With Cleff as a guide through the docklands of
East London, and Daniel as a guard, Pym and Oliver felt safe enough
to seek a high place from where they could watch the coal
sorting-yards. They were trying to see if their simply and
carefully-worded pamphlet had moved the Londoners to take action.
They were now precariously perched on the roof of a warehouse. The
coal yards spread out towards the river to the south of them. The
main gate to the yards was at the street corner not four hundred
yards from where they were perched.
The back streets had been ominously quiet considering the size of the crowd that they were now looking down upon. None of the streets had been blocked by the London watch, or by squads from the White Tower. The only guards they had seen were those now standing inside the main gate of the coal yards, but they were well spaced out along the high brick wall ready to punish with a cudgel anyone who climbed over it.
The watcher of this warehouse had charged them sixpence each to climb to this roof, and they were not alone in paying it. The local merchant who stood beside them was full of the local news. He had shuttered his shop early to come and see what was really happening. "The watch were given two sets of orders,” he told them. "One from the Mayor to stop any unruly groups from reaching any of the nicer neighbourhoods. That's why all roads leading into the City are blocked to carts going either way. The other order was from the Port Authority to stop anyone from reaching the coal yards. Guess which order the watch ignored?
You can't really blame the watch, can ye? They are not well paid and the hike in coal prices has hurt them as much as anyone. Did you see this pamphlet? Whoever wrote it should be hung for inciting a riot." The merchant passed it to the well-dress man beside him.
John Pym pretended to read with interest the pamphlet written by his own hand. "He makes a good point, though. The Lords of Coal are profiteering from our war with the Scots. They will reap double profits while London folk freeze in the dark."
"What's that you say? Are you against business making profits then? Profits are what make the world go round. Without profits where would we be?"
"Warm at home,” Pym replied while pulling his cloak closer in. The wind on this roof was bitter cold, right off the river. "Do you think there will be violence done today?"
"Hope not. I just hope them guards are too smart to hit anyone with their cudgels, cause if this mob gets angry, no one will be saving them guards." The merchant was quiet for a while, but then pointed over to side of the roof closest to the yard gates where there were some men hiding from the wind behind a chimney. "It worries me that I saw those men over there carrying muskets up the stairs."
"Perhaps I should go and find out who they are,” Pym told the merchant in a voice loud enough for his companions to hear. He began to make his way along the edge of the roof, all the while leaning into it, so that if he did slip he would fall into the roof and not off it. He heard footsteps following him. He suddenly felt braver. Daniel was following him.
It took fully ten minutes for them to pick their way to the chimney. The men crouched there gave them the eye and waved them away. Pym called out, "We just wanted to see if the view was better at this end of the roof." Again they were waved away. Because Pym had stopped, Daniel stepped around him and kept going. He had borrowed an old cloak from Tom because he didn't want to risk his good cloak anywhere near a coal yard. It wasn't quite big enough to close and he feared that the men ahead must have seen at least one of his pistols.
"We told you to keep your distance,” a very solid man sneered at him. Was it a sneer or was it that his face had been mangled in a fight. There was something about the hunch of his stance that reminded Daniel of gun crews on frigates. The other two men also looked like ship's gunners.
"What ship are you from?"
"None of yer business, now hop it." The man was trying to block the view of six muskets laid out on the roof, and half hidden by the chimney. Six muskets, three men. These were not watchers, they were marksmen.
"Now you wouldn't be hired by the Coal Yard to shoot anyone trying to rouse the crowd into storming the gate, now would you?" Daniel said, as he pretended to be keeping his balance on the slope by twisting backwards away from the man. In reality he was hiding his left arm from them and leaning backwards to that his cloak fell open on the left side.
"We've told you polite-like, and you don't seem to be listening, so now...." The man had slowly been moving his right hand towards the butt of the pistol pushed down his belt.
In one motion, Daniel drew his double-barreled dragon with his left hand, and as it rose to level his right hand cocked the flint of the lower barrel. "Don't move. A roof is a risky place to be blinded, and that is what this dragon will do to you if I pull the trigger."
"Don't get excited!" The man tried to calm the situation. "We mean you no harm. Just walk away and no one will get hurt."
"You were about to pull a pistol on me. Why try such a stupid thing? Don't you recognize another gunner when you see one?"
One of the other men looked him up and down. "You're no gunner. You're too tall and too clean. Besides, where would a gunner get a fancy fuckin' dragon like that?"
"Any of you scared enough to want to take a leak?" At their silence, Daniel motioned to the leader to start. They all knew what he was talking about. Ordering a man to piss down the barrel of his own gun was the safest and least violent way of disarming him. "One at a time now, and no tricks. First the pistols, then the muskets, and then the powder horns."
"And if we won't?. You can't shoot all of us, and those of us you leave will do fer ya."
"There are women and children on the street below. I can't allow you to cause a stampede amongst the men else the innocents will be crushed. I will shoot you if you don't start pissing, and I will need only one shot. Like I said, my dragon is loaded with a blinding load. Once you are blinded this roof will do the rest. It's a long way down."
The men were looking at something behind him, so at Pym. Pym must have drawn his wheel-lock. It was enough to tip the balance. One at a time the three men pulled out their pintel and pissed in their powder. When they were finished, Pym backed away, aimed his pistol at the closest of the men and then told Daniel to back away.
The gunners did nothing. They still had their guns, the tools of their trade. The tall bastard could have forced them to throw them over the side, but he hadn't. He was definitely a professional, but in a different class from them.
Pym and Daniel made their way carefully back to where the rest of the folk were watching, which meant they were blocking the staircase. With no way down, the three gunners leaned back against the chimney and watched the street as the rest of the folk on the roof were doing.
Down below things were heating up. The guards, now having realized that the London watch were not coming to help them, were backing away from the gates and the walls. Some men were leading a dray down the street. It must have been the last coal cart loaded, and it had at least five tons of coal on it. They lined it up in front of the gate, and then unhitched the team. With twenty men on each side of it, they got the dray moving, faster and faster until not only did it hit the gates, but it ploughed right through them. The crowd poured into the yard. The guards were running away towards the brick counting-house where they could hide behind stout walls and iron bars.
For hours and hours the folk of East London controlled the sorting-yards. People came and people went in a continuous stream. Anything that could carry coal was being put to use, from shopping baskets to dog carts, from blankets to barrows.
The merchant beside them kept saying over and over, '"This isn't a riot, it is mass theft," but then he hurried away to fetch his own barrow, as did everyone else on the roof. Even the gunners tipped their hats as they made their way to the staircase with their muskets under their arms. They were on their way to gather coal for the winter. And why not?
The mob didn't stop looting coal until there was nothing left of the great mounds of coal but dust. A fortune in coal was taken. Perhaps twenty thousand silver pound's worth. More at profiteering prices. When it was over, the Reformers walked through the now-crowded streets of the docklands back towards the City, where they were conspicuous by their cleanliness. Everyone else, no matter their housing situation or their profession, was coated in the black filth of coal dust. The whole way they saw no violence. No one was trying to rob each other of coal. Why would they when the gates to the black diamonds were wide open and the guards were cowering out of sight?
John Pym held up the pamphlet the merchant had given him and his entire face was smiling. "This will always be my greatest writing, for it has moved thousands to take direct, peaceful action. The irony is that to claim it as mine would cost me my life." He spun around and walked backwards so he could face them. "So you must all swear to me that the title of it will become my epitaph."
"Er, well, I think your wife may have something to say about us putting 'Theft from Profiteers is Divine Justice' on your tombstone." Oliver laughed.
Pym laughed with him, "No, really, I mean it. I will never write anything with a greater effect." He was so giddy with glee and accomplishment that it was as if he was drunk on Genever and he spun like a dancer to face forward again, and then spun again. Dirty filthy smiling people in front of him ceded space enough for him to dance a jig, but when he motioned for them to join him, they politely refused. The well-dressed gentleman was obviously touched in the head.
It was a day to remember. The day that the poor folk of London made fools of the Lords of Coal. By the time they were halfway across the City, it was as if nothing had happened. The riot in the docklands had not interrupted the pace of City life one bit. No one was fearful of it spreading, no one even seemed to be aware that there was coal for the picking up. It was as if what happened in the docklands was a dream that had never happened.
Pym was still dancing as he walked. "Don't fret," he told them. "Those who live in fine houses will learn of it soon enough when they order their winter coal and are told that there isn't any. That is when the fire will be lit under Charlie's ass to agree to Ace Leslie's terms and sign a treaty with the Covenanters."
* * * * *
Two days after the Coal Yard riot, Cleff and the lad caught a coach to Cambridge. Daniel did not join them because Henry Marten had asked him to stay a week in his fine townhouse and tell him more about his new ship, the Swift, and more about the Battle of Newbourne. Though he knew that gifts from Henry came with ulterior costs, he had not declined.
It was two days more before there was another meeting of the Reformers at Henry's house, and for those two days groups of young men roamed the streets of the City yelling out their frustration at there being no work for them. The meeting had been called by Pym, and Daniel wondered if it were Pym and not Henry who had wanted him to stay in London a little longer. His suspicions were proven true when Pym called the meeting to order and then introduced his topic as the most important thing that he had learned while at the Rally in Cambridge.
"The letter from General Leslie telling of his nonnegotiable terms?" asked Haselrig.
"No"
"The forewarning that the king would not be displeased if we were silenced, permanently?" At the mention of this by Haselrig, Henry and a few others leaned forward in their seats. They had not been told of this yet, but they decided that they were not surprised. Not really. Not after some of them had been arrested and held at Lollards Tower immediately after the last session of parliament had been dissolved.
"No,” Pym told them with a stubborn look that made the guesses stop.
"What could be more important?" Haselrig was at a loss.
Pym pointed at Daniel. "The fact that when we needed protection in Cambridge, this man was able to snap his fingers and have a dozen armed and dangerous men at his side almost immediately. Here I am on my own street, and if I snapped my fingers right now, who would turn out to protect me? My footman, my valet, my gardener.
During the last session of Parliament, Henry taught us all a lesson by giving each of us a pistol that could be hidden in our coats. Now, in Cambridge, Daniel has taught us another lesson. Each member of the House of Commons must recruit, arm and train a band of dangerous men that will answer his call in an emergency. Daniel's were all his clansmen, and that points the way. We must all look for recruits amongst our extended families, our political supporters, and their sons."
This suggestion had everyone speaking at once, and it took many minutes to restore order. Eventually it was again quiet enough for normal voices, and Pym looked towards Henry with interest. "Henry, of all of us I expected you to become a champion of my words, yet you are strangely quiet. Why?"
"Because I know of two parliamentarians who have already done this." There were calls of 'who?' and 'which ones?' He answered. "Myself in the valley of the Isis, and Robert Blake in Bridgwater. Daniel there, gave us a good price on some used pistols, and Robert gave me a good price on training my men. Each of us now commands a Dutch-style militia of flying squad pistoleers."
The questions were fast and furious for awhile, and Henry's answer to most of them was, "What can I say? Other than the men all enjoyed the training, and were most pleased by the gift of the pistols."
Realizing that he was about to be bombarded by questions that would not be well thought out, Daniel excused himself as if he needed to pee, but instead went upstairs to sit with Mary while she rocked her baby to sleep. "Alice has a baby about the same age. Do you ever see her?" he asked. "I mean, to discuss baby things?"
"Quite often when Henry visits Margaret, but not so much when he is here," she replied. Margaret was Henry's wife, while Mary was his concubine, a mistress with acknowledged children. The good news for Mary and for Margaret was that they were the best of friends. Mary had once been her personal maid and confidant. "They are calling for you," she told him softly to bring him out of his daydreams.
After a quick stop in the front bedroom to fetch his newest book, Daniel rejoined the men in the library. As he entered the room Haselrig was complaining, as was usual for him. "That is fine for you, Oliver. You live close enough to Daniel that he can help you to train your squad. What about the rest of us? You can't just hand pistols to farm boys and porters and expect them to know how to use them, never mind when."
Without saying a word, Daniel laid his newest book in Oliver’s lap. Oliver read the title and then ignored the rest of them for a few minutes while he thumbed through it. Eventually he looked towards Daniel, who was pouring himself a glass of Spanish brandy, and asked, "Where ever did you get this book?"
"You were always harping at me to read the bible, and I finally found a bible that was useful to read."
"No jests, Danny. Where, how, who gave you this book?"
"The translator. Look at the printer's page."
"Whose translation of the bible is it?" Haselrig asked. "James'?"
"It's not a bible," Oliver replied. "It is the Officer's Field Manual of the Swedish army as published by King Gustavus Adolphus." He flipped to the printer's page. "As translated into English by - oh of course - Field Marshal Alexander Leslie. First Impress ten copies June 1640, Edinburgh, Scotland. There is a dedication in Leslie's hand. ' To my friend Daniel. May this book help you in your quest to the New World'."
"I don't understand," Haselrig said as he leaned over Oliver's shoulder to see the book. "Are you off to fight a war in the New World, Daniel?"
"It is an army field manual. Yes, it explains training and tactics for fighting but most of it is about the basics of how to build fortified camps and wells and latrines and field kitchens and bridges and hospitals and supply lines and..." Daniel stopped listing things, "... and everything else that would be vital to know if you were carving a colony out of a wilderness."
"But it does mention training and tactics, yes?" asked Henry.
"That is why I am showing it to you. I suggest that you send to Scotland for more copies, and then hand them out to Reformers as Christmas presents." Daniel was expecting laughter and agreement with his simple suggestion, but all he got back were sour, disapproving looks. Of course, Puritans resented the pagan rituals of giving and feasting at Christmas. "Fine, I was just trying to help. May I have my book back now, please?"
"Nooo!" Oliver and Henry chimed together. "At least not until I have read it, and copied the best bits,” Oliver said in a softer voice. The Swedes have the most modern army in Europe, and Ace Leslie was their Field Marshal.
Later that evening, as Oliver was putting on his cloak to leave - one of the last to leave, as usual, because he was living at his father-in-law's house and they did not get along - he asked, "May I borrow your book to read?"
"Of course."
"Will you come and visit me tomorrow in Cripplegate?"
"I will."
"Good. I have something to show you and someone for you to meet. After breakfast would be best, after the old man has gone off to make his factory workers miserable."
* * * * *
"It has been well kept up." Daniel walked slowly through the rooms of the townhouse with Oliver. "Do you think Betty will be happy to move back to London, especially to a house so close to her parents?"
"Hmm, perhaps not happy, but fulfilled. Her parents are getting old and she is a dutiful daughter. In Puritan households it is the duty of the youngest daughter to take care of the aging mother."
"Is that a duty, or just the way it works out because there is no dowry left over to attract a good husband for the youngest?"
Oliver ignored the barb. "As soon as Parliament is officially recalled, I will send for her and the children. They can stay at her parents' house while she makes up her mind." They walked towards a man of Oliver's age and attire who was standing on the staircase waiting to show them upstairs. He was introduced only as 'Edward', and was the owner of the house. Daniel was curious as to why an obviously much-loved house was being sold, so he asked.
"It was my brother's house," Edward replied. "He sold it to me for a shilling the day before he was arrested by the archbishop. We are Independents, you see, and my brother was a pamphleteer who was speaking out against the way the Church of England is sliding back towards the Papist ways. "
"Was? You said 'was'." Daniel put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I am so sorry."
"I meant, was a pamphleteer. He still lives. He was transported to the Plymouth colony in New England. He is now happily living in a commune of Brownists. The rest of us have decided to join him there rather than have a sea between us."
"You have missed the traveling season. No ship will take you this late in the year."
"This we know." For the first time the owner took a hard look at Mr. Cromwell's friend. He had the face of a man who had stared into storms at sea. "You are a seafarer, then? All summer we tried to find a ship and a captain to take us, but with all the changes in trade routes since the Spanish fleet was captured by the Dutch, well ..."
"Too expensive?" Daniel interrupted. The man shook his head.
"The sale of our houses will provide coin enough. No, it was that we couldn't find a ship with a good bottom that had a captain we trusted not to throw us overboard as soon as England was over the horizon."
"Daniel has a ship,” Oliver announced. "And he is very proud of her. He is also thinking about moving his folk to the New World."
"Do tell. To which colony?"
"Therein lies my problem,” Daniel replied. "We don't know. We wish to escape the evermore brutal winters on the North Sea Coast, so we are asking other seafarers about places with softer climates. There seems to be a lack of trustworthy information. Since we now have a ship that can make the crossing, I have decided that this spring I will go and explore the New World for myself. Only once we decide on a place, will I risk taking our women and beasts."
"My brother raves about Plymouth. It is in Massachusetts, you know."
"And my Dutch friends rave about New Amsterdam, which is further south, but they say that winters can be brutal there, too. It would be foolish of us to up roots and move, and not to escape brutal winters."
"Ah, then you are thinking of the Caribbean, the sugar islands?"
"My Dutch friends say that the sun there is too strong for those of us with fair eyes. All of my people are fair. Perhaps somewhere halfway between the Caribbean and New Amsterdam. An island with water and a good port and a long growing season."
"Ahh, yet another captain in search of paradise. The Bible says that you must look inside to ..."
"Umm, you were going to show us the upstairs,” Oliver interrupted the quotation. Once a Brownists began quoting the Bible, it was difficult to get him to stop.
"Oh, of course, please wander at your will, Mr. Cromwell. I have things to discuss with your friend." He waited until the older man was at the top of the stairs and then he turned to the young captain. "You could pay for your journey of exploration by carrying my folk to Plymouth. Please, oh please, think about it. It is a plan that could serve us both well."
"This winter will be longer than the last, and the king is making trouble across his four kingdoms, so it would be foolish for us to commit to such a plan until we can smell the coming of spring. For one thing, you are a Brownist and Archbishop Laud has a new home in Saint Paul’s for his Inquisitors. You may be transported before my ship can take you."
"Laud!" the man punched the air with the small Bible in his hand, "that is one fat neck I would slit, given half the chance."
"Your Bible forbids killing."
"It forbids murder, not killing. There is a difference, but you are right, and I ask you to forgive my anger. Are you a Puritan?"
"Frisian Anabaptist, of the old way."
"So a communist?"
"Yes,” Daniel replied, hoping that Oliver would return soon and save him from this zealot. "Almost everything in our village is communal, including our ships."
"Then do not move to a city, for they seduce the innocent into sinning. It is only in communes that are close to the soil that you can live according to the teachings of King Jesus."
"Our elders have said the same thing for a hundred generations. Umm, please excuse me, but Oliver asked me to view the house with him. I must join him upstairs." At the top of the stairs he turned and called back, "Before the Inquisitors move into Saint Paul's you should go there and look at the wonder that Inigo Jones has created. It is beautiful. They say his fourteen classic columns have captured the look and grandeur of a Roman Temple and are worthy of a cathedral in Rome." As he spoke he saw the man's cheeks flame in anger.
Oliver had heard the words spoken about Inigo and he scolded Daniel for teasing the man. "A Brownist is part Lollard and part Anabaptist. He believes that every church should be run for the congregation by the congregation and that no one and nothing should stand between a man and his God. That is why Laud suppresses them, and why he has recalled his Inquisitors to judge them.
The Brownists do not just attack Laud's bishops as unnecessary, but the cathedrals, the priesthood, the altars, the statues, the paintings, the gold, the liturgies and the ceremonies. They decry the theology of Laud's churches, but more frightening to Laud is that they decry the financial and political power of the church."
* * * * *
The baby smiled at him and drooled down his bib and then filled his smile with his tiny hand. The little tyke was so engaging, even at this age. Mum was busy in the kitchen getting ready to feed the adults now that the baby was finished with her tit. Daniel shifted the tyke into the crook of his arm and used a finger to pull the tiny fist away from the tiny mouth. Immediately there was milky gack all over his sleeve.
He was enjoying his time in London. Between staying at Henry's house and visiting this goldsmith's shop he was getting lots and lots of baby time almost every day. It was a time as far removed as could be from the grisly battlefield at Newbourne, or from the day to day worries of running a ship or a village. Between Cleff and Anso the village and the ships were in good hands. Those were the men who would run the place while he and the Swift were exploring the New World.
Out in the shop he could hear Tom as he showed his golden fancies to the two stuffy but wealthy women who had come into his shop almost a half-hour ago. Oh, how he hoped that they bought one of Tom's creations. The man had put his heart and soul into them. Working in silver was a craft, but working in gold was an art, and all artists thirsted for praise.
Pounding. Some one was pounding on the front door. Tom would have securely locked it behind the women if he were showing them golden fancies. Alice came to him, wiping her hands on her apron before she snatched the baby from his grasp. Daniel grabbed his wheel-lock pistol off the sideboard and ran through to the shop. Tom was calming the two women and assuring them that the door was stout and the windows barred. Meanwhile, he was retrieving his fancies from around their wrists and throats and shoving those and the ones on the display table into his pocket.
"Quickly, open up, it's me!" The voice came from the face peering through the bars on the windows. It was Oliver. Daniel stepped to the door, unbolted it and swung it just wide enough to let Oliver in, while keeping one foot lodged behind to prevent it being opened further. Such panic and haste was not like Oliver. He friend squeezed through and then the door was shut and bolted.
"Quickly, you must take your display out of the window and shutter and lock everything down,” Oliver spoke out between pants. "There is a mob coming down Cheapsides. Every Separatist and Independent and Brownist in the city is heading towards Saint Paul's and they are carrying hammers and wrecking bars. Quickly now!"
Alice came into the shop from the back and told the two women to follow her upstairs where they would be safe. The hooded cloaks that these women wore were worth more than her entire wardrobe. One of the expensive women called to Tom. "Please tell my driver that we will stay inside and that he should go, but return after the mob has passed." Then she scurried after the shopwoman who was carrying the sweetest of babies.
Tom was busy snatching up everything in the window, and then closing the inside shutters, so it fell to Daniel to call out to the driver. The man didn't need to be told twice and he hurried his horse forward. Once back inside, and with the ground floor locked up tight, there was nothing to do and nothing to see, so the three men followed the women upstairs.
The shop front, the workshop and the back door to the small yard and the kitchen shed were all on the ground floor. One floor up was the dining-room-cum-sitting-room which was the largest space in the house. It had two large windows facing down onto the street. They could hear the mob now, the dull roar of many voices urging each other on to keep their courage from waning. As it passed the shop they could see that yes, it was a mob, but it was not out of control. They weren't bullying folk or smashing things despite their obvious anger.
"What started this? Do you know?" Tom asked Oliver as he took the baby from Alice so that she could serve the fine ladies some cake and some sipping cacaolait. Meanwhile the ladies were pressing their faces to the window trying to look up and down the street.
"Laud's men have been rounding up the Brownist leaders for questioning, yet again," Oliver replied, "but this time the High Commission is in session in Saint Paul's, so there are fears that the prisoners will be tortured."
"Laud is a righteous ass!" one of the ladies pronounced. "First he clears the sheds and the barrows in a swath around the portico of Saint Paul’s, and then he forces most of the shops at this end of Cheapside to close. He closed down my draper. He has brought this upon himself."
The other lady agreed. "He lives in London, for God's sake. Surely he can gauge the temper of the city. My husband has threatened to send my children and I to the country if there is any more violence. Impossible. The man is impossible."
Tom didn't know if she was insulting Laud or her husband. Considering the age of the woman it was probably both, for her husband would have had a string of mistresses by now. He sat himself and the babe on the cushioned bench he had made by widening the window ledge, and balanced the baby while he opened the window to stick his head out.
"What's happening?" he yelled out to the trailing edge of the mob below.
"Laud has declared," a precise voice called back from the street, "that all fines levied by his Inquisitors will go to the restoration of his temple. He means to squeeze us to pay for a building that offends our King Jesus. We are going to teach him a lesson." This was not a mob of porters and apprentices and fishwives like the one that had broken the gates at the coal yards. These men were educated.
Oliver looked towards Daniel and lifted an eye brow. "The roof?"
They moved as one and began climbing the two more flights of stairs to reach the attic where there was a hatch to access the roof. Tom yelled up to them, "Be careful. The roof is old. Don't put your foot through it."
They gingerly stepped across from rafter to rafter until they reached the hatch, and then the unbolted it and ever so carefully crawled out into what passed for fresh air in smoky old London. Then, one at a time on all fours they crawled to chimney where the roof would be the strongest and then crawled as high up the slope as their fear of falling would allow them. From here they had a view across the rooftops and chimney pots all around.
The mob had surrounded Saint Paul's and men were at every door using their hammers and bars, trying to break through any or all of them. A mob does not move on cat's paws so the church men had plenty of warning of the trouble coming their way, and had locked the cathedral down tight.
In their frustration at being locked out, other men were venting their anger against the workers' scaffolding that still surrounded half of the massive building. Inigo's rebuilding of the facade was only three-quarters done. They heard a smashing sound so loud that it echoed down Cheapside. The mob was hurling the facing stones that were stacked inside the scaffolding through the brand new stained-glass windows.
Perhaps their tools had beaten the small door facing Cheapside, or perhaps someone inside had opened it out of fear that the mob were so riled that they were capable of setting fire to it. Whatever the case, a cheer went up and the mob began to squeeze through the door.
"I don't know whether to hope that the Inquisitors are inside the chapel or safe at their homes,” Daniel told Oliver. "I don't like mob violence. Once it begins, it always goes too far."
"Not me," Oliver replied, "I hope that Laud is with the Inquisitors inside and that the mob lynches them all." Daniel looked at him in shock. Why was it that the most devout of the Bible thumpers always seemed to have a deeply-hidden vicious streak?
Now that the mob was inside, there was nothing much to see from the roof. The mob seemed to have settled down, and there was no sign of men being dragged from through the doors with ropes around their necks. They went back inside to see if the cacaolait was still hot.
Tom looked up at them from his seat by the window. "Don't tell me that the crashing was the stained glass." From the look on their faces he knew the truth. "Oh, poor Inigo! The restoration of Saint Paul's was his masterpiece. The largest work of art imaginable. He will be devastated."
"Then Master Jones should have used his talents to design schools and hospitals,” Oliver snapped back. "How can he countenance wasting a fortune to restore that monstrous Papist temple?"
Alice was serving the two ladies cacaolait in her finest cups, her only two fine cups. Though the women did not comment on the cups, for in their homes they likely used better for every day use, they both moaned at the richness of the cacao. "Oh, my dear!" one of them exclaimed, "this is delicious. You must give me your recipe."
"Uh, not today madam,” Alice replied softly, "for the excitement has put me in a muddle. Perhaps when you return with your friends to our shop." There was only a faintly crafty glint to her smile.
The woman looked back at her and a smile stole some years from her own face. "Of course my dear, but next time please don't feel obliged to arrange for a mob to trap us in your shop. Your husband has a deft hand and an eye for elegant simplicity, which is more than enough to hold our interest."
It was two more hours before the driver and trap came back to fetch the women. The driver told them that all was quiet at the cathedral. Apparently the mob had smashed some crucifixes and stolen some papers and burned some books, but the Inquisitors had been left shaken but otherwise unharmed.
After the ladies had left, Daniel pulled Oliver to one side and accused him, "You know more about this than you are telling. Was that mob play acting their rage? Was this more of your Reform party's work?"
Oliver grinned. "They were play acting, yes. They wanted no violence so they pretended the rage to scare everyone away. They were after the paper files of the High Commission, and nothing more. Yesterday the files were moved into Saint Paul's for use by the court, and today they are in the hands of the people they accuse. Hopefully that will completely geld the court process, yet without needing to lynch the Inquisitors."
"They will just move the court and reconvene."
"Yes, but still without their files. This does not end at Saint Paul’s, you know. From now on wherever the archbishop's court choose to meet, there will be a mob waiting for them."
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The Pistoleer - Slavers by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14