wash water through his long blonde tresses to wash the soap from his eyes, when he felt a woman's small hand stroking his silk nightshirt. The caress of the silk was not unexpected. Women couldn't seem to keep their hands off silk, especially those who couldn't afford it. This woman whispered in his ear what she would gladly do with him if she could just wear it for a day. When he didn't reply, her stroking hand moved around from his back to his belly, and then slowly lower.
He rushed to finish his wash and dry his hands so he could remove her hand. She was shamelessly teasing his manhood, so it would be best to stop her before she embarrassed him in front of the entire kitchen staff. Too late.
"There he is," she whispered while squeezing the long man handle she had found beneath his belly. "Ooh, morning wood. The best kind."
"No love," he almost moaned. "You can't wear it. I'll be leaving today." Finally the soap had stopped stinging enough for him to open his eyes and find out which of the women had such dexterity. He had been expecting Martha, but it was her mother. "Madam that is not decent, not out here within sight of the kitchen."
"Why not, it's my kitchen? You've lovely hair ya know. Wasted on a man."
"Madam!" he almost squeaked in a girly voice. She had just done something with her squeezes that should be taught to every woman.
"Spoil sport," she said and took her hand away, and then gleefully danced her way back to her kitchen.
He was sort of stuck there, for he would rather point his embarrassment towards the women in the kitchen, than towards the men now crowding around the privies. Another woman came over to stroke his silk, and she must have been Martha's older sister. Older and bigger. As her excuse to stand with him, she had brought him an end torn from some fresh warm bread, which was as delicious as her stroking his silk, but didn't help him to get rid of his embarrassment. Until his blood stopped pumping he couldn't go back up the stairs to his room.
At that moment Martha came down the stairs, saw what her sister was about, roared with rage, and went after her sister with a warming pan. "You stay away from him. He's mine.” Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of sisterly bickering, and the laughter of men, and in all the confusion Daniel darted up the stairs.
He had almost made it to his room and to his clothes, when Oliver called out from the window of his room. His window overlooked the back yard, the kitchen and the privies, "Danny, what's with the silk girly smock. Did you leap out of bed and grab her clothes instead of yours."
In his defense there was only one thing to do. He went over to Ollie and showed him the qualities of the cloth that he was wearing. "It's a gentleman's silk night shirt, but these days I wear one most of the time. It means that coarse wool doesn't itch and scratch and it gives you your own clean layer in a rented bed. Homespun ain't bad to wear if your skin don't complain."
"Hmm, not quite army issue though is it?" Oliver was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Here was this ever so dangerous man, looking ever so girly with his cascade of yellow hair falling over his flowing silk night gown .
"Well it should be," Daniel replied defensively. He could feel his cheeks reddening. Knowing that made them turn even redder.
"You can't be serious," Oliver guffawed. "I want stout hearted yeomen in my troop, not nancy boys."
"Well if Robert Blake had been wearing one the last time he was shot, he wouldn't have come so close to death."
"Ah, yes I remember that Robert was badly wounded. He was quite ill while staying with your clan, yes?"
"Aye and it all started because the musket ball tore through and pushed three layers of cloth deep into his wound. It was weeks before we found all the bits of festering cloth. If he had been wearing this shirt next to his skin, the silk would have enveloped the bits of cloth with the ball as it pushed through the skin. To clean his wound, all we need have done would be to pull the silk gently out of the wound and it would have come out pulling ball and bits and crap with it."
"It does that? Silk does that?"
"Oh, Ollie, have you never given Betty or your daughters any silk? You cheap sod. Yes, that is exactly what silk does. It is so finely woven and of such strong thread that it wraps and folds rather than tears. Here, feel it. Try to push your finger through it."
Sherwood came stretching and yawning out of Daniel's door. He looked over at them, looked away, looked over again, and said, "If you must play at priestly ways, at least do it out of sight of the men," before going back to his bed. He'd been up half the night on watch.
* * * * *
"So, I will be staying on for a few days more to establish a new branch of our militia here in Lowestoft," Oliver told his officers, "but I can't do that whilst the royalist leaders are still in the town. Therefore I want Sergeant-Major Sherwood to bind them to their horses and take them under guard to Norwich. There he can load them into carts for the rest of the journey to Cambridge. This means we must delay the release of the rest of our prisoners to give the sergeant-major time enough to reach Norwich. We don't want any of them attempting to free their leaders, do we now? Any questions? Good, thank you, please attend to it."
Daniel followed Sherwood out of the room and then out onto the street, where Sherwood immediately began yelling orders to have forty men assemble with their kits. "What do you really think about your orders?" Daniel asked him, once the bellowing stopped.
"Fool hardy," Sherwood replied and then explained, "The Yarmouth militia are ready to leave us to take their boats and ships back home. So, there go most of our infantry. Now he is sending me with half his troop of horse to deliver some prisoners. That leaves him with but forty men in a town this large, and this unfriendly. Not enough of them to man three watches through the night. Meanwhile, we both know that only a third of the royalists in this parish were captured. It's fool hardy. How else would anyone describe it?"
"Aye," Daniel agreed. "Oliver is still just playing at soldiering, as are a lot of the gentlemen in this rebellion. Edgehill was his first real battle, and there he did more watching than fighting. Bugger. Hmm, how high are you in the Association's chain of command? When you reach Norwich, can you order a hundred men to race back here to support Oliver?"
"What you mean to ask, is not can I order it, but will they obey? Good question. When we are all encamped, the officers are supposed to give me the general orders which I then pass on to the men. Or rather, I pass them to the sergeants, and they pass them to the men. I suppose the answer is, if Oliver orders me to send him a hundred men, and I pass that order to the sergeants in Norwich, then they will come."
"Sergeant Major Sherwood," Daniel raised his voice a bit and said in a clipped, official tone. "Colonel Cromwell wishes me to pass you his order that he wants a hundred mounted troopers sent from Norwich to Lowestoft as soon as you reach there."
Sherwood stared at him with an open mouth, and then shut it. After a moment's thought, and with his men watching, he clicked his heels to attention, saluted, and said in a voice his men could here. "Yes sir. The colonel's orders to send a supporting troop are understood, sir," and then he relaxed and shook Daniels arm, hand to elbow, in the way of warriors since time began.
Daniel didn't wait around to watch Sherwood march out with his prisoners, for he had urgent business down at the harbour. He had to get there in time to stop Mick and the Friesburn Four from sailing away as the escort for the fishing boats being taken back to Yarmouth. His clansmen were needed here more than they were needed by that convoy.
* * * * *
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The Pistoleer - Roundway Down by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-15
Chapter 4 - The Weapons Cache at Lowestoft in March 1643
"Danny, y're mad," Mick told him straight out. "You want us to skulk around the locals a' spyin' on them. They all hate us. They know that we are the ones that cost fifty of their men their freedom, and that cost them all those boats. And what about them boats? eh? The Four was supposed to escort them back to Yarmouth. Do you really expect the Yarmouth men to wait around for us to leave?"
"I only wish they would, but I haven't been able to get it through Oliver's thick head that he needs them to stay in Lowestoft for another night. I suppose even if we asked them, they wouldn't wait. They want those boats safe back in their own harbour as soon as possible, and they will sail whether the Four sails with them or not. Why should they need an escort? They've been fishing these waters all their life. The trip home will be just another work-a-day sail for them."