Years of Blood

- Book Two -

Red Man

Andrew Wareham

KINDLE Edition

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Chapter One

“To Huntingdon today, Rootes. The Captain said we should put up at the George, being a friendly sort of place to our sort.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but just what is ‘our sort’?”

Micah turned in his saddle, stared down his nose at his servant.

“’Our sort’, Rootes? Loyal soldiers who obey those set over us by God and Parliament, as is right. That is who we are.”

Rootes instantly decided that his nascent interest in things political should be strangled aborning. He had been a footman in a big house and inclined to support the aristocracy and the King, God bless him, but it was his business to obey his red-headed and occasionally fiery master, not to ask him questions or doubt his purposes.

“Beg pardon, sir. Was only that I wanted to know in case I should be asked.”

The weather was fine and the road not too dusty – it had rained two days previously and the mud had dried but not cracked yet. They could make reasonable time, a fast walk that did not exhaust the horses and could be kept up for a few hours, and the distance from Stamford was a bare thirty miles.

They entered the courtyard of the great inn towards mid-afternoon and handed the horses over to the ostlers.

“Wait here with the saddlebags while I see to a room.”

Rootes obeyed, asking the ostler who had taken his horse where the servants put up.

“Fine-looking bloke you are for one of us, master.”

“I am a soldier and servant to the officer.”

That seemed a satisfactory explanation of why he was not ragged-arsed like the stable lad.

“Over yonder. Eats in one place, sleeps next door. Good it is, got straw pallets to sleep on, not like we what kips in the hayloft.”

Rootes stared across – it seemed no worse than a barracks room.

Micah came back to tell him that he had taken a room and had paid for Rootes’ board as well and for a couple of pints to wet his whistle.

“More than that, you will pay for yourself, Rootes. Do not get drunk!”

“Perish the thought, sir. We shall set out properly early, sir.”

Rootes sat over his beer and considered his future that evening. If he was to stay with his master, well and good – he needed do nothing other than he was told. If he was, on the other hand, to support the King, then he would be sensible to get out in the middle of the night and hide up for a day or two. There was a substantial amount of his master’s money in his saddlebag and it would be easy to abscond, taking his horse as well.

The sole question was whether he wanted to find another officer to serve, or possibly to end up as a mere foot soldier. If he joined a King’s regiment, he would be unlikely to discover another master as easy-going and open-handed as the Red Man; most officers were far more conscious of their dignity and demanded much of their servants - and paid little. The chances were that he would end up in the ranks, carrying a pike and waiting for the dragoons to charge. He would have his own horse, but without armour, sword and pistols, he would not be able to join the cavalry.

He might have a feeling that he preferred the King to the religious sort of folk, but he was even more in favour of enjoying a comfortable existence. As servant to an officer, he shared that officer’s food and slept in a warm bed quite often. As a pikeman in the ranks, he would eat hard tack and salt beef – when he was lucky – and sleep under the stars more often than not. He was older than most soldiers, in his thirties, and did not take so well to hard lying.

Bugger the King – he was God’s anointed, so he said, and with God on his side he did not need the services of an elderly soldier. Rootes decided he must be seen in chapel on occasion, just to make sure there was no complaint to his master that he was served by a backslider. He suspected that a number of the faithful in the ranks showed their religious dedication as a matter more of convenience than conviction. One more of the same would do no harm.

He called for another beer and took it through with him as he found a pallet and settled on it, the saddlebags serving as a pillow, to be safe overnight. He was going nowhere, he decided as he went to sleep, his buff coat serving for a blanket.

Micah enjoyed a considerably more refined evening. The George was renowned throughout the county for the quality of its accommodation and food and fed Micah well with fresh bread and beefsteak and pies and peas and cabbage, all well spiced, and with fruit tarts to follow. They served wine with the meal and brandy after, as a matter of course.

The bedroom he was taken to was large and possessed a four-poster bed with a thick horsehair mattress covered with a linen sheet and with woollen blankets and a comforter atop. The maidservant was within reason young and sufficiently comely and asked him if he wanted anything else for the night. When he displayed a lack of understanding she placed his hand inside her bodice, making very clear what was on offer, in some quantity. Micah accepted most gratefully and found her a silver crown in the morning, much to her pleasure.

It was clear that Captain Holdby had been very sensible to direct him to the George. He wondered whether he might not stay for a second night – it would have been unwise, however. He did not think there was likely to be a pursuit for the man he had killed, but it might be foolish to dally.

He took a leisurely breakfast and asked the serving girl whether the road was clear and if there had been malcontents seen in the area.

The maid knew nothing of such things, called the landlord to the table to answer so difficult a set of questions.

“Begging thy pardon, Master, but the nature of malcontents may change, depending on who you might be.”

“I am a lieutenant of Colonel Knighton’s Regiment, now on my way to London Town to seek a place as officer with the Trained Bands there. The Sergeant Major General, Mr Philip Skippon, has made a call, I am told, for experienced soldiers to join his ranks and lead and train his willing men.”

“Ah! From the garrison at Newark, sir?”

“From Major Holdby’s people at Stamford, in fact.”

“I have heard that Stamford is a God-fearing town that has purged itself of malignant elements in the past months, sir.”

“Perfectly true, landlord. The town now stands firmly for God and Parliament.”

“As do all honest men, sir. There is some word that the King may be making a progress north, sir, and might well pass through Stamford on his way to York or Nottingham. He may well be seeking men to march at his tail, sir.”

“He will find few around the lowland parts of Lincolnshire, I believe, landlord.”

The landlord agreed. The eastern parts of the country were strong for Parliament and the honest people of the land.

“That said, sir, there is a trickle of disaffected men moving north towards Nottingham where the King’s forces are mustering. Not huge numbers – often no more than a single gentleman and two or three retainers. They can make trouble on the road, I am told, challenging those they see travelling in another direction.”

Micah smiled quietly – he did not think he would be too much bothered by a small group of belligerent but untrained gentlemen.

“Perhaps as well to wear breast-and-back on the road, underneath a travelling cape, perhaps.”

“Pistols and sword as well, sir.”

Micah nodded and paid his score and paced out to the stableyard.

“Rootes, a moment before we set out. All six of my heavy pistols, if you would be so good. Loaded and primed, two to the waist belt and the remainder across my chest. Breast-and-back first. Then prepare yourself against need.”

Rootes carried a pair of dragoon pistols, long-barrelled and large-bored, meant to be discharged as part of a volley into the massed ranks of a company of pikes but dangerous enough at a range of ten feet or less.

“Villains on the road, sir?”

“So I am told – mostly no more than green boys off to join the King’s Party, but possibly willing to accost their betters on the road. I hope that the sight of a man willing to defend himself will cause them to pass by quietly. If not – well, upon their own heads be it.”

“I put a sharp on thy sword before we came away from Stamford, sir.”

“Thank’ee, Rootes. I would like to pick up one of those long, heavy messers Major Holdby spoke of – fine swords for a man who is of more powerful build than most, so he tells me.”

Rootes had never heard of such a thing, gave a blank look. As a manservant, he was very good at not understanding the conversations of his betters and had perfected the necessary stare of incomprehension. He had learned that nothing annoyed the gentry more than to have the menials laugh at their jokes or nod in appreciation of a debating point they had just made.

“Messer, did ye say, sir? I’ll keep me eye out for one, sir.”

Micah was not fooled – he had served in the ranks and not so long back.

“Pity I did not pick up one of those flintlock muskets, Rootes. Be useful to have one of those along.”

His servant made no comment, thinking it to be more of a rhetorical lament.

They rode out, still no more than walking their horses – there was a long way to go and no need to hurry.

The road was easy to follow – far more than a mud trace like the typical country track, it was the Great North Road, one of the premier arteries of the whole country. The highway was two hundred feet wide generally, with a hard lane down the centre and a wide stretch of turf to either side. At the proper time of year it would be full of herds of kine and swine and flocks of sheep and gaggles of geese, all making their way south to the markets of London and the bellies of Londoners. In late summer the activity was mostly to the north, yearlings being brought down from upland grazing to winter where it was less cold and they could survive in pens, eating hay and turnips before fattening up in the spring ready to traipse off to slaughter.

There were drovers’ inns at regular intervals, rough sorts of places that the gentry, and officers, must avoid, for being unwelcome in such company. Less frequent were the inns where travellers could put up. Most commonly, the monied folk took rooms in town, more comfortable and far safer in a land where there was no such thing as a policeman outside of the urban areas.

At St Neots they turned off on the fork to Bedford, travelling little more than twenty miles in the day, Micah deciding that they could afford the extra time rather than stretch the horses the twenty-five extra miles to Ware.

“There are none to ask us why we arrive on one day rather than another, Rootes, and they say that Bedford is a busy town with much in its favour.”

Not merely busy, Bedford was a rich town with a river trade to the coast as well as farms that served London. The road to the town was full of carts and there was a steady flow of horsemen. Micah noticed that the men rode in groups, never singly, rarely just a pair.

They stopped at a country inn for a beer and to give the horses a break and Rootes spoke with the stable lads while Micah exchanged pleasantries with the landlord. Both came away with the knowledge that there had been confrontations between the townspeople, mostly strong in their Reformed beliefs, and the country gentry, almost all of them King’s Men and inclined to support Laud’s guidance of the Church of England towards a more Papist habit of worship and obedience. There had not as yet been bloodshed as such, more by way of the occasional scuffle and throwing of mud and one or two half-bricks. All expected more and the people at the inn had been quick to establish just who Micah was and which side he supported.

“We could give Bedford town the go-by, Rootes, but I am more inclined to stay there overnight and discover more of what is going on. The landlord here tells me that news comes to Bedford which they do not come across here in the countryside.”

Rootes was of the same opinion.

“The ostler says as how there’s a good chance of a big fight in town at any time, sir. Wondering whether he should walk so far, he is, just for the fun of it. More than two hours afoot is a long way just to watch a scrap, sir – though he says it might turn into a good riot with shopfronts broken open…”

“And a chance to lay his hands on some of their contents, no doubt, Rootes!”

“He didn’t exactly say that, sir…”

They laughed and climbed back into the saddle.

“Some useful stock here, sir.”

Micah followed the pointing hand.

“Stables are full, Rootes?”

“Horse fair last week, sir. I saw the number of nags and asked for why there was so many. From what the ostler said, the local folks are keeping their hands in their pockets for fear of troubles coming. They don’t know much, these country joskins, but they do know that if an army comes through then their horses are likely to go with it when it moves on, so they ain’t buying more stock for any reason. The landlord picked up a round dozen of packhorses, for pennies almost, reckoning he might be able to sell them on at a profit to local young gentlemen who are going off to war and want a second horse to carry their bags.”

“Did you look them over, Rootes?”

“Couple of strong beasts among them, sir. Do well for the work. Jem Ostler says as how if you was to offer his master gold coins in his hand, he would be more than willing to sell a good one and a pack saddle with it.”

“Call him across, Rootes.”

Twenty minutes later – no time at all – they walked out of the yard leading a strong pack pony. The addition was not the biggest in the yard but was healthy and well trained to his work, a gelding as well and less likely to be a nuisance on the road.

“Beg thy pardon, sir, but having the carrying space now, we could buy more by way of campaigning gear, cheaper hereabouts for not being in London. Best picked up now before the armies take the field and start to take all up. They did say as how they have heard of colonels being granted commissions to raise regiments just lately, both by King and by the Parliament itself and separately.”

The King had the ancient right to raise an army and could do so at any time at his own whim. Parliament had no legal power to raise an armed force and was effectively standing in rebellion by doing so. It seemed that the talking had come to an end.

“Best we should see what can be purchased in Bedford, Rootes.”

A pair of solid, heavy, cast iron cooking pans met all of Rootes’ desires for the coming campaigns.

“Can fry a couple of eggs and boil up a pot of beans, sir. Don’t need nothing more. If so be we lays our hands on meat – which ain’t going to be often, from what the old hands told me - we can skewer that over the open fire.”

Micah agreed – a hot meal was always welcome and they needed the simple means to cook one.

“Water bottles as well, Rootes. There will be times when we need water, even in England, which is by no means a dry country. I remember being at the top of a hill in the North Country, not so far from York. There was a stream at the bottom and forty Scots rogues camped on it. It could have been nasty, had it not been that we found a way down the other side. Water for a day will always be handy.”

“A leather carrying bag be the best, sir. Bottles as such don’t work for being heavy; glass costs money and breaks as well. Pewter leaks, sooner or later. Wooden barrels are heavy and awkward to carry.”

“Then leather it is, Rootes. Gives the water a taste, but that’s better than being dry.”

They discussed their other needs and agreed that a second leather groundsheet apiece made sense.

“A thick blanket as well, for winter. Felted and warm. Woolly stockings besides.”

That seemed sufficient to carry.

“Perhaps a fowling piece, sir? Useful to knock down a rabbit or a pigeon or two or pick up a duck in passing.”

“I shall look inside a gunsmith’s, Rootes. You make a good argument.”

The large inn they first came to in town had rooms available – the landlord said that the bulk of travellers were anxious to get on their way and few stayed more than a single night. Previously, many had delayed a day or two in town but now they were in a hurry to do whatever business brought them in and then get back home again.

“Worried, sir. Half expecting to find their houses burned down when they get home again, so they are. How long do you wish to stay, sir?”

“Two nights, host. I have business in town tomorrow that means I would not be able to make a full day of travel, so best to stay the extra night. Then back on the road, quietly, towards London.”

“Sixty miles to London town, sir. A long day’s travel and tiring indeed for the horses. Better to overnight in Watford, sir. The roads are cut up so by the many using them, sir, ‘tis wiser far to take a journey slowly.”

Micah could accept that advice. He was in no hurry.

“Has there been trouble in the county, landlord? You talk of men frightened their houses may be burned about their ears.”

“As you might say, sir, though not exactly so as yet, but there be some wild and wilful talk to be heard of late of what the King’s people will do to traitors to His Royal Majesty. I’m sure I don’t know, sir!”

It was clear which side the landlord espoused.

“Be you a soldier, sir?”

“I am, lately a lieutenant of Colonel Knighton’s Regiment and off to seek employment more properly in London.”

It was a sufficiently vague statement that the landlord could make what he wished of it.

“I fought in the King’s army against the villainous Scots, landlord.”

That sounded uncompromisingly loyal, until the auditor analysed the words – a trick the landlord chose not to perform. His guests were in the right, as long as they paid their bills.

Micah produced a crown piece and laid it on the counter.

“Five shillings against the rooms and meals for myself and my man, host. We can discuss extras when it comes time to go. It the weather breaks, we might well stay another night or two – I have no wish to catch the miseries riding in the rain, and there are clouds showing in the west just now.”

The landlord would expect to charge no more than fourteen pence for rooms and board for master and man for a night, was very willing to scoop up a coachwheel in advance. He hoped it might just rain for the rest of the week.

“Can you recommend a gunsmith to me, host? My man thinks a fowling piece would make sense if we are to be out in the field.”

There were two in the town, the one far lesser to the other.

“Master Wenlock has a name for his barrels, sir. Many of the gentry of the county would rather come to him than go to London for their sporting guns. Down the road two hundred paces, sir, then left towards the river and you will find his shop on the right, with a sign bearing his name upon it.”

The shop was typical of the trade, the windows small and heavily barred against thieves. Walking in through the open door, seeing it to have chains and bolts for safety at night, Micah came to a pair of large rooms with an open archway to workshops at the rear. There were racks against the back wall and an apprentice stood at a counter. There was an older man perched on a stool to the side, a short-barrelled scatter gun close to hand.

“A flintlock fowling piece, sir? Certainly, sir. We have four you might wish to consider unless you want to wait a month or so for a pair to be made up to your measurements.”

Micah did not have the time to spare, he regretted.

“We have barrels more suitable for deer or other large game, sir, as well.”

There was no game larger than a deer in England. The apprentice was implying that the guns were in fact military muskets.

“May I see?”

The young man pointed to a rack containing the familiar Dutch-made muskets, identical to those he had confiscated in Stamford.

“That is a forty-two inch barrel, is it not?”

“Sufficiently long for the powder to burn completely, sir, provided the mix is correct, sir.”

“Have you ball?”

“Cast in lead, sir. A windage of a bare one-tenth part of an inch, sir.”

“Very good. We might wish to discuss the price of a brace.”

The apprentice called for his master to deal with matters of money.

The master gunsmith was a Puritan, consciously dressed in the plainest of clothes with steel buckles to his shoes rather than gold or pinchbeck and with no colour to the doublet he had assumed to speak to his customer. He presented a picture in black and white, marred only by his cheeks, bright scarlet from years of working over a forge.

“It is thy wish to purchase two of the flintlocks, Master?”

“I am Lieutenant Micah Slater, Master Gunsmith. I am bound for the wars, I believe, and wish to carry one musket and have the other available to the hand of my soldier-servant. We are to strike our blows on behalf of the congregation of saints assembled, sir, to lend our small help to those who would defy the Antichrist in all of its wicked doings.”

Micah reflected that Pastor Doddington would have been proud of him – his words could have come from any of the divine’s sermons.

“Hallelujah, brother! Your words come as music to my unworthy ears, as manna to my lips!”

A fraction excessive, Micah thought, but essentially the result he had desired.

“Brother Slater, I shall tell thee true that I paid thirteen shillings and fourpence for these Dutch pieces. They are yours for that sum. The powder cost me four shillings more. Ball was cast in my own forge and cost me nothing other than my labour and a few pennies for the lead, and that I must give thee free of charge, for every man should give of his hands for the great cause.”

“Thirty shillings and eightpence, Master Gunsmith. Allow me to count that sum into your hands, sir.”

They discussed the many failings of the King for a few minutes and regretted that the Papist Archbishop Laud had not yet followed his tool Strafford to the headsman’s block, shaking their heads sadly.

“I must leave thee, sir, much though I have enjoyed our discourse. You will have seen I carry only a short sword at my side. I wish, if it may be possible, to discover a sword cutler and purchase a blade more suited for the press of battle.”

“The boy shall lead thee, Brother Slater, to the premises of the godliest of those who pursue the trade in Bedford. He will also carry thy purchases, sir.”

Micah led the apprentice to the inn first, depositing his weaponry there. They then proceeded at decorous pace to the sword cutler’s premises, it being inapt for an officer to hurry, or so the guide thought. The boy made the introduction and retired, clutching the sixpence Micah had given him. Micah wondered if the gunsmith might pick up a commission on the new customer he had provided.

“A heavy working blade, sir. I am a powerful man, I believe, and can swing a long blade in battle.”

“The Lord God of Battles will bless thy arm, brother, and add to thy might. You dress as a foot soldier, sir.”

“I am, Master Cutler. I shall not ride my horse into the field.”

“The Scottish basket-hilt would be best for you, but I have none such in my stock. A backsword will do as well, almost, the blade a little shorter but very strong. I have a pair on my racks – you should see whether either would suit you.”

The sword cutler presented Micah with a blade almost half as long again as the one he was carrying. It was more than a yard overall, the hilt protected by a basket of a single longitudinal bar from pommel to ricasso and a pair of curved finger guards, all in strong steel. The blade was single edged apart from four inches to the tip, designed more for the slash than the thrust, and was wedge shaped in cross section, a heavy spine adding rigidity and cutting power.

“It weighs no more than three pounds, brother, and will not tire thine arm excessively. There are heavier swords and they will do great execution but will exhaust thee in a daylong battle. This backsword may be used from horseback as well, should the need arise, while a greater sword cannot be swung except on foot.”

Micah nodded, stepped back and took the weight of the sword, making passes in the air.

“Well balanced, Master. The grip is easy on the hand. I like the weapon, Master.”

“I have another, Brother Slater, but more ornate, to the taste perhaps of a less serious-minded gentleman. The hilt is bound with brass wire and pommel cast to the representation of a noble visage.”

“Not for me, Master. There is little of the nobility in me!”

“And rightly so, brother! This is the day of the ordinary, common man, or so I believe. We must bring all folk to the same level of virtue and godliness. There is no place for the roistering, idle, fashionable son of privilege in our new land, to be made by the strong right arms of saints such as thee. Continence and prudence are to be the watchwords of our new Commonwealth!”

Micah was not at all sure that he agreed with all of that declaration – continence particularly seemed much overrated.

He chose not to argue, merely enquired of a price and handed over the remarkably few shillings demanded of him.

“The cost of the steel, Brother Slater, for that I must have if I am to forge another in its place. My labour is thine for free in service of our Cause. Come, Brother Slater, let us pray for thy good fortune.”

Micah dropped to his knees, reacting instinctively to the words and accepting the extemporised blessings poured upon him. He was much aware that he had not attended chapel as he should in recent months – and had a strong suspicion that he might not in the weeks ahead. A blessing from a good man could not come amiss.

“The short sword, Rootes, will do better at your waist now. I shall keep the backsword at my side as we travel, against need.”

“Been talking, so I have, sir, at the inn. The ostler says as how there have been fights every night between the parties, and hard words exchanged in daylight at the market and in the streets. As well, sir, that we neither of us venture out of doors unarmed, for any stranger may be challenged for his loyalties.”

It was difficult, Micah mused. The fighting so far had been no more than fisticuffs, more noise than harm done. At worst, from the little he had heard, there had been stone-throwing, and that half-hearted. Was he to draw his new sword, or worse, his pistols, then the unrest must climb to a more serious level. He did not wish to be the catalyst, the cause of bloodshed that might otherwise be averted. Under no circumstance would he be insulted, or worse, going about his business at the market or in the shops; that his honour would not tolerate.

He laughed, bitterly – since when had a common quarryman to worry about his honour?

“Sword and pistols, Rootes! I do not wish to see blood, and that includes mine own. I shall carry the means of defence on my person. You will come with me when I go out next. Do not yourself venture out alone, Rootes.”

The market stalls were thinly stocked and there was space for more to set up, as if many of the regular sellers had chosen not to risk their goods and persons while there was a possibility of riot in the streets. Sufficient had turned out for Micah to discover the bulk of the goods he required, and to notice that their prices were stiffer than he would ordinarily have expected. It would seem that fear for the future had put pennies on the cost of everything.

The shortage of goods made it seem sensible to buy more than he had anticipated, for fear that there might be nothing to hand in a few more weeks. He bought his leather groundsheets, four of them against a long campaign to come. Woollen blankets were for sale on five different stalls and their price was not so outrageous, for there were fewer buyers as well as a shortage of sellers. Water bags were not to be found, ordinary folk having small use for them.

“Buy them in London, Rootes. They say that anything can be found there. What else do we need?”

“Pewterware, sir. There is a seller here and a pair of plates and drinking mugs could well come in handy. Easier to keep clean than wooden dishes, sir. A spoon would be of value, as well, for stirring a stew pot.”

The pewter cost half its own weight in silver, the seller well aware of his product’s worth on campaign.

“A jack knife apiece, sir. Good for cutting off a slice of bacon or chopping up a bit of kindling wood to start a fire or a dozen other little jobs on campaign, sir.”

Rootes spoke aloud, not considering there might be ears in the market, listening to the conversation of the strangers. Micah was equally unaware, agreeing casually.

“I have my own old knife from the Scottish wars, Rootes. It is in the larger of my bags, if I remember. Dig it out for me when we get back to the inn. We should buy a knife and perhaps a billhook for you, for firewood.”

Agricultural tools were easily found in the market, new and sharp and inexpensive.

They came away and walked into the street and were stopped by four men, shoulder to shoulder in the roadway.

“Off on campaign, are you, soldier? Just who are you fighting for?”

The speaker was older than Micah, dressed in breeches and doublet, prosperous seeming in countrified fashion, a squire come to town. The three at his side were horsemen, shorter, bandy-legged grooms who had possibly brought their master’s stock to market; they carried cudgels. Squire had a sword at his side, tangled up in his doublet, worn to announce him to be a gentleman rather than as a weapon he expected to put to use.

“Be ready, Rootes.”

Micah’s servant, who had been carrying all they had bought, put his packages down in the street, carefully choosing a dry and clean patch of cobbles.

“My name is Lieutenant Micah Slater, late of Colonel Knighton’s Regiment of Foot.”

He waited them for the squire to introduce himself, as a gentleman should, deliberately putting him at a disadvantage in terms of simple courtesy.

“Jonathan Heller, esquire, of Copelands Hall. Will you now answer me, Lieutenant?”

“I see no obligation upon me to do so. I need not meet the ill-mannered demands of some rustic squireen, I believe. I have, however, no desire to hide my allegiance. I am to go to London to place my services at the command of Sergeant Major General Skippon, and thus at the orders of Parliament to put down the foolish pretensions of the Papist would-be tyrant calling himself King Charles. I stand for Old England and its liberties, sir! What say you?”

Micah ostentatiously dropped his hand to his sword hilt, the meanwhile easing his left onto the butt of a pistol.

There was a crowd gathering, attracted to the trouble. At Micah’s words the onlookers began to sort themselves into factions, some standing behind him and others placing themselves at Heller’s shoulder. The majority though, stepped well clear, hoping to see a good fight but supporting neither side. The road emptied of women and children.

Squire Heller was no coward but had never been to war. He was a farming man, robust enough but no trained soldier. It seemed likely to him that if he drew his sword it would be his last act. The traitor Slater was fully armed, he now saw, his hand having brushed away his greatcoat and displaying the front of a breast-and-back.

If he fought, he would almost certainly die. If he did not fight, if he backed down, then he would display the yellow flag to the townsmen who knew him and had stood to his support. He must choose between losing his life or his honour, unless he could find a way out…

Heller stood silent, casting about for a third course. There was none and he could hear mutters of impatience behind him. He had to do something.

“You are a traitor, Lieutenant Slater. I order you to present yourself to the Bench of Magistrates.”

“Make me!”

The squire’s twelve years old son stood at the side of the road, in safety, where his father had put him, watching in horror as his father dithered and then suddenly turned away, hurrying down the street and turning a corner, out of sight. The crowd behind Micah roared its derision and the Royalists, betrayed by their leader, backed reluctantly away, feeling they had nothing left to fight for. The boy ran after his dishonoured father, towards the stables where they had left their horses; he wept in shame as he caught up and mounted and followed his father out of Bedford.

The name was Slater, the villain who had humiliated and disgraced his father and his whole family. He would not forget.

Chapter Two

A crowd, fifty or so, too quiet to be called a mob, followed Micah to his inn. They were an escort, it seemed, protecting their champion from any attempt by the enemy to take him up. He turned at the door, gravely thanked them for their presence.

“Hard times are upon us, good people. The saints must congregate, come together to fight for all that is right. Better if we could avoid the spilling of blood, but that may not be ours to choose. We may not stand back from the conflict that has been forced upon us by those who have forgotten their duty to God and to the people. You have shown yourselves brave and bold, men of Bedford. When the time comes, I must beg of thee to take up arms, to join a regiment of like-minded and true men and face the bloody-handed tyrant. Do not do so in pride but in humility, aware of your duty and the need to protect all from those who would abuse them. I am to go to London in the morning. I shall go to my new regiment strengthened in the knowledge that right-thinking men have come to my succour.”

The men dispersed, grave in the face, a few who saw themselves as leaders speaking to him before they went away.

“Strong words, Soldier, and to be kept at the front of our minds, sir. You spoke well!”

Micah bowed his head.

They had not been his words in their entirety – he had taken them from the many sermons he had heard and from the addresses made by the virtuous in Stamford. They were not made invalid by their source, however – he found he believed all he had said. He was to go to war, which seemed inevitable, not for his own glory but in pursuit of duty.

He ate his dinner and sat back with a pint of strong beer to hand, reflecting on the day.

He was to go to war, that was for sure, yet he was not to accept in its whole the preaching of the chapel. Virtue was one thing, and much to be commended, yet a pint of beer was not unpleasant and the smiles of a chambermaid were not to be despised while he had a silver crown in his pocket…

One could perhaps support the cause of those touched by the divine and yet be thankful not to have achieved their degree of saintliness. He would offer his strong right arm, and that gladly, but he was not to become an ascetic just yet. He had noticed that the majority of those who preached abstinence and continence were far his elders; he would wait until he was of their age before he assumed their way of life.

The morning saw the pair on their way south, still walking their horses, in no great hurry. The magistrates had issued no warrant, had made no attempt to take them up and there was no need to escape their jurisdiction. It seemed likely that the town was far more inclined towards Parliament than were the local landowners. It was to be in part a war between the prosperous of the countryside and the new money of the towns, he suspected, as well as a simple clash between King and Parliament, the Old Religion and the new.

He shrugged – he knew which side he was on and the finer points could escape him. He was an ordinary man and the gentry were not his people.

Two days later and he was in a room in an inn towards the centre of London, amazed and horrified by the huge metropolis, a hundred times greater than York, or so it felt.

To a country youth, York had seemed vast, requiring a good twenty minutes to walk from one side of town to the other. He had ridden two hours through the villages and then the streets of London and was sure he was no more than in its middle parts. He doubted he could ever come to know so enormous a city, was not at all sure he wished to.

Like any town, London was dirty and smelly, but seemed to take its stench to extremes. In York and Stamford the night-soil carts collected the contents of chamber pots and took them out to the fields, which were within reason close to hand. In much of London, the fields were hours away and the night-soil carts had been abandoned as impractical. Where there was a sewer, it was overused. The few streams and rivers running down to the Thames were thick with sewage. The Thames itself was disgusting.

Micah could not imagine how people could choose to live in such a place. He promised himself to drink beer only – it was far safer than the water could possibly be.

He made enquiries at his inn and was directed to the Old Artillery Gardens in Spitalfields, within close smell of the Thames, in the expectation of finding Philip Skippon and giving him the letter he carried from Major Holdby. He knew the Sergeant Major General to be an eminent gentleman and expected to have to wait long hours to be admitted to his presence.

He was face to face with Skippon within minutes.

“I have many hours to work on my papers, Lieutenant Slater, and can always find time for the boys who will come to me.”

Micah later discovered that it was Skippon’s unvarying habit to call soldiers his boys.

“I am come from Stamford, sir, and have a letter from Major Holdby, who was known to you in the Germanies, I believe.”

“He was indeed, Mr Slater. A fine young soldier, too. Allow me to peruse your letter.”

Micah stared at the great soldier while he waited, taking in the lean face of the saint, no spare flesh at all, yet not a forbidding countenance. There was a twinkle to the blue eyes that said Skippon enjoyed life.

“Major Holdby displays a deal of liking and respect for you, Lieutenant Slater. He says that you are a soldier born, a fighting man of the finest kind. He is not a man to overstate his case.”

“If I am a soldier at all, sir, it is for Major Holdby making me. I have the greatest respect and kindness for him.”

“As have I. A good man as well as a soldier. He commends you to me, begs that I might employ you to train the people of London in the conflict that is to come upon us. He says that you have fought against the Scots and shown bloody handed there. He says as well that you have dealt with miscreants and malignants in Stamford town and displayed great restraint wherever possible. I have no use for the man of blood who is a stranger to the arts of peace, Lieutenant Slater. In the same way, the man of peace who shrinks from war is no friend of mine. It seems to me that you might well be of the sort that I have an affection for – one who can offer violence to the enemy who comes sword in hand and kind words to those who would argue and differ peaceably. We are close to war, Lieutenant Slater, of the worst kind – brother against brother, father against son – and we need men who will refrain from killing when possible and slay implacably when there is no other course. I will take you willingly, Lieutenant.”

“I believe, sir, that I shall be pleased indeed to follow you to war. I have no love for killing, sir, but know that I can perform the bloody act when I must. I would wish to stand at the shoulder of a man who will not lightly command the death of others.”

“So be it, Mr Slater. You have your letters and numbers, I presume?”

“Both, sir, sufficient at least for the demands of my company. I was for some months the sole officer to hand and was forced to keep the company’s ledger and I know that the captain who eventually came was satisfied with my work.”

“Good! Too few of my officers can hold a pen with the facility that they use a sword, yet both are essentials of war. I shall make use of you, Lieutenant Slater. For the while, we have quarters at the Merchant Taylor’s guildhall and I would have you move into a room there. The lodgings will cost far less than any inn, which is also a recommendation for them.”

Micah had been amazed at the cost of a chamber in London, was happy to move into barracks.

“I would caution thee, Mr Slater, that not all of the officers of the Honourable Artillery Company support Parliament in its dealings with the King. A degree of discretion might well be wise. Captain Holdby says that you left Stamford following a meeting with a Yeomanry officer who had insulted your sister?”

Micah recounted the meeting briefly.

“Killed him at second shot? Well done, sir. An offensive brat, it would seem, and the world a better place for his absence. I have no patience with those who will roister and bully, Mr Slater, and have no objection to your dealing with them in so condign a manner. That said, a soft answer may often turn away the wrath, as the Good Book says, and brawling is better avoided when possible.”

“Proverbs, sir, 15.1. I was warned much as a boy for my red hair and its proclivity to brawling and brangling. When possible, sir, I shall offer a meek tongue.”

“I ask no more of any man, Mr Slater. You will not, of course, tolerate insult to your honour or that of any other of our cause.”

Micah laughed and shook his head.

“I am a soldier, sir, and I do have a red head, when all is said.”

“Indeed, Mr Holdby, my old companion in arms, says that they call thee Red Man, in the regiment. I will not ask you to change your nature. I will be pleased to introduce you to your fellows at our dinner tonight, sir.”

It was as Red Man that Skippon introduced him to the officers that night, named, he said, for his nature as well as his looks.

“The young man was prominent, I am told, in the pacification that followed the ending of the war with the Scots, assisting much in the removal of those who had turned to brigandage.”

The officers were sat in two groups, one far larger than the other and clearly more inclined to drink small beer than wine and of a more sober habit of dress. Both sets, Parliamentarian and Royalist, approved of any soldier who had put down the looters and despoilers of the countryside who flourished in the discord of war.

“Who was your commander, Red Man?”

“Captain, now Major, Holdby, who had the Lincolnshire Trained Bands in his command. We were drafted thence into Colonel Knighton’s Regiment of Foot and sent to Stamford to keep the peace and recruit to our ranks.”

“And did you keep the peace there, sir?”

The question came from the Royalist ranks, a young man and dressed fashionably with lace and ribbons.

“We put down any who sought to arm themselves and cause dissension in the town, sir.”

“Even though they might have been loyal men and about to defend His Majesty?”

“Any and all who would have brought bloodshed into the streets, irrespective of cause. The great bulk of the ordinary people seem to have little either of knowledge or interest in any cause other than that of living a peaceful life and feeding and rearing their children. It seems to me that the people of town and village have the right to live their own lives, without their betters, so-called, destroying their simplicity.”

“Every man has his duty to his King. That is preeminent.”

“That is one point of view, certainly, sir. In a busy town such as London, it may well be true. In the distant parts of land where people live far from dispute and politics, it is another matter.”

Skippon intervened to say that every man had a right to think his own thoughts and discuss them, but not perhaps at the dinner table.

They withdrew from the table and the bulk of those present wandered into a great hall which had been made over to the officers as a common room, a mess, as some called it.

The Royalist faction were none of them to be seen.

Skippon sat next to Micah for part of the evening.

“Those of the King’s faction choose to pursue noisier forms of relaxation of an evening, Red Man. They will be off to the theatres, to the inns, and, I much regret to say, to bawdy houses as well. They sin casually and often with no regard for their mortal souls. We take simpler pleasures, discussing much that should be of interest to all men and addressing ourselves to the condition of our souls.”

It sounded as if the Royalists were having the more enjoyable evening.

A little later a familiar face came and sat at Micah’s side.

“Are you not Captain Carew, sir? I met you in Major Holdby’s company, as I recall, your own troops cashiered for lack of zeal in battle.”

“Just so. I came to London and found work here with the most willing of young men, anxious to learn the pike and musket to defend their homes and their liberty. I am to take you as my second officer, if it suits you, Red Man.”

Micah assured Carew that he would be grateful to serve under the command of one of Major Holdby’s friends.

“I have one young ensign besides you, Lieutenant. He is a lawyer by trade and hales from the parts close to Stamford. His name is Charles Tixover.”

Micah was displeased by that information.

“His late father was Squire of my village of Collyweston. I never saw the son, the family living away from the village. The old gentleman raised the trained band in the village and showed discomfited when they with one accord cleaved to chapel and Parliament rather than the King as he wanted.”

“He died, you say?”

“He did – he chose to ride north to Newark, a distance greater than one might achieve in a day, leaving our barracks in Stamford in late afternoon. He was not seen again. We do not know but suspect he came across deserters from the King’s army against the Scots, making their way slowly back to the South country. There have been acts of villainy in the countryside, attributed to such folk. I suspect he is at the bottom of a deep ditch somewhere, stripped of his all, his horse the possession of one of the brigands.”

“Foolish of him, Red Man.”

“He would not be told, Captain – he insisted on going his own way in all things.”

“So be it. I am Daniel by name, Red Man. I have not earned a soubriquet such as yours.”

Micah gained the impression that Carew had not believed his story, and that he cared little what might have happened to a squire who would have raised men for the King.

“What of young Ensign Tixover, Daniel? Who does he stand for?”

“I do not know. Neither, I suspect, does he. He is a pleasant fellow and one who thinks deeply. As such, I am not without hopes that he will join us when the fighting starts. The King has left London, as you will know, and I do not believe he can return except under arms. Many of the Trained Bands know this and there are no few who demand extra training of us. When the day comes, as I suspect it must, I think we will take some twenty thousands to defend the City, of whom perhaps two thousands will be hardy soldiers, the rest willing but fairly much ignorant. There are many veterans of the wars living in London – men who spent a year or two or more in the ranks in the Germanies, putting together a few shillings to set themselves up in later life.”

Micah had heard of mercenaries but had not realised they included ordinary soldiers who had gone out for loot, and often come back with it, or so it seemed.

“More than a few shopkeepers bought their little store and its stock with German silver crowns, or plate from a burgher’s table. As the wars continued so the Germanies themselves lost many of their own young men and their commanders recruited in London and along the East Coast as well as in France and north into the Swedish and Danish lands. There are a few of them who have made the voyage here now that the wars are dying away.”

Micah thought it more likely that the mercenaries would have sought out the King, more to their taste than the psalm singing of those who cleaved to Parliament.

“They are mercenaries, men who sell their swords. Parliament has more money than the King – there would be no Parliament except that his purse is empty.”

“Can you trust such men, Daniel?”

“Of course, provided they are in the front ranks and we have true musketeers behind them.”

Micah was not sure he approved of such cynicism. He did like the idea of having experienced soldiers in their ranks.

“The older men who have come back, Daniel. I am right to suspect they will make good sergeants?”

“The best, I believe.”

Micah discovered the quality of his troops when he joined Carew soon after dawn. Many of the keenest young men – and no few of their elders – took an hour on the parade ground in the morning before starting work for the day.

“We train the beginners in both shot and pike, so that they can take up either weapon at need. Fighting in the streets may well become very untidy, Red Man. I pray it may never come to that.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Companies of pikes shoulder to shoulder and blocking a road against horse and foot until the artillery is brought up, then to vanish into the alleyways and the shot to take over, from the windows of the shops and taverns and houses lining the roadway. Where the enemy presses hard down a road, to fall back and allow them entry and then to rise from the windows to the side and assail them mightily with shot. So doing, we overcome any advantage of numbers they possess and also negate their skills. The young gentlemen may be our masters in terms of horsemanship, but they will not outride us on the cobbles if we use our skills sensibly.”

A hundred or so men came together on the ground and sorted themselves out into their ranks, their own sergeants shouting loud and with increasing exasperation.

“Ten minutes to place them in their proper lines, Red Man. It is getting better – last month it took half an hour to remind them of where they stood yesterday. Now, their sergeants will march them in order to collect their pikes and they will stand with them, back in their places.”

The twenty foot pikes were unwieldy weapons, stood together like groves of young poplar trees. It needed careful balancing to keep the pikes upright as the men moved into position.

“There is much argument, Red Man, whether the men should not carry twelve, sixteen and twenty foot pikes in three ranks so the heads are all clustered together.”

“The army sent against the Scots carried them so, sir. I never heard they did any great execution with them.”

“No. I have seen both in the Germanies and am unconvinced by either argument. I had rather see ranks equipped with the flintlock musket – but it costs far too much to be possible. The pike stays until we are rich enough to replace it.”

Micah agreed. He watched as the pikes were lowered to the horizontal, and then raised again while the men were told to do it right next time and not clout the ears of the rank ahead of them.

Eventually, the sergeants were satisfied and the company marched forward, every man to the same pace and holding his pike perfectly steady.

The hour passed and the men took their pikes back to the armoury and dispersed to their places of work, wandering off in groups of three or four and chattering like schoolboys released to play.

“They seem willing to push their pikes, sir. What of standing to receive a charge of horse?”

Captain Carew smiled, though with little humour.

“That is the question we always ask, Red Man. We cannot answer it on the parade ground. They are brave young men and willing to enter the fight. Whether they will stay until its end, we do not know. I am inclined to think they will. They are taking a stand for what they believe is right. In their minds, the King is a bully, using his power to grind them down; they do not like bully-boys.”

“As simple as that, you think, sir?”

“I do. They are not all deep thinkers or dedicated men of religion, but they know what is right and believe the King is wrong. I do not think they need a lot more than that. I could wish they were more committed to their training, but many of them are convinced that being in the right will strengthen their arms in battle.”

Micah shook his head. The little of war he had seen much inclined him to the belief that martial exercise might make him stronger but that words would add very little.

“Not to worry, Red Man. Best we should break our fast now. Mr Skippon will demand our assistance later in the morning, in his offices. There is a pastrycook less than a furlong from here who will sell us a pasty and a pint of small beer for a penny, being one of our inclination and wishful to show his loyalty to the cause.”

The pastrycook had a small room set out with tables next to his ovens and a pair of daughters to serve the customers. The room was hot and pleasant – it had started to rain as they walked to it.

Captain Carew was on terms with both girls, talking lightly to each and introducing Micah.

“Red Man, who has come to us from the wars in the North Country to rest his bloody hands before entering his next campaign. Catherine and Jane Bayliss, daughters to the gentleman you see at the ovens.”

Micah rose to his feet and made a short bow, thinking it better to show too much formality than too little.

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!”

“Sit 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?”

“The armies are marching, Red Man. The King has shifted from Nottingham and the Earl of Essex in command of Parliament’s army seeks to oppose him. Both have marched west towards the Severn, though why I know not.”

Rumour came to them that the King was seeking a road towards London, hoping to avoid open conflict and simply take the capital of England by presence of arms. Then came report of a battle, the first of the war, taking place in the Midlands at Edgehill, and won by neither party.

“All I am told is that the King is still marching towards London, Red Man, and we must muster the Trained Bands.”

The news came that the King’s dragoons had reached as close to London as the town of Brentford.

“They put the town to the sack, Red Man. A hard sack, at that. Murder, rape and theft followed by arson of the buildings, so the word insists. They will do the same to every town and village as they approach London Town itself. The Trained Bands are to march.”

The Earl of Essex had managed to bring the army back to London on a roundabout northerly route while the King dithered his way along the Thames, taking all of the towns on his way and then diverting off to Windsor – the castle being a major royal residence. The week the King had wasted discovering that Parliament had placed a strong, unassailable garrison in Windsor had given London a lifeline.

Parliament called the Trained Bands together to back the Army. Between them, they mustered perhaps twenty-five thousand armed men, backed by at least as many of unarmed volunteers, boys and womenfolk and old men. The extra bodies carried mattocks and shovels, come to fortify against the wicked King.

Micah donned his breast-and-back and arrayed himself with sword and all of his pistols. Captain Carew produced a helmet for him.

“The new style, Red Man. Less ornate and without the crest of the old morion but with a pair of bars horizontal across the face that will protect against a sword slash at high. You will lead your men on horseback – you must be seen. We have our full company of shot of the Blue Band; we shall split them half and half and Charles will ride at your shoulder on this occasion while he discovers what a fight feels like.”

“A good enough lad, but green, Daniel.”

“The lad is older than you by three or four years, Red Man. But you are right, he is no more than a boy by comparison. Look after him – he might make a good officer after he has been splashed with other men’s blood.”

The company assembled on its parade ground and Micah and Daniel walked the ranks, a hundred men in all, and inspected their readiness.

Each man had a matchlock and charges of powder and ball and two yards of match. At his waist hung a long knife or a sword, depending on what he had been able to pick up. All carried a small knapsack, hopefully containing two days worth of food. A few had water bottles.

Behind the four ranks were the followers, men and women of all ages, some little more than children, mostly families of the Trained Band soldiers. Micah saw the pastrycook Bayliss carrying a mattock and his two daughters, Catherine and Jane, with shovels on their shoulders. They exchanged smiles, said nothing while on parade.

The call had gone out for ordinary folk to come to dig trenches and build earth walls to protect themselves from the wicked horsemen who had savaged Brentford. The response amazed Micah – the foolishness of the King had brought literally thousands of uncommitted people to fight against him as well as they could.

“He has recruited for us, Daniel. Men and women who care little for religion and would not fight willingly now see themselves as having no choice other than to take to arms, or to support those who will fight for them. Truly a man of blood, unable to see beyond his own greed to retain his kingship. The people of London will not forgive him for Brentford, or not for many years.”

Captain Carew had seen and heard of far worse in the wars in the Germanies, where the sack of towns was a commonplace. He had not expected so strong a reaction from the townspeople.

“Much of the King’s problem rests with Prince Rupert, who is stronger in the mind than the King. I have met him, know of him as a clever man but uncaring of anything other than his own rights. He will see two sorts of people in this country – those who fight for the King and all of the rest, who are the enemy. If you do not have a musket in your hand to support the King, then you are a traitor and may die, the more quickly the better. Rupert is a competent general of horse – no more than that because he will not stay back in battle. He prefers to be another sabre rather than the commander who directs the battle from the rear. He will loose the first charge at a well-chosen time and place, but there will be no second charge because he is up in the front ranks, no longer able to command his men. No doubt he permitted the sack of Brentford because he was in no place to stop it.”

Micah could see that a general must be apart from the battle if he was to control it.

“An officer must be more than a strong sword arm, Red Man.”

“Yet he must display prowess or his men will not follow him, Daniel.”

“Exactly! When your troops are volunteers, they must be persuaded to follow – they must be led. We have that difficulty, Red Man. Our people obey our orders because they believe they should. They do not march for fear of being flogged or hanged if they refuse, and we must act in such a fashion that they will continue to follow us. It is difficult to achieve a balance. We must be seen at the forefront and yet we must stay back sufficiently to watch the field of battle and know what must come next. I think that when open, marching war comes we will be forced to bring them to a hard discipline, but for the while we must persuade them to fight.”

They set out and came to a small town on the road west. Word came that the King’s army was none too far distant, advancing on London as expected. The volunteers were set to digging and the Trained Bands were brought together and given their places to stand on the stretch of common land that gave Turnham Green its name. Essex’s Army was placed on either flank, the Trained Bands squarely behind a low earth wall, in the hope that they would feel protected.

Micah understood that now was the time to act as the officer in command. He must tell his half company and its volunteers what was expected of them.

Micah inflated his lungs, spoke loudly to be heard by all.

“This little town is called Turnham Green. It is on the road to be followed by the Man of Blood if he is to enter London. You all know what he ordered his cruel followers to do at Brentford and you may be sure he will do the same to every other town on his route, and then to much of London as well. We are to stop him and then to turn him around, to send him back to winter quarters at a safe distance from us. The Trained Bands are to hold a line across his road. Should his bloody-handed dragoons approach, we will shoot them down and drive them off. Our families lie behind us and depend on us for their protection.”

Micah could hear a few cries of ‘amen’ coming from the ranks.

“Look to your left and to your right – you will see the good people of London cutting a trench and building this wall for you to stand and rest your firelocks on. The deeper the trench, the stronger the wall - the safer our kinsfolk will be. Two of the corporals’ platoons will stand watch with lit match for each hour while the other two help the digging, turn and turn about. We shall start now.”

Fifteen minutes saw the men labouring next to the women and youngsters who had come to their aid. A few sang hymns as they worked. Micah walked the line, encouraging the men, thanking the volunteers, watching the wall grow in width, wondering if it could hold against a charge.

Daniel Carew came to his shoulder for a few minutes, showing himself to the men.

“Not a great obstacle, Red Man, but sufficient to slow a charge. Just too great to be jumped, it will force the dragoons to dismount and scramble across on foot, if they can. There will be ten thousand of the Trained Bands in sight here on the common land, a good half of us musketeers, under discipline and able to fire a shot apiece each minute. Not an easy task to advance on foot into such fire, especially knowing that the Army is to either flank and ready to press into the attack.”

A troop of horsemen appeared on the road to the west, walking their tired mounts and approaching cautiously.

“King’s men, do you see, and have been on the road for weeks now. Their horses have seen more grass than grain and have been worked for long days. A full battle would leave horse and riders both exhausted. On top of that, they had been told that the Parliamentary army is behind them, that there is no great force to bar their way – and now they see a mass of men, some thousands more than them. If they are led by experienced men – officers who have seen war – they will want to know what is happening, who and what we are.”

“And if they are green boys, Daniel?”

“They may even decide we are no more than raw levies, militia who have no knowledge of war, and take the chance of attacking so as to drive us into panic-stricken flight. They believe that all Parliamentarians are no more than foolish hinds and gutter-rats, criminals rather than patriots, and weak and easily overawed for knowing that they stand against their true King. They will not expect us to hold our ground. If the Trained Bands do hold against the first onslaught, then the Army will be able to attack either flank of the King’s forces. But, holding will be no easy task for such green troops.”

Micah was inclined to agree but felt the task was not impossible. The Trained Bands were not professional soldiers; instead, they were driven by belief in the righteousness of their cause, and by anger after the sack at Brentford. Add to that, there was a leavening of men who had seen blood in the Germanies – at least a thousand, judging by his own company – who had fought a season or two and come back with a little of loot and a lot of knowledge. The old hands would do much to prevent the green men from panicking.

“Has the King any great artillery train, do we know, Daniel?”

That was more than Captain Carew could say for a certainty, but he was inclined to doubt it.

“A marching field army, hurrying to take London town in the absence, so it is thought, of its own troops. The King will have believed it more important to make speed than to bring a mass of slow cannon with him. I would be surprised if he had anything more than a few of light field guns, nothing greater than a falcon. If he had a siege train, or even two or three batteries of culverins, then he could destroy our little earth wall in an hour and charge over us. We have few of horse ourselves to stand against his dragoons. But I much suspect he has a light force. If he is to take our wall then he must throw his foot against it, pike and sword against our muskets set in cover where they can reload and fire their volleys. Not an easy task.”

The first troop of dragoons came to a halt a furlong distant, stared at the growing obstacle and took a rough count of the men behind it and observed all of the colours of the Trained Bands and pointed to the flags of the Army to either flank. They quietly about faced and took their intelligence back to the main body of their army.

Nothing happened for nearly an hour and then a group of horsemen appeared, escorting a clump of senior officers, all dressed in bright colours rather than the sober hues of the ordinary soldier.

The wall had grown substantially.

“What now, Daniel?”

“Either they march their foot forward and set them for the assault, or they debate what they can do instead. They have few practical choices, you see, Red Man. We are in town and with roads to march on, can parallel them if they try to cut across country to find another way into London. They would have to make camp in the fields while we have the comfort of the towns and the year is growing older, the weather turning against them – November is no time to be camping out in the wet and cold mud. Truly, their choice is simple – to come forward in a great assault upon us or to turn and head to winter quarters in Reading or Oxford or some lesser town.”

“What would you do, Daniel?”

“Given a choice between attacking a wall manned by more than ten thousand muskets and pikes, without artillery, or retiring to a safe haven for the winter? Knowing that there are regiments of dragoons to the flanks, waiting their moment? I would be on the march home, Red Man. If the King was to take this wall and drive us back, for all he knows there is another wall being built at this moment, out of sight a mile down the road, and another after that, perhaps. He could not take the wall for less than two thousand men, perhaps more, and might well face the same again tomorrow. He has fifteen thousand at a guess and cannot afford great losses. Any wise man would be turning his army around just now – but the King has repeatedly shown himself a fool, and what his generals will say, I can only guess. Be ready to fight, Red Man, even though sense says we should not today.”

The King’s officers held back out of gunshot and peered at the wall, seeing it grow in front of them as they delayed. The colours of all six Trained Bands defied them, to their anger. They eased a few paces forward and saw the firelocks of the companies manning the wall held level and pointed towards them while smoke rose from men puffing at their match to make the fuses grow hot. They heard voices shouting commands, calling men to wait, to hold fire until they had come closer. To the sides they saw banners that had flown at Edgehill, troops who had fought once and would stand their ground again.

They turned their horses and rode slowly back to hold a full furlong from the wall while they debated their best course. A few guns, two small batteries, came up from their rear and dropped their trails and fired their rounds of two pound ball, making no great impression on the earth wall.

They waited till mid-afternoon before they moved away, off the field, returning to the King with the unpalatable message that they must not continue in their march.

Before evening the whole of the King’s army was on the road, heading west, the march on London given up for the year.

“The best sort of battle, Red Man!”

Micah agreed – no musket shots fired, few men killed and a plain victor. They could ask for no more.

Charles Tixover was inclined to be scornful of the King’s generals for their tame acceptance of defeat. He was bolstered in his decision to stand with Parliament – the King’s men lacked honour, he thought. Neither Micah nor Daniel agreed with him, but perhaps they had a different understanding of the concept.

They made their way to the campfires at the back of the common land where the volunteers were making their meals and supplying hot drinks to the soldiery.

Micah found himself next to Catherine Bayliss and quietly talking over all they had seen during the day.

“The men said those were but small cannon, Mr Slater, yet I saw a ball from one to hit a soldier a few yards away and to rip the poor man’s arm off at the shoulder! Blood in a great gush, his life spent in seconds!”

“Barely two score of such unfortunates, Mistress Catherine. A few guns and small – the sort we call falcons. Had the Man of Blood possessed a full train, then we would have experienced a different sort of day, but he had no more than field guns. A pity that we had none at all, having marched fast to be here in time to block the road. There will be other days, however.”

She feared there would be too many of them.

“Be careful, Red Man! Do not you go dying like that sad fellow we saw this afternoon. I must go – my father has begged a ride on a cart returning this night. We must be tending the ovens before morning. What do you do, sir?”

“Captain Carew is seeking our orders just now. I much suspect we shall remain here overnight to hold the ground. The men will wish to be home quickly – they have work to do, unlike idle soldiers such as myself who rely on other men to make their living.”

“It is not idleness to protect the weak and the vulnerable, Red Man – if I may be forgiven for calling thee such, Mr Slater.”

“You may call me by any name you wish, Catherine. I am Micah by baptism, but Red Man seems to be the name I am fated to carry. I do not doubt that I shall be back to break my fast at your ovens within a few days.”

“You will be welcome, Micah.”

Captain Carew called him to join the company and he left, saying no more. Her father, silent in the background, gave a solemn approval of her doings.

“A fine man, Kate. You may do much worse than attract the Red Man’s eye, daughter.”

She smiled and hurried to join him and her sister to mount the wagon waiting for them.

“A good day’s work, father – though not at our ovens.”

“We have done the Lord’s work this day, daughter, and may be proud of our labours.”

“I still hold Miss Jane to be the prettier of the two, Red Man.”

“So she may be, Daniel, but her sister has far more than prettiness about her. She has a strength of mind and principle that I suspect the younger lacks. I might well wish to see Miss Catherine ensconced in my house as mistress of my family, Daniel.”

“She would make a fine wife, Red Man – but not for a mere lieutenant of foot. You must rise in the world if you are to keep a wife.”

Micah raised an eyebrow, showed interested but a little puzzled. Daniel explained.

“My lord of Essex is recruiting. He has lost many men to sickness and some few to battle and must bolster his ranks before campaigning in the spring. He will remain in London over the winter. As experienced officers, we are welcome. Even more so if we seek volunteers from our ranks and take them into the Army with us, Red Man. Now is the time to beg single young men to enlist – at the end of a day in which we have forced the King to retreat. We remain here tonight. Speak to your men around their fires, Red Man – call them to arms, to follow you.”

The Earl of Essex was wise in some ways. He ordered his own soldiers to the tedious work of sentry-go that night, left the Trained Bands to make themselves as comfortable as they could in barns and stable yards about the small town. They had food and to spare that evening, having brought their own provender, and the inns and taverns, of which there were several, being on the Great West Road, were generous with barrels of beer. The volunteers were in a good mood when Micah spoke to them, open to suggestions that they might enjoy more of the soldier’s way of life.

“We will be forced to fight again, now that the guns have been fired, lads. Back in the summer, it seemed likely that we could argue the King into common sense, that we could show him we were capable of picking up pike and musket but that we had no wish to kill his followers. He has refused to listen to reason. He will not allow us to keep our liberties as freeborn English and Welshmen. He has encouraged the Papist Irish to butcher our kin and the word is that he is bringing the wild savages from their bogs to slaughter ordinary folk in England and to steal our all while they are at it. We did no more than block his way this day and what did he do? He brought up cannon and shot at us! We did not shoot at him – he was the transgressor against the peace.”

They nodded and nudged each other and agreed that to be true. It was a sad day for England when the King believed he had the right to turn guns on his people for daring so far as to beg him to alter his wicked ways.

“Remember Brentford! He loosed his savagery on the ordinary folk there – peaceable men and women in their own houses made his victims. He is truly a Man of Blood, this Charles Stuart! He is not fit to be our King except he does as he is bid by Parliament. When the spring comes, we must march to settle his hash for him. He must learn that Englishmen will not lie down at the feet of the tyrant.”

“Well said, Red Man!”

“Amen to your wise words, brother!”

“Hear him! Hear him!”

They applauded and sat back to hear more, men clustering around, coming from the nearby fires to listen.

“I am going from the Trained Bands, as is Captain Carew. We are to join the Army. We shall march out of London at the Earl of Essex’ command. It seems to us that we are unmarried men with no great burden of family or work to tie us to London and we must go where the need is greatest. We are soldiers and must follow the drum when it calls, marching with like-minded folk to defeat the Man of Blood.”

There was a contemplative silence, dragging out for two or three long minutes. One of the younger men suddenly spoke out.

“I ain’t got no missus nor no children, Red Man… Can I go with thee, marching at thy side?”

“If it is your true wish, then I shall be glad to welcome thee to my company, brother. But you must know, we are to go as soldiers, not as good-hearted neighbours of the Trained Bands but as disciplined men, obedient to command, like it or not.”

“I can do as I am told, Red Man. I can be as good a soldier as the next.”

“Then bless thee for a hero, brother. Think on thy course overnight and, if it still seems good to thee in the light of morning, then come to me and I shall write thy name in on the enlistment scroll.”

The older, settled family men murmured their support, one of them venturing to stand and be heard.

“I have a family to feed by the labour of my hands, Red Man. I cannot walk away from them. Was I young and free of attachment, then I should march at thy side. I cannot leave my children to fend for themselves, but what I can and shall do is to promise that if a man leaves his old mother or father behind, then I shall see them to keep a roof over their heads and put a hot meal in their bellies. With the aid of my good neighbours and friends assembled, we may protect all of those left behind.”

By the end of the evening a dozen young men had pledged themselves to exchange from the Trained Bands into the Army, to march behind Red Man. He suspected there would be more by the morning, single men and apprentices encouraged by their elders to go the wars in their stead.

“There are many who wish to fight, Daniel. Did you find the same in your half of the company?”

“Young men who think they have a duty, Red Man, and as well hope there may be a great adventure. Most of them expect a short campaign and a victory and then to go home as heroes before the cold weather comes again. They suspect they might spend the next few months in a warm barracks, learning the soldier’s trade – though most of them think that they know it all by virtue of their hours parading with the Trained Band!”

“They will learn, Daniel.”

“I hope so, Red Man. We are to report to the Earl’s lodgings in the morning and there we shall be brought under his command and told our regiment and rank in it. I would expect you to be made a captain, for having a known name. I might have a company at your side or may be made major. I much hope we shall be placed in the same regiment – and that our colonel may be a man of virtue!”

The Earl himself was busy, it transpired – but that was not unreasonable for a general with a campaign in hand. An aide, a young man in civilian dress greeted them in his name. They glanced casually at the jerkin and breeches, saw no evidence of wear, of leather straps rubbing, of cross belts over the chest – he had not worn armour in that working dress, had never carried a pistol belt. He was no more than a boy, fresh from his mama’s side.

“Captain Carew and Lieutenant Slater of the Blue Trained Band – you are very welcome, gentlemen, the more for both having prior experience of war. The Earl would wish you to take commissions in Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, which is now forming. He thinks it best that you should both be captains, taking the first and second companies – Captain Carew the senior, as is only right. Colonel Jevons has appointed his brother as Major to the Regiment; I am his grandson and am to be a lieutenant, gentlemen.”

They stared at the young man, guessing his age to be about twenty. That made Colonel Jevons a man of more than sixty, probably a lot more.

“Ah… Major Jevons is, one trusts, the younger brother of the Colonel?”

Daniel tried his best to keep the scepticism from his voice. Judging by young Lieutenant Jevons’ flushed face, he did not succeed.

“My uncle is some twenty years the Colonel’s junior, sir, by a second wife. I am eldest son to the Colonel’s first-born, sir.”

“Which is to be your company, Mr Jevons?”

“I believe I am to be aide to the adjutant, sir.”

That translated as hanger-on with no particular function in the Regiment.

“I see. How many other captains are there? Are the rank and file recruited yet, Mr Jevons?”

“There are nine other captains, sir, and some twelve of lieutenants and seven of ensigns. Captain Prothero is adjutant. We are as yet rather short of sergeants and of pike and shot. It is hoped that the Trained Bands may furnish some of the men required.”

“They will undoubtedly provide some, sir. I doubt they will number many more than one hundred. The Bands are Londoners and concerned to defend their own rather than to march about the rest of the country.”

“The Earl said that as well, Captain Carew. My uncle has some intention of recruiting in the countryside near our home. He will wish to discuss that with you but is not present today. He is arranging the purchase of necessary military stores together with Captain Prothero. You are, gentlemen, to present yourselves at our barracks which is at the town of Sevenoaks in Kent. I am to tell you that your names are entered onto the roll and that you should bring yourselves and your servants to the muster this week if you possibly can.”

“Today to make our farewells and collect our belongings, Mr Jevons. We can ride out tomorrow. We shall arrange for our sergeants, such as are joining us, to march the volunteers to Sevenoaks by the end of the week. I shall send them to you to arrange billeting and rations.”

“My uncle has given me money for that purpose, Captain Carew. I think I can do that.”

“Very good, Lieutenant Jevons. Are you to join us at Sevenoaks, sir?”

“I am to equip myself and ride there, when I have performed the tasks set me by my uncle, sir.”

“Excellent! I look forward to seeing you in martial array, sir.”

The two were wearing their full equipment, breast-and-backs, swords to their hips, pistols on their crossbelts to the right shoulder, helmets tied to the left. They wore high boots and leather jerkins and breeches, all of their apparel showing signs of wear, of days in the field. They looked, intentionally so, like fierce, hardened warriors, mostly to hearten the men of the Trained Bands, but also from an enjoyment of making a show in front of the townsfolk. It was fun to swagger, just a little and occasionally.

Lieutenant Jevons wondered if Captain Carew’s last comment had been at all satirical; he debated taking him up on his words, avowing that he was not to be patronised. Somehow, he could not find the right thing to say before the pair had left.

It took an hour to speak to the sergeants who were to join them and to arrange their march.

“Four days on the road. A blind eye to those who drop out – they may have been full of zeal last night but second thoughts often supervene. Bring only the truly willing to join us. The most of the new men will be country boys, it seems, sheep-shaggers, knowing little and needing to be brought to their duty. Many of ours will soon become corporals, I suspect, so we need the best and keenest.”

“They will come, sir. I will expect to bring two hundred with us, sir. The name of the Red Man will do much good, sir, when it comes to recruiting.”

“Thank’ee, Sergeant Fletcher – I am glad to hear that.”

Daniel was wryly amused – very much the junior figure in the men’s estimation, it seemed.

“If it is at all possible, Sergeant Fletcher, it might be useful were the men to carry their firelocks with them…”

“That can be arranged, sir. Don’t want them marching with great long pikes over their shoulders, sir, not if it can be done different. Easier to lay hands on pikes than on muskets as well – the local smithies can turn out pikeheads and the woodworkers can knock out staves. I shall see to it, sir.”

Philip Skippon was not displeased to see them go.

“We have done our job, boys. London is safe now – I doubt the King will make another attempt on the town. We are to build breastworks over winter and will be able to emplace cannon on all of the main roads in. He will not march an army past the defences we can put up. That being so, experienced and able men such as yourselves should be in the field, not sitting back on the drill square. You have worked well for me – and I have made your names know to my own masters as sound men to be remembered. Now, go off and work for the Earl. I have spoken to the paymaster and he will see to you as you leave.”

A practical man, one who knew that soldiers needed pay, a lesson that his own masters sat on the benches of the houses of Parliament were unwilling to learn.

Micah and Daniel took a last breakfast at Bayliss pastrycook’s little shop.

“I must leave London for the while, Kate. I am sent with Daniel by Sergeant Major General Skippon himself to a new regiment which is mustering in Kent at Sevenoaks. We shall march where we are sent in spring – I know not where. It will not be easy to send letters or to take leave and I may well be unable to return. I do not know. I must go off to battle, and from that, as you know, men often do not come back whole, or at all. I can make no promise ever to see thee again.”

Micah thought that made it clear that he was leaving and would not be back.

She heard an honest man unable to pledge himself in advance of going to war.

“Go with God, Micah. Come back when you can. I shall be here.”

Chapter Four

The ride east to Sevenoaks in Kent was pleasant even in winter weather.

They had hired a wagon and pair for the two servants and their baggage, which had grown in the months of relaxed service in London. The officers rode behind the wagon at little more than walking pace, talking and enjoying the open countryside after the months cooped up in the metropolis.

They needed the wagon, had filled it with their gear, rather to their own surprise.

Micah for the first time in his life had more than one pair of breeches and five separate shirts. He had a best pair of boots as well as those he was wearing and seven pairs of knitted stockings, one for each day of the week. At Daniel’s advice, he had bought extra woollen small clothing to keep him warm over winter. Both had bought heavy frieze overcoats and fleece waistcoats to wear underneath them; they would be bulky but warm in the months of frost and snow, which they were told were worse in Kent than in other parts of the South Country. He had mittens as well, an idea that was new to him – he had never seen gloves previously, other than leather gauntlets to wear when riding to war, to protect the fingers rather than to keep them warm.

He had written a letter before leaving London, addressed to his sisters and explaining where he was away to. General Skippon himself had promised to see the missive placed in the hands of a safe rider going north with despatches to the garrisons in the east of the midland counties. With good fortune, the letter would reach Stamford within the week; the chance of a reply ever reaching him was slight.

The road to Dover was well used and had long been kept up by the Kings of England for military purposes. News from France came into England on that route – and notice of war came that way too. The roads to the major ports – Dover, Portsmouth, Bristol and Norwich, which was close to the sea, were normally kept open through the winter, as was the Great North Road which connected with Scotland, although that last deteriorated as the distance from London increased.

They could make an easy twenty-five miles in the daylight hours but chose to spend two nights on the road, enjoying themselves in the long evenings in the biggest roadside inns. Armies did not campaign in the winter months and there was no urgency in the last days of November.

“Four months before we can reasonably expect to go to campaign, Daniel. What do we do in that time?”

“If it is up to me to order, then march the men first. They must learn their fifteen miles a day before anything else. That will get rid of the weaklings before we waste our time training them, as well as hardening those who will stay. It will make them obedient to command as well. In January we will put them to drill with pike and musket both. Best that any man can turn his hand to either. The biggest and strongest should go to the pikes when it comes to marching out in April or May. I wish we had the new muskets for all – the flintlock is far the better weapon.”

“Costly. I have a pair on the wagon, bought from a godly man in Bedford who charged me only what he had paid, and that was thirty shillings for the brace. We can hardly afford to equip ten companies at seventy-five pounds sterling each.”

“A rich colonel might equip one company, but even then he would wince at the cost – few men have as much as fifteen hundred shillings to spare!”

They paid their pennies for their night’s beer, food and lodging and agreed – it was an impossible sum. They also admitted that they were only captains – the colonel and his appointed second, the major, would give the actual orders.

The new regiment was housed in the yards of a large estate outside Sevenoaks. Barns had been laid with straw and stables swept out for the men’s use. There were four hundred there already and more came in every day. Recruiting was easier in winter when food was short and unmarried men especially saw small platefuls at each meal. The Regiment had made a great noise of the fact that the men would eat meat at least once every day and that they would be fed morning, noon and night. Most labourers saw nothing between their bowl of gruel in the morning and their bread and, if they were lucky, stew at night. Army life was easy to get used to in exchange for a full belly of hot food.

The officers were accommodated in the great house itself, the family gone, apparently to another of the several manors Colonel Jevons owned.

A great old Tithe Barn had been made into an armoury and now contained more than five hundred each of pikes and muskets and barrels of powder and shot and long coils of slowmatch. The Colonel had been prodigal with his fortune, it seemed.

“He has set his money to God’s work, Daniel. A man of belief, it must seem.”

“A good man, Micah. Let us trust he is a sensible man, too.”

Major Jevons was, as expected, one who would never see forty again, but he was within reason active, light on his feet. He was not very clever, but soldiers did not need to be of shining parts, after all. He greeted them kindly, with a degree of relief in fact.

“Thing is, we need a professional or two. Urgently! You might say that other than for a couple of the sergeants, who have seen the Germanies, none here have been to war. In fact, I don’t know that any of the officers have ever learned military ways. Good lads, all of them, but of the men here and still willing – for some have thought better of their first desire to shed blood – not all of them are even wholly happy on top of a horse. The sons of lawyers and apothecaries and such, and the vicar’s boy and the estate agents’ two lads, although they know the horse at least. Not the cream of the gentry but from good families who worship the Lord as they should.”

“How many, sir?”

“Captain Prothero, who owns the largest of the stores in Sevenoaks, is adjutant. A good man for the post, too – he can supply foodstuffs, knows where to buy and who from. My nephew, who you have met, assists him. Besides that, we now have seven captains and eight lieutenants, but only four of the ensigns. Many of the ensigns were mere boys and their mothers stamped their foot down hard when they heard their youngsters were off to war, so they thought. Some three or four have been sent back to their schools with their backsides still tingling from the strap.”

“So, sir, we have ten companies and nine captains, us included. Simplest is if we take one of the companies and disband it, split its men half to me, half to Captain Slater. We will have companies of one hundred and fifty, which is large but not impossibly so. We will need then but one more lieutenant and five of ensigns, if you can find them. Ensigns are not so very important – they are of little use for their first months, but they can learn the trade and be handy lieutenants by the end of a first campaigning season. It is worth the nuisance of them to train them up, I think.”

“Then I shall put the word out – but it might be that farmers’ sons will be the sole applicants.”

“Bring them in, sir. Our officers are men of their hands not primping cavaliers and pampered gentlefolk. A farmer’s boy will know how to work at his trade.”

Major Jevons was not sure that he wanted to sit to table with farmers’ horny-handed sons, but he could see that they must have officers.

“There is word that the men from the Trained Bands are a day distant, Captain Carew. They are marching slowly on the lanes, having taken a direct line across country to come here.”

“Their sergeants would not have wished to take them through London, sir. The temptation to stay might have been too great as they passed close to their own homes.”

“They will be reliable once they get here, I trust, Captain Carew.”

“I think so, sir. They have all marched out to Turnham Green and been shot over. Besides that, they have all heard of the wicked doings of the King’s men at Brentford. They want blood, I am sure, sir.”

“I pray they may not get it, Captain Carew. Surely men of goodwill may find another way to resolve these issues.”

The two shook their heads. It was too late. Blood had been spilled and there was no longer a chance of peace.

“The King has shown himself to lack honesty, sir. He cannot be trusted. He betrayed his own great supporter, Strafford, to the axe. Will he not be false to lesser men equally easily? We make a treaty with this man of blood and he will break it, claiming that he is bound by the Will of God and nothing else. He must be deposed, at the very least. The best we can do is to send him out of the country, and his whole family with him, and replace him with a reliable, Protestant prince. A new King and a strong House of Commons and the country may be ruled in peace again. Nothing less will suffice.”

“What if he will not go, Captain Carew?”

“Then he must accept his fate. He cannot stay because he cannot be trusted. The best would be for him to die fighting. The war could come to a quick end thereafter, possibly – although not necessarily - with his son taking the throne.”

Major Jevons could not consider the King’s death without shuddering. He did not know that there could be forgiveness for any man who had stood on the field of battle where he died.

Micah was inclined to be contemptuous – they had risen in arms and that meant battle and the death of many, of lesser and greater degree quite equally.

“He has chanced all in battle, sir. That means that he has placed his own life at stake, just as much as you and I have done, sir.”

“Easy for a young man to say, Captain Slater. I have lived long years under the governance of the King and his father. It is not easy for me to stand in arms against him.”

“It should not be easy, sir. To rise and bring war to the country should be a hard decision, not one to be made lightly. The death of many and the destruction of their lands and families is not a matter to be considered casually, sir. We should take careful thought and pray long hours for guidance – but then, we must be resolute to do what is right. It is the Lord’s Will that we battle. We shall prevail, sir, even though we wade knee-deep in blood to achieve the right and true end.”

Micah believed the words as he said them. Afterwards he wondered just how honest he was. He had drifted into the rebellion, had never given a deal of consideration to his actions. His friends had led and he had followed and he suspected that if their path had led him into the King’s camp he would be just as fervent a Cavalier – though not an officer, bearing in mind his birth.

Even more thought suggested he was where he belonged – the King’s Party had no place for a reprobate quarryman.

They had been given rooms in the big house – a mansion, in fact – with comfortable beds and fireplaces against the winter cold. They lived, in Micah’s opinion, in luxury. He was much in favour. He wondered in passing just how rich the Jevons family might be and how much land they held to provide such wealth.

Major Jevons proudly explained that his father’s father had been a seaman, master of his own ship in Good Queen Bess’ day and that he had roamed to the Spanish Main.

“Took a galleon, so he did, Captain Slater, and brought back the contents of its hold. One half was paid into the Queen’s own privy purse and the rest was divided up, half to the ship, the rest to the men in their shares. He owned the ship and he had the largest share besides as Master under God. His takings bought an acreage and built this house on it and still left a deal of money to live on and invest. He bought other ships and sent them out and as well bought a ropeworks at Chatham and a brewery down Faversham way and took shares in two separate shipyards on the Medway. In later years he was able to buy up other, smaller estates as well.”

“And so he kept his wealth, Major. An able man. I am surprised he was not made a lord as well.”

“He could have been, but he was a humble man and had no wish to pretend to be one of the gentry and to force himself into their company.”

It seemed to Micah that the old gentleman had been a man of great virtue. He hoped he might achieve a small part of such success for his own family, so far distant in Lincolnshire.

The men from the Trained Bands marched in, nearly two hundred strong and with four experienced sergeants among them. Trailing along behind was a motley group of youngsters of almost the same number, most of them unarmed and wearing an assortment of smocks and breeches and gaiters, drawn from the fields to join the cause. One small contingent of a score or so marched rather than shambled along and carried twelve foot pikes and wore helmets; they had been training on their green when the Trained Bands came by and had simply tagged on behind, off to fight for real, so they said.

The battalion suddenly numbered well over eight hundred and they could expect to be turning men away within the month, their thousand made up.

Major Jevons thought it best that the experienced men should be kept together in the two biggest companies so that the regiment would have a spearhead of the most effective men who could bear the brunt of the first battles and show the green youngsters how to go to war. He had the command and it was wiser to obey than to argue.

Just two days later Micah stood on the parade square and looked at one hundred and fifty men stood in a block of fifteen rows of ten men abreast. They all wore the buff coat and boots and belts, although they were unarmed as yet. Two sergeants stood in front, facing him, and the young lieutenant and ensign Jevons had appointed stood to attention at his side.

Micah inflated his chest.

“Men, we are to be shot. Major Jevons, who has the ordering of the regiment, wants one company of the best to have pikes, the other muskets. Captain Carew has worked pikes in the Germanies and I have some knowledge of muskets fighting the Scots, so that is how we have arranged ourselves. Many of you, I well know, have carried a firelock before now. We shall drill even so, until you can all work your muskets in your sleep. That way, you will stay alive when the dragoons come chasing down on you. More importantly, the dragoons will not survive the unwisdom of closing with Colonel Jevons’ Regiment of Foot! We shall be the best of regiments – and you will be the best company. Best of the best, that is us!”

They did not cheer – that was not their way, but a number of heads nodded in sober agreement. They would meet their fierce captain’s demand.

“Today and for the next while, we shall draw muskets from the Armoury and drill with them. We shall work together to form into two lines, as if we man a wall or stand behind a hedgerow. Then we shall learn to fire in three lines, in order on the open field, fifty and fifty and fifty, to command. After that, forming a square. First a company square and then two or more companies together. When that is done and I am satisfied, then we shall draw powder and ball and fire the pieces until you are able to hold them level and pointed straight. In three months we shall be a company of fighting men, able to hold our own on any field. Sergeants, take the men to the Armoury.”

Micah stood back and watched the men march in loose order off the ground and file into the big barn and then come out of the far door laden down with musket, stand, powder and ball and match. He was pleased to see the experienced men of the Bands showing the green men how to hold and wear each properly so that they could march carrying their weaponry. He turned to the young officers

“Best to leave the sergeants to the job today, gentlemen. They will simply show the men who need to learn how to stand. As well, they will watch and see who should be made corporal. They will tell us the names tonight and I shall appoint the men when we parade in the morning.”

“Will not that give the sergeants too much of authority in the company, Captain?”

“No. We must trust them to behave as good men should. They have had the chance to put their names forward as officers – and they would have made good lieutenants, if that had been their wish. They have chosen to remain in the ranks, for preferring not to take the greater responsibility. They will not usurp your place, gentlemen, for not wanting it. They have my trust - and must be given yours as well. They know far more than you or I and will allow us the benefit of their experience when the time arises. Listen to them before you give your orders and do not go against them without the best of good reason. They are good men and will not let you down. Offer them the same courtesy.”

Lieutenant Halleck was not sure that he wished to be guided by a mere sergeant – he was a gentleman born, after all, and a man of full age.

“That, I know, Mr Halleck. Your father owns a landed estate and you have ridden since boyhood and have used a sporting gun. These are useful talents, I believe, but you have not yet been to war. The sergeants have been shot over literally dozens of times. Each spent more than ten campaigns in the wars in the Germanies, fighting repeatedly in skirmishes and actual battles. They have knowledge that you do not, and far more than I have. My pistols and blade have seen blood, but not the tenth part of theirs! Yours have seen none. Learn and you will know what to do within a few months. For the while, you must accept that you are no more than a very new apprentice to your trade.”

Mr Halleck was sure that he would require very little teaching – war came naturally to the gentleman, it was in his blood.

“Excellent! Be sure that your blood remains in your veins long enough to be of use to us.”

Ensign Walsh, who was very young, said nothing but looked a little green at the thought of blood.

“Today, gentlemen, I will take you to the yard at the back, out of sight of the company, with your blade and pistols. Mr Halleck you will wish to assist me with Mr Walsh, I do not doubt.”

“Well, yes, of course, sir. With the blade I can be of some use, I believe. I have not actually had experience of the pistol – one has small use for the dragoon pistol in ordinary life.”

“True indeed, yet it is easy enough to master. Come now. Let us be about our business. The sergeants will be happier to see our backs while they kick the arses of the slower of the green boys.”

“But… Surely not, Captain!”

Micah grinned and nodded.

“Some of the boys – most of them, very likely – are no more than plodding hinds, used to the pace of the plough horse and the dung cart. It will need a sharp reminder to get them to move quickly, something they have never in their lives needed to do. The sergeants know that and will provide all that is needed, but best done out of an officer’s sight.”

Ensign Walsh could not understand why; Halleck, equally ignorant, chose to be silent and seem wiser.

“What will happen is that some ignorant young fellow will feel the toe of the sergeant’s boot and know that he is a free-born Englishman who will not take such an indignity. He will turn around and swing a punch. What must you do if you see a man try to hit a sergeant?”

“Why, sir, I will order his arrest on the spot and see him tied to the whipping post at very least. If it should be in the field, then I will have him before the Major and see him hanged for his pains.”

“Exactly! That is why you must not see him. If you are witness to great insubordination, then you must act – so take yourself away and let the sergeant deal with the business himself. Any farm boy who swings a punch at an old sergeant will soon learn the exact nature of his mistake – a boot where it hurts and a solid clout around the ear, if he’s lucky! We do not wish to flog and hang our men, yet as officers we must do just that if we are presented with evidence of their wickedness. So, we avoid such a sight.”

The boy was puzzled. He was still a young lad, his voice broken but not so many months previously. He was determined to go to war, to do his duty as he had learned it in chapel, but he was unsure in the world of men.

“If we avoid seeing the misconduct of the men, sir, how do we prevent it?”

“We do not, Mr Walsh. The sergeants have the job of presenting us with a company of fighting men. They will do that without using the whip if at all possible, for the men are all volunteers who wish to go to war and will resent a flogging. They must remain willing to fight at our heels – and that means a light touch with them. Our job is to stand tall in front of them when the smell of powder is in the air. First into the field in victory and last off in defeat – that is us. For the best, we should have blood on our blades and they should see us shooting off our pistols, and killing our men.”

“What do we do in barracks, sir?”

“Very little; the men do not want us interfering in their ordinary lives. They are volunteers, not pressed men, and must be shown the respect they believe they deserve. Discipline comes in battle, and they will learn that and discover why we demand it of them. Other than that – there is much to be said for keeping out of the way.”

The boy was left even more unsure, but he had heard mention in the mess of the Red Man and exaggerated tales of how the nickname had been earned. He was not to argue with such a one.

The back yard behind the barns had been turned into a butts with sacks stuffed with hay and straw against the rear fence to prevent stray rounds flying across the countryside.

“Pistols, gentlemen. Load.”

The two carried a pair of dragoon pistols apiece. They were long-barrelled and heavy, intended to be kept in saddle holsters and discharged at ten or at most twenty feet. Accuracy was not a major factor – they were to be pointed rather than aimed, to be used in the close melee or by dragoon troops performing the caracole.

Practice was for horse soldiers to form a line and cross the front of foot at a distance of a few yards, discharging their first pistol and then to ride a few more yards and about face and swing back to fire the second. A well-disciplined regiment of horse could break a battalion in a single caracole and take few casualties because the matchlock was so slow to reload.

“You may find it easier to use a lighter pistol when on foot, as we can expect to be in battle. I carry six on a crossbelt when the need arises, lighter than dragoon pistols, heavy enough to knock a man down.”

Rootes was waiting with the belts and came forward to strap them round Micah’s waist and to his shoulder.

“Loaded, sir.”

“Thank’ee, Rootes.”

Micah stood to the front and pointed across to a scarecrow figure on a post at twenty feet distant.

“That’s our target for the day. Watch.”

He placed his feet and readied himself.

“Draw the pistol and point it, being careful to hold level. Thumb back and squeeze…”

The pistol crashed and a sack of hay at the fence jerked as the ball hit it.

“Holster and pull the next… and the third…”

He fired six rounds in the space of a minute. Two of them hit the target.

“Better than normal. I carry six pistols in the hope of hitting once. The balls may well hit into the ranks behind the front. If they miss everything, they will still cause men to duck and be less bold. If the attacker is horse, then aim at the animal – it’s far bigger and you will hit more often.”

They had both jumped at the first explosion, stood still now, trying not to seem shamefaced.

“Mr Halleck. Your turn. Level and squeeze, do not snatch at the trigger.”

The lieutenant fired twice, loud crashes, and his three-quarters of an inch rounds ripped holes in the sacking.

“Well done. You held level. You missed the target, but a soldier would have heard balls whistling past his ears – which is never a pleasant sound and brings men to their knees in fear very often. Mr Walsh.”

The boy shot and stumbled, nor expecting the kick of the dragoon pistol with its heavy charge. He collected himself and drew the second and forced it to the level, despite its weight, and managed to nick the very side of the target.

“Oh, good shot, Mr Walsh! You see the size of the ball your pistol fires – imagine that hitting your hip!”

The boy looked sick at the thought.

“That would put that man out of fight, Mr Walsh. He would be down and probably screaming too. Think how his friends in the ranks will feel as they see and hear him.”

Micah spoke forcefully, watching the boy’s face. There was a chance that he would be so revolted by the thought that he would drop his weapon and go home, never to fight again. If that was so, better he should discover now he was no fighting man before he could let the men down in battle.

“Thank you, sir. Should I ask my father to buy me more pistols, do you think?”

“If you can take their weight then four or six of the smaller, shorter pistols such as I carry will make good sense. You as well, Mr Halleck.”

“Yes, sir. What of our swords, sir? Yours is heavier than mine or Mr Walsh’s.”

“I am bigger than either of you, I believe, and, importantly, stronger by far. Years of working a slate quarry have given me a chest and shoulders such as few men possess. I do not boast, I merely point out the fact. I bought the backsword for being a weapon I could swing all day if needs be.”

He drew the sword and handed it across.

“Feel the simple mass of the sword, Mr Halleck. You will see the thickness of the back, strengthening the blade but making it heavy as well.”

Halleck swung the sword, taking it through the most basic thrust and parry.

“My wrists would tire inside ten minutes, sir. My life has not been as hard as yours. The sword is too much for me.”

He passed it across to Walsh who could hardly swing the blade at all.

Micah took the backsword and demonstrated that he could handle it.

“It has the great advantage that few men will parry a blow from this weapon, gentlemen. But, if you cannot use it, then it is useless to you. A lighter and equally sharp sword will kill your enemy just as well, although demanding more skill of you. Mine is a butcher’s blade, for I have no great knowledge of the sword. Have you been taught sword manage, Mr Walsh?”

“Yes, sir. I have been given lessons these last three years. My father said a gentleman must know the blade.”

Walsh blushed bright scarlet as he realised what he had said, his implication that his captain was no gentleman. Halleck tried to cover for him.

“I was taught as well, sir, my father telling me that war was certain to come. I believe he expected me to stand for the King, but I have decided which cause is right, sir.”

“Well done, Mr Halleck. As for the skills of the gentleman… Well, I know hardly any of those, in the nature of things. Perhaps I may pick up a few.”

Walsh flushed again.

“Come, gentlemen. We should go to our company office and discuss what is to be done. I want you to take half of the company each from tomorrow. The sergeants will have appointed their corporals and each will have a platoon. You will meet your corporals and your particular sergeant and will arrange training with them. The work will be hard at first, but you will come to know them and that will be good for them and you both.”

The sergeants were kind-hearted men, willing to tolerate young officers and guide them to a sensible conclusion. Others in their place might have been less tolerant but the pair regarded the boys with some kindness – the young men could have stayed at home but had volunteered to serve their cause, out in front and dressed finer than the men and so making themselves a target.

Both gave the same advice.

“Any time you ain’t sure what the right thing is, just say, ‘Carry on, sergeant’.”

“What happens then, Sergeant Driver?”

“Why, sir, I take a guess at what makes sense, knowing the orders we been given. Just as long as I do know the orders, sir.”

Ensign Walsh caught his sergeant’s meaning.

“I must inform you of the orders Captain Slater gives me, you say, Sergeant Driver.”

“Best that way, sir. Always a good idea for two men to know what the orders are. That way, if one falls, t’other knows what to do.”

“Men do die in battle, do they not.”

“They do, sir. That’s the whole idea of a fight, sir. Killing people is what soldiering’s all about, sir.”

“So it is. How best do I make sure that we kill them rather than they kill us, Sergeant Driver?”

“There ain’t no way of doing that for sure, sir. That’s why we have generals. Best thing you can do, sir, is keep an eye on the Red Man. He’s one of them what knows how to go about soldiering natural like, sir. That’s why I volunteered to come here, sir, to follow that man. Some officers – just one or two – are men worth the name. He is one. Best I have ever seen, so I reckon, and I ain’t even seen him in the field yet, except at Turnham Green what wasn’t a proper battle. He’ll look after his men until it comes time for the killing to start – then he’ll throw us into the fight where we’re needed, you see if he don’t, and he’ll bring the most of us out the other side. You want to be an officer, sir, learn from that man.”

Micah was the other side of a thin wooden wall from the pair, could not help but overhear all they said. He did not think he was a hero; Sergeant Driver disagreed with him on that. Better he should not let his sergeant down.

Chapter Five

The winter came in hard. It snowed early and laid thick and cold. The Thames froze, they were told.

Marching out was impossible for three months. Parade drill was practical only for an hour around noon on most days. The company spent the bulk of its days under cover, working the muskets in their platoons, dumbshow, not being able to fire in the barns and stables.

“All very well for you, Red Man. What can I do with a company of pikes?”

Daniel Carew was desperate for activity, as were his men. They worked at their drill indoors and spent two hours a day on wooding, cutting up the logs that had been dragged into the manor and occasionally going out to fell dead trees and skid them through the snow back to the yards. Basically, they were bored and inactive for too many hours at a time.

They were religious men and many spent their idle hours with their Bibles or in discussion groups, talking over the Scriptures as their chapels encouraged, every man having the right to express his own opinion to create the collective acceptance of what was proper.

Inevitably, they considered the best organisation of an Army of Saints Assembled. They came to many unusual conclusions in the process of their discussions, including the suggestion that orders were best produced by the collective wisdom of the men, that they should decide what their army should do at any given moment, if needs be by halting to hold a debate.

Captain Carew did his best to persuade them that debates were better held in Westminster than on the battlefield and many agreed with his wisdom, but he was sure that not all did.

Spring came, the marching season, and the officers waited for orders to come to the regiment.

“The Earl of Essex will march out of London, with his regiments and as many of the Trained Bands as may be inclined to follow. Where he will go, I know not, Red Man.”

Micah agreed with Daniel that the Earl must march – he must not wait in defensive posture.

“Will we be called to the Army, do you think, Daniel?”

“I doubt it, Red Man. We are isolated here and would have to march for some days to catch up with the Earl. My wager would be that we shall be sent off on a particular service – or would be if I was a gambling man, which, needless to say, I am not.”

Others in the mess were inclined to moralise, did not like to hear reference to the immorality of the Cavaliers and such. It had been a boring winter in many respects.

“Kent and Surrey and Sussex are safe for Parliament, Red Man. A lucky fall out for us as the Kentish and Sussex Weald has the great bulk of cannon-making in England. The forges produce muskets as well. Parliament can thus arm itself while the King has to buy most of his weaponry overseas or beg it if he cannot find the gold and silver to purchase.”

“A surprise that the Man of Blood does not send an army to the west to work its way along the coast from Hampshire way and into the Weald, Daniel.”

“Perhaps he believes that he need not worry himself to do so, Red Man. Defeat the Earl of Essex and take London and the rest of the country must fall, so he might think.”

That made a certain sense, Micah agreed.

“What are we to do then, by way of this special service?”

“There will be odd manor houses fortified for the King, isolated in areas that are otherwise loyal to us. It might be wise to march and, as it were, mop them up. Work for a Regiment of Foot accompanied by a battery of guns. As well to have traitors to the cause put in a safe place while we are fighting at a distance. Add to that, they may have wealth hidden away that could be taken up to Parliament’s use.”

“Have you heard word that we are to do this, Daniel?”

“Nothing more than rumour.”

They sipped their small beer and talked quietly in their sober mess, letting the evening pass in an atmosphere of decorum.

The captains were called to meet Major Jevons, gathered together hopefully for a break in the tedium.

“Orders gentlemen. We are to march to the west, towards the town of Guildford and just beyond it. There is a fortified manor called Milford House which is held for the King and which is a nuisance to the whole countryside thereabouts. We are to take the manor and slight its fortifications and send its master to trial in London and disperse the family to go where they will so long as they make no further trouble. It is rumoured that the manor contains a supply of weaponry and powder which should be taken to our own use. We are to meet a battery of guns at Guildford and take them down to the destruction of the manor. All to be done at soonest. On our success, we march towards Petersfield in Hampshire where there is another such hive of malignants to be smoked out. Both are in a place to interfere with the road to Portsmouth, or to send horsemen into the Weald and its foundries.”

Daniel nodded proudly to Micah – he had foreseen correctly.

“Four days on the march and then to hold in Guildford for one day while we confer with the gunners.”

Micah nodded. His first reaction had been that they should press forward and assault Milford House before the garrison knew of their presence, but it was almost certain that horsemen would gallop ahead of them with the news they were on the road. Men who were unsympathetic to Parliament might not wish to march out with the King’s forces, but they could easily send a son off with a message, unknown to their neighbours who might inform on them.

How were they to attack a forewarned enemy? He waited for Jevons to offer a plan.

“We shall march to the house, surround it and call for their surrender. They will not wish to stand against us – better to take quarter immediately.”

It sounded confident – hopeful rather than thought out. Micah glanced across at Daniel, saw him to be utterly without expression, blank and trying to show untroubled. He tried to calm his own face, to hide his doubts.

“Do we know the size of the garrison, Major?”

That was Captain Curtis, one of the older men, given his commission for bringing in more than a hundred men from the cluster of local villages where he was known as a fine orator in chapel.

“I do not have that information, Captain.”

“Do they have horse, sir?”

Captain Vokes was a commoner from the forested areas, leader of groups of loggers who worked a large section of the Weald. He had some sort of hereditary right to take timber and was to an extent a leader of the local people, a squire in all but name.

Major Jevons did not know the answer to that either. It was clear that he had received an order and nothing by way of explanation.

“March at first light, Major?”

Daniel deliberately asked a question that he could answer before the meeting grew hostile.

“Yes, column of route by company number, if you please. I shall place my party between the first and second companies.”

It was reasonable to assume that any attack on the march would be made by horse coming headlong down the road. Pikes were best suited to bear the brunt of such an assault while the shot behind split left and right to their flanks and fired into the stalled mass. Daniel and Micah nodded together – they would have done the same.

Major Jevons continued his instructions.

“Waggons to be placed between the companies in fours.”

That was arguable but it did ensure that the men’s rations kept up with the march, though probably slowing the whole column down. It could easily be the case that they would be ten hours on the road to achieve their fifteen miles when it rained.

“Better slow than hungry, Red Man.”

That was almost always true.

“The Adjutant will ensure that there is a waggonload of powder and ball following each company of shot.”

“Match as well, sir?”

“Match as well, Captain Slater.”

“What of our horses, sir?”

Captain Murray was one of the young men, second son to a large landowner, said to have fallen out with his father regarding his allegiances. He was not one to walk where he could ride.

“Best that officers be visible, Captain Murray. Officers’ servants to bring second charger along with the waggons.”

Being on horseback made the officers visible to the enemy as well, but it was probably wiser that they should be easily seen.

There were no further questions, the officers almost all amateur and not knowing what to ask.

Micah returned to his company and issued orders.

“Cooks to have a waggon. Pots and dry firewood and sacks of flour under tarpaulins. Bags of beans to be stored as well. Barrels of small beer to a second waggon – safer than stream water. Mattocks and shovels to the third, together with salt beef and barley and oats. Block salt as well. Stew at night; gruel in the morning.”

“Beg pardon, sir, but us won’t be doing much with the flour. No ovens, likely, sir.”

“Barter, weight for weight, bread for flour in the villages. Throw in a bit of salt – always short in the inland villages – and we’ll get our bread.”

They thought that was clever.

“Tell they when us stops, like, sir. Come the morning they’ll have baked for us.”

“Gives us a decent bite to eat. Keeps them honest as well.”

They were puzzled by that comment until Sergeant Driver explained.

“They given us bread – means they got to stay on our side. The King’s people ain’t going to like ‘em for doing that.”

That was cleverer still.

“Pass the word that we are in our own land, with the people on our side. Any man tries to steal or lays his hand on an unwilling woman, I shall hang him at the side of the road. No mercy. No second chance.”

They were sure that none of their people – the saints in arms – would dream of such a thing. They would not object to the law, however – it was right.

“What of camp followers, sir?”

Micah shook his head at Sergeant Fletcher’s question. From all he had been told, any battalion at war soon accumulated ‘washerwomen’ and such at their tail; the wise officer, he had been told, neither saw nor heard of them.

“What I do not see, Sergeant Fletcher…”

There was a shaking of heads at that, but again, the bulk of the men were comfortably sure that such females would not seek out the company of the virtuous under arms.

“Finally, check your boots today. Be sure you have stockings or foot cloths and that they are clean and unwrinkled. Any man who is sick to report to his corporal.”

Micah expected every man to claim he was fit for the march. These were not unwilling conscripts.

The morning saw the men fed and ready to march out as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. The horses seemed less enthusiastic, not believing in starting work at cockcrow, but suffered themselves to be mounted or put into the traces. Major Jevons blew his whistle and the sergeants shouted and the column stretched their left feet forward and strode off at three miles an hour. A very few urchins cheered at the side; some women wept. There was little other response to the men marching off to war.

Fifty minutes and they stopped for ten, the ranks still closed up and no men having yet dropped out.

Daniel was impressed.

“First time I ever saw that, Red Man. Three miles, almost, and not a man left behind. Still, there are two hills to the front of us – they will stretch the weaklings, if there are any.”

A few dropped out on the hills, but not many and all showing genuinely ill, men who should have reported sick rather than march at all.

Major Jevons did not know what to do with the stragglers.

“Take them to the chapel in the next village we come to, sir. Leave the pastor with a few shillings and beg him to care for them until they recover, or perhaps die. Should any show crippled, then a message to Colonel Jevons to make arrangements for them. They can then be taken back to their homes with a dole each week thereafter. They volunteered to serve and they are the Regiment’s to look after, sir. We are not King’s soldiers who will press men to their ranks and then contemptuously discard them when they are no longer of use.”

“Very true, Captain Slater. It shall be done that way.”

The word trickled down through the companies, that the Regiment would look after them if the need arose. The men marched the more keenly for knowing that.

They reached Guildford on the fourth day, as planned. They had had dry days, not so much as a shower of rain, which, they told each other, was the hand of God protecting them as they went about His business.

There was a small garrison at the outskirts of the town, acting as police more than soldiers, old men who could not sensibly march to war. The promised battery was waiting there.

Daniel spotted them and shook his head.

“Six demi-culverins, Red Man. They fire a shot of some nine pounds avoirdupois, or grape to the same weight, eighty or so of musket balls. Useful in the field – they will break a charge of cavalry, properly aimed and used at about fifty yards. They can annoy an enemy line of battle firing ball at a quarter of a mile. They are too light to batter a stone wall. For siege work, you need a full cannon, a forty-two pound gun. Even a whole culverin is rarely man enough for a castle wall.”

“Then what do we do, Daniel?”

“Get to the scene and then find out what is possible. In all likelihood, we will have no choice other than to rush the fortalice in the dark.”

The regiment rested for a day and then marched out with the battery at the rear of the column. They camped up and in the morning presented themselves before Milford House, surrounding it as best they could.

Micah stood next to Daniel and Major Jevons, surveying the fort. Daniel, the sole professional and with experience of sieges heaved a sigh of relief.

“Lucky! It was never designed as a castle. This is a later building and they have turned it into a makeshift defended position.”

They stood at the crest of a low hill, in the cover of beech trees, looking down at the house.

“Positioned to use the hill as shelter from the winds. A castle would have been set on top of the hill. We have the advantage of looking, and if needs be firing, down onto them. A small river running south in the valley bottom, wide enough just that a horse will not jump it, too deep to ford easily by the looks of it and at the bottom of the lawns to the east of the house, as is usual enough. It always makes sense to build a big house on water. Thick woodland to the north, open ground to the south, this hillside on the west. We must control the south side, digging a trench there if there is to be a siege. The rest is protected by the ground. Guns up on this hill and the house will be easily in range. They have dug trenches round the house and used timber to build a couple of strongpoints. Even demi-culverins will splinter timber walls.”

Major Jevons listened and tried to show understanding.

“We should call for their surrender, do you say, Captain Carew? They have an indefensible position, after all.”

“Not yet, sir. They might have a squadron or two of horse in their yards. My company of pikes to the south, where a charge must be sent. Captain Slater’s shot next to me on the open ground. Guns and a mixed company of pikes and shot – Number Four would do well – up here. One company of shot along the far side of the riverbank. Two in the woods to the north. The remaining three companies of pikes to hold up here on the hillside as the reserve to be sent where needed. Yourself here, obviously. Place ourselves and make ready against need. Only then do we call for their surrender.”

Major Jevons gave the orders.

“Baggage up here on the hill, I must imagine, gentlemen.”

They agreed.

“If surrender is refused, then the guns to open fire on the strongpoints?”

Daniel shook his head impatiently.

“On the house. The lord of the manor will not care too much if a few soldiers are killed. If his roof comes tumbling down around his ears he will rapidly think twice about his position.”

That seemed a hard response to Major Jevons. He did not know that he had gone to war to destroy the property of men such as himself.

“Will the gentleman not have his family inside with him, Captain Carew?”

“Not if he has any sense. He should have sent them off to safety long since. If he has not… Well, that is his foolishness, is it not? We cannot make war and consider the safekeeping of the enemy’s kinsfolk. They are theirs to protect, not ours.”

Micah thought of his sisters, vulnerable if Stamford should ever be besieged, if an enemy should come storming up that long hillside into the old stone town. He suspected that many a family in the country was at risk in this war.

They dispersed to carry out the orders that Jevons had approved, two hours to place the men where they could both protect themselves and if needs be kill their enemy.

Early afternoon saw all ready, the men in cover, as much as they could be, to north, east and west and the two companies to the south in defensive array, the pikes to stop horse and the shot to kill them. Major Jevons sent his runner to the two captains to join in calling for the surrender of the house.

“Mr Halleck, you will have the right, remember. You are left if the need arises, Mr Walsh. In three ranks, firing in turn.”

The pair acknowledged, hiding their nervousness as their mentor strode off and left them with the responsibility. The two sergeants said nothing and walked their ranks, checking each man was ready.

Major Jevon’s servant had a white flag tied to a pikestaff and led the way towards the front of the building where a gravel driveway led up from the valley to wind through a garden area and turn to the stables at the rear. One of the new strongpoints blocked the way at the edge of the gardens, perhaps fifty yards from the house.

“Stop there!”

The shout came from behind the timber barricade, was followed by a flag carrier and a single gentleman dressed in civilian clothing - breeches and doublet over calf-high boots.

“Major Jevons and Captains Carew and Slater of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment. We are ordered to disarm your forces, sir, and send you and your senior officers to face your trial as insurgents against the rule of Parliament. I am permitted to assure you that your lives will be safe if you surrender immediately.”

“I am Sir Michael Melford. Are all of my followers safe in their lives?”

“Your men, your family and theirs. There will be no butchery here such as there was at Brentford. We shall remain to oversee the slighting of your fortifications and the disarming of the house. On your promise of good behaviour, no garrison will remain here.”

“What of this trial?”

“My understanding is that a fine and surety will be demanded. No more than that. I cannot pledge my own word to that, for Parliament is my master and can overrule me – but that is what I have been told.”

“I cannot surrender without a shot fired. My honour will not tolerate that.”

Major Jevons was at a loss for an answer. Daniel stood forward.

“There are culverins on the hilltop.” He pointed to the guns, smoke curling up from linstocks. “We shall bombard the house and then attack from three sides. If taken, the men will have the rights of sack - I cannot refuse them those.”

“You are a cruel and wicked man, sir. I must surrender my all to your senior’s mercy.”

Major Jevons gave the correct orders and the garrison filed out from the house and little forts, no more than eighty strong. The house disgorged family and servants and some of the tenantry and their kinsfolk, another hundred or more.

Weapons were laid on the grass and the fighting men stepped back at Jevons’ order.

“We shall inspect the house. Sir Michael. You will accompany us with your keys. Where is your arsenal, sir?”

“In the dry cellar, Major.”

“My men will remove it. I would remind you that you have surrendered all weapons that could be used in war. That is to include any sporting guns that can fire ball.”

“That is harsh, Major.”

“You chose to set yourself up as a traitor, Sir Michael. Do not complain that you are not to be trusted now.”

“I stood for my King!”

“Your King is an enemy of your country. You are a traitor.”

Melford was close to tears, outraged that his loyalty should be impugned.

There were twelve quarters of gunpowder in the cellar, a little more than three hundred pounds weight, wholly insufficient to fight a siege. Daniel was disbelieving.

“Four thousand rounds of ball, Sir Michael – fifty shots for each of your eighty men in addition to the contents of their pouches. You could not fight a day with so little. Where is the rest?”

“There is no rest, sir. The King’s Army was to replenish our stores. It has not yet done so.”

“The Man of Blood is careless with his promises. Those who rely on him to keep his word are short-lived – as was Strafford, as an example.”

“He is the King.”

“More shame to this country, that is still so. It will not be the case for long, sir.”

“He is the Anointed of God. He cannot cease to be King.”

“I can imagine a circumstance in which his head will no longer bear a crown. More than one of his predecessors have discovered the unwisdom of offering tyranny to the men of this country. It is less than two hundred years since Crookback Dick felt the weight of the people’s displeasure.”

“May God forgive you your wicked words, Captain!”

They continued their inspection of the house in silence, coming to Sir Michael’s workroom.

There was a desk and chairs and a few books on a shelf, hardly to be called a library, and a large chest in the corner. Micah tugged at the lid of the chest, found it locked.

“Your keys, sir?”

“That is private, it contains my records.”

“You will open it, sir, or I shall. It will take ten minutes to bring the cooks’ felling axe here.”

Sir Michael handed over a key.

The box contained ledgers, the estate books, as Sir Michael had said. There were a dozen of canvas bags as well, each the size of a man’s two fists. They were tied shut by waxed twine looped around their necks. Cut open, they disclosed copper and silver coins and a small amount of gold.

Major Jevons was quite pleased; Daniel Carew drew a pistol.

“Perhaps thirty pounds, Sir Michael. You have eighty men under arms. Where is the rest?”

“There is no more.”

“I shall burn down your house and barns if you do not tell me. The men will require their shillings and you must have the wherewithal to pay them. Where?”

Sir Michael slumped, his resistance ending. He had never envisaged losing, had made no real plans for the day.

“In the gun room. I will show you.”

The gun room contained three flintlock long guns, equally able to fire ball and birdshot. There were fishing rods in one corner and a selection of vermin traps in another, typical of any country house. Tucked away in the darkest rear, away from the window there was a pair of cupboards, bolted shut.

The one disclosed little boxes of fishing lines and hooks and paper screws of birdshot made up into loads for convenience. There were three full powder horns in a rack at the bottom. The other was lined with metal and had a lock as well as bolts. Sir Michael turned the key and pointed to the leather bags inside, lining four reinforced shelves.

“Four and twenty bags, each to contain coin to the value of one hundred pounds. A small part of it is mine. The bulk was given by neighbours as taxes and gifts to His Majesty the King.”

It was huge sum, all in gold and silver.

Major Jevons did not know what to do with so much money.

“A company to escort a waggon to Guildford, sir. There to put it into the hands of the garrison commander. This gentleman may go with it, on his way to London. Better far to move it out of our hands, sir. The temptation offered by such a sum is huge.”

A man could live comfortably on one hundred pounds a year. More than two thousands could purchase a small estate and a life as a gentleman. It was too much to leave in the proximity of soldiers.

“Who?”

“A mixed company, sir. Pikes to hold off an attack, shot to kill the stationary horsemen.”

Daniel was short in his reply – the answer was obvious. Any soldier should know how to protect a waggon on the road.

“Oh, yes, you are right, of course… I shall send Captain Connor, I think.”

That at least made sense. Connor was the eldest son of a very substantial landholder and unlikely to run off with the money.

“I shall send him back to Guildford in the morning and tell him to march direct to Petersfield on the following day.”

They applauded Major Jevons’ wisdom.

“What about these fortifications here, gentlemen?”

“Set the prisoners to ripping them apart, sir. The bulk of the timber to go to the firewood pile.”

“We can make camp here tonight and tomorrow and will use some of the wood for our cook fires.”

That made good sense as well. Major Jevons was pleased with himself when he came up with the proper orders to put their suggestions into effect.

Two morning’s later they marched southwest on the roads leading towards the north of Petersfield, a small market town only important because it straddled the road from Portsmouth to London.

The village of Steep lay on the River Rother close to the town, a small hill to one side, marshy low ground surrounding most of the rest. There was a fortified house on the hill, commanding much of the area.

The nine companies came to a halt below the position and drew a breath. There was a cloud of smoke followed by a loud bang and a cannon ball bounced at the foot of the hill and rolled towards them.

Daniel dismounted and walked across to the ball where it lay, cast iron and the size of a large cooking apple.

“Saker. Perhaps five pounds. On top of that hill, it outranges us, sir.”

The hill was no more than two hundred feet tall, but very steep where it faced them. A waggon road curled down and round, taking two passes across the slope before it reached the flat. At the top they could see a low stone wall, waist high, and behind it a small manor house, less than the one at Melford but far more of an obstacle.

“Garden wall, no more, but not easy to climb across from this side, sir.”

Major Jevons stared up the hill, having no idea what to do.

“Besiege the place as a first step, sir. I cannot see where that cannon is, exactly. I hope it is the biggest they have. We will not be able to dig lines in the marsh to the rear, sir, but there may be a footpath down into the village which we can cut.”

“Ah, yes. Do that, Captain Carew.”

Daniel obeyed orders and told Micah to take a platoon into the village and talk to the folk there. Not all would be Royalists; some would have useful information.

Micah took a round dozen men with him, match lit and muskets loaded, just in case.

The village was small, no more than twenty houses and a single beerhouse on either side of the road through. There was a church at the near end and a small meetinghouse at the far. The pastor of a chapel was unlikely to be a King’s man.

There was a scrawny, ill-dressed fellow working a hoe in the garden by the chapel.

“I beg your pardon, brother. Canst tell me where I may discover the men of God in this village?”

“Thou art talking to such a one now, Captain. Are you saved?”

“I am, brother, and am pleased to meet a fellow toiler in the gardens of the Lord. I am Captain Slater of Colonel Jevons Regiment of Foot, sent to discover and root out malignants in the land of the saints.”

“Then, Brother Slater, thou hast come to the proper place for thy endeavours. The house on the hill is a den of iniquity comparable to Sodom and Gomorrah and greatly in need of a cleansing.”

“They shall receive their just deserts before we leave, brother.”

“I shall pray for thee, Captain.”

“I shall be glad to receive thy blessings, brother. What canst thou tell me of the evil-doers on the hill?”

A great deal, it transpired. The pastor was very precisely aware of the wicked doings of the villains who looked down upon his godly village.

“There are more than a hundred cooped up there, Captain. Behind the house there is a barn and a pasture, the hill being flat on top and larger than it may seem from here. They have horses there for fifty men. I have seen them to carry a great gun to the hilltop and indeed I heard them to fire it at thee.”

“A single gun?”

“There is but one, Captain. It has but small wheels and they carried it in a waggon.”

A naval gun, no doubt picked up in Portsmouth.

“I saw them carry many long pikes in their waggons. I do not know that they have any number of muskets. Jasper Palethorpe, owner of the house of wickedness, came home from the sea four years since with no great sum of money, so it seemed. I doubt he could have bought muskets. Those who have joined him, many of them, are farmer’s sons, often with a horse and a blade, but without the coins that would buy a firelock.”

Micah reported back – a siege was practical and an assault could be successful, provided some thought was given to the process.

“They are short of shot, it seems and have just the single saker. They are one hundred strong, half of them mounted. They may well ride out, but they cannot mount a charge on so steep a hill. It is possible that there is flatter land on the other side of the hill, Major.”

They waited a few seconds in silence for the Major to make the suggestion that they should actually send a company to look at the reverse slope and discover what was there. Both senior captains breathed a sigh of relief as Jevons came up with the idea.

“If it is flatter there, then we may be able to place our demi-culverins to bombard the villains!”

“We may indeed, sir. A company of pikes to protect the guns against the troop of cavalry, and another of shot perhaps to make sure, sir?”

Jevons assented to that disposition of his forces and addressed the assembled captains.

“Best we should change the first orders, sirs. You to take your companies to guard the guns which are so valuable to us while Captains Slater and Carew invest the hilltop from behind.”

Chapter Six

“He is learning, Red Man. Not perhaps quickly, but he is thinking a little.”

“Better than not at all, Daniel, but it is irritating to be obliged to prod him into deciding to find out what is hidden from his direct sight.”

“He will improve, provided he does not make a mistake that kills him.”

“I am not sure which option I might prefer, Daniel… Thinking on it, if he dies in battle, he may have killed me first. Better he should learn.”

They marched their companies around the hill and discovered it to be connected by a saddle to a slightly higher ridgeline running off to the west. The hillside sloped down for some eighty feet and then climbed to the ridge, rising maybe a hundred feet over a quarter of a mile.

“Horse could walk down from the fort and then raise a gallop before being forced to walk up the far slope. They would not find it easy to ride to either side because of the downward slope. To be practical, the horse would not have come this way; they must have been brought in by the road and expect to leave by the same road. They are to give mastery of the local villages rather than play a part in a defence.”

Micah listened to the explanation and put it into his memory. He would know if they faced a similar situation again.

“The guns could play a useful part, if we could bring them up here… I must say that I do not fancy trying to pull their weight up this hillside.”

“Nor me, Red Man. If the need arises, we can do it, a whole company to one demi-culverin, but I would not wish to. A last resort.”

They saw the defenders clustering along their low wall, looking down at them, perhaps wondering what they planned.

“If they have any sense, they will manhandle their saker around to this back wall. They could drive us back almost to the ridge – if they have a sufficiency of powder and ball.”

Daniel called to his sergeant, told him to start the men digging.

“If they have the munitions, they will respond with fire from their gun, Red Man.”

The col was no more than fifty paces across. A first and shallow trench was quickly dug. The soil turned to chalk in less than a foot and would be hard labour thereafter.

There was no fire from the fort.

“What now, Daniel?”

“Send a wooding party downhill and start the cookfires. A stew, I think – a good meal to show that we are well-provisioned and are ready to settle into a siege. They are in a bad place for water, on top of a chalk hill, and will know that they must kill their horses within a few days. Their plan must have been to encourage us to an assault and to bloody us so much that we would go away. Nothing else would make sense. So, we worry them first.”

The garrison was, or so they had been told, comprised of poor men. Killing their horses would be a financial disaster. On top of that, they were farmers’ sons, had probably been riding those horses for years and would have an affection for them. Making them fear for their personal future, forcing them to put survival in front of their loyalty, might result in a surrender rather than a bloody fight.

“Won’t they realise that we shall take their horses from them, whatever they do, Daniel?”

“Possibly – they might imagine that they can negotiate terms.”

Micah was unconvinced. These folk were amateurs; they lacked knowledge of soldiering.

“We might make them desperate, Daniel. This man, what was his name, Jasper Palethorpe, a sailor, will have a different way of looking at things. He is not a soldier, not one of us.”

Daniel was forced to admit the possibility that Jasper Palethorpe might not know the rules of the game. He took up the possibility.

“What can he do? Three choices, or so I must imagine. Surrender is the one most convenient to us, so we might be over-hopeful that is what he will do. If he will not raise the white flag, then has the option to draw in his horns, like a snail in his shell, and suffer siege, hoping for the King’s forces to come to his rescue. If he refuses siege – which is a most dubious prospect for him because the King shows no signs of marching in this direction – then he must make a great sally, sooner rather than later, before he has taken losses and his people are weakened by hunger.”

“Tonight, before we have dug our trench?”

Daniel nodded.

“Let us leave our lieutenants to dig and pay Major Jevons a visit, Red Man.”

They explained their thoughts to the Major, outlining their fears for the night.

“What say you, Captain Carew? What must we do?”

“Put up defences, after nightfall so the garrison may not see them. There are woodlands to the rear. Half of our men there now to cut trees and sever their crowns and branches and drag them back to set as abatis across the roadway. Three or four blocks across the road so that the horse will be much impeded. The trunks to be laid out singly in front of the companies, a barrier to a charge across the grassland. The companies to lie down in square, matchlocks loaded and match lit but hidden, not to show light. Half the men to sleep at any time. All of these precautions after dark, to embarrass any cocksure attacker.”

Major Jevons ran to chivvy the captains into action, came back puffing and panting but pleased with himself.

“I have told them as well to stack dry sticks and logs next to the cookfires, ready to throw on and give light.”

“A wise move, Major Jevons. The company cooks are under orders to mind those fires, I presume?”

The pair returned to their own companies, too high to drag timber up to make their own defences.

“We will not be attacked by horse, Red Man.”

Daniel waited for his pupil to give the correct response.

“No. Dig the trench and pile the spoil to the front. A three feet deep trench will give a heap two feet high to its face, sufficient for shot to use for cover and rest while firing. For the night, one platoon of thirty-five or so to stand sentry, two to sleep, the fourth to sit by the fires, on call but taking their ease.”

“My pikes to sleep in their square, Red Man, ready to form and push in any direction.”

“Agreed, Daniel. If we push back an attack, then we force our way uphill and into the fort, on the heels of the sally party so they cannot turn and stand against us.”

Daniel nodded – it would be done. He was pleased that Micah had perceived the proper course without too much prodding. They had marched to war and either man could die on any day – they had to be able to step in for each other.

Trench digging in chalk was a slow process. Quarrymen with pickaxes and the muscles to wield them might have said it was easy but infantry with their short-handled mattocks found the labour hard. By nightfall their defence was three feet deep and the same wide with the spoil cast up another two feet and tamped down to make a wall. It would do as a temporary measure, but a pike could be thrust over too easily and a horse could jump it. The men inside would be protected from shot from at a distance and would have a steady rest to fire from – it felt better than standing on the open turf. The chalk stained their uniforms and the men objected; they had been smart and proud and were made grimy. They blamed the King.

Micah set the first platoon to the trench, told them they would be there for three hours, as close as could be estimated.

“That will give you six hours of sleep over the night, which is sufficient for any man. Keep awake! Five men to stand sentry, on their feet behind the trench and watching everything. If you see movement – or think you do – whisper down to the men in the trench to make ready. Do not shout. Your corporal has a dark lantern and will signal to the company behind us. All to be done secretly, so that the wicked foe will be taken unawares as they come upon us.”

“Beg pardon, sir – but if so be the lantern be dark, how is they goin’ to see ‘un?”

It was, in its limited way, a fair question. Micah called the corporal across and displayed the lantern.

“It has shutters all round, do you see? Open one shutter and the light shows on that side. Take all of the shutters off and you have an ordinary lantern.”

They agreed that was clever – they would not have thought of it themselves.

Micah addressed the corporal of the first platoon.

“Corporal Perkins, call the men to fire at twenty paces – or thereabouts – and then to kneel and present their short swords. Do not try to reload. The other three platoons will run up behind and fire at interval over your heads. You will deal with any who actually get into the trench. If they attack, well, it is most likely they will come before dawn, but they might choose the dead of the night when they hope you will be sleeping. You will not be asleep, will you?”

Corporal Perkins assured the Red Man that he would be wide awake.

“So you will be. So will I.”

Corporal Perkins believed the implicit threat – his captain was a seemingly kind-hearted man, but he had a name that said he was washed in the blood of the malignant. It was wiser to take no risks with such a man; he would not fall asleep and neither would his sentries.

The first platoon marched into the trench before nightfall, plainly visible to the defenders behind their stone wall – if they were there.

Micah stood next to Daniel, a few yards back.

“I can see no movement up there, Daniel.”

“That means that either they are all at the front, readying themselves to charge downhill, or…”

“They are hidden here, at the rear, waiting to charge down this side of the hill.”

“Possibly. They might just be huddled together, terror-stricken and waiting to show a white flag in the morning.”

Neither man gave much credence to the last possibility. It felt like a fight.

The cookfires were banked an hour after nightfall and the little encampment officially went to sleep. A good half of the men laid on their blankets, wakeful, watching to the front.

An hour passed and there was a flash of light from the trench, then two more.

“Stand to – quietly!”

Micah tapped Halleck and Walsh on the shoulder and they in turn prodded Sergeants Driver and Fletcher who were already stirring their corporals into action. A minute and the three platoons were on their feet, blowing on shielded slowmatch.

The sentries on the trench could see tiny lights coming cautiously down the slope, steep enough for a foot to turn and bring a man down with a great clatter of musket and pouches and rest.

“Make ready!”

The musketeers knelt sideways in the narrow trench, hiding as best they could, waiting the command to stand and fire.

The lighted matches came suddenly nearer as if the enemy had started to run. Suddenly they arced up into the air and towards the trench, thrown by strong arms.

“What in God’s name?”

“Stand, fire!”

The shouts were drowned by six sharp explosions and by the screams of wounded men. A dozen muskets crashed, the remainder dropped by the injured or dead.

A second wave of missiles, clearly visible by the trail of fire left by their matches came in and blew up.

Micah arrived at the run and called the remainder of his company to commence their volley fire from behind the trench.

The pike company arrived and passed through the line of musketeers and jumped the trench, levelling their clumsy weapons and charging.

“Hold your fire! Reload all. Corporal Perkins, bring your men out of the trench! Mr Halleck, go right. Mr Walsh, to the left, Sergeant Fletcher, bring one platoon behind me!”

Micah waited impatiently, counting off the seconds, giving his men a full minute for the blind reload.

“Charge!”

They stumbled forward, jumping over the bloody mess in the trench, seeing only a very few of its occupants climb out and follow after.

Twenty yards out Micah came across a body sprawled on the ground, a sputtering slowmatch still in his hand, burning into the flesh and stinking vilely. Beside him was a wicker basket, its contents spilled out and just visible in the moonlight as clay pots and jugs, seemingly collected together from the kitchens, sealed and with a length of match dangling from each. The presence of the fuse said gunpowder inside.

He ran on, less burdened than his musketeers and catching up to the pikemen, toiling uphill with their clumsy weapons held horizontal in a well-controlled row. There was a figure in front of them.

“Daniel? Push on to the attack?”

“Go!”

They could hear more explosions towards the front of the hill followed by the bellow of the saker, loud in the night.

“Sounds like the main attack is to the front, Red Man. Get over the wall and into them from behind. One of the men with the stinkpots had a pistol and I am shot a little – in no case to be running. Go on!”

“Shot! Follow me!”

Micah ran a few paces, slowed to a laboured walk. Charging uphill in the dark was hard work. He saw the wall, thought he could pick out movement along it.

“Sergeant Fletcher, get the men into a single line at my shoulder, quickly.”

The platoon lined up on either side and brought their muskets to the horizontal and blew on their matches.

“Point your firelocks.”

A few seconds while they readied themselves and Micah pulled a pair of pistols.

“Fire!”

The muskets coughed and lead balls splatted into the wall or sang through the air above it.

“Drop your firelocks. Short swords. Charge!”

Most of the men dallied a second to lay their muskets down carefully and then followed after Micah, struggling the last few, steep feet to the low wall and then dragging themselves over it. They heard Micah in front of them, yelling for them to follow.

They could see the loom of a building to their front, ran towards it, kicking down a pair of wide doors and discovering a barn in use as a makeshift stables. There was a single shielded lantern to the front, disclosing a bleeding man down in the straw and two or three figures crowded about him. They dived into them, short swords glinting in the lamplight.

“Don’t knock that lantern over! Out, go left around the barn!”

Sergeant Fletcher ran outside, called to the other platoons to cross to the right.

Micah rampaged forward in front of them all, holstering his right hand pistol in exchange for his heavy sword. He spotted the rear of the big house and ran towards it, kicked down the back door leading into the kitchens.

A woman screamed and ran. He ignored her and forced his way forward.

The front rooms were better lit, candles in holders and sticks showing half a dozen men, some of them armed.

“Drop your weapons!”

One of the men turned towards him, raising something in his hand, a sword perhaps.

Micah fired his pistol and swung the backsword, hacking into flesh. He pulled back and thrust at another figure while fumbling another pistol out of the holster and shooting into the three or four clustering towards the front door. Three of his men came behind him and joined the melee, yelling and thrusting hard.

“Clear the house! Take lights and go through every room!”

They ran at his command; he burst out of the front door and ran towards the open gate, just visible. There was another group clustered around the saker, reloading painstakingly by lantern light, not trained, experienced gunners. He stopped and took a breath and tucked his sword down against his legs while he pulled two of his four unfired pistols. Another deep inhalation and he slowly breathed out while he pointed his pistols and fired, right then left, then pushed them back into the holsters and drew the remaining pair. One man screamed and dropped and he heard a ball carom off the barrel of the saker. He fired twice more as they began to scatter, two running directly at him. He dropped the pistols on the gravel, reluctantly - they were too expensive to treat so cruelly – and gripped the sword.

Neither of the running figures showed armed. He bellowed at them.

“Hold still or I shall kill thee!”

Both screamed and fell to the ground.

They were no more than girls, joining in to defend their King, all most romantically, no doubt.

“Stay still. Do not move. Do not go into the house.”

Micah trusted his men, normally, but it was the middle of the night and they were fighting mad. Better for young girls that they did not go into a shambles of that sort.

“Halleck! Walsh! On me! At the front. Sergeant Fletcher, Sergeant Driver, bring prisoners to the front. Red Man’s Company, to me! To the front!”

He shouted and repeated himself and Lieutenant Halleck appeared puffing at his side, a bloody sword in hand.

“Pull the men together, Mr Halleck.”

“Walsh is down, sir. A man with an old halberd hit him with the axehead. High across the chest and shoulder.”

That made Walsh dead almost of a certainty; if not outright, such a wound was not to be survived other than by the remarkably lucky.

“Sergeant Driver killed the man with the halberd, sir. I got two more, one with a short pike and the second with a sword.”

The young man was half-exultant, part revolted by his own actions.

“Well done, Mr Halleck! That is exactly what I expect of my officers. Now, get a platoon together and take them to the wall by the front gate, on the right and hold there.”

Sergeant Driver appeared, a formed platoon at his shoulder.

“Got Corporal Perkins’ men, them what’s in one piece, sir, and Corporal Frobisher with all of his. Fletcher’s got hold of a few prisoners and is getting the men out of the house. All in hand, sir. No need for you to go back inside.”

If a sergeant said he was not wanted, then Micah was not about to argue. He did not want to know about anything being hidden from him.

“Good. Bring your men up to the gate. We’ll try to see what’s going on downhill and whether we need to go in behind the attack.”

Half of Halleck’s men fired a volley as he spoke.

“Run! Quickly!”

They formed their line and readied their matchlocks while Micah found Halleck.

“They are falling back, sir. The fighting’s along a line in front of our people, I think. They don’t seem to have broken through and now we’re behind them, from the little I can see.”

“Hold the wall here. Don’t venture downhill – like as not Major Jevons’ people would fire at us in the dark. Kill or take any who come back.”

Micah stepped back from the wall, shouted at the house.

“Sergeant Fletcher! Send a half platoon back to pick up the muskets and then do what they can for Perkins’ wounded in the trench. Prisoners to the front here!”

He walked a little closer to the house, spotted the two girls sat up on the gravel.

“You two, get up and come over here next to the gun. There is a lantern there and you will be safer in the light.”

They ran obediently.

Micah wondered what the time was, how long till dawn. He glanced at the moon, but it told him nothing.

He heard weeping coming from upstairs, did not want to know, to discover its cause. At best, he would find a woman mourning her dead man. There might have been children hiding in their bedrooms…

It was easy to tell himself that they were not there due to any of his doing – but he could not feel guiltless.

He paced to the gate, stared downhill.

The fighting was over. Fires were being lit and he could see vague shadows bustling about. He was fairly sure that Major Jevons had prevailed. He inflated his chest and shouted.

“Colonel Jevons’ Regiment!”

“Here! All is well.”

“We have the hilltop. Wait till daylight.”

“We shall!”

Sergeant Fletcher found him a few minutes later.

“Eight men taken under arms, sir, and made prisoner. Five womenfolk and their children, some of them hurt, sir. Two boys, sir, twelve or so years, grabbed swords in the dark, sir, and were cut down. Six of servants, sir, which had locked their rooms and came out when it was over and are untouched. Seventeen of corpses, sir. Three of them old men with swords, sir.”

“We’ll deal with them in the morning, Sergeant. Two more prisoners here, young girls with the gunners.”

“Lucky to have been taken prisoner and left unharmed, sir. They would have been older girls by now had it been in the Germanies.”

“We are not in the Germanies, Sergeant. Nor will we be.”

“Not how it happened at Brentford, sir.”

“The King’s men are animals. We are not.”

“No, sir.”

“How many have we lost?”

“Mr Walsh, sir. Bled out, sir. Half of Corporal Perkins’ men, what got caught by they bloody stinkpots. Didn’t expect they, sir. Grenadoes, they call them sometimes. Don’t see them much because the man who throws them is often too close when they blow. Use them aboard ship sometimes, dropped from the masthead over onto the enemy’s deck; safer that way.”

“They said this Jasper Palethorpe was a seaman. Let us hope we have taken him and can string him up by the neck for treacherously standing in arms against the lawful forces of Parliament. He has killed too many of our men and is responsible for the death of many of his.”

Micah looked about him, as much as he could see.

“Where is Mr Carew?”

“His company have taken the barn as theirs, sir. He’s with them.”

Micah found Daniel laid down on a truss of straw, swearing while a cunning-man from his company – the nearest they had to a barber-surgeon – cleaned a wound in the meat of his thigh.

“Got to wash ‘un clean, Captain. The old turpentine be best for that. Smarts a bit, you might say – you should see they old swine hop when I takes it to they. Keeps ‘un from going rotten, so it do. Most often, that is. Not so bad being on chalk soil. Was it on clay then that old lockjaw might get you, often as not, there being horses around. Them together with clay is a powerful bad mix. There you are, done now. I’ll have another look later on. If it goes rotten, I’ll take a hot blade to it, burn ‘er out, what works sometimes for a prize bull. Rest up for the night, Captain.”

Micah stood back, glad it was not him.

“How bad is it, Daniel?”

“Missed the bone and the big blood vessel – both of those are killers. While it stays clean, I shall be on horseback within three or four weeks, though I’ll not be walking too easily the whole summer. Best you take both companies and I shall talk to Major Jevons. A month back in London will be best for me.”

Morning brought a cloud-filled sky, rain in the wind.

“A few hours earlier and we would not have kept our match alight, Mr Halleck. We are lucky.”

“It was only having shot that allowed us to prevail, Captain.”

Micah agreed but saw a dozen of his men were within hearing range.

“Shot and the Hand of God, Mr Halleck. The righteous prevailed.”

Sergeant Fletcher snorted but the bulk of the men agreed, two going so far as to cry ‘amen’.

Lieutenant Halleck raised an eyebrow. Micah shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“Later, Mr Halleck. For the while, we must bring order to this slaughterhouse. Take a few men – six will do – and search the house. There may be useful blades. There should be rations which we may add to our stock for the campaign to come. If there is money, confiscate it so that it may be sent to Parliament to pay for more soldiers.”

Halleck could do that, he was sure.

“All warlike stores, sir.”

“Just so, Mr Halleck.”

Micah turned to Sergeant Fletcher.

“Would you take a commission as an officer now, Sergeant? We need another man and best it should be one who knows the trade.”

“Nay, not me, sir. I am not the sort officers are made of. Nor Driver, I suspect, not of foot, sir. Was it to be dragoons… well, that might be different. I rode as a trooper for a few years, sir, as did Driver. I could name three of the boys in the company who have their letters and are brighter than me – or that poor lad, Walsh. If you should wish, sir, I could send the best to you.”

“Do that, if you please. We must march soon and had better have a man to do the job.”

“I’ll choose the most useful, sir – but he may not be the best bred.”

“I am a quarryman by trade – and Slater by name for my family ever being the same. I need no birth or breeding in my followers.”

Fletcher grinned, the first time he had allowed his guard to fall.

“Right you are, sir. What else, sir?”

“Prisoners to be spoken to. Find their names and what they are. Put them into two sets, the one to be let free, the other to face their trial. Their officers and leading men of the county to go before Parliament.”

“Will do, sir.”

Major Jevons interrupted them, panting from having toiled up the hillside.

“Well done, Mr Slater! Between us, we foiled their cruel attack and defeated their whole force!”

“We did indeed, Major. Did they use stinkpots against you? I am waiting to hear how many men I lost to their wicked devices.”

Major Jevons was indignant that they had done so, had used weapons better suited to the Turk than to Christian gentlemen.

“We had the great good fortune that the abatis and tree trunks kept them at a distance and partly sheltered us from the detonations. Our shot were able to fire their volleys while they struggled through the tangle to our front. Indeed, to an extent they were, as is said, hoist by their own petard, for some of the wood caught fire and its light disclosed the evildoers to us.”

Micah had not heard the expression, but its meaning was clear enough.

“Well said, sir. Captain Carew took an injury in our fighting, a pistol ball to the upper part of the leg; he may well need be sent back to London for some weeks. We have killed many of the King’s Men here and taken more prisoner. There are some families taken as well, though I fear that some were hurt, perhaps killed, in the darkness.”

Major Jevons was saddened to hear that but hastened to assure Micah that it was none of his fault. If a foolish man put his women and children in harm’s way by going into armed insurrection, then the responsibility was wholly his.

“Captain Connor marched back from Guildford last night, bringing new orders for the Regiment. We are, on taking this place, to man it with a sufficient force and then march towards Southampton and further west as is wise, to show the countryside that Parliament is here in force and that they should tend their fields and not bring war to their homes. Best that you and Captain Carew hold this fortalice, Captain Slater. While here, you should patrol as makes good sense to pacify the locality. To that end, there are horses, I know.”

“Are the cannon to go with you, Major?”

“No. I am to dispose of them as is best – whatever that may mean.”

“Return them to Guildford, perhaps. I might prefer, sir, that you had them brought to the top here and emplaced along the wall.”

Major Jevons thought that made sense – the guns would still be in the control of the Regiment, to hand if they should be needed elsewhere in their travels.

“Hard labour to bring them up, Red Man.”

The informality showed that Micah was at liberty now to make suggestions.

“I have not counted, sir, but there are the better part of fifty nags in the barns. We can make up harnesses, rough but sturdy, and attach them to the guns and haul them up to the top, sir. Demi-culverins will not weigh a lot more than a ton and a half and should be easy enough behind a dozen pairs of horses, even on the incline here.”

“I have my groom and some of the other officers have their people from their homes, Red Man. Between them, I am sure they can solve that small problem.”

Micah was equally convinced that they could do so – it was the sort of task that the lesser country gentleman excelled at from his years of overseeing his farms. Many of them would have sold oak trees to the shipyards and would have moved trunks weighing more than a big gun over rougher ground.

The prisoners were questioned and sorted out and Jasper Palethorpe was dragged out from among the servants and divested of the skirts and shawl he had assumed in the hope of escape. Certain of the more devout Puritans among his captors had to be dissuaded from seeking out a hangman’s noose, so outraged were they by such deviancy.

Micah stood in front of a dozen of his men who were urgent to hang Palethorpe, explaining that his action was merest trickery rather than personal pleasure.

“He thought to escape, to run to his royal master, lads, not to persuade honest men into sin. I know you will say that no true man would do such a thing – but, if he was a true man, he would not have marched for the Man of Blood. We must not be amazed at the wickedness that such fellows will commit, but we must not allow ourselves to act as perversely as they. We are the elect, the saints assembled to carry out God’s work. As such, we must be more careful than most to ensure that our hands are clean of the blood of innocents. That is commonly easily done, but what when we meet the likes of this wicked sinner? He is no innocent, but he has not yet condemned his soul to Hellfire. As such, we must not hang him, although the Earth might be a cleaner place for his absence. He must have the opportunity to repent his evil ways. We must send him to London to stand before the bar of the House of Commons and face his trial.”

They were persuaded and accepted that he was not the most outrageous of villains. The due process of law must be applied.

Lieutenant Halleck was impressed by Micah’s oratory.

“I say, sir, do they actually take them to the House of Commons itself for their trial?”

Micah smiled, shamefacedly.

“I do not know, but they will at least be tried by a court appointed by Parliament. It was necessary to sound stern and full of authority. I could not see the man hanged out of hand. Besides that, he looks so very foolish, stood there in his underdrawers with his skirts taken away. He may be a wicked man, or he may be deluded, but at the moment he looks like a man caught with his trousers down!”

Halleck laughed as well.

“Take him away, Mr Halleck. Put him with the others overnight. Tomorrow they can go to the gaol in Guildford and be dealt with how the people there think best. Prisoners are a nuisance to us. What did you find in the house?”

“Three dry cellars, sir, full of provender, including some barrels of wine. Little by way of powder but some dozens of blades and pikeheads ready to be mounted. For some reason, some dozens of pairs of boots. A score of dragoon pistols in their holsters, put away next to the saddles and tack for the horses. In the library, we found two big, oaken strongboxes secured by iron bands and locks. They are being brought out now, sir, the boxes, almost too heavy to move. The rest is inside in the dry.”

“Good. I shall ask Sergeant Fletcher to exercise his ingenuity with the strongboxes. I much suspect that man opened more than one of such in his days in the Germanies.”

Sergeant Fletcher reported with his list of prisoners and with the pair of young girls who had been at the gun during the night.

“These two misses, sir, be wishful of speaking with thee.”

“In a minute, Sergeant. What did you find among the prisoners?”

“We took no more than a score of men up here, Captain. How many were picked up at the bottom by Major Jevons, I know not. We have the better part of eighty corpses up here, not all of them men.”

“How?”

“In the dark, sir, a running figure can easily seem to be an armed man. Safer often to kill first and ask afterward. Five women and a pair of boys what picked up swords, for thinking to act like men; they lie with the dead.”

“How many females among the prisoners?”

“These two, sir.” Fletcher waved at the two girls. “Besides that, eight of womenfolk and a score of children among them – none of them taken any harm at the hands of the men, sir. Wouldn’t have been that way in the Germanies, I can tell thee, sir.”

“And I will tell you again, Sergeant Fletcher – we are not and will not be in the Germanies while I stand as your commander.”

“As you order, sir. From the men, we took some thirty of pistols and swords and a fair collection of purses and rings and gold pins and such.”

“Put the valuables into a kitty, Sergeant. When possible, we will sell them off and split the proceeds by fair shares. The purses can be distributed today.”

“Only be a few shillings to the men, sir, but welcome. Will you take your share as officer, sir?”

“Not a penny to me. These to the men as a reward for behaving well. There was no sack and they deserve something for their forbearance when they had the right, or so some would say.”

“I shall tell them, sir. Right to do so, sir.”

Fletcher marched off and Micah turned to the girls. He quickly assessed them in daylight, found them to be much of an age, grown up but only barely marriageable. They were more than children but not yet adult enough to get out of the way of a battle. They had probably been excited.

“I am sorry to put you to one side, but military matters must come first. Now, who are you and what do you want of me?”

“Beg pardon, sir.”

They curtsied in apology.

“I am Mary Palethorpe, sir.”

“And I am Jessica Philipps, sir.”

“Captain Micah Slater, of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment of Foot.”

He bowed, briefly.

“I am granddaughter to Jasper Palethorpe, the squire, sir. Jessica is his ward, being a cousin of mine and, like me, orphaned young.”

Micah noticed that Miss Palethorpe was a pretty girl with auburn hair, paler than his own red but attractive, he thought. Hazel eyes and freckles, which she possibly liked less than he did. High cheekbones and a strong chin – good-looking rather than pretty in the ordinary sense. He smiled.

She scowled in return – not to be won over by some Parliamentary bully-boy who had brought butchery to her home.

“I would ask, sir, of what we are to do. My grandmama passed away two years since and when my grandfather is taken away, there will be no family of mine here.”

“Have you other relatives to go to?”

Both shook their heads.

“The fort here is to be taken into garrison by my company and Captain Carew’s. It would not be well for you to stay here with the soldiers. There will be little for you here. Parliament will most likely confiscate the house and lands, your grandfather being a traitor. I do not know. Wait while I discuss your fate with Captain Carew, who will perhaps stay here or may be sent to London, being wounded last night. For the while, talk to the servants here and discover who will stay in their place to work for the garrison.”

They seemed indignant to be given orders but quickly decided to be useful, in the hope that they would not simply be put out of the gate.

Micah made his way to the barn.

“Daniel, we are to stay here, our companies, in garrison. Would you be better advised to remain rather than face the hardships of a journey to London?”

“Willingly, Red Man. Two months in London and I shall have been replaced in the company and may well be sent elsewhere with no choice of my own. What is our final butcher’s bill?”

“Dead? I have no final count for the Regiment as a whole, but we have lost twenty-three dead and too much wounded to live from my company, and another eight who will probably live but may never march again. Expensive!”

“God-damned stinkpots! I did not expect them here, Red Man. My company lost fewer than yours – for being slower into the assault, carrying those clumsy pikes. I am only twelve down, dead and crippled. We need to make up our numbers. What sort of men are the prisoners?”

Micah did not understand the question.

“Are they King’s Men by conviction or local lads carried into the ranks whether they wished or no?

“I shall ask, Daniel.”

Chapter Seven

Major Jevons disclosed losses of some forty, dead and disabled.

“Fighting in the darkness, Captain Slater. Not an easy trick, you know!”

“I noticed, sir.”

“Yes… that is, of course you did! Managed it very well, I must say!”

“Thank you. Did you capture many of the malignants, sir?”

“Some escaped our hands, I fear, Captain Slater. I suspect, you know, that the action might have been less an attack than an attempt to run away. I think, well, I surmise, perhaps, that they expected to throw and roll their stinkpots downhill into our camp and vanish into the darkness while we stumbled from our sleep. Finding the abatis across their front must have disconcerted them. Discovering then that there was a whole company awake and with match lit must have completed their discomfiture. It would not have happened other than for the wisdom of my two experienced captains, and so my despatch to Parliament shall say!”

“I am flattered by your words, sir. To return to the question of prisoners, sir?”

“We took just fourteen unwounded. We picked up six that could not run for minor wounds and fifteen badly hurt, most of them like to die. For corpses, we have discovered nine. Thus, Captain Slater, we account for forty-four. You have numbered perhaps fifty and we know that there were one hundred or more. Some few remain unaccounted for and must be presumed to be running still.”

“I must discover who of my men can ride a horse, sir. We shall patrol the countryside and ask questions of the villagers. If we cannot find them, we can persuade them to run a long way.”

“Wise indeed, Captain Slater. I have decided that the seven companies shall march tomorrow. For today, we must supply you with provender and powder and ball and match sufficient for your garrison for a month or two. We must also set the guns into their places.”

Colonel Jevons’ Regiment was made up of country boys apart from the two companies drawn mostly from the Trained Bands. The joskins may have known little about musketry and have been uncertain which direction to push a pike, but they were experienced hands with horses. It took them two hours to rough fashion harness from rope and then an hour apiece to drag the demi-culverins uphill along the curving lane. By late afternoon they had all in place and stores of powder and ball tucked away in the dry inside the big house. The Palethorpe family might have been upset but their big front rooms made ideal arsenals.

Major Jevons was pleased with himself and his men.

“Prisoners, Captain Slater. I have it in mind that Captain Connor will march them to Guildford again, knowing the road as he does and being skilled in the task. He will take the strongboxes you discovered as well, all still unopened.”

“That is good sense, sir – which does not surprise me, I might add; my fellow officers include some very able men. The sole proviso I must make is that many of the prisoners have not got a march in them. Some few are elderly and others are wounded. I would beg that you might release three, even four waggons to Captain Connor’s use. It will do us small good in the eyes of the local folk if we are seen to be whipping old men to walk, stagger rather, the distance.”

“That would be outrageous, Captain Slater! Enemy they may be, but we are not to treat men in such a fashion. There will be waggons and we shall line them thick with straw.”

“Wise, sir, and no less than one might expect from a Christian gentleman.”

Major Jevons nodded and preened, basking in Micah’s approval.

“Do you have a number for those to go, Captain Slater?”

“Almost, sir. The great bulk of the ordinary folk, the servants and the few farm hands who were here, have begged to remain in their employ. I am of the opinion that they should be indulged in their desire, sir. It were cruel, I believe, to cast them out to starve, and we need a harvest, which they will provide. I do not believe they can fairly be called King’s men, who did no more than obey their masters.”

“They should have stood for the right – but that is easier for a gentleman to say than for a hind who has neither money in his purse nor food in his larder except his master provides it. You are in the right, Captain Slater, and show again that the true warrior nonetheless has a tender heart for the weak of this world. You are a good man, sir!”

Micah bowed his head in thanks but wondered if Jevons was in the right. Was he truly kind-hearted or simply unable to stomach the suffering of others – was it goodness or weakness that motivated him? Whichever, he was not about to oppress the poor and the vulnerable; he was not a man such as his father.

“Of the remainder, sir. There are six of old men, one of whom is hurt, who are true malignants and have sworn they will name me to the King’s people and that they will dance at the gallows when the Red Man is hanged for his treachery to his King. Best they should go to their trial, sir. Jasper Palethorpe has been taken and is in irons, having tried to hide among the servants in skirts and a shawl!”

Major Jevons was much amused, said he would make mention of that in his letter to Parliament – that would make him a figure of mockery rather than any sort of hero!

“There are a score of wounded who should be taken to the care of a surgeon in Guildford, sir. We cannot look after them here. For the rest, I have it in mind to ask of them whether they will forswear the Man of Blood and come to arms in our Regiment. We lost many men last night, sir, and could make use of a score or so of strong country boys spread among the companies that have taken losses.”

Major Jevons thought that sensible – they would have joined at their masters’ urging rather than through any wish to serve the King.

“Finally, sir, I lost my young man, Mr Walsh, last night and wish to replace him. There is a youngster, a gentleman born, who has his letters and shows willing and who used matchlock and sword to great avail during the fighting. I would wish to show Mr Eglinton to you and have your approval of his commission in the Regiment, sir.”

Major Jevons was inclined to be kind to Micah, said he would be glad to speak to the young man.

“Sergeant Fletcher! Would you bring Mr Eglinton to the Major, please.”

“You are uncommon courteous to your sergeant, Captain Slater?”

“A ‘please’ is easily said, sir, and does harm to no man.”

“You may well be correct, Captain Slater.”

The tone of voice suggested that Major Jevons did not think so; courtesy was too valuable to be wasted on the peasantry.

Eglinton appeared and showed himself to be of eighteen or so years and strongly built, a boy who had been used to country sports rather than sitting at a school desk. He made his bow and showed respectful and eager to become an officer and mentioned that his father owned more than a thousand acres. Major Jevons gave his formal acknowledgement of the young man’s commission in the Regiment in place of poor Mr Walsh.

“Look to the example of Captain Slater and you will not go far wrong as an officer and fighting man, Ensign Eglinton.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall do my best to show honest and hard working. I shall write my father that I have taken the first step in the career of arms. He wished me to read at Oxford, sir, and that I could not bear when there was so much for a young man to be doing. I trust he will be proud of me.”

“I am sure he will be. For the while, you must equip yourself as an officer.”

Micah intervened, said he would see to that.

Major Jevons took himself off down the hill and Micah grinned at Eglinton.

“No need to tell him that you have inherited Mr Walsh’s sword and breast-and-back and helmet. His servant will look after you as well. He has pistols, which you also need. You are much of a size and may take on some of his clothing, though the stuff he was wearing is beyond salvage, soaked in his blood. Talk to Sergeant Fletcher and he will set out the duties that Mr Walsh carried out. If in doubt, always go to your sergeant first, Eglinton. What is your given name? I am Red Man, as you will know.”

“I am Jedediah, sir, my father, who is a God-fearing man, being much of a Biblical turn for a name.”

“And quite right too, Jedediah. Now I must see to settling our people into the garrison here. I must also deal with the pair of young females.”

“Pretty girls, sir. Are they to go?”

“Not wise that they should stay in the middle of the better part of two hundred soldiers!”

The two young ladies did not seem to comprehend that fact.

“We have no other close relative, sir. None that we have ever met. I believe, sir, that the Palethorpes are more to be found in Virginia than in England, and we can hardly cross the seas to them.”

The same was to be said of the Philipps family, it seemed.

“If you remain here, ladies, who is to stand guard over you? Is there a grandmother or aunt or such?”

There had never been a spinster daughter of the family and Grandmother Palethorpe had died young.

“We have been in the company of Miss Girton, the daughter of my grandfather’s sister, sir, she acting as chaperone, one might say.”

“Will she continue in that role?”

“No. She left three weeks since, saying that her conscience would not permit her to stay in the King’s camp.”

“Who has looked after you since?”

“We are not children, sir! The housekeeper has been the sole lady of any consequence since Miss Girton left.”

“Do you know where Miss Girton went?”

They shook their heads.

“If you remain here, in the company of soldiers, who are by their very nature, rough and uncultured men, you may find your names smirched in local society. There are many who will think you are no longer good girls and you would find it difficult to discover a husband.”

The girls flushed bright scarlet as Micah’s words sank in.

“Oh! But, I am, we are no such thing! We would never…”

“Two girls, on their own with neither parent nor brother to protect them. You cannot expect to remain here except with a man to take care of you. If that is not to be one of your kin, then no doubt it will be one – or more – of the soldiers. You should go. If you stay… Well, you know the likely consequence.”

“Where are we to go, sir?”

“I do not know. I have nothing to offer you. If you remain, then I suggest you very quickly make friends of one of the officers. Captain Carew is unwed and might well be pleased to enjoy the company of one of you. For me? There is a young lady who might be waiting for me in London town. There are two lieutenants and a pair of ensigns besides who are single men and might be very pleased to look after you. If you stay, there is small alternative to becoming the kept woman of one of them. I must advise you to go.”

“Do you mean that the officers might wish to marry us, sir?”

“No. Not take you to wife. You would be better advised to go with the prisoners in the morning. Now, I am busy, have to look after my men. I cannot spend more time on you.”

The casual dismissal hit home – they realised that in his mind they were not young ladies to be cosseted but silly girls to be sent off to look out for themselves.

Micah made his way to the barn.

“Daniel, will you remain with the garrison? If so, better to carry you upstairs to a bedroom than have you lying in the barn.”

“I am sure I can walk so far, Red Man. A hole in a leg is not so great a thing as to make me a cripple!”

“No gain to walking when your men would be happy to look after you, Daniel. A few days on your back and the wound will heal the quicker. Take the big room upstairs, that was used to be Palethorpe’s – I am sure it will be the most comfortable. Send your servant up to make it ready for you.”

“The Regiment is to march tomorrow, is it not?”

“Major Jevons feels the need to take them away to carry out his orders, or so he says.”

Daniel laughed.

“Perhaps he wishes to be his own man, no longer outshone by the Red Man and Dan Carew?”

“There is that, Daniel. It is difficult for the poor man. You are a gentleman and he has no difficulty in bowing to your advice. I am no more than the son of the owner of a small quarry – and yet he has had to listen to my words, and him a squire born! Better he should march off and be his own man. There is no great army for him to fall foul of – he should be safe enough, and, besides, he has learned a little about the military existence, he may not make too many errors.”

“Pigs may fly, too, Red Man! What is this young Jack tells me of two pretty young females hanging on your lips, Red Man?”

Daniel’s junior, Lieutenant Jack Capel, grinned at Micah’s discomfiture.

“It is no such thing, Daniel! A pair of very foolish girls, relatives of Palethorpe and with nowhere to go and expecting me to find them a safe place of some sort. I have told them either to go with the prisoners to Guildford or to find a protector here – I cannot look after them.”

“I’ll send Jack to find them, Red Man. He is a fine enough young fellow to turn a young girl’s eye and no doubt the other may be persuaded to look after me, the poor wounded hero on his bed of pain!”

“You are a wicked man, Daniel – but they will end up in the bed of one man or another for sure and lucky to be able to choose whose! No doubt worse will happen to many another young lass in this war.”

There were too many men to fit conveniently into house and barns, especially as the fifty horses had prior claim on the available accommodation. It was dry and there was no sign of rain in the skies. Micah put the bulk of the companies to sleep outside on their leather groundsheets that night. He called the sergeants to him.

“We are to stay here for some weeks – how long, I do not know. First thing in the morning, take parties down to the woodland and cut trees and brush to make huts up here. If the men lean branches against the stone wall they will be able to make a dry roof and will have a protection against a buffeting wind. There is straw to hand they can lay to make beds of a sort and they will not be cold in the summer months.”

“We can show them how if they don’t know, sir. Keep the muskets and powder dry in the barns – we shall not be attacked by surprise up on the hill here, sir. We can have a comfortable few weeks, sir.”

“Not too much so. Find out who can ride. We will want to send out patrols on horseback to discover any other nests of malignants in the locality and to show our presence. This part of the country is ours, and it guards the doors, as you might say, to the Sussex Weald where the iron founders of the country are located. Muskets and big guns both are made not so far from here and we do not want the King’s armies to take them. This is our back garden, not theirs.”

“Foolish of the King not to attempt to take this part of the country, sir.”

“He believes that he must control London, Sergeant Fletcher. In his mind – or so I am told – the war will end if once he returns to the Tower and Westminster. He might be right – I do not know.”

“If he took the ironworks, sir, he would be more likely to win in London.”

“I agree – but, luckily for us, he is a foolish fellow. If he was not, he would not be facing this war. For the horses, I have it in mind to use all fifty. Our companies are large, oversize if anything, and a troop of dragoons would make good sense.”

The two young ladies dined that night in the company of the officers and were persuaded that they might stay in their ancestral home in safety. Micah did not approve, but he was not to play spoilsport – they were not his responsibility. He had no doubt that they would be warming the bed of one of his officers within a day or two, but the alternative was that they should be sent with the prisoners to Guildford where they would be left to their own devices and soon be swept up into a brothel; he could do nothing for them.

“What room have you selected for me, Rootes?”

“Front of the house, up one flight of stairs, sir. On the right. Captain Carew has the bigger room on the left and the lieutenants have the single bedrooms on either side, sir. The sergeants are at the back, but they have single rooms to themselves. Servants have kept their own rooms in the attics what they had before and us officers’ servants have fitted ourselves in where there’s space remaining upstairs. The downstairs rooms is all in use for stores, sir, and for the magazine except for the big one what’s for the officers to eat in. Outdoors, there’s the stables what has got the grooms in what have all stayed with their ‘osses, the beasts being more important to they than any King or such, and quite right too! Besides that, there be a pair of big barns, with straw down and taking a half-company apiece in comfort. Then there’s the pigsties, what have got pigs in and they ain’t being discommoded for being a pork dinner once a month. The half of the men what’s left is going to set themselves up with lean-tos against the wall, like you said, sir.”

“Very good. What of sentries?”

“Them blokes what had the place before us, sir, set up a guardhouse by the front gates, big enough for four men to sleep in and two to stay awake, taking it in turn. Besides that, there’s a ladder what goes up to the rooftiles, sir, and places for men to stand front and back and keep watch up high, day and night. Sergeant Fletcher have seen to that tonight and Mr Carew’s men will take guard tomorrow, turn and turn about, all arranged, sir.”

“Good. Where are the prisoners locked up tonight?”

“Down in the cellars, sir. There are wine cellars – one of them – and cold stores for provisions down there, and a big cellar what is dry and lined with good oak boards and that be for the flour and barley for brewing. Full, they are. Besides that, there is the one place what was empty and was the other grain cellar what has been used up over the winter and that’s where the prisoners has been put, those that wouldn’t join us or wasn’t allowed to. They won’t come to no great harm down there for a night – they got a bucket to piss in and a water barrel and some loaves of bread so they don’t starve, not that they would overnight.”

“Well organised. I must have a word with the sergeants in the morning, tell them my thanks for their work.”

“No need, sir. That’s their job – they knew you was busy like. Sergeant Fletcher says as how he has taken on six prisoners for the shot company and given Captain Carew’s lot a dozen of local boys what’s strong in the arm and thick in the head for his pikes, they not needing much in the way of know.”

Micah said nothing, sitting down on the big bed and finding it comfortable.

“Good old bed, that one, sir. Oak framed and thick sail canvas for the underpart, laced around the sides to hold it firm and flat. Thick mattress on top stuffed with horsehair and she’s real soft to lie on. Got a linen sheet as well, and two blankets on top. And a bolster to set your head on. All it needs is a missus as well and you’d have all a man might need for a good night’s kip.”

“The only missus I fancy is still in London, Rootes.”

“Good thing, too, if you asks me, sir. Don’t hold with these sorts what just wants a warm armful and nothing more. Not the proper way of going on, not like these King’s men do.”

“We are better men than them, Rootes. That is why we stand against them.”

Micah fell asleep considering those last words and wondering just how true they were. There was a kernel of honesty to them, he decided – the men of Parliament were fighting for a cause, to make England better. He hoped they might succeed, and not forget their aims in the day-to-day needs of fighting.

Breakfast was fresh bread and a mug of milk.

“Where did we get this from, Cook?”

The house servant smiled and curtsied.

“Beg pardon, sir, but us got ‘er up from village, like what us was allus used to, like. Old Henry Pooley, what ‘as the dairy ‘erd, like, and what do sell milk and butter and cheese to them what ain’t got they own, do come round in ‘is little cart six o’clock in the morning as ever is, six day a week, like. Old Master Palethorpe was used to take it for the rent of the land, like, so there ain’t nothin’ to pay, acos of ‘e needs to look after the rent even when Master ain’t around no more. Got butter and cheese in the pantry, so we ‘as.”

“Come the middle of the day, put some bread and cheese up for the officers, Cook. What will you do for dinner?”

“Put up boiled mutton tonight, with parsmits. Pair of chicken on the spit, tomorrow. See what we got, after that.”

“That sounds good, Cook. Tuck this away in your purse.”

He handed her a shilling piece, a rare silver coin. Cook was used to handling no more than the occasional penny, most of her wages coming in kind – her roof, clothing and food supplied by the master; a shilling was a great treat.

Micah silenced her thanks.

“We are here for the ordinary folk of the land, Cook. I am one of them myself. Tell your helpers that we shall find a few pennies for them as well.”

“What be thee to do with the villagers, Master?”

“Why? Do I need to do anything for them?”

“Some of they do go to the church come Sunday and they be at odds with the folks what cleaves to the chapel, as what is only right, like. Times back last year, they did throw stones at each other, so they did. And broke the windows in the rectory at night. Master Palethorpe, he were goin’ to take the pastor up in chains, so they did say, but never got round to doin’ it, quite.”

“I shall go down to the village this afternoon, when the rest of the battalion has marched out, and I shall speak to vicar and pastor both. We shall have a peaceful village, if I have to put some of them out on the road and burn their roofs.”

Micah was within reason certain the message would reach the village before he did.

Sergeant Fletcher provided an escort of six musketeers and Corporal Perkins to march behind Micah when he walked down the hill.

He was wearing breast-and-back with his helmet and backsword and six pistols, felt somewhat of a swaggering bully in front of the rural hinds. The villagers had lived peaceful lives for the previous century, were strangers to sword and gun and did not like to see them strutting into their quiet little marketplace.

Micah stood tall and looked about him, making a point of doffing his helmet and rubbing the sweat from his brow.

“Judas haired!”

“That be that Red Man they talked of. Look at that bloody girt cutter what ‘er got at ‘er side!”

“Kill thee so soon as look at thee, so they did say!”

He heard the whispers, saw old men and women surreptitiously making the sign of the horns – fist clenched and first and fourth fingers extended – as protection against the Devil and his works.

They were terrified of him, which was disconcerting, but better they feared him and stayed docile than perhaps rose in riot that would have to be put down. He pointed to an old man sat on the bench outside the beerhouse.

“You, sir! Will you tell me where I will find the rectory?”

The gaffer heaved to his feet.

“Beg pardon, Master, but it be the red-brick place next door to church. Down thataway, do ye see, Master?”

Micah followed the pointing finger and nodded. He dug into his pocket and found tuppence, passed the coppers across.

“Do you drink a pint or two on me, old fellow. My thanks for your service.”

The old man knuckled his forehead and found a surprising turn of speed as he trotted into the barroom.

Micah grinned and turned his steps towards the parson’s dwelling.

A maidservant came running to the door as he walked up the short path from the gate. She flung the door open wide and curtsied.

“Rector says as ‘ow you be welcome, sir. Please to come inside. If thy men will sit on the bench here” – she pointed into the garden – “I shall find they mugs of cider to wet their throats, sir.”

Micah nodded to the corporal, expecting no trouble in that particular house.

A middle-aged gentleman dressed in black and displaying clerical bands stood in the hallway and bade Micah enter his dwelling and be seated. His slightly younger wife scurried with beer and cake, made him welcome.

“I am the Reverend Jonathan Taylor, sir. I presume I have the honour of addressing the famous, or notorious, Red Man?”

“I am Micah Slater, Reverend, Captain in Colonel Jevons’ Regiment of Foot and here to bring peace and tranquillity to the Hampshire and Sussex countryside. I am known as Red Man, I will admit, but more from the colour of my hair than for blood staining my hands, sir.”

“That is as may be, sir, but there are men laying wounded in this house who tell me that you ran through the fire of grenadoes to strike them down.”

“I fight for the right, Reverend, and will not stay my hand from its bloody duty when the fight is brought to me. I begged the reprobate Palethorpe to surrender his fortalice and end his uprising peacefully, pledging myself to protect him and his people thereafter. Those who chose to fight must not complain that they were stricken down in their wickedness, sir.”

The Reverend shook his head, unable to accept the demands of battle.

“What will you do with the men who lay here, Captain?”

“They must surrender their arms to me, Reverend, and swear to commit no act of war until they are returned to health and leave your care. When they are able to walk out, they should come to me and discuss their parole. I do not make war on the halt and the lame, Reverend, not shall I persecute those whose Christian duty it is to care for the victims of battle.”

“You are an honourable man, Captain. I shall pledge myself to those terms, sir, and will hold the three to them. They have swords which I shall send up the hill, sir.”

Micah sat to his cake and beer for a while, at the vicar’s urging.

“I am told, Reverend, that there has been some disorder in your village in the past. Your congregation and that of the chapel are, it might seem, unable to live in peace in the same village.”

“Foolishness, Captain Slater, and the fault lying with both parties.”

“I must insist that it comes to an end, Reverend. I would beg you to pass the word to your flock that any who break the peace will find themselves conscripted into the ranks of my company, there to carry a musket until the wars are over. The same message will be taken to the pastor. I would wish you to inform the magistrates of my words, sir. Any poachers or drunkards and everyday villains may enjoy the privilege of service as well, sir.”

Reverend Taylor was inclined to applaud such a course – there were troublemakers in every community and unruly young men who might be encouraged by military discipline to grow up and behave themselves.

“They will not all survive the experience, Reverend, but it will do them good, of a certainty. I believe the pastor may be discovered at the other end of the village?”

The Reverend led him out to the gate and pointed to the chapel and made his polite farewells.

“I am Pastor Abednego Bates, sir. I am glad to see thee again, victorious and the forces of Satan cast down!”

“Virtue must always triumph, if not necessarily immediately, Pastor.”

“Well said, brother.”

“There has been unrest in the village, Pastor. It must come to an end. Those who wish – rightly – to persecute the unbeliever must walk up the hill to join my ranks. I require more strong right arms to smite the evildoer and would beg of thee that young men should be brought to the service of arms in our time of need.”

“You speak well, brother. I shall make thy need the subject of my discourse on the coming Sabbath. I shall press the burden of service upon the unwed men of my flock.”

“You are right to do so, Pastor, yet be sure in your own mind of the wisdom of your words. Some of the men who leave will never return, finding their last resting place under a far distant field of battle; others may come back crippled – destroyed almost in body and unable to work for their living. Some few may even find foreign parts more attractive to them and choose to dwell in London Town or cross the seas to the Americas. To take up arms is a drastic course, Pastor, and the weak-minded might need to be protected from such an action.”

Pastor Bates was much moved by Micah’s words.

“Thou art a good man, brother! Thou hast great need of soldiers to fill thy ranks and yet will not seduce men from their proper homes. I shall pray for guidance. I much suspect that I shall discover that the need for saints to take arms is greater than any other fear for them; they are to be Soldiers of God, and the Lord will protect his strong right arms in their travail. We must be strong in our urgency to cast down the Man of Blood, Charles Stuart. All other considerations pale before that need. The King must be cast down that the rule of saints may prevail in this poor land of England!”

“Hallelujah, brother!”

Micah made his farewells – he was called for elsewhere, he much regretted. His knowledge of the breed suggested that the Pastor was about to cast himself on his knees and pray long for guidance, and there were clouds a-building in the sky and he had no wish to kneel beside him in the rain.

“We must make haste, Corporal Perkins, for I fear I may be late to Captain Carew. I would not offer him such ill-manners!”

“Mid-afternoon, sir, to meet him, and perilous close to that now, sir.”

They quick-marched away, the men having no wish to provide an extempore congregation.

“Near thing, that, sir. I reckon the old pastor be good for two hours when the spirit moves him.”

“He is a good man, Corporal Perkins and you should not mock him. I reckon he was likely to be three hours at least.”

The laughter was stifled, the men fighting for straight faces as they passed the villagers in the square.

“Begging thy pardon, Captain, but can us soldiers come down to the beerhouse for a pint of an evening?”

“Only if you pay, your pennies on the counter and honest. Not too many at a time, but not too few, neither – there might be some who would rap an unwary soldier over the head, for being malignants by nature. I shall speak to the sergeants and make arrangements as is proper.”

Corporal Perkins was satisfied with that answer. The better part of two hundred fit soldiers, leaving aside those who would not drink because of their religion, and one small beerhouse, meant they had to have some sort of organisation, a roster of who could go downhill on a given evening All of the men had a few pennies at least in their pockets, having had two opportunities to pick up spare coinage that might be lying around in places they had taken, and in the purses of their prisoners.

“We must consider riding out, Daniel. Not merely to pacify the local villages and speak to the squires in the big houses and remind them of the rewards that accrue to those loyal to Parliament – we need forty men to make up our ranks.”

“We do, Red Man. Besides that, we need forage. If we rely on just the one village we shall soon leave the local people hungry. Take a waggon with you when you go. Not only cabbages and sacks of oats for the horses, you may put willing young men up in the back to come to our ranks. Any youngster who shows interested, up he goes!”

Micah nodded – it would be wiser than leaving the youths to be nagged by their mothers and brought to a sense of the unwisdom of volunteering.

“I shall take the first of our patrols out in a couple of days, Daniel. We must discover who of the men can ride – I suspect we may find only a few of our Londoners who will be competent on the back of a horse.”

Chapter Eight

No more than a dozen of the men from the Trained Bands knew how to ride, and half of them had had little practice in the saddle since childhood.

Micah dipped into his moneybag and found sixteen shillings in small silver and coppers and called the ostlers together.

“There be eight of ye, all of ye knowing how to ride in the nature of things. For every man of mine and Captain Carew’s that ye teach to ride, there will be a shilling in your hand, each of ye, as ye will all muck in to help. There are fifty horses here and no more than twelve men who can ride already, as well as myself and Captain Carew and our servants. We have our own horses with us, as ye know. Ye can all count…”

Micah doubted the accuracy of that statement, but he wished to be polite, to obtain their willing help.

“Thirty-eight, master.”

Young Arthur, the senior of the stable lads supplied the answer.

“That is correct. Thirty-eight shillings to each man here. Fifteen pounds and four shillings, that is, all told. Shared between you. A deal of money to pay out – and all yours, if ye will work for it.”

There was silence for a while as the men worked out all they could do with thirty-eight silver shillings.

“Two shillings less than two pounds, that is. To show willing, I have the two bob here and will shell it out now to any man who wishes to teach my soldiers to ride. Extra. On top of the thirty-eight contracted for.”

They formed a queue, hands outstretched although somewhat doubtful in their expressions.

“Master Palethorpe might be coming back one day, Captain, sir. Thing is, ‘e ain’t likely to be pleased wi’ men what taught Parliamentaries to ride to better oppress the King’s Men, sir.”

“Easy answered, Young Arthur. He won’t be back while we are here. Like as not he will be put in a prison cell for ordering the killing of our soldiers. He may just be sent abroad, not to come back for years. Whichever, when we march out, you will be at liberty to come with us. You could come as a dragoon, a riding soldier, or ride at my tail as my groom. The same for all of you – we can find places for any man who wishes to join us as soldier or servant. Come as a soldier and you will have one of these horses to ride and a pair of pistols and a sword and your own breast-and-back and helmet to wear; leather gauntlets, too, and boots. Not every man can be a dragoon, sat up tall to be seen. Think it over – you might prefer to stay, and we shall be here for some weeks yet.”

“Does we get paid, if us goes for a soldier, sir?”

“You do. Your food and sixpence a day or better. But, remember, you earn that money! A soldier goes to war, sword and pistol or musket or pike in hand, wearing his armour. You will be proud fighting men, parading through London Town or wherever we may be sent.”

They had heard of London, had never thought they might go there.

“Talk it over – plenty of time. I will not push you either way, though I will say straight that I need likely young men such as you. For the next few weeks, try to turn these lumps of soldiers into horsemen, if you will.”

Micah came away feeling guilty – he had cozened innocent countrymen into thinking about joining up. He was sure that most, if not all, would. Ostlers and grooms rarely married – they earned too little and lived in their stables, servants to their horses, on call day and night. Soldiers, on the other hand, cavalrymen especially, swaggered in the eyes of the girls… He had offered to make them dashing heroes, as far as their village was concerned, and had probably turned their heads sufficiently that they would follow the drum.

Some of them would come back with a few coins in their pockets; some would not come back at all. Whichever fate was theirs, it would be his responsibility.

He sat back in the room the officers had taken over as a mess, not entirely proud of himself. He wondered if he was one of those who would never go back home again, either remaining in London or staying six feet under the turf of a hard-fought field…

Either was possible. It seemed unlikely that he would ever go back to Collyweston and the slate quarries, unless he struck lucky and picked up money enough to become a quarry owner in his own, new-built big house.

Soldiers did pick up loot, sometimes, that he knew. Maybe!

Micah stood up to walk round the men’s living quarters and indulge in a quick inspection of their cleanliness and order. No reason to allow them to become slack. He could also mention that the ostlers would give lessons to those who wished to ride, first come, first served, his own company favoured, as his men would expect. Daniel Carew’s pikemen would be less enterprising in the nature of things – the pikes tended towards the more stolid, less adventurous of young men, the labouring sort.

“Sergeant Fletcher, Sergeant Driver, over here, please.”

The two stepped to the side, out of hearing of the men, normal enough when they had important matters to discuss.

“I have hired the stablemen to teach us how to ride. Twelve know already and we have just fifty horses. One or both of you and at least one corporal; if needs be, we can make up a second corporal from the new horsemen.”

“There’s more than fifty nags in the two sets of stables, sir.”

“From what they say, Fletcher, the others were Palethorpe’s before he set up in the military line. The fifty are those brought in by the farmers’ sons who joined him, all of them confiscated to our use. If the stable lads join us, they will bring their own mounts, taken from Palethorpe’s stable. I have it in mind to pick up a second charger of my own and no doubt the other officers will do the same. Palethorpe is a villain and must lose his all, including his horses. He killed too many of ours to be treated kindly.”

“He did, too, sir, with his bloody stinkpots! No decent way to make war, them things!”

Sergeant Driver evidently knew military right from wrong in his own mind. Micah was not sure that any man was more or less dead for being run through by a sword or blown up by a grenadoe, but he saw no need to argue.

“You are right, Driver. We shall leave him little to come home to, if ever he is allowed to return. Now, will you wish to ride?”

“It will do for me, sir. I thought I might keep my feet firm planted on the ground with my musketeers, and if it came to it, join thee on a later day. Changed my mind, though, sir. And maybe about being an officer, one day. The time has come that ordinary men might make something of themselves in England, sir, and I shall wish to be part of it.”

Sergeant Fletcher showed his normal agreement with his companion.

“I’ll take to horseback, if ye don’t mind, sir. Fancy letting a nag do the marching and give me feet a rest.”

Driver grinned.

“It’s thine arse will get sore instead a-horseback, Jack Fletcher!”

They laughed, easy with each other.

“It will make it simpler for you to become an officer, if ever you should change your mind, Sergeant Fletcher. You would do well as one of my lieutenants and very soon as captain of your own company. You too, Driver.”

“A different sort of war to the Germanies, this is, sir… Give me time to think a bit longer, sir. You and Driver might be right, sir, but I been a sergeant for years now. Might not be so easy to be one of the men thinking up the orders.”

“Willingly, Fletcher. If the time comes that you want to rise in the world, and we have the vacancy, just give me the nod. Being that you are neither of you just ordinary sergeants now and you can speak your minds… How is Mr Eglinton shaping as an ensign?”

Both sergeants glanced around to be sure that none of the men had strayed within hearing before they would comment on an officer.

“Bit stiff yet, sir. Not found his feet yet, you might say – normal enough for a youngster who’s come up in the world. Bit sharp with his orders, but not too much so and better that way than too soft with the men. He’ll do, I reckon.”

Driver agreed with Fletcher – better the young fellow should distance himself from the men now that he was no longer one of them.

“He’s got the advantage, sir, that he fought at their side before he rose in the world. They know he’s no chicken, which is useful for getting their respect, what an officer needs, as you well know, sir. Might be he needs to be a bit more forceful, you might say, in making up his mind what to do; there’s times when he dithers a bit, you might say.”

“I’ll keep an eye to him. Difficult sort of thing – he has to have the chance to do the job on his own, but that gives him the chance to make mistakes.”

When an officer made a mistake, he often killed his men.

Micah shrugged – he must take the risk.

“We shall see! I will ride out with the dozen who can sit a horse later in the week. We can equip them more or less from the pistols and swords and plate we took from Palethorpe’s people. Will you see to that for me, Fletcher?”

“Easily, sir. For today, sir, just a glance about the lean-tos the men are putting up for themselves? Show willing, sir, but not too close a look without telling them the day before. One or two of the serving girls have picked up with a soldier, sir, and a couple of the others have shown willing to earn the occasional sixpence, you might say, and there’s no need for you to see what you didn’t ought by mistake.”

Micah grinned and said he would be careful not to see what was none of his business.

“Just to be sure that the latrines are clear of the cookfires and the air don’t stink, you might say, Sergeant. More than that, no need for me to poke my nose in.”

“Just that, sir. The lads need to take it easy for a week or two. We can be a bit more serious about things when they’ve got over their first big fight – and forgotten their dead mates.”

“Where to, Daniel? A quiet wander through the countryside or a parade through the main streets of whatever the local town might be?”

“Go into town on market day. Be seen riding through – polite and courteous to all and showing weapons to hand and armour on your backs. No need to cause offence, yet you can announce that we are here and recruiting and paying cash money to any man who will come to the muster. Let it be heard that we have no wish to bring war to their doorsteps, but that we stand for ordinary folk in their liberties. Men who wish may pray in their own chapels, free of our interference and, while we shall not be bullied by bishops, we shall not persecute those who wish to attend church.”

“A pity I do not have their speech on my lips – these Hampshire folk have a strange way of talking, Daniel.”

“And you Midlanders sound peculiar to such as I who come from the South Country, Red Man.”

“Perhaps so, Daniel. At least we are all English. We do not have the barbarity of the Scots – none of that ‘och aye, the noo’ gibberish!”

Daniel laughed – those who had recently fought the Scots tended to be hard on them and their ways.

“True indeed. They are our allies, or are to be so, you know? They are to send an army into England to match the King’s forces in the North. In exchange, we are to swear their Covenant - or so they seem to believe.”

“Truly, Daniel?”

“Well… Parliament has implied it will be so, but that may take a good few years to bring into effect, and the ordinary folk may have something to say about it in that time. But the army will be here, and the Covenant can be considered later, one might say.”

It smacked of duplicity to Micah. He could not approve – but he did not have to, he was no Member of Parliament to make such a decision, or to take the blame for it.

“To the Devil with the bunch of them, Daniel! I shall be content to fight this war, not to argue its rights and wrongs. I know the King is not for me and I am not for him and that is an end to it.”

“Well said, Red Man!”

“What is the Covenant, anyway?”

“It is an agreement freely entered into by all godly men – and enforced by the local pastors. It says that all men are free to pray and discuss the Holy Writ, provided they do so in the fashion that the pastors approve. It is the usual sort of thing, Red Man – a way of getting ordinary people to do as they are told.”

“Ah! I suspected as much. The pastors in Scotland are taking the place of a parliament, all because they know better than thee and me. They are all the same, you know, Daniel, all of these leaders who appoint themselves in opposition to the King and wish to become little kings themselves. Best we could do is to hang the lot of them – King and his courtiers; Parliament and all of its lords and members; pastors and bishops and popes; judges and magistrates. The country would then be a far cleaner sort of place.”

“A commonwealth of equals, every man to have a voice in its governance – it is an idea, Red Man. The village idiot to be heard next to the academic at Cambridge; the dunnikin diver to be the equal of the skilled weaver; the private soldier to talk strategy with the colonel – it might not work so very well.”

Micah laughed, was forced to agree that his first idea might need be amended.

“I still believe that the noose would be the best tool for the reformation of this country, or the block. Parliament did well when it condemned Strafford and will do better when it removes Laud; there are a good few more who could go the same way to the betterment of all – and not all of them on the King’s side.”

“Hush! We are the men of virtue, uniquely so. We must not be heard to cast doubt on the probity of our own folk. Go off and ride your horse, Red Man – best for a soldier to be seen and not heard.”

Micah led his patrol to the small town of Petersfield, a little place with a market square and of no significance other than being on the road from London to Portsmouth and just far enough from the coast to make a sensible stopping place. There were two large inns and several smaller beerhouses, all making a profit from the passing trade.

The town was prosperous, judging by the market stalls. There were cheeses on sale and sides of bacon, and buyers for them although it was early in the summer, well before harvest. The local people had been able to save money or had trades that brought them an income. There were several stalls selling iron goods, including one that had long guns on display.

Micah brought the troop to the gunsmith’s tables and sat his horse, looking down at his wares.

“I trust ye will sell only to good folk, Master Gunsmith?”

“Any man that has silver in his purse is good for me, Soldier. These are farmer’s guns, for shooting pigeons and such, or knocking down a deer at most. I have none of thy murdering pistols and will not make swords, which have but one purpose.”

Micah laughed, was forced to accept the honesty of that answer.

“We are to keep the peace hereabouts, Master Gunsmith. We want no fighting in these parts and, provided any man will live in harmony with his neighbour, we shall not ask of that person whether he be King or Parliament. Do not go selling to those who will make trouble, that is all I ask of thee. If so be you lay your hands on short-barrelled pieces, with flintlocks, such as could be used on horseback by a dragoon, then bring them to Palethorpe’s old house, which is now our garrison, and we shall pay thee fairly for them.”

“What if the King’s men say the same, Soldier?”

“There are none in this part of the South Country, Master. Nor will there be. We are to keep close hold of the ironmasters of the Weald so that they may provide Parliament with the big guns it needs. The Navy as well is ours, and will be buying, Master.”

“I come from over in the Weald, Soldier, selling here in Petersfield for it being well-off and having men what used the sea before coming inland a way to settle down. The town is neither committed to King nor to Parliament – and there be those what says that is to make it the enemy of both.”

Micah shook his head, swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted to speak on a level with the Master Gunsmith, sensing that his words were important to the growing number of local folk who had wandered across to quietly listen to all that was said. He took his helmet off, letting his flaming hair, uncut in many weeks, blow in the breeze.

“I am a captain in Colonel Jevons Regiment of Foot, sent to pacify the countryside and make it safe for Parliament. I will say here and now that no man is my enemy, except he takes up arms against me. If you send money and men to the King – well, best you should go with them, for I will have no welcome for you, that’s for sure, and Parliament may fine you. Fight against me, I shall kill you. Call a pox on both our houses and I shall regret that you cannot support me, but I shall not come in arms against you and nor will any other of Parliament’s people. That is my given word, and men will tell you that the Red Man is no liar.”

They had not heard of the Red Man. Micah had no doubt his people would spread the word, with pleasure and much exaggeration.

“In the same way, I would wish to ask young men to come to my colours. Strong young fellows may earn their sixpences and carry pike or musket afoot or be given a horse to ride like the brave boys at my back.”

Micah glanced about him, spotted three powerfully built youngsters stood together at the side of the small crowd. If they were in work, they probably would not be free to lounge in the market square.

“You three lads – you seem strong and stout. Will you march in my ranks? We shall go to fight the King’s bullies wherever we may find them. You will see London Town for sure, and many another fine city besides. Do you want to stay in this pleasant, quiet, old town for all your lives, or will you seek adventure as a soldier?”

Two of the youths instantly about-faced and disappeared behind the crowd.

Micah laughed.

“Well, Master Gunsmith – that gave me an answer, did it not?”

The tradesman joined in the laugh.

“Don’t expect they’ll stop running till they takes hold of mummy’s apron, Soldier!”

The crowd chuckled and then turned to look at the third, who had stayed still.

“What of you, young sir?”

“I ain’t running, Soldier, if that be what I calls thee. If so be I joins, does I get money?”

“You will be paid as a soldier. You will be given clothes to wear and food to eat and a place to lay your head. It won’t be the best – but these men behind me will tell you it is not the worst, either.”

“Can I change me mind if so be I don’t like it?”

“No - if you are in, you are in and that is the end of it. These men have not changed their minds.”

“Arr, well, now… Ain’t bugger all for me in Petersfield. No jobs for me, acos of me dad be no bloody good and run away two years since wi’ the constable after ‘im and going to bring him to the magistrates for stealing, if ‘e catches ‘im.”

“We don’t care who your dad is. Half my soldiers don’t know who their dad is!”

The crowd roared at this wit – it was the sort of thing villagers found funny.

“Right, Soldier, I’m with thee!”

“Welcome to my company, young man. You are a soldier now, and you call me ‘sir’.” Micah gestured to one of his troopers. “Jon Atkins, you have a powerful old nag between your thighs. Take the young soldier up behind you and ride back to Palethorpe’s with him. What is your name, soldier?”

The boy was bright enough to realise this was for him to answer.

“Dick Betts, sir.”

“Well said. Off you go now, Private Soldier Betts.”

They watched Dick Betts climb up on the horse, lightly, used to riding

Micah nodded to the gunsmith, thanking him for a useful recruit.

“He will make a dragoon, that’s for sure. That means an extra thruppence a day – seven days a week, which is not to be sneezed at.”

“What of thee, Red Man, sir? Dost a captain make good money?”

“I see forty-six shillings and eightpence a week – a noble a day - Master Gunsmith, for standing in front of my men, first onto the field and last off. It is not bad money for a young man who was no more than a labourer in a slate quarry not two years since. I tell thee honestly, Master, it was a good day for me when I took to the profession of arms. I know of more than one other young man who has done the same as me. I ride my own horse and carry sword and pistols that belong to me and wear my breast-and-back which will pass onto my son one day, I doubt not. I tuck my pennies into my purse and look after them and, when we have won this war, I shall settle to a way of life far better than I might have hoped for as a villager.”

Many of those listening approved of his words – to rise in the world was something few could hope for. Risking a life on the field of battle was one of the few ways they had of making good.

One aged gentleman, resting on his walking stick, shook his head.

“How many of they men who started like you has got ‘isself no more than six feet of English dirt for ‘is own, Red Man?”

“A lot! The chances of dying young are as high as of getting rich, old fellow. It’s not something for nothing, do you know – I stand there with the balls whistling past my ears and know very well that one of them may kill me. But they haven’t yet, and it’s a good life until they do!”

“My old granddad went a-sailing fifty year ago, Red Man, and ‘er come back with gold in the hand and stories to tell and ‘er bought the cottage and land that I lives on. You’m right – and you’m straight. If so be you wants to risk your neck, then maybe you can get rich. That’s what I say to any youngster listening.”

A woman a good few years older than Micah stood forward, a youth, her son presumably, on her arm.

“If so be I sends my Bob with thee, Captain Red Man, will you look after ‘im?”

“No, missus. I watch over all of my men, but I can’t put them to bed at night and make sure they wear dry stockings.”

There was a laugh from the crowd, this being the height of bucolic humour.

“No, and iffen you’d said you could, I ‘ave known thee to be a bloody liar, sir. So long as Bob stays in thy company, ‘tis all I asks for.”

“Men are short – I will not be sending them away, or risking their lives without need, missus. But, and I say to thee honestly, soldiers sometimes die, or take injuries that stay with them all of their lives. I will not throw your boy’s life away, yet I cannot promise to keep him in one piece.”

“Both ‘is brothers died when the spotted fever came through, year before last. Staying here ain’t no sure way of living long. He will join thee, Captain Red Man and, I much hope, will come back home again one day.”

“I hope he may. He will come back a man who has seen more than a small town will show him. Come, Bob, stand up straight – you are a soldier now!”

An hour and there were six more grown boys of sixteen or seventeen years in a line next to Bob, all except one sent by their mothers for there being little for them in the town. None of them had trades, there being few apprenticeships available; all said they would have drifted off to Portsmouth sooner or later and ended up at sea, with far less chance of coming home again.

Micah asked about and was directed to the single stables in the town where there was a waggon which would load them up and take them out to Palethorpe’s for two shillings in the ostler’s hand. They set off, waving cheerfully, promising to come back again, one day.

Micah watched them away and turned back to the gunsmith.

“Not one of them asked whether I was King or Parliament, Master.”

“It don’t matter to them, Red Man. You offered them a job and a wage and a chance of living through next winter better than they did last. Of them all, only the first, Dick Betts, is known to me, and that because he helped me with my cart most market days – he was here for the couple of pennies I would put in his hand. He can read and write, I know, but I would be surprised if any of the others can do more than make their mark. King and Parliament is for those who know what is what in the world, and that means able to read a pamphlet or a broadsheet. Ordinary folk have more important things to worry about. They will make good soldiers, good boys who will think of their families and hope to come back to them. Look after them, Soldier!”

Micah wanted to protest – he was no nursery maid.

“You asked they youngsters to leave their hearth and home, Soldier. They are yours.”

Micah nodded reluctantly. He could not refuse the responsibility.

“Best I should ride out again and find some more, Master.”

“Do that. If it so happens that I pick up any dragoon carbines, I shall bring them to thee, Red Man, and at a right price. I am no King’s Man, that I will tell thee. I might say as well, that if thou wert to ride out another five miles, on the road towards the Meons, thou wilt come to a largish manor house that belongs to the Peveril family, and they are King’s followers and making a fuss about the fact. An hour before thou came to me, old man Peveril was at my stall ordering me to lay hands on horse pistols for him and his, and to deliver them to his house and not expect to be paid for the privilege of serving my King, God bless him!”

Micah noted the formality of the Master Gunsmith’s speech, used for the most significant of business. His information was important, must not be ignored if he was to be a Parliamentarian henceforth.

“Is that so, Master Gunsmith? I shall pay the gentleman a visit, be sure of that. If I pick up a contribution to Parliament there, be sure that I shall use it to buy from thee, sir, at an honest price.”

“I ask no more, Captain. I shall pass the word to my brethren in the trade, telling them that they will be protected by Parliament if they will sell to them. There has been some fear that the King would take his revenge on the ironmasters if they sold to his enemies…”

“I will do all I can from here, Master, and I shall see that the word is sent to the Sergeant Major General in London, to Mr Philip Skippon himself, that the fears of the ironmasters should be assuaged. He is the best of men and will do all he can for the loyal and true of ordinary folks in the land. I have worked for him and will tell you that he is as honest as the day is long and he will do his best for you.”

“Do that and I shall be pleased, Captain. So will the others of the trade – and they will work for you and yours.”

“My thanks, Master. We must go, I think.”

“Daniel, I have been told this day of a family called Peveril, just five miles west of Petersfield and threatening a gunsmith in the market to provide pistols for free for the King’s men. I do think I should pay the Peverils a visit and discourage them from such activities, do not you?”

“With the whole of your company, and half of mine, Red Man. Half to stay here in garrison… No, best leave some of your muskets as well as my pikes. Useful in the field but not so valuable on a wall, the pike. A score of yours and the same of mine to remain under my command. I shall not be riding out for a month and more by the feel of this leg. Jack can go with you – he needs more action yet.”

They rode out in the morning, the competent horsemen under Sergeant Fletcher going first to discover the road and take a look at the countryside and return with a plan of action for the five score of foot.

Micah instructed the three lieutenants to watch all most carefully.

“I shall want you to be taking out your own platoons on patrol within a few days, gentlemen. So, eyes open and watch how we do the job. Always, scouts out to the front and a corporal to the rear with his eyes on the track behind you. You must not be taken by surprise. There are no large forces of Royalists in the field hereabouts, but there might be small bands who could consider an ambush. We are marching to a specific location this day – we do not want them to be forewarned and to array themselves against us.”

The young men nodded earnestly, anxious to be seen to learn their trade.

“Beg pardon, sir, but what are we to do when we reach the Peverils?”

“At one extreme, burn them out, Halleck. Far more likely is that we will search them and confiscate any weapons they may have assembled. If they have too many riding horses for the number of men in the family, then we shall take the excess to our own use. If they fight, then upon their own heads be it. Should any of the men shout of their allegiance to the King, then they can be arrested and sent down to Portsmouth, where there is a garrison and senior officers who can try them. A fine or spell of exile may save them being a bother in future years. In truth, what we do will depend on them.”

They listened gravely, not much liking what they heard.

“It seems hard upon a family, sir, that they may suffer because of the foolishness of the one man.”

“It is. We are at war – and actions that might have attracted argument in the past call for bullets now. The King has forced us into arms against him – his supporters must not cry shame when they are treated cruelly by those they have made enemies.”

It was a hard doctrine and difficult to accept for young men who were more in search of adventure than fighting for any great cause.

Sergeant Fletcher trotted in with his party when they were taking their break at the end of the second hour of marching.

“About a mile distant, sir, down in the river valley. Wooded, sir, with oak trees and copses of hazels and ash trees for firing. Smallish fields, ploughed for wheat by the looks of them. Thick blackthorn hedgerows. Beef and milk cattle on the hillsides – grass too good just for sheep. Rich farming land, sir. The house is set up a bit back from the river, on a sort of terrace or bench, sir. Small gardens for a big house – no gentleman’s park, just enough to feed a big family and have some roses and a lawn to the front. The place itself is large – the family’s got money. Barns and stables to the back, as might be expected. No walls nor a trench dug for defence. Road comes up along the valley from the south as well as this lane coming in from the east. River’s on the other side from us, with a bridge. Simplest be to send us out round to the west across the fields to get to the bridge and hold it. You come along at fast pace, sir, and send a detachment north and south to hold the road and the bulk of the men with you and straight in. Didn’t see no great sign of a lot of men there, sir.”

“Let it be so, Sergeant. Go off with the horse now. Mr Capel, take five muskets and ten pikes to cut the road at a couple of furlongs north of the house. Mr Eglinton, the same to the south. Go now.”

Micah watched the men set off, well together and marching across the fields rather than straggling in a mob.

“Mr Halleck, bring the remainder behind me. Sergeant Driver, bring up the rear.”

The house came in sight through the trees, a furlong or so distant.

“Halt. Muskets, light your match.”

A delay of nearly five minutes of fumbling with flint and steel and finally each match was alight.

“Load.”

Another minute and the men were ready.

The pikemen looked on with some disdain, their own weapons always instantly available.

“March.”

They stretched out and found the house bubbling with activity, the residents having spotted the horsemen in the open at the bridge. Doors were slamming and shutters being pulled across the windows. Three men, two very young and one older, their father probably, were standing outside the big front door, watching, empty handed.

“Who are you, marching up to my house? This is my land and is the home of loyal men. Take your rebels away, you villain!”

Micah shrugged. If that was the game the old man wished to play, so be it.

“Is your name Peveril?”

“What if it be?”

“You were reported as trying to obtain pistols for the man of blood, Charles Stuart, in Petersfield market this week. You refused to pay for those weapons, thus making yourself a would-be thief. If you are that man, then you must surrender yourself for trial as a traitor.”

“I am no traitor! I am a loyal servant of my King.”

“Your King is an enemy of the English people. He is a villain who has raised armies against English folk and is thus a traitor to them. I arrest thee, Peveril, in Parliament’s name. Who are the young men at your side?”

Four score of pikes and matchlocks argued for discretion on the elder Peveril’s part.

“They are my sons. Will you arrest them?”

“Why? Are they traitors too?”

Peveril scowled – if he said they were, then his boys faced prison and risk of death from gaol fever irrespective of what a trial might bring. If he denied them as supporters of the King, he was to set them in jeopardy when His Majesty prevailed, as he eventually must.

“They are but young, not yet of an age.”

“Old enough to carry a pistol and sword, Peveril. Make your mind up! Are they traitors or not?”

“They are loyal.”

Micah laughed.

“Are they now? To who, I wonder?”

“To their father and family.”

The young men were certainly of less than twenty-one years, were not adult in the eyes of the law. They must obey their father’s command. Micah nodded his satisfaction.

“That is a fair answer. Have you weapons of war in store? Are there pikes and muskets in your house or barns? Have you raised men to fight for the malignant Stuart? What of horses?”

“You will ransack my house and barns, will you not?”

“If there is a need, yes. I would prefer not to cause damage to any man’s property while he has not fought me.”

Peveril surrendered – he had too much to lose.

“I have six muskets, bought in these last weeks. A dozen of horse pistols besides and powder and ball for both. I have no horses beyond my family’s riding stock. I have put together two hundred pounds in silver, to pay for food and boots and wages for a platoon for a year.”

“Have you called men to come to muster?”

“Not yet.”

“Send your sons to collect your weapons and money. Bring them here.”

The boys made a show of reluctance before they obeyed their father.

“Will you pledge yourself to good conduct, Peveril? In writing. For yourself and your sons until they come of an age?”

“To refuse to go to war for my King?”

“Just that. To stay at home, at peace with all men. To plough your fields and sell your harvest as always and give no money, no arms, no men, no words of support to the Man of Blood, Charles Stuart?”

“What if I do as you ask?”

“Then you lose the munitions of war you have collected together, including the silver which will pay my men’s wages. You retain your liberty and your lands.”

“And if I damn thee for a traitor, I lose all?”

“I will not burn you out. But I shall take into custody and put you to trial – I can do no less.”

“You could do far more. Why do you not?”

“I claim to be a Godly man. How can I do that and persecute the innocent? Your family has done me no wrong, nor to those I support.”

“Come inside, to my work room. Bring a guard, for my protection and thine. I would have you come to no harm in my house. I will write thy paper, sir. Wrong you are, but you are honest.”

Sergeant Fletcher muttered that it would have been different in the Germanies.

Chapter Nine

Two hundred pounds in shillings and half-crowns weighed heavily in its leather bags. It was a difficult sum to handle – not merely for its bulk but because of the temptation it represented.

A man with two hundred pounds in small coins would be able to buy a cottage and fifty acres and live for two years while he stocked his little farm and took his first income from it. He would as well be able to furnish his little house and keep the plump wife who would soon be at his side.

Gold coins attracted attention, but silver was ordinary enough provided the fortunate thief did not make too great a display of his good luck.

“I need the services of one of your sons and a pack horse besides, Peveril. He will ride with me to Palethorpe’s and return with your animals. Otherwise, I have no convenient way of returning your horse to you.”

“And that would be theft, in your eyes, my fine captain! You have a tender conscience.”

“It is because I have that I am in arms against the King. He has no such burden upon him, merely an arrogant belief in his own rights. He is the King of the English people, not the owner of England. A pity that he must be infected by these Papist ideas that the King rules as the Hand of God. It is not so. Never has been. Will not be while Englishmen have strong right arms.”

“I have served my King, and will do so ever – but, it is possible that he is ill-advised in some ways. He should not be having truck with the Papists – that is for sure – but no man has the right to stand in arms against his King. Here, take your paper and be gone, sir! I must not be arguing with you, I fear. My younger son will ride with you.”

The column turned away from the house, carrying its spoils and many of the men regretting they could not have sacked the house – even a single shot fired at them would have given them the right to despoil the Peverils of all they possessed.

“What is your name, Captain?”

“Slater, sir. I am known as Red Man by many in Colonel Jevons’ Regiment and elsewhere.”

“Your name will be known, I do not doubt.”

Micah rode back to Palethorpe’s unsure that he had been right to treat Peveril so leniently. The man was a King’s supporter through and through; he would probably keep to his written pledge, but his sons might well ride off to war, well equipped and possibly leading his household.

The younger son said nothing as he led the pack horse away, remained silent until they had unloaded the money bags.

“I must return the horse to my father, sir. Thank you for your forbearance. He is a King’s man for all that has ever been said to him. So is Charles, my brother.”

“And what of you, Mr Peveril?”

“I have read much and talked with some few of the local young men in like case to myself – younger sons with no inheritance and a career to discover. Like them, I shall take to arms, as the most honourable course. I know nothing of merchanting and such and have no love for the sea; I must take to soldiering and I cannot fight for the King’s cause. Was I to present myself with pistol and sword, sir, would you take me as an officer?”

“You would need a horse, Mr Peveril. Otherwise, it is to be a footman, carrying a matchlock.”

“I shall have a horse, sir. What of breast-and-back?”

“I can supply none – we do not have them to hand. You will take them in the field, I suspect.”

“So be it, Captain Red Man.”

Father and son on opposite sides of the conflict – probably a commonplace. At least, in this case, the father would remain at home, the two would not actually raise blades against each other. The chance of the brothers meeting on the battlefield was small, but not impossible.

“Gives one to wonder, Daniel. Just how many families may be in like case, do you think?”

“Too many, Red Man. Mine may be one – I am third son of a viscount and have had no word from father or brothers these eight years. No great conflict, we have merely drifted apart while I was in the Germanies and they remained in their agricultural mud in the South Country – not so far from here, over on the border of Hampshire and Wiltshire, north of the New Forest towards Salisbury. The odds are that they will have stood for the King – being rural sorts who know no better. Hopefully, they will have held clear. The family has not been seen at court these fifty years, since a grandfather fell out with the Queen over a privateering voyage to the Main and the distribution of the spoils taken from the Spaniards. I believe the old fellow sent her a third of his takings and she was of the opinion that a half was more right. It was a matter of some thousands, enough to lead to bad temper on both sides.”

Micah had heard of the voyages made to the Main, and of the sometimes massive profits brought back to England.

“I had not known that the Queen was a principal in that piracy, Daniel. I thought when Jevons mentioned such that it was no more than a loyal expression of goodness. Was she actually a party to the whole business?”

“Oh, very much so, Red Man! The corsairs took to the seas in the knowledge that they would not be called pirate in England – provided they paid up.”

It seemed very English somehow – turning a blind eye to the law and cobbling together something that worked. The Spanish had been the enemy and too powerful to go to war with, so the Queen had let a swarm of pirates loose upon them, all done without her official knowledge.

“A pity this King could not have followed her example, Daniel. He has insisted on the letter of the law, on his absolute rights; he would have been far better advised to have worked out a compromise of sorts.”

“His successor will do so if the present man has the grace to be killed on the field of battle, Red Man. There is still a likelihood that all will come out for the best.”

They hoped it might be so.

“Will you make contact with your family, Daniel?”

“Not now, Red Man. If we happen to pass close to, then I might ask of the villagers, discover what is happening and whether my brothers prosper. If they are of the King’s party, then I shall keep well clear. If they have stood aside or supported Parliament, that will be a different matter. I should like to see my parents again, but not if it will cause them a deal of bother. I shall see what is possible if we go Odstock way, but I do not wish to embarrass them.”

Micah could agree that was wise.

“What do you do next, Red Man?”

“Speak with young Peveril – if he actually comes to us. He will know the location of the King’s supporters in the locality. Then it will be to pay these gentlefolk a visit and persuade them to follow Peveril’s wise example.”

“And collect more cash, I doubt not. Forty days’ pay, Peveril supplied us. We could use a few more generous donations to the pay chest.”

Sixpence per man per day added up to a large sum in only a few weeks. Money was short and generous donations were much to be applauded. They laughed and agreed that they must seek more King’s men among the local gentry.

Young Mr Peveril rode in on a good horse, the pick of his father’s stables. He did not say whether his esteemed parent had approved or been aware of his intentions.

“Which families in the locality are certainly loyal to parliament, Mr Peveril?”

“I am Peter by name, sir.”

“And I Red Man. Mr Carew is Daniel. It is as well to be formal in front of the men – they prefer it so.”

“Thank you, Red Man. I can name and place on the map eight families of the County who are Parliamentarians, and four more who will stand aside from bloodshed through belief that man shall not kill his brothers. Apart from them, there are two who have already sent sons to Oxford, to the King’s encampment, and three more who may well do so. Shall I write them in now?”

“Do so, Peter. We shall pay them all a visit, under arms, over the next few days. We shall request a subvention to Parliament, a willing aid to our cause.”

The young man dithered for a few moments, coming to terms with the fact that by naming the five families who supported the King, all of whom he knew well, he was condemning them to a visitation by the troops from Palethorpe’s, that he might be responsible for the sack and burning of their homes. He bent down to what he saw as his duty.

“We are at war, Red Man. The first is no more than six miles south and east. March down to Petersfield and then take the road towards Midhurst, this side of Rogate village.”

They left early on the following morning, a bright day, cloud free and promising to be warm later, the new officer commented.

“It will be actively hot if they show hostile, Mr Peveril!”

The new officer was not sure that was so clever a joke; he did not lower himself to respond in kind.

“The Pulteneys live in an old house, sir, sprawling and low. It is built of the local ragstone under thatch, just the two floors and the eaves drooping to half way down the upper storey. There is one great front door but no fewer than three exits to the rear, leading to stables, home farmyard and orchard respectively. It would be as well to place detachments to all three, sir. There are cottages in the home farm for ostlers and labourers and keepers.”

Micah raised an eyebrow to that last category.

“The keepers will have guns?”

“Hunting crossbows, sir, and a stonebow, I know. They have at least one big fowling piece, used for duck hunting down on the marshes.”

“A platoon of firelocks to the rear. Pikes as well to the stables. The remainder at the front with me. Mr Eglinton, Mr Capel, to the rear. None to escape or offer violence. Match lit.”

They showed themselves at the house, shouting for the owners to come forth and disclose themselves.

The front door remained shut.

Micah dismounted and walked forward, empty handed but ready to draw pistol and sword. He banged on the door and shouted.

“In the name of Parliament, Mr Pulteney is ordered to open his house and show himself to answer charges of treason. Failure to obey this summons will result in his doors being broken and all in the house being placed under arrest and his goods and chattels being seized.”

A window cracked open.

“Go away! In the King’s name, I bid you begone!”

The voice was thin, elderly, irate.

“Parliament has the mastery of this land, sir. Show thyself, or accept the consequences of thy malfeasance.”

“You have no right under law to summons me to your bidding.”

“I have the authority of Parliament and more than a hundred of muskets and pikes. That offers all of the right I need. Open up.”

A loud boom from the rear ended the discussion, the sound of a small cannon firing.

“Corporal Frobisher! Your axes to this door!”

Micah levelled his pistol at the barely seen figure of the old man.

“You, sir, hold or die!”

There was a burst of musketry from the back of the house as Frobisher shouted.

“Door’s tough, sir. Old oak!”

“Through the windows.”

The casemates smashed in seconds and men scrambled through. Frobisher had the door unbolted and Micah was inside just behind the leading men. He ran down the hallway - tall and wide in the old way – towards the rear, to the sound of the guns.

He met his own men bursting in, trampling over four shot through bodies.

Jack Capel was with them, blood stained across his cheek and left arm.

“They fired small shot at us from a big duck gun in the cottages, sir, and then tried to sally from there and the back door towards the stables. Got to be a dozen of them down, and twice as many of our men hurt, some bleeding so hard they must die, sir.”

“Did any reach the horses?”

“Not and live, sir. They met my sergeant, sir.”

“Well done. I will see to the big house. You and Mr Eglinton clear the cottages and stables and farmyard. All horses and beasts to be brought to safety and to be herded back to Palethorpes. Some will victual us, others may be given to the villagers – they are good folk and can be rewarded for their virtue. Empty the cottages of people. Let the families have an hour to pack their little and get out.”

“Mr Eglinton is down, sir. Shot in the face and bloodied in the eyes – I did not see whether he was blinded or cut on the brow.”

“The man who fired that gun from ambush will be hang if he has survived.”

“He is dead, sir. I put my smallsword through his belly, all the way to the hilt.”

“Oh, good man! I am truly pleased with thee, Mr Capel!”

“A sword for the Lord and Gideon!”

The call came from behind them, was met by cries of amen.

The house was in chaos, screaming women and children being hustled downstairs, none of them with clothes torn, Micah was relieved to see.

“All from the house out onto the front driveway. Men to one side if they are of an age to go to war, master and servants alike.”

Micah ran through into the stable yard.

“Are there carts or wains here?”

“Both, sir.”

Eglinton was stood, giving orders.

“Are you fit to serve, Mr Eglinton? I feared for thee.”

“Cut across cheek and forehead, sir, but my sight unharmed. I am luckier than three of ours, sir.”

Eglinton pointed to three bodies laid out respectfully in the shade of the stables.

“What of prisoners?”

“None, sir. They came at us bearing swords and billhooks and an old halberd. Eleven of them.”

He pointed to a pile of naked bodies, stripped and dumped next to the dung heap.

“Quite right, Mr Eglinton.”

“It was done while my head was being bound, sir.”

“The men were right. We came prepared to give quarter and they attacked us without warning. Our wounded who cannot walk – if there are any – to a cart.”

“No severely wounded, sir. The small shot either ripped open the blood vessels or no more than lacerated the flesh – dead or scratched, sir.”

“Lucky, in a way, Mr Eglinton. You will be scarred on the face, I doubt not – honourable wounds gained in battle. The sign of a man, sir.”

Eglinton was still young, was much heartened by Micah’s words.

“Strip the barn and stables of saddles and all of value. Put any fodder up in the wains. There may still be sacks of oats or grain for the horses. Chickens and hogs and goats as well, if there be such. Strip the yard and stables bare. Let the poor folk from the cottages salvage what is theirs before we burn out the big house – their small places will not survive the blaze so close to them. When you are done, empty the pantries and cellars and pick up all of value from inside. Then bring the waggons round to the front. They will victual our companies for the summer and its campaigns.”

Micah entered the house, glancing into the rooms, all of them occupied by men busily ripping out all they could find of any worth. He had no doubt they would have found the master’s offices and strongbox and would have emptied it.

Sergeant Driver called to him from a doorway off the hall.

“Over here, sir.”

“What is it?”

“Estate offices, sir. Mr Halleck spotted the room and set me on guard.”

“Well done, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir. We found a box with a bit of silver, sir, and a big desk, sir, all locked up. I brought Corporal Frobisher in with his axe, sir.”

Micah surveyed the smashed piece of furniture.

“He did a thorough job, it might seem.”

“So he did, sir. Down in that big drawer at the bottom, sir.”

There were six small but heavy leather bags, fist sized.

“I’ll take these back to Palethorpe’s and open them with Captain Carew to confirm the count. It looks as if we shall be paying the men’s wages, Sergeant.”

“Some of them got hold of the lady of the house’s rings and pins and brooches up in her room, sir. Gold.”

“Get them to share fairly when they manage to sell them, Sergeant. What they have pocketed must be theirs – we cannot search them and take it back.”

Sergeant Driver showed relieved – he had not fancied trying to strip the men of their spoils.

“Right it is, sir.”

By mid-afternoon the house was a bare wreck, everything of value other than the furniture on the farm waggons and the draught horses harnessed up.

“Set the fires.”

The men scattered inside, tinder boxes ready. They had smashed the tables and chairs in each room, piled them in bonfires in the open doorways and next to the wooden staircase. The rear doors and windows were broken open to ensure a through wind. Smoke came billowing out within minutes. The first tendrils of flame licked onto the thatch within a quarter of an hour.

“God curse you, barbarian savages that you are!”

Old man Pulteney was in tears, his wife and daughter and grandchildren and servants next to him, wailing for their dead fathers, husbands, sons and brothers.

“The choice was thine, old man. I bade thee to surrender all. None would have died. Thy house would not have been plundered. Go to thy King and beg him for recompense – thou hast lost all in his Royal name!”

Micah turned away and called his orders.

“Form column of route. Officers, lead your men away.”

The smallest cart, at the rear, carried the three bodies, being taken to the chapel in the village below Palethorpe’s for proper burial.

“Not as we had hoped, Mr Peveril, but there is a nest of malignants that will harbour no more treason.”

“So be it, sir. War is cruel, it seems.”

“It will only become more so, I suspect.”

“Three dead, Red Man?”

“A duck gun, so they called it. I have never seen the like, Daniel. A long-barrelled but small cannon, firing perhaps a pound weight of birdshot. We destroyed it.”

“A punt gun. The hunters pole silently through the reeds until they are close to a flock of feeding ducks then fire their single shot. They may take a score of birds at a time. It is hunting for the pot, not sporting.”

“I see. Not to be found near Collyweston… No letters from them, but there is no way they could send them sensibly. I hope all is well.”

Daniel shrugged – a man who travelled as much as fifty miles from home might never hear of his family again. They were twice that distance and more from Stamford.

“What is in those heavy bags, Red Man?”

“I do not know, Daniel – I have not opened them, said I would do so in your presence.”

“You inspire me to avarice, Red Man! Let us see.”

They were sat across a desk in the room they had designated as the company offices, none others present.

The leather bags were tied by drawstrings, waxed cord knotted tight, soon succumbing to a sharp knifepoint.

“Gold pieces, Red Man. Spanish coins. Doubloons, in fact. Each worth something in the nature of twenty silver shillings. Fifty in each bag at a guess. Let us count them!”

Three hundred shiny gold coins; thirty piles of ten glittering on the tabletop.

“One for me and one for thee and one for the company pay chest, Red Man. Ten piles apiece – fair shares for all.”

“But…”

“Pirated gold, taken from the Dons and now brought to honest use. One hundred pounds added to your savings, brother!”

Micah could do a lot with one hundred pounds…

He carried his loot up to his room and tucked it away in his saddlebags.

They announced the takings that evening.

“One hundred in gold coin and twenty in silver. All in the chest for payday! As well, flitches of bacon that mean we shall all eat well this week. Beans and peas and sacks of flour for the kitchens. We have given the chapelgoers of the village the cattle and pigs we brought away, and the chickens. We shall benefit from them, no doubt.”

There was a general agreement that the good people of the village should profit from the fortune that had befallen the soldiers. It was only right that the riches amassed by the malignant should be dispersed among the virtuous.

“Captain Slater, there is a gentleman ridden in to speak to thee, sir.”

The corporal on gate duty, one of the pikemen, waved the rider forward.

It was two days since the firing of Pulteney’s house and Micah was discussing where they should march next.

“My name is Billingshurst, sir.”

Micah was surprised; that was one of the houses on the list given by Peter Peveril, a King’s Man by declaration.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“I spoke to several of my neighbours yesterday, Captain Slater, after the news of the Pulteneys became known. It seems to us that such atrocious events should not become commonplace.”

“Pulteney turned a punt gun on my men without warning and then attacked with sword and halberd and bills. Three of mine died and a score took wounds. It should not have occurred, Mr Billingshurst. It was not of my choosing.”

“So I hear, Captain Slater, the servants telling one tale, Pulteney another. Whatever the case may be, it must not happen again. To that end, I have a writing, a paper of commitment from all local men of affairs, pledging and signing their names not to attack Parliament or to send men, money or arms to the King. Additionally, they have put together a subscription in silver to be given to Parliament. For safety’s sake, we have sent the sum – which is not small - to Portsmouth, which is near to us, to be placed in the hands of Parliament’s captains there.”

Micah expressed his applause for that course, though he might not have objected to the sum being placed in his hands, and those of Daniel.

“May I see the paper, sir?”

Micah pulled out his map of the locality and located the names upon it.

“You have my solemn word, sir. We shall protect each of these houses and families as honest folk who support the right. I will pass this engagement to my colonel, who will no doubt tender it to Parliament as testament to your virtue.”

Billingshurst gave a sickly smile – the pledge was a possible death warrant if the King won.

“We are forced to this expedient, Captain Slater. We would hope not to suffer for it.”

“It is to your advantage now that Parliament shall win this war, sir. I trust to receive your unalloyed backing. It might be thought wise for you to send men to our ranks. I would add that we are well off for officers but in urgent need of men to carry pike or matchlock. We are forming a troop of horse soldiers as well – horses, saddles, fodder – all would be welcome.”

Horses were not so easily found surplus to the needs of the land, it seemed.

“It might not be impossible to send some young men to your ranks, Captain Slater.”

“They come cheaper than horses, do they not, sir? Strong young farm lads will be more than welcome. I will look forward to your bringing them in.”

Micah escorted the gentleman to his horse and then walked through to Daniel, sat with his leg up, resting in a window and enjoying the sun.

“Got them, Daniel! They have signed a pledge not to support the King in return for being left unmolested. They will push some of their young men into our ranks and have sent silver to Portsmouth, to the Parliamentary ships there. Having signed their name, however unwillingly, they have made themselves traitors to the King, with written evidence to the fact. They must be enthusiasts in our cause now, for not daring to risk the return of the King.”

“A good return for a day’s house-burning, Red Man!”

“A pity to destroy any man’s house, Daniel, to leave him destitute in his old age and his family in rags around him, the females, that is.”

“The wages of sin, Red Man?”

“Perhaps the reward for picking the wrong side.”

“Maybe so, but they suffered less than our people at Brentford. The king’s people cannot complain that they receive what they themselves offered our folk.”

It was true, Micah admitted – but he did not have to like the actions.

“What do we do now, Daniel?”

“Not a great deal, Red Man. I shall stay here for another two weeks, I suspect, before I try to sit my horse for a day. An hour or two is all I can manage yet. I can watch as the horsemen learn mastery of their trade and give advice. For you? The best is to be seen and to keep the men active. March out for two or three days at a time. Fifteen miles out, a night in camp and back next day, in a circle will be best so as to be seen in different villages. You may pick up men. You will certainly bring the malignant to a sense of caution. You may even act as tax collector where you see the prosperous who should make a donation to our cause.”

There was an air of corruption to such actions, Micah thought. Considering the business of taxation, however, he was soon able to persuade himself that those who would not risk their blood for Parliament should certainly offer money to its great cause. If, as one might say, some of that money stuck to his hands – well, he had fought for Parliament, was not undeserving of reward.

Men trickled in, twos and threes together generally, youngsters who had no work, no future in their home villages mostly. A few were older and they smacked of the ne’er-do-well, driven out for being drunkards or petty thieves or bad men who beat their wives and children; they would probably not make good soldiers, but they could hold a pike and obey orders – the whip had been invented for that sort.

“What would they have done otherwise, Daniel? If we had not come to bring them to our ranks, what would have happened to them?”

“The boys would have drifted away, probably to sea, most of them. A few would have ended up in town as villains there, for there being no work for them. Some might have stayed to squat on waste land and scratch a living as they could. For the older men, the nasty sort, eventually the Bench would have taken them in hand – some to the noose, more to go to transportation as convict labourers. There are stone docks and moles to be built in our ports and convicts will do the hard work demanded – and die within two or three years normally, well-flogged and half-starved and dressed in rags in mid-winter. Truly, Red Man, we offer a way of life better than the village has to offer to the useless mouth.”

It was an unpleasant truth.

“Can we trust them as we do the men from the Trained Bands?”

“No. The volunteers march with us because they believe in the Lord and in the justice of our cause. Most of these new men believe in a full platter twice a day and not much else. We will be wise not to trust them out of our sight and especially not near unprotected womenfolk. I much suspect that the whipping-post will prove our friend with these sorts, Red Man.”

“If the need arises, then so be it, Daniel – but I do not like the prospect.”

“Necessity, they say, is a stern master, Red Man. We must have more men and those who would fight for what they see as the right have already joined us. The extra bodies will not be of the best yet we cannot refuse them.”

“We will do what we must, Daniel. Do you think we shall stay here all summer?”

“No. We will be called away on campaign, as soon as Parliament discovers what must be done this season. We are in a backwater here and will not be told what is happening until a messenger rides in and demands that we march instantly. The need will be to be ready – plans must be laid, Red Man!”

The first need was to train, to bring the new men to a basic competence and to encourage their fifty of horsemen to more than that.

Every morning started with a parade of all the men in camp, as much to wake them up as for any more martial purpose. After that, the sergeants and corporals took their drills, first teaching the village boys the outlandishly new concept of ‘left’ and ‘right’, an idea that had never previously impinged on their deeply rural minds.

“Bloody sheep-shaggers, begging thy pardon, that is, sir. ‘This way’ and ‘that way’ be the most complex directions they have ever come across in all their lives, sir. As for marching at a uniform pace – far too strange an idea for their slow minds to pick up. They know nothing, have done nothing in all their poor little lives, sir.”

“I am sure you will do your best, Sergeant Fletcher. Will you need to offer an example?”

“A bloody back to teach the others the foolishness of their ways? Not yet, sir. I would wait until one of them commits an actual crime, sir. Rather than beat a boy for being slow, wait until one steals or gives a backanswer, sir, then they will see the justice of our actions. They will not resent the flogging as bloody-handed bullying but will accept it as a rightful punishment of an evil-doer. The time will come, sir, and soon, I do not doubt.”

“A pity, but necessary, I doubt not. Give me the word and it will be done, Sergeant Fletcher.”

“I shall avoid it while I may, sir.”

Micah exercised the horsemen personally, taking them out to the open upland fields to gallop their horses and learn not to fall off in process. He gained much in equestrian skill himself, particularly in riding one-handed while brandishing his sword. The ostlers from Palethorpe’s helped much in the beginning; within a few days most had joined, were part of the band, making it up to sixty.

Chapter Ten

A young lieutenant rode in carrying a message from Major Jevons, addressed to both captains.

They read, and reread the short missive, and looked questioningly at each other.

“Lieutenant Abney, do you know the background to this message?”

“Not entirely, sir… I do know that a deputation of local gentlemen came to see the major yesterday, sir. They were disturbed, sir, by the burning of Mr Pulteney’s house, were worried that they might be next.”

“Only if they stand in arms against Parliament, Abney.”

“Yes, sir. I think Major Jevons was upset because gentlemen should not find their property destroyed merely because of matters of politics, sir. More important that we should protect the bastions of old England – that is what he called them, sir.”

Micah was outraged.

“What side is he on, Abney?”

“I don’t think he approves of treating gentlemen as if they were commoners, sir.”

Abney was one of the officers known for attending chapel twice on the Sabbath; like so many such, he was inclined towards a degree of egalitarianism.

“Well said. So, we have this communication… It does not give an order, merely says that we must be careful not to subvert good order in the countryside and must not inflame local passions.”

Daniel laughed.

“We did not inflame Pulteney’s passions – it was his thatch we set a fire to!”

Lieutenant Abney was not entertained. He did not find much funny.

“I do not think that he would find that amusing, sir. He has made it clear to us that we are not indulging in revolution – we are not to change the country and the way it is governed, we are merely to restrain an unwise King. He expects that nothing will be altered, that we shall return to the old ways as soon as the present disagreement is brought to an end. He has said several times over dinner, sir, that he expects the less well-born officers to return to their places as soon as there is no more need for their services, sir.”

“If he thinks I am to return to labouring in the slate quarry, then he must think again, Mr Abney!”

“I do believe that he has mentioned you as one of those who is needed in time of war but who will be redundant when order returns to the country, sir.”

“An error, Mr Abney, as no doubt he and others will discover. We must reply to his despatch. Will you allow us an hour to compose our response, sir?”

Abney agreed, having no alternative, was sent towards the kitchens to find himself a refreshment.

“What do we write, Daniel?”

“Simple, Red Man. We respond, most politely, that we much regret having lost his confidence, as is evident from his otherwise incomprehensible despatch. Such being the case, we can see no alternative to withdrawal from his service and Colonel Jevons’ Regiment and we shall therefore return to London to place ourselves at the disposal of General Skippon. Mr Jevons will wish to send captains to replace us and we shall delay one day until they arrive.”

“And stuff that in your pipe and smoke it, Major!”

“Exactly so, Red Man. My penmanship is superior to yours, Red Man, let me do the actual writing.”

A fresh piece of writing paper, one of several they had retrieved from Pulteney’s office, and the reply was produced and signed by both captains and then neatly folded and placed in Abney’s hand.

“Where is the remainder of the Regiment just now, Abney?”

“We are in camp a few miles from the port of Southampton, sir, outside a small village called Botley. The local people are all most friendly. They are well disposed towards Parliament and have supplied us with victuals at low cost. There have been a few men come to the colours as well.”

They glanced at the small map they had of southern England, thought that the Regiment had not marched far in the days it had been gone.

“Less than thirty miles distant, Mr Abney.”

“Yes, sir. Major Jevons has sent back to his uncle, the Colonel, for more precise instructions as to the use of the Regiment in current circumstances. He wishes, I believe, to be placed with the main army, or any one of the armies, where there is a chance of achieving honour on the battlefield. He does not believe that we should be used in this business of pacifying the countryside.”

“We should be content to obey the orders of those who make the strategy for Parliament, sir! There is a job to be done and it is our duty to do it! The honourable soldier demands no more than to obey his orders. I would be obliged if you would offer that comment to Major Jevons’ ears, Mr Abney, and inform him that I shall be making it to General Skippon in person.”

Abney rode off and the two sat down to a midday bite and a pint of beer.

“Best I should tell Rootes to pack my bags, Daniel.”

“Do not be precipitate, Red Man! Poor Abney will be back, early in the morning with a conciliatory reply. Jevons will not wish General Skippon to discover that he is sat in idleness and refusing to carry out his orders. In fact, I will lay you long odds he will discover that he will be better located here at Palethorpe’s with a favourite captain and his company – or two – and that you and I will be happier far in the field. To that end, one gets you ten that I shall be brevet-major with orders to march the Regiment as far as I wish and preferably a good distance from him.”

Micah sternly ignored the offer of a bet – he had learned a number of bad habits in the military, but he did not gamble. He scowled uncertainly.

“All will be for the best for us then?”

“No! Of course not! You are right to sound doubtful, Red Man. He will do his utmost to place knives in our backs. He will send a report to General Skippon much fearing that we used our independence here to loot and burn across this whole part of Hampshire. He will suggest that we have filled our purses, you corrupted by the older mercenary soldier who had been seduced into wickedness in the Germanies.”

Micah considered this, decided it might sound likely to a general sat at a distance and with much more important business to deal with.

“What do we do?”

“Get in first! Send off our own report to General Skippon regretting that Major Jevons has chosen to disregard his orders and has gone into camp near Southampton and is believed to be welcoming envoys from the King.”

“Is he?”

“How should I know? He is not doing as he should and that suggests disloyalty. He is a nuisance to us both and any means to knock him down must be accepted. He is a traitor inasmuch that he is not doing his utmost to rout out the malcontents in the countryside. That will do for me.”

“So be it, Daniel. We have a duty to God and must pursue that before any other consideration. We are honest in intent and that absolves us from minor matters of absolute accuracy regarding facts at any given moment. It is obvious that Jevons will betray our cause even if he is not doing so at this precise point of time.”

They sat together to create a plausible despatch to London and sent it off in the hands of two of the older horsemen by mid-afternoon.

“Give this into the hands of General Skippon, or, if he is too much engaged to see you, to one of his military secretaries at his headquarters.”

Both men had been grooms at Palethorpe’s and were used to riding out with messages from their master to the local gentry. They foresaw no difficulty in obtaining access to a general.

“Do us wait for ‘un to give an answer, like, Captain Slater, sir?”

Daniel grinned wryly and sat silent as he accepted his lesser place in the affections of the new men.

“Ask him if he wishes you to. He is a good man and will tell you what he wants and will not mind your asking him.”

“Easy done, sir. What about lying up on the road?”

“Go to an inn. Not a low hedge pub but a proper roadside resting place. Take rooms for the night and pay for stabling and for your own dinners. Here is money for the journey – ten shillings apiece, which will pay for a farrier if a nag casts a shoe as well as your lodging. Do not drink too much!”

They grinned awkwardly and promised to stay sober and ran out to their horses, showing very willing to spend the Red Man’s money.

“Ten bob apiece, Red Man? How many shoes do you expect them to replace?”

“None, most likely, Daniel. But they can give a chambermaid a shilling or two without running themselves short for the journey.”

“You are becoming a cynic in your old age, Red Man!”

“I have but learned from the company I keep, Daniel.”

They were sat over their breakfast when Lieutenant Abney rode up next morning.

Micah glanced out of the window on hearing hooves, shook his head in mock surprise.

“You are right, Daniel. Poor fellow must have left before sunrise. Cook! Another pot of beer and a plate of something hot for the young officer.”

The door opened and Abney entered, yawning.

“Beg pardon, sir! Major insisted this must reach you at soonest.”

He handed a folded sheet to Daniel.

“Take a seat, Mr Abney. Breakfast is coming.”

The young officer made his thanks, said he had not stopped to eat that morning. His meal arrived and he started to scoff it.

Daniel laughed aloud and passed the paper to Micah who read and then stood and gave a formal, overstated salute.

“Do sit down, my man – there is no need to bow to me nor yet drop to bended knee.”

“Beg pardon, sir, your honour, that is!”

“I told you so, Red Man.”

“Brevet-major it is, sir. To take command of the regiment in its camp at Botley and then to manoeuvre as seems appropriate to your orders. Major Jevons, who is not as well in himself as he once was, to bring a company to Palethorpe’s, will march into Palethorpe’s two days from now, on Friday, at which time we will set out. I see that I am to be Senior Captain in the battalion.”

“Simple and clear-cut and as predicted, Red Man.”

“It will leave the Regiment four days without a field officer in camp, Daniel. If any might have been seduced from their allegiance, then they will have the better part of a week in which to make mischief.”

They were interrupted by a belch from Abney.

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

“Not at all, Mr Abney… Is Red Man right? Are there officers who might be inclined to mischief in the absence of a senior?”

Abney paused, seeking the right words, waving a piece of toasted bread the while and dripping butter onto his hand.

“Oh! I shall never wash my cuff clean, sir!”

“No, butter is a nuisance in the wash. Pay a launderer tuppence and she will right it for you.”

“Oh, I had not thought of that, sir. I do my own washing, it not being my place to command servants. Mischief-makers, sir… there are perhaps one or two gentlemen who are not wholly convinced of the righteousness of our cause. They are more concerned to make a military career than to fight for the right.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“Well seen, Red Man. Take your horsemen, say forty strong, leaving the score newest and rawest, and make your way to Botley, there to take command until I march the footmen in. I shall give thee a written order to that effect. Take some pains on the road not to meet Major Jevons on his way here. When settled in at Botley, discover who may be disaffected among the local gentry and we shall pay them a visit before marching down to the next country town of any size. Romsey, if I recall my home area correctly.”

“We shall ride out this afternoon, sir. Mr Abney, will you accompany us? You know the road and may be my guide.”

“Petersfield; East Meon; Droxford; Bishop’s Waltham and then Botley, sir. A simple ride, avoiding the higher parts of the Downs.”

The names meant nothing to Micah, having never seen a detailed map of the county.

“Mr Eglinton with me, I think, sir?”

“Yes, you will need a second officer with your troop and he will do as well as any. We might well think of making another youngster up, or an older man, indeed, if you can name one. Will young Peveril do or should he remain a gentleman volunteer for the while?”

“I will speak to the sergeants, sir.”

Both men knew they should no longer be on first name terms – Major Carew was the commanding officer and there must be a proper distance between them.

“Rootes, I am made senior captain in the battalion and second to Major Carew.”

“Aye, sir. So I heard tell.”

The grapevine worked quickly in any set of quarters.

“We are to ride out to Botley to take command of the camp there so that there shall be no foolishness in the absence of a major.”

“Aye, sir. Makes good sense. You will wear breast-and-back and carry all of your pistols and the backsword, sir, not the short sword.”

“Will I? Necessary, think you?”

“Might be, sir. Don’t know and ain’t heard nowt, you might say, but there might be one or two what was less inclined to one side than the other, sir.”

Rootes could not wisely name names – private soldiers had to be very sure of themselves before accusing any officer.

“What of the two misses, sir? Are they to march or must they stay here to find new protectors from Major Jevons’ people?”

Micah had taken some pains not to notice the presence of Misses Palethorpe and Philipps, though certain that they had become the peculiars of Daniel’s two young lieutenants.

“Will the men approve of their joining the baggage train, Rootes?”

“No, sir. Not in any way. Baggages they may have become but that does not mean they are welcome to the men of the Trained Bands, sir. Godly men, most of our two companies, sir, and disinclined to encourage the company of whores.”

Micah was forced to accept that was now the nature of the two young ladies.

“I will speak to Major Carew, Rootes.”

“The two ladies of leisure, Red Man? None of our business. We warned them to take themselves off but they chose to stay and play with the soldier boys! Quite noisily on some nights, at that! They will find themselves other protectors, no doubt. I shall remind my lieutenants to be generous to them as they say farewell. Best they should be given sufficient to take them to London, for I am not at all sure Major Jevons will find houseroom for them. Might be wiser for them to travel to Oxford, in fact. While Parliamentary London might well be unwelcoming to ladies of the night the Royalists will certainly find a bed for them.”

“How will they get to Oxford, sir?”

“From Parliamentary country to the King’s? Easily. The carriers’ carts will still be making their way along the lanes. It is not as if there is some strict frontier with guards along it. The outposts will be in the small towns and villages but there will be miles with neither party to be seen. Best they are away quickly, in fact. I shall hustle them off in the morning.”

Micah was inclined to feel that they had treated the girls somewhat uncaringly.

“We warned them and they would not be told. They had little choice, I will admit, but that is war for you, Red Man. The conflict has turned them into whores – it will do worse for many more over this next while.”

When all was said and done, they were not his kinswomen – they were not his to protect.

Micah turned his mind to other important concerns.

“What do I do if I come across an officer who I am sure is in illicit converse with the King’s people, sir? Have I the power to arrest him, as I would one of the men?”

“You have. Indeed, you have the duty to take up such a man and hold him close. If needs be, hold court upon him, in front of the whole regiment assembled and pronounce sentence on him. Do not do so unless you are ready to put him to death – and then do so, summarily.”

Killing in a fight was one thing, and none too serious a business, but to execute a man in cold blood was a different matter. Micah was not sure he wished to have any part in that – but, a traitor was deserving of death, whether in the field or dangling from a noose.

“Don’t like it, sir – but if needs must, then do it I shall.”

“Good. Do not hang your man lightly or without clear and public evidence of his misconduct. Do not hesitate to enforce the law if the need arises. I have hanged more than one in my past - and have never enjoyed the process. If I must, I shall do it again, however. Some men are so wicked that they must die; others are weaklings who can provide an example for others. Others still may be unfortunate… The rope is equally effective whichever they may be. Whatever you do, be sure not to haver and dither – take action or do not, quickly and publicly announced.”

“Who would be a commander, sir? Easier to be a junior and obey the wishes of others. The trouble with that, of course, is that few others are even as wise as I am, and I do not claim any great cleverness. If I am not to be given orders by fools, then I must give the orders myself.”

“Well said, my general!”

They laughed and set about organising the movement of their men.

“Rootes, three packhorses?”

“We have accumulated camp comforts, sir. Add to that, there are the pair of flintlock muskets and the powder and ball all wrapped up dry for them and the pistols, and the short sword and your three uniforms and the spare pair of boots. It all mounts up, sir.”

“So it does. How soon before we need a fourth, think you?”

“I have it in mind to lay hands on a tent, sir, not very large but waterproofed with fish oil against the rains of winter, in case we remain in the field later in the year.”

Micah laughed and was glad he had picked up the heavy bags of gold coins. He would need them, it seemed. He turned to his little column, forty men arranged in pairs, and waved them forward, walking their horses slowly until they reached the bottom of the hill.

Abney placed himself at his side, next to Eglinton, as they rode off.

“There is an inn at Droxford, sir, that will put us up for the night and has a barn, empty at this time of year, for the men. The horses can graze on the common there. It is no great distance. We could, in fact, reach Botley by nightfall.”

“Better in the morning and after Major Jevons has marched out. I shall give my orders then, and not be bound by anything he might wish to say before he left.”

Abney was not at all sure that he liked to hear that. Life might become uncomfortable, he feared.

They came to the outskirts of the village of Botley, saw that it was larger than many for having a large, triangular marketplace next to a watermill and surrounded by houses, a large inn and a few shops.

“A forge, which is bigger than most, and a carpenter’s place of business as well. Almost a market town rather than a village. A small wharf beside the mill. Meadows to the one side, with cattle. Cornfields out to the north and forested, tall oaks, down to the west. Well-off, almost rich, as villages go. The road and marketplace are cobbled, not dirt.”

Micah glanced at each feature as Daniel had taught him, cultivating his military eye.

“Wide roads out, with a finger post naming each – there must be a wagon trade passing through for outsiders to need to know directions. The local people would not need to name the roads in writing. No town hall – it sees itself as a village. There is a chapel here in the centre, which tells us much that is good for us.”

The regiment was camped just outside of the village on the Hamble River which provided the men with the normal valuable services of a watercourse.

“Keeps a cleaner camp, Mr Abney. Very wise.”

“Smells less, sir.”

Micah looked about the busy camp in some surprise.

“A large number of villagers in the camp, Mr Abney?”

“A good few, sir. Some sell things and others act as laundrymaids, or so I am told. The children all wish to see the soldiers, as is unsurprising.”

“I wonder how many will follow on in the baggage train when we march?”

“No few of the girls, I suspect, sir.”

“And some of the boys, I hope. We might well take on a drummer boy to each company, if they will come. As they grow, they can pick up a musket and they will be used to soldiering for a living.”

They rode in, Micah leaving the horses still saddled while he discovered where he would rest his head.

“Find me the officers, Mr Abney. We shall meet in an hour.”

“Some will be in the Bugle Inn, sir, having taken rooms there. Major Jevons had a pair of rooms there, one being his office, so he said.”

“A sensible idea. I shall do the same. In fact, I shall take one of his rooms and keep the other vacant for Major Carew.”

“Dangerous Dan, the men call him, sir.”

“He will be pleased to hear that – a nickname shows the men to have some feeling for the officer. Dangerous Dan is within reason respectful, as well.”

Abney agreed, and wished that he might be given a cognomen one day. Perhaps if he was seen to be valiant in the field, the men might bestow such a token of their respect.

“Do not be over-anxious to excel in battle, Mr Abney. The man who tries too hard almost inevitably dies young. He often kills those who follow him as well.”

Abney had given little thought to dying – that was to be reserved to the foeman, in his imagination.

They walked the furlong to the village square and the Bugle Inn and were told initially that the house was full. Two young lieutenants had taken the major’s rooms and were just now off to pick up their baggage.

“Send your boy after them, host, and have him inform them of their error. Major Carew and Captain Slater have the chambers.”

“Mortal upset, they will be, Captain, having made sure that Major Jevons would pass the rooms onto them.”

“Major Jevons is not here, host. I am.”

The landlord capitulated and called for the potboy.

“Sidney! Do you run and tell Mr Maidstone and Mr Harvey that the rooms have gone to Major Carew and Captain Slater. Quickly!”

The potboy ran and the landlord turned back to Micah.

“They won’t like it, sir, and Mr Maidstone is fierce, they say, and willing to make his challenge to any man that crosses him. Twice Major Jevons did have to step in and prevent a meeting of honour, sir, in the last two weeks alone.”

“I can look after myself, if the need arises, with sword or pistol, whichever he might wish.”

“Perhaps so, sir, but a shocking turn out it would be, to have men fighting one of they duellos in our little town… Though it might be that we could set it up in the square, with the bars open like on market day morning… A fair old spectacle, that might be, and the crowd thirsty as well. Nothing like a bit of blood to get a crowd to lifting its elbows. I do remember four years back when they hanged Johnny Pearce for the murder of Squire Padgett, what he did, for sure, no matter what the family do say about it being a miscarriage of justice. They put up a gallows in the square here and there must have been a thousand men, shoulder to shoulder and watching him be turned off and every one of them crowding through the bars and drinking the old pub dry, so they did. So, if you do come to cross blades with Mr Maidstone, sir, it won’t be so bad a thing, after all.”

“If I do, landlord, it will not be with the intention of making your fortune! Nor will the meeting be held in front of a crowd. In any case, I am his superior and he must not be making challenges to me. There will be no such affair in this case, be sure of that.”

An angry Maidstone appeared five minutes later, upset that he must continue in a leaky tent but showing no desire call out the Red Man, his reputation a little too fierce for casual bloodshed.

“We shall be marching out within a few days, Mr Maidstone, and be sure that you will be accommodated more properly where next we come to rest. For the while, what can you tell me of the locality while we wait for the other officers to come together?”

“This part, sir, around Botley, is well-intentioned to our cause. The landowners are godly men all. Across to the east, towards Wickham and Fareham, the same. I think, sir, that the proximity of Portsmouth plays a part. Down to the old port of Southampton, generally the feeling is that they are quiet folk and less inclined to either party. West, though, sir, is more towards the King, as they are in the area of Winchester. We should be taking fire and sword to the malignants thereabouts, sir.”

“I much suspect we shall, Lieutenant Maidstone, and soon. We shall make our way from manor to manor and spread the word that they can no longer be disloyal to Parliament. Be sure that you will be given the opportunity to display your zeal in our cause.”

The officers of the six companies present assembled in the big front bar of the Bugle, displaying greater or less pleasure at the prospect that the Regiment was to become active again. Micah stood before them, nervous that he was to address a score of men, some older than him and not naturally inclined to recognise his seniority over them. He cleared his throat and drew himself as tall as he could.

“Gentlemen, please be seated.”

There was a clatter of chairs and settles being pulled up to the four big barroom tables. A few scowled as they realised that they had accepted his superiority by sitting while he stood over them.

“I trust you will all join me in a mug of beer, gentlemen. Talking can be thirsty work. Landlord!”

Twenty-two pints was two shillings he would not see again, but he could afford it and most of the officers would judge it ill-mannered to drink his beer and begrudge him a hearing.

“Major Carew expects to be here the day after tomorrow with our two companies of foot. We have already raised three score of horse, using the riding stock taken at Palethorpe’s and we hope to make up a full company of eighty to one hundred troopers armed with sword and pistols. You will appreciate their value to us when it comes to laying down the law in an unruly countryside such as seems to be towards the west of this county.”

There was a mutter of agreement from some of the officers. They quietened for a minute or two while the barmaids and potboy came round with their beer. Captain Dunton stood as soon as every man’s hand was full.

“You say that we are to lay down the law, Captain Slater. Is there a law that says every farmer or landholder must support one side or the other in this dire conflict? Can we not allow those who will to stand aside from our dispute? We are here because we have chosen to march for our rights as free men. Others believe that the rights of the King must take precedence. More do not really care how they are governed and wish only to live in peace and prosperity. Have we the right to jeopardise that prosperity for our own ends?”

Micah thanked Captain Dunton for so clearly expressing a valid point of view. He was rather proud of himself for speaking in so conciliatory a fashion.

“In direct answer, Captain Dunton – yes, we have the right to compel the unwilling to accept the rule of Parliament. A country can have but one master – and we have decided that cannot be the King. As well, people cannot live without mastery – there must be law, and but one law made by one government. All must accept the law and its makers – or stand in arms against it. We have the unfortunate state of affairs where we, the Army, must say that every man must decide whether he is our friend or our enemy, and accept the consequences of that decision.”

Captain Dunton much feared that he did not like that doctrine.

“In effect, you say there are two sorts of people – the good and the dead, Captain Slater.”

“Elegantly expressed, sir! You are right. We are friends to the good and enemies of the bad – and one might say that we are bad enemies to choose. All people must decide whether to pay our taxes and offer men to our ranks or to fight us. There is no middle ground.”

“Easier to see on the field of battle, Captain Slater – as you know. I fear for the people of this land, sir, for many will find themselves caught between the opposed armies and inevitably at risk if they choose the wrong side.”

“I agree, Captain Dunton. Too often, they will have no freedom of choice. The people of Botley, as an example, will not wisely say they support the King just now.”

“Exactly so, Captain Slater. We have little alternative, however, than to carry out our orders. What do you know of Major Carew’s intentions?”

The tension seemed to go out of the room, as if Captain Dunton had been in some way the spokesman of those who had doubts. Now that Dunton had accepted that they must follow Major Carew, it seemed that all would.

Micah was surprised – Dunton was the youngest of the captains after him and had never struck him as the material leaders were made from. He was a quiet man, rarely heard in the mess and never a fire-eater. Many of the officers were related to Colonel Jevons – possibly Dunton had some inherited authority. He spoke up while the room was silent.

“We are to march, gentlemen. From one manor house to the next in a generally westerly trend. Where possible, we shall accept the support of the landholders. If they refuse, then we shall take all necessary action to end their opposition. We wish to recruit more men and will need the money and provisions to sustain them. We must leave a friendly or a cowed countryside behind us. We must not burn out barns and stables and dairies or destroy the crops in the fields – we are not to starve the people. There is no obligation upon us to protect those lords and squires who are our enemies, or to leave them with a roof to shelter under.”

“A stark doctrine, Captain Slater.”

Micah glanced across to Lieutenant Harvey who had made the interjection.

“We are at war, Mr Harvey. You have volunteered to be an officer, to march for Parliament, to lead men into this war. By so doing, you have accepted the need to kill your enemy.”

Captain Dunton stood and turned to face Harvey.

“We have become men of blood, Robert. Captain Slater is to show us what that means. You fought at Palethorpe’s and now you must fight again. These are bloody-handed times – which we must recognise to be so. Take up thy sword, cousin, and accept the needs of war.”

The meeting ended with Micah’s announcement that Major Carew would have orders for them when he arrived and that they must be ready to march soon after.

He dismissed the officers and sought out the landlord to pay for his beer.

“Twenty-two pints, sir, at one penny apiece, being the strong ale. Had you wished for mild beer then ‘twould have been three farthings. One shilling and ten pence, sir.”

“Four sixpences, landlord. Keep the change.”

The landlord had made no attempt to dig the coppers out of his pocket.

“Who among the landholders close to Botley might be described as unfriendly to Parliament, landlord?”

The landlord looked about him, glanced through the doors to be sure they were alone.

“Sir John Swaythling, what is cousin to the Earls of Southampton, sir, and has the big house in the village of Durley and owns lands down on the Itchen from Moorgreen across to Stoneham way as well, be known as a King’s man, sir. He has sent two sons to the King’s side at Oxford, so it is well known. Add to that, he has called his tenants to come to arms, to muster at the end of this month, sir. Major Jevons did know this to be so, sir, but had no wish to take him up, sir, saying he was too powerful a man to be made an enemy. I did hear Major Jevons to say that when the wars were over, men like Sir John would still have their money and would use it to revenge themselves on those who had particularly offended them.”

“Perhaps so, host.”

Micah made no further comment but it occurred to him that if Sir John was hanging from the lintel of his own front door then he would be enemy to no man.

“Where exactly is Sir John’s manor house, landlord? What is the road from here? Is there but one highway or may we find means to surround him?”

“Take the Winchester road, sir, through Boorley and Longcommon and then a mile north to Durley, crossing the brook, sir, and finding the big house up on the hill to the left. That be the most direct road, but you might ride back to Bishop’s Waltham and take the Southampton road down to Durley from t’other side. If that was not how you wanted, sir, then you could leave the Winchester road earlier by way of Cangellor’s Lane and go by way of Durley Street to the house, or pass it by and work round from Horton Heath. There be five or six roads as could be used, not to speak of going to Upham and coming in from the other side completely. Thing is, sir, it be rich farming land and there be many good lanes for the wagons to take.”

That made good sense, especially as there was no large river to limit the ways across the countryside.

“It seems we must simply march in the straightest line we can find. Thank you, landlord.”

Micah debated sending out a party of horsemen to scout the road, but that would most likely serve only to warn the house of their intentions.

Best to say nothing and keep his intentions a secret, from his own officers as well as the local people.

He called a parade for the following morning – there was a holiday atmosphere in the camp that needed shaking up. Time they remembered they were soldiers. An inspection and the threat of the flogging post for dirty soldiers would do an amount of good.

Chapter Eleven

“There is a local magnate, sir, one Sir John Swaythling, who would greatly benefit from having his neck stretched, by the sound of things. He is rich, a great landowner, a cousin of the Earls of Southampton and a loud supporter of the King and has called for his tenants to muster at the end of this month. He lives just four miles distant in the village of Durley and would make a useful first example to the local holders.”

“Excellent, Captain Slater. Tomorrow morning?”

“I would do so, sir. Might I suggest that we inform the officers at the breakfast table?”

“Giving them no chance to shout their mouths off in the evening?”

“Some might talk carelessly in beer – for there are some few who drink incautiously, I know. I suspect there may be others who cannot approve of offering discipline to the aristocracy.”

“That implies…”

“It does, sir. I have heard nothing direct but have a feeling that there are those who want to stand against the King while being unwilling actually to fight him. They had rather remonstrate in arms than actually shed blood. Certainly, there are those who believe that it will still be possible to find a middle ground, who hope that the King will offer his forgiveness of all rebels together with a promise to listen to the wishes of Parliament.”

“And they would consider that sufficient? That the King should listen to Parliament?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Then they will hear what I have to say at breakfast!”

Micah sought out Sergeants Fletcher and Driver before he sought his bed. He gave them brief but precise instructions.

The officers were called to eat their breakfast at the Bugle, were supplied with a thick porridge with milk and small beer followed by toasted bread with butter and a wedge of cheese; a solid start to an active morning.

Major Carew stood before them, in full breast-and-back and boots, ready to ride out.

“Eat up, gentlemen. We have a busy day ahead of us. We are to march within the hour, out to remonstrate with the first of the local malignants. The man Swaythling must learn that Parliament has the rule of this land of ours and shall be obeyed. Those who stand against Parliament are traitors and must expect to face justice. The supporters of the foolish man of blood, Charles Stuart, are enemies of the people of England and are to be treated as all such should be. In the old Norman-French language of the law, they are in jeopardy of ‘cors et avoir’ – of body and all they possess. It is my intent that we shall march to Swaythling’s house at Durley and there bring him before our justice, sentencing him as befits his crimes and responding to any refusal of obedience in condign fashion. Captain Slater will lead with his horse. I shall follow directly commanding his company and mine. You will march behind me in order of seniority. The camp will be held by the sick and the lame. I expect all officers to accompany their men, irrespective of their state of health.”

Captain Dunton stood and begged permission to be heard.

“Sir John Swaythling is a most important man in this part of Hampshire, sir. He must be respected as the lord of the manor and the magistrate for these several parishes. As such, I do not doubt that we should request him by letter to make his allegiance clear and give him time to dispose of his responsibilities. To march on him is to risk disorder in the land. We must not allow our squabble with the King to uproot all that is good in this country of England. I cannot consent to this march you propose.”

Major Carew stood forward, cold-faced and stern.

“I am your senior officer, Captain Dunton. I do not ask you to consent, I order your obedience. A refusal to accept my orders is mutiny, sir, and will face immediate action.”

Captain Dunton shook his head.

“Your order is morally obnoxious, Major Carew. I refuse it.”

“Red Man!”

Micah strode across to the window, opened the casement.

“Sergeant Fletcher! Sergeant Driver! Carry out your orders.”

The outer door was flung open and a squad of musketeers marched in, the leading twelve with matchlocks cradled ready in their arms and match lit. As the officers turned towards the door Micah drew a pair of pistols from his bandoleer.

Major Carew shouted his order.

“Arrest Captain Dunton.”

Three men armed with their short swords only stepped towards Dunton and grabbed his arms, tying his hands behind his back and then bundling him out of the door.

Lieutenant Maidstone jumped to his feet.

“You cannot do that!”

“Sergeant Fletcher!”

Micah’s voice came loud from behind him. As Maidstone turned and saw the pistols three more men took him and trussed his hands and pushed him out.

There was a momentary silence and then Major Carew rapped on the table in front of him with the handle of a knife. He spoke quietly.

“Does any other man wish to refuse my command?”

Lieutenant Abney looked up.

“I am loyal, Major.”

There was a mutter of agreement around the room.

“Good. Take Mr Dunton’s company, Captain Abney. Form a double rank of officers in the square, gentlemen. Facing towards the watermill.”

Two minutes and they had obeyed.

They watched in silence as Captain Dunton and Lieutenant Maidstone were manhandled across to the redbrick wall fifty yards away and stood blindfolded. A squad of musketeers lined up to their front. Micah strode across to stand beside them.

Major Crew addressed the officers.

“The penalty for mutiny is death, gentlemen. Summary execution is allowable in the field. Captain Slater, carry on.”

“Blow on your matches… Set your pieces… Point your pieces… Fire!”

Eight muskets coughed, four and four. The two officers fell, neither dead, both gushing blood. Micah walked across with his pair of pistols and set one to Dunton’s head and pulled the trigger. He did the same for Maidstone seconds later.

He turned to the assembled officers, spoke loudly.

“So perish all traitors.”

He marched back to the squad, his boots bloody and leaving footprints behind him.

“Sergeant Driver, dispose of the bodies. Sergeant Fletcher, carry on.”

Micah turned to Major Carew and saluted.

“Justice has been done on the mutineers, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain Slater.”

Major Carew turned to the double rank of officers.

“We march in thirty minutes. Bring your companies to the square in march order. Dismiss.”

The officers walked silently towards the field where the companies were camped.

Rootes and Daniel’s groom brought their horses to them and the pair mounted and sat their horses, quietly waiting.

“Well, Red Man?”

“It might be interesting, sir. Perhaps one half of the officers are related by blood or marriage to Captain Dunton and to Colonel Jevons. There are three possibilities – they will have taken their horses and ridden off; they will bring their companies in arms against us; they will march obedient to our command. I do not know which chance is most likely.”

“Nor me. One chance in three says that we are next to stand at that wall. I always was a gambling man – there is much to be said for wagering with your life, Red Man. When you win, the joy is unbounded.”

“And when you lose, you will not have long to regret the fact!”

They laughed, perhaps more than the joke deserved.

“Here they come… Jack Capel has your company and mine in good order. Will you make him captain in your place, sir?”

“I think I must, Red Man, after today. Abney has Dunton’s company and is marching them well together… Nine companies including the horse, but not all with their three officers mounted before them. Wait, now, five mounted men bringing up the rear, what do they have in mind?”

Three captains and two lieutenants in a tight group, suddenly splitting up and joining their companies.

“Debating and finally deciding to follow the call of duty, sir?”

“Perhaps, Red Man. More like, they are making a point, showing loyalty to the regiment that just outweighs their loyalty to kin. Not offering a threat as such, for that would force me to act, but quietly telling me that I must not push them too far. Though how much farther I can push them than shooting their kinsmen, I know not!”

Micah rode to the head of his horsemen and walked them out of the village, leading the regiment onto the Winchester road. Eglinton came to his side.

“Mr Halleck is not best pleased at the death of his cousins Maidstone and Dunton, sir. It might be well to keep a close eye to him when we are on the field of battle.”

Halleck remained with the company of foot, was their senior lieutenant.

“You think that a pistol ball might fly astray and accidentally hit into my back, Eglinton?”

“It is not impossible, sir.”

“Little I can do about that possibility. I cannot send him away and must not set a watch on him. He is my officer and I must offer him trust and hope he will come to accept the need to create a discipline among the officers. I do not see the adjutant, Captain Prothero? He should be riding with Major Carew.”

“He took horse when we did, sir. Perhaps he has ridden off, unseen in the mass of men readying themselves to march. Easy to slide away behind the big barn and then into the stand of oaks behind the village.”

“Or he might have been caught short and had to visit the jakes and be on his way to join us now. Drop back to Major Carew and mention his absence, Eglinton.”

“He is off at the mill, Captain. Major Carew sent him to discuss the purchase of a waggonload of flour, to be paid in gold coin rather than a bill to be sent to Parliament. The Major says it will come to us at better quality and lower price for being paid for direct. The coin taken from the Peveril house will be put to good use for the Regiment. There is a chance of purchasing beef cattle as well, to be herded behind us in our baggage train.”

“Important to feed the men, Eglinton – and, I must confess, I had not given it a thought.”

“Major Carew says as well, sir, that we are to stretch out, the horse that is, and examine the road to the Swaythling house.”

Micah called the troop to pick up its pace and took them along through the open countryside towards the village of Durley. The Hamble River, smaller now, no more than a brook, paralleled the road at about a mile distant, visible as a low, wooded valley. The fields were mostly down to barley and wheat except for a quarter or so of the land which was laid fallow and being grazed, mostly by beef cattle. He spotted herds of milkers close to the two small hamlets on the way, thought it likely they were in the way of producing cheese to go down to the big town of Southampton or to the fleet at Portsmouth.

“Rich country, Eglinton. No rye or oats. Even the poor will eat white bread rather than black.”

“Few acres in the way of peas and beans either, sir. See more of those in Kent, I think. No sheep down on this heavy clay soil. Not so much by way of apple trees as we have at home, sir.”

Like most of the officers, Eglinton came from a small estate where the squire was his own farmer. The Land was familiar to him.

“Patches of timber ahead of us, sir. Winter fuel, mostly, for the farmers by the looks of the trees – a deal of ash trees, sir.”

“Smouch as well, Eglinton.”

“Never have liked that, sir. A harsh and bitter brew, though my old grandmother, who is learned in the herbs, says that it is a fine and healthy drink, especially for the womenfolk, sir.”

Neither man wished to pursue that topic – medicine was a matter for the females exclusively.

The countryside was quiet, there was no alarm raised. They saw men working at hedging and ditching and a few hoeing in the occasional turnip field. There were women working the gardens as well. Had there been a fear of war, all would have been locked away behind closed doors.

They came to a crossroads with finger posts pointing to Bishop’s Waltham and Southampton off to right and left of the Winchester road.

“A mile to the right, so the landlord said. The road drops down into the little valley and then when it rises the big house is off a quarter of a mile or so on the left. We shall hold here in the cover of the copse, so as not to raise the alarm before the footmen arrive.”

They dismounted and glanced around them.

“Worked woodland, sir. Clumps of hazels for nuts and bean sticks. A goodly amount of ash. Apple trees and a line of pears as well. Cherries along the edge, which is good furniture timber as well as the fruit. Quince and medlars down in the more sheltered part, and two big white peach trees, which are uncommon except in the older orchards, or so I am told. Rich man’s land, sir!”

“Then we must treat it with care, Eglinton. Warn the men they are not to slash down the orchards for their campfires.”

“I shall, sir. The town boys of the Trained Bands will not know the difference, must have it explained to them. Londoners who do not know one tree from another!”

Micah agreed – he had been surprised repeatedly by the inability of the men to perform the simplest tasks about the camp without explanation. The townies from the Big Smoke lived a sheltered existence, a long way from the Land and its ways.

“No fires for the moment, Eglinton. We do not need to announce our presence.”

They waited less than an hour before the eight companies marched up and sat down for their ten minutes of rest. Micah led Major Carew through the orchard to the edge where he could see across the shallow vale to the big house on its hillside.

“A gravelled driveway leads in from the road, Red Man. It does not continue on past the house, except as a cart track, which makes things easier for us. There is a farm track to our left, do you see? If you take your horsemen down that way and form an arc behind the house, to the west and north, I shall bring the foot to the front, from the east here. If Swaythling has any sense, he will see the better part of a thousand men and know that he must walk small for the while.”

“If he has no sense, then it will be to swarm him under, sir?”

“Exactly.”

Micah turned to his squadron.

“Check your pistols. Be sure there is priming powder in the pans.”

Bouncing on horseback, the fine powder could easily sift out of the pans, leaving too little to fire the main charge.

“Ease your swords.”

Most riders put a strap across the hilt of their sword so that it might not work loose while riding.

“Helmets and breast-and-back.”

The men hauled on the leather straps and pulled their breastplates tight – less comfortable but more effective against a sword stroke.

“In column of twos, walk march!”

They shifted slowly out from the trees and across to the track leading down to the house. There was a small wooden bridge crossing the brook, strong enough for a farm cart.

“No more than four at a time on the bridge.”

The shouted order and the drumming of hooves attracted attention. Doors opened and slammed shut in the house and there was yelling from the barns and stable to the rear. Micah waved his arm and pointed the troopers to their positions. He estimated he was ten minutes ahead of the footmen and needed to draw attention away from them to give them time to deploy.

“Mr Eglinton, take your twenty and examine the barns and stables.”

Eglinton waved an acknowledgement and moved slowly round to the far side. As he left a gap between the two parties half a dozen horsemen burst out and took off down the cart track west at a stretched gallop.

“Hold here, Mr Eglinton! My men, follow me.”

Micah slapped the reins on his horse’s neck and tapped him with his heels, taking care not to dig his spurs in. He took the horse up to a canter, dropping back from the running six. Corporal Perkins came up beside him.

“They’m getting away, sir!”

“Not for long! They can’t manage too many minutes at that pace. Keep them in sight and we can pick them up, the weakest horses first, one by one, probably without a fight.”

The track was potholed, rain-rutted, dangerous going for a running horse. Almost as they spoke, they saw one of the fleeing mounts peck and stumble and then draw up, hopelessly lame. The other five drew rein and surrounded the one while its rider, an older man, clumsily dismounted.

Micah looked over his shoulder, waved to his men to fan out into a line which he brought to surround the six at a distance of thirty or so yards. He reined in then walked his horse a few steps closer.

“I am Captain Slater of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, acting under the command of Sergeant Major General Skippon. I am tasked to bring this county to peace under the lawful rule of Parliament and to take the pledge of those who will abide by the law and to arrest those who display themselves as malignant. Declare yourselves.”

The old man drew himself up, stood proud.

“I am Sir John Swaythling, knight bachelor, of this county of Southamptonshire. I am faithful to my King. These others are my two sons and three young men of the county.”

“You have the choice, John Swaythling, of pledging yourself to keep the peace or of being placed under arrest for trial before Parliament. While you do not offer to fight, your life and property are safe from me. I would add that you may be fined or exiled for your defiance of Parliament’s lawful rule but that your life will be not be threatened, nor will your family suffer other than financially. Come, sir! Our armies have taken this county and will not likely be driven out. You will be wiser to remain and protect your tenants and kin in this time of turmoil. Parliament does not demand that you forswear your loyalty – you are begged merely to stand aside from the conflict, to send neither men nor money to war, upon your honour.”

“You ask me to be a traitor. I will die before I betray my King!”

The five young men, all still mounted, shouted their defiance and Swaythling produced a long pistol from the holster on his saddle and pointed it, waveringly, at Micah.

“Sir, war is for younger men. I beseech you to lower that pistol and think of your life. I have twenty men here and you are but six… This is not the course of wisdom, sir!”

“It is the course of honour!”

Swaythling squeezed the trigger and the five horsemen drew swords and dug their spurs in.

Micah grabbed at a pistol and shot, sitting bolt upright and aiming as well as he could. The leading horseman fell, the pistol ball through his chest. Micah dropped the long flintlock and pulled the backsword, parrying the slash of the second of the young men. He heard a fusillade of shots and a loud metallic clanging as lead balls hit hard into the iron of breastplates. A horse screamed.

His direct opponent dragged his horse’s head round and swung again, a wild roundhouse slash. Micah sat straight, let the sword drag across his breastplate and thrust directly with his own weapon. The backsword, heavy and made strong with its stiff reverse spine, scraped up the young man’s breastplate and over its top, penetrating the leather stock and through the throat. He held tight to the hilt and let the body drop off his point and onto the ground, pouring blood.

He shook his hand distastefully, ridding himself of the gore before it could drip down his sleeve.

“Corporal Perkins!”

“Here, sir. All six of ‘em, sir, down in the dirt. One of ours nicked by that first shot, sir, clipped across the outside of his leg, sir – cut a hole in his breeches and not much else, sir. The old man and three of ‘em, shot to buggery, sir. The other two – one you shot dead, sir, and the last just choked on his blood, sir. Most of us got two shots off and I reckon as how maybe half of them hit home. Good shooting, sir.”

“So it was. Well done! You have trained your men well, Perkins. I shall name you to Major Carew as a deserving man.”

“Thank’ee, sir. The two of they was yours, sir – the one you shot clean through and the stiff at your feet, sir. I’ll get their stuff, sir, what belongs to you as is fair.”

The men were stripping the bodies of everything valuable, including some expensive thigh-high leather boots. Each of the six had been carrying a purse, the contents of four being split into twenty equal parts while the other two were passed across to Micah, that being right, they believed.

“Kills a man on your own, he’s yours, sir. All of us got the rest between us, so we splits equal. Got a gold ring, one of your two has, on his finger, so that comes your way too. The old fellow got three rings and a gold pin to his neckcloth and a snuffbox, sir, and I’m carrying those until we gets to someplace I can sell ‘em and share out. Pistols and swords, too. Don’t go much on them breast-and-backs, sir, not now I seen ‘em in a fight. Pistol ball goes clean through except it comes from the side and bounces off. Stops a sword, I suppose, but I reckons we uses pistols more than a sticker… Anyway, the three they got between ‘em ain’t no use for having holes in ‘em. Four hosses what is good beasts. Only one got shot, what was lucky, and the one the old man was riding what won’t be walking free this season, sir. The two is yours, sir. Your man Rootes has got them on leading reins already.”

“Right, Corporal. You have everything well in hand. What do we do with the bodies?”

“Tell the grooms back at the big house where to find ‘em, sir. They ain’t no concern of ours.”

Micah agreed – the dead men had brought their fate upon themselves and he had no duty to them.

“Are we ready to go?”

“Five minutes, sir. Get ourselves tidied up and all dealt with.”

Corporal Perkins went off to collect his share of the spoils, the counting having finished, and Micah glanced inside the two purses that had come his way. The one was as fat almost as his fist but contained only silver, perhaps five pounds in shillings and half-crowns, which was still not, he thought, to be sneezed at. The other was leaner but had six gold pieces, one of which he recognised as a doubloon, the other five unknown but bigger and heavier, as well as some silver. He tucked them away in his saddlebag. The gold ring was too small for his fingers, his hands big and powerful from the quarry, he supposed.

“Rootes, will this fit you?”

It did, much to Rootes’ pleasure – it made him look like a gentleman, he thought.

Micah reported to Daniel.

“Job well done, Red Man. That’s a big scrape across your breastplate – gives you the look of a warrior, which you are, of course.”

“Not by choice, sir. They chose to single me out. My Corporal Perkins showed very well, sir. Could we make him sergeant?”

“Call him across.”

Perkins joined them, trotting eagerly, showing keen.

“Captain Slater has told me much that is good of you, Perkins. You are a sergeant as of now. Well done. Carry on as you have started and you can go higher. Can you read and write?”

“Sunday School, sir. At chapel. I ain’t the best with pen and paper but I can do all a sergeant needs.”

“Even better. Keep at it. Read a book or two to make you better with words. A good campaign – or a bloody battle – and you can be a lieutenant, if you wish to rise in the world.”

“I do that, sir. Pastor said as how I might stand in his shoes one day, but I can be a officer and a gentleman instead of a bible-thumper, sir. I’m your man, sir.”

“Well done, Sergeant Perkins. I shall not forget you.”

The pair watched as Perkins strode off, delight showing in his every pace.

“There are times when I can enjoy being an officer and able to do that sort of thing, Red Man. That’s a man whose life is to be far more than ever he hoped for, and I can be proud for making him. Help him as a sergeant, Red Man – he will make a fine officer with a few pointers. You will need followers when you are a major in command of your own regiment.”

“Only if the war lasts a few more years, sir.”

“Oh, it will do that, for sure! For the moment what do we do here, do you think?”

“Empty the stables of everything we can use and take the horses. Same for the kitchens and pantries. Are there waggons here, sir?”

“One four-horse dray and two farm carts for pairs. Eight good pulling horses and some riding stock and a pair of big shires for the plough. Good gun horses, the shires. If we can’t use them, there will be gunners who can.”

Micah had not thought about the needs of the artillery; he suspected he must do so if he was to rise in rank.

“I don’t see burning the house, sir. The people tried to flee rather than fight, so it would not be right.”

Daniel shook his head in mock dismay.

“How fortunate they are, Red Man. We should search for muskets as well. If he was to call his tenants to muster, then he might have put together the arms for a company, or more perhaps.”

They sent two of the ostlers off in a dog cart behind a pair of donkeys to pick up the bodies and then stripped the house of the valuables they could use on campaign.

“Left them a side of beef and a couple of sacks of flour, sir. They can pick up milk and butter from their own dairy. The children and womenfolk won’t starve, but they will need to work this summer if they are not to have a hard winter. They will still have their rents, if they can collect them.”

Daniel shrugged – they were not his concern.

“Back to Botley for tonight, Red Man, then to make ready for the road. We should march westwards in a couple of days.”

“Yes, sir. Found Swaythling’s armoury, sir, such as it was. Three score of pikes and precious little else. Half a dozen ancient swords for officers – more like old-fashioned rapiers from Queen Elizabeth’s day than anything I would wish to be fighting with. Some sailors’ cutlasses as well which we have put up in the carts. I’ve set a platoon to work with felling axes, taking the heads off the pikes, for the handles being inconveniently long to cart away. Make some firewood for the ladies!”

“Bring the pikeheads with us. Not easy to lay your hands on muskets and pistols when you live in the countryside, Red Man. I suspect as well that he was inclined to count his coppers. He is not so far from Southampton and it is possible to buy many things in any port town.”

They marched back to Botley, satisfied with their day’s work. They had taken no losses and had come away with a good store of provisions and the horse had money for a good week of roistering when next they had time off, those who were that way inclined. The more virtuous had cash in hand that would allow them to improve their lives, in some cases by paying their way on a ship to the Virginias when the fighting was over.

Sergeant Perkins was one of those who suspected that he might not stay in England when his discharge came.

“Carpenter, by trade, I am, sir. Two years out of my ‘prenticeship and a journeyman and soon able to be my own master. But I don’t fancy spending me life in London, building houses for them what got the money and tugging me forelock for the privilege of working for ‘em. Off to the Virginias, that’s for me, sir, and be me own man. All I needs is the money to buy passage for me and a young lady of me choice and off I shall go, as soon as the fighting’s over, that is. More than one or two others what thinks the same as me, sir. Can’t go back to crawling to a master, sir, and can’t be me own man here.”

It was enough to set Micah thinking. He knew what he did not want to be, and that was a labourer in a slate quarry. He had no idea of what he would do in his future, though he much wished to return to London, possibly to Catherine Bayliss - though not without money in his purse and a plan for their life. She was an attractive girl, he mused, possibly the more so for being one of the very few he had ever talked to… Distance was not making the heart grow fonder, he found, despite the old saying; he might have been mistaken. Perhaps he might just converse with one or two others, to discover if she had been more than a passing fancy. That was for another day; for the moment he must consider what he was to do with himself when the war was over.

He sat his horse as they marched the short distance to Botley and then leant back in the Bugle, a pint in his hand and considering all that he was and could be.

Making a living was the first concern, and the sole skill he possessed was that of the quarry, and he had no wish to hew stone for the rest of his existence. Perhaps he could put the money together to buy a quarry and hire men to work it for him – he did not know how much cash that would call for but suspected it would be no little sum. Other than that, he was able to fight at hand to hand, and better than most, but that was of small value when once the war ended.

He could stay in the standing army, perhaps – the country fought the Scots and the Irish quite frequently and the Spanish very often and the French at regular intervals, though not so much just lately.

Ships sailed overseas and often took fighting men with them. That might be a possibility - but was no way of settling down.

Daniel came into the barroom and sat down with a mug, relaxing before dinner.

“Major, what are we to do when the wars are over?”

“Why, Red Man, the wars are never over for our sort. There will be another fight somewhere. The Turk may need to be slapped down or there will be a garrison to hold in India – the merchant adventurers there are forever fighting the local tribes. If not, there are the Sugar Islands, which are beyond the Line and are never at peace. Failing that, there are wild Indians in the hills of the Virginias, or so they tell me. No, brother, when this business is over, then I shall pack my bags and look for the next – and I shall find a war quickly, I doubt not. Will you come with me?”

“I might well, you know, Major. I can think of little else for me.”

“There is nothing for the likes of thee and me, Red Man. We have found the one thing we do well and will stick with it till the day we die. Perhaps there will be a pretty face to divert us for a few weeks, a year or two, but our feet will grow restless and we shall seek the sound of the drum again, because that is what we are. We are not to grow old and content, sat next to our goodwives and laughing at the antics of the grandchildren – that is not for us. We shall be strapping ourselves into our harness and clambering creakily back onto our old warhorses and smiling as we sniff the powder in the air until eventually we move too slowly and a ball or sword comes with our name written on it. For our epitaph? ‘Silly old bugger did not know when to stop.’ I have said that myself beside more than one grave.”

“A bleak forecast, Major!”

“We are soldiers, Red Man. The happy ending is for other sorts of folk. Enough of this doom and gloom – what’s for dinner?”

“A goose, I am told, with gravy and good white bread and green beans.”

“What more can a man ask for? We march to Chandler’s Ford tomorrow and Romsey the day after, then work our way around the New Forest, which should supply us with a meal or two of venison. Let us enjoy our goose first.”

‘Eat, drink and be merry’ – as good a motto as any for a soldier man, Micah mused.

They struck camp and marched, waving farewell to the villagers and ignoring the cries of outrage from mothers whose daughters chose to tag on in the baggage train. A group of eight boys, youngsters barely starting to shave, came to Micah as he went to mount his horse.

“Begging thy pardon, Mr Red Man, sir.”

The spokesman knuckled his forehead, much abashed at daring to address the fiercest of the soldiers, as was well known.

“Me and the lads, sir, us wants to come with thee. As soldiers, sir. Couldn’t say before, like, as our mums and dads would ‘ave taken into us, leathered us good and proper if we stayed in the camp.”

“You are welcome, men. Sergeant Fletcher!”

Fletcher ran across, stamped to attention, making a show for the boys.

“Eight young men, Sergeant. Volunteers. Put their names on the payroll. Muskets, I think, not having the meat on their chests and shoulders yet to push a pike.”

“Yes, sir. You men come with me. You are soldiers now!”

Micah grinned, noticing the emphasis Fletcher had put on the word ‘men’ and seeing the boys swagger in response.

“What’s your name, young man?”

The spokesman blushed scarlet at such prominence, being the only one to name himself to the Red Man.

“Josh Gibbons, sir.”

“Good. Off you go now.”

The boys marched with their company, staring straight ahead and ignoring an irate young Gibbons sister telling her Joshua that he would be in trouble as soon as his dad heard what he’d done. Micah threw a fourpenny piece to the girl, said her brother would come back a man. He did not add that he might not come back at all – she could work that out for herself as she grew older.

Chapter Twelve

It was a simple straight line on the map, but to get from Botley to Chandler’s Ford and thus to the New Forest the battalion had to cross the valley of the River Itchen.

There were bridges in the town of Southampton and in Winchester, but the bulk of the valley was water meadow interspersed with unreclaimed marsh and with no obvious crossings. The Itchen ran close to the old canal, the Navigation, and routes were almost all north-south following the towpath; merchants used the valley to travel between the port and the ancient capital of England and then travelled east or west from the two towns, needing no crossing road in the middle.

A journey of an apparent ten miles become closer to twenty as the battalion was forced to march three parts of the way to Winchester before coming to the bridges at Shawford where the valley was pinched by the chalk Downs on the east and the gravels of the New Forest on the west. They were then able to turn back to the southwest.

“Rich lands, Red Man. Water meadows are just what milk cattle need. Cheese and cream to sell in the big towns with a canal to take them quickly to market. The farmers around here will carry their bellies before them!”

“So they may, Major. But I have a company and a troop of horse to pass quickly across this muddy bloody mess! Bugger the farmers!”

“Tut! Backsliding, Brother Red Man! I shall tell the pastor of thy wicked words!”

“Bugger the pastor too, sir!” Micah suddenly grinned. “I wonder how he is doing as a soldier? He insisted on leading his flock to war and was shouldering a pike when last I saw him in Stamford. Weightier than a prayer-book, I doubt not!”

Daniel shook his head at such levity.

“No doubt he has marched against the King’s garrison from Nottingham, Red Man. I have not heard what has happened there. They will have tried to push south to close in on London, or so I suppose. The King has it in mind that he can end the war by taking London and will not consider any other strategy. He might do better to secure the ports of the west and east of England and hold the land from Nottingham north to the Scottish border, taking stock there and bringing in arms and men from Holland and France and training up a strong army, but I much suspect he will push hard on London with forces that are still weak and raw.”

“I can live with his errors, sir. If he had ever been a sensible man, there would have been no war. He has brought this conflict upon himself and I can only hope that we can destroy him quickly, before too much harm is done to the country. He has never been a wise man and will not surround himself with the good and sensible of the land and listen to their sage advice. The pastor often said in reproof to us in chapel that ‘a fool and his money are soon parted’. Normally that was when a quarryman had been so rash as to buy a new dress for his wife – pastor did not approve of fancy clothes. In this instance, a fool and his kingdom are to be parted.”

“Better that the fool’s head and shoulders should be parted, Red Man. It will never be possible to persuade him to abdicate or to accept the power of Parliament – best that he should die and that his son should be taken in hand by carefully appointed tutors who can teach him the ways of virtue.”

“Rather a boring King than an arrogant idiot you would say, sir?”

“Exactly so. We soldiers can roister sufficiently to make up for the drabness of a virtuous court. Old England will still be the land of cakes and ale, as Shakespeare said so well, but the King will take no part in the jollities.”

Micah had not heard of Shakespeare and did not beg that his ignorance should be enlightened.

“The pastor and his ilk will not approve of such doings, sir.”

“Bugger them! We shall go across the seas and find a place where a soldier is appreciated, Red Man. For the nonce, let us get on with winning this war!”

They marched on Romsey and found a number of squires on their way. All of the country gentlemen took a single look at the half mile long column of footmen and the very fierce-seeming squadron of horse that walked at their head and discovered that they had always loved Parliament.

The first door they knocked at set the pattern.

“Tell me, Captain – what can I do with my taxes? I have held back my money for not knowing how best to send it to the proper place.”

Micah smiled at the pale-faced, pacific gentleman who addressed him, a man dressed more as a farmer in doublet and breeches than as one of the gentry, but clearly prosperous from the quality of the cloth on his back.

“Why, sir, I am permitted to accept tax receipts for Parliament and will write you a docket for them. It could be as well for you to pay some part of your dues in kind. Was you to deliver a fat bullock or two, or some sacks of flour perhaps, they could be deducted from the monies you owe. Were you able to encourage some of your men to march behind our colours, equipping them with strong shoes and jerkins and such, that would also count against your impost, and would display your loyalty. Have you perhaps a son or other young man who is at home on a horse who could bring sword and pistol to the ranks of my troop?”

“My younger sons might both ride with you, Captain, but they are men of birth and breeding, should not be mere troopers.”

“They will not remain so, sir. The army is to recruit many more troops of horse and young men with experience of riding to war will soon rise in the world, as they should.”

Unspoken was the acceptance by both that sending sons to the ranks of Parliament committed the squire to the cause. He could not later claim to have been a Royalist when he had bidden his boys to fight against the King.

“I have but two pistols, Captain.”

“We have some in our baggage train, having shot down the traitors who carried them. Likewise swords, but no breast-and-backs.”

“My grandfather and his brothers sailed out of Poole in earlier years, sir.”

Micah knew the correct response to make to this in the south of England.

“So did many of the best of our ancestors, Squire.”

“Well said, sir. The Spanish felt their strong right arms, I believe. I have their helmets and personal armour, sir, and their heavy swords, though not to match the blade you wear.”

“The backsword? A strong blade and one I have an affection for and have used on occasion.”

“The boys will join you inside the hour, Captain. I will order a pair of fat bullocks to your train as well. Was we to say thirty pounds sterling, in silver, sir?”

“Excellent, sir! Was you able to discover a strong ploughboy or two, we might well take five off that sum.”

The troop joined the march three hours later, four young men walking at their heels and two volunteer troopers waving farewell to indignant mother and sisters who had thought the family supported the King.

The end of the day saw a full platoon of green recruits learning the beginnings of the soldier’s trade while Sergeant Fletcher instructed six of young gentlemen in their commands.

“Most excellent, Red Man. Eight head of beef cattle; two sheep; six goats in milk and eleven sacks of flour. The men will eat well these next weeks. The sick will have milk to strengthen them. The regimental purse is better off by more than one hundred pounds which will allow us to make useful purchases in Poole or Salisbury, if we get there; Romsey will be too small a town to offer anything of value to us. There is much to be said for a rich and out of the way farming county.”

There was also twenty pounds apiece in their personal purses, that needing no mention.

The town of Romsey was also prosperous - but sullen. The feeling of the burgesses was for the King and they scowled mightily at the Parliamentary troops, not realising that hostility gave the regiment freer rein to mulct them.

“We would have taken proper taxes from our supporters, Red Man. From the disloyal, we may extract fines as well!”

Micah was inclined to wonder whether they should be so eager in their raising of money. Daniel assured him that it was nothing compared to what would have happened in the years overseas.

“They would have lost every penny in the Germanies, and their daughters as well. These folk do not know how well off they are, Red Man. Order the Mayor to call his councillors or aldermen or burgesses or whatever they name them here to come to session. They will also be the magistrates, all the authorities of the town in one.”

The Mayor was easily found. He was a fat little man and had donned his chain of office, to display his importance, was stomping along the High Street towards the group of officers assembled for orders at the market square. Micah intercepted him.

“I am Captain Slater of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment of Foot, in the service of Parliament. We are instructed to bring the county to the proper and peaceful service of the lawful authorities of the land. We also shall collect all outstanding taxes and such contributions of money and men as shall be available. I would expect all loyal men to dig deep into their pockets in this time of urgent need; to that end I would wish you to bring together the leading lights of the town at your town hall or such building as you habitually use. It is now eleven o’clock, I see, sir.”

Micah pointed to the clock tower, itself evidence of a prosperous little town.

“Shall we say for two o’clock, sir”

“I cannot be expected to drag busy men from their places in the middle of the day at the behest of a rabble of ignorant soldiery!”

“Oh, well, if that be so, do not bestir yourself, sir. We can do without your services. The men might prefer to sack the town. Major Carew!”

Daniel looked up from the group he had been giving orders to.

“His Worship the Mayor believes us to be an ignorant rabble, sir, and will not offer his peaceful cooperation.”

“He will not? How foolish of him. Take your horse in two parties, Captain Slater, and block the road in both directions so that none may escape the town. I shall give the orders to ransack every property.”

The Mayor changed his mind, begged them not to be precipitate, apologised for words spoken hastily and without proper thought.

“The burgesses can be assembled within the hour, sirs! I will send for them now. In the Town Hall, sir, which you may see not half a furlong distant.”

“Let it be so, Mr Mayor. The sack will commence by one of the clock if your council is not assembled and willing by that hour.”

The Mayor had turned bright scarlet, sweating under the not especially hot sun, stuttering in his eagerness to serve. He pledged himself to instant action. He ran, his white-stockinged legs twinkling under his breeches.

“There is money in this town, Red Man! The Mayor can spend out on cotton stockings, well dyed, not miserly wool!”

Micah had not noticed that detail, was much impressed by Daniel’s wisdom.

The two senior officers stood in front of the borough council assembled - eight well presented burgesses, each a tradesman of the town and wearing working clothes that were in no way worn or torn. There was a town clerk as well, sat at his own proper desk and with pen and ink and white paper to his front. The Mayor had a raised table, facing the eight. The room itself, the council hall, was nearly eighty feet long and fifty broad, panelled in New Forest oak, old and mellow, could be used for assemblies, and perhaps for town meetings if such might be called.

Daniel raised an eyebrow to the clerk who begged his worship to open proceedings.

The Mayor stood and rapped on the gavel to his front.

“The meeting is called to order. We have been brought to assemble to hear the extraordinary requests of the regiment of troops currently present in our town. Best the officers present should make them known to us to deliberate upon.”

Daniel stood forward.

“I am Major Carew, officer commanding the battalion in the service of Parliament. There has been complaint made of disloyalty against the town and I am here to pacify this part of the whole county. I have so far discovered the people of Hampshire to be well-affected towards Parliament and to oppose the man of blood, Charles Stuart. I much trust I shall find the same here, that the rumours of treason are false. I would wish to see taxes paid in full as evidence of loyalty and would be happy to accept voluntary contributions above and beyond such duties.”

The burgesses scowled, but none were stupid. They had thriving little businesses in the town and wished to survive in them, not to see their premises burned out and who knew what happening to their families. The oldest of them glanced about him, caught the eye of each in turn then nodded to the Mayor.

“Alderman Wiggins will wish to speak to this matter, Major.”

The Alderman was the wreck of a once powerfully built man, ancient now and gone to seed, back bent, but still with a deep, imposing voice.

“I am not one to bow to threat casually made, Soldier. Neither am I a fool. I can count. The better part of a thousand men under arms offer a menace that our small town cannot defy. I will not offer false protestations of loyalty. I will say that I am a woodworker and skilled in my mill and workshops and having knowledge of such. I know nothing of government and kingship and nor should I. It is not my business to interfere in the doings of my betters. I will not rise against my King – but neither will I die for him. It is not, I repeat, my business to fight for or against these people far away in London Town, a place I have never seen, nor ever shall I. I shall not fight thee, Soldier, and will pay such taxes as are meet, and a little more beside. I will tell thee straight, sir, should the King’s Party come under arms, I shall say the same to them. You are none of my business, I say again, and I call a plague on all who will march with sword and gun into my town – but, I shall not fight thee and will do my possible to ensure that none other in this town is so foolish as to do so.”

The old man stared defiantly at Daniel before sitting again.

Daniel laughed and shook his head.

“And that has put me in my place, sir! I think you will find that you will live more freely under Parliament than under the rule this foolish King was trying to create – but I am not here to argue such with you. I must take taxes – soldiers must be paid and guns and powder and provender bought – and Parliament needs more money to build ships as well. I want also your pledge that you will not send your sons to the King’s cause and will not prevent them volunteering to my band. I hope you will not find the King’s soldiers making the same demands of you, but I cannot predict the fortunes of war. I shall not come back in armed rage to call you traitor if you respond to the King as you have to me. To live is achievement enough in the times that are coming to this country. I shall make camp outside of the town tonight, and my men will not enter. Bring your contributions to us in the morning and we shall march peacefully.”

There seemed little need to reiterate what would happen if they did not pay up.

Micah walked back at Daniel’s side.

“What is the chance that some one of them will send a horseman off tonight to seek the aid of King’s forces, sir?”

“High, I would suspect, Red Man. I am inclined to hope so. There is no great army in these parts and we can deal with any small bands that may come our way, and it will do the officers good to fight again. They have a deal of learning still to do and there is nothing like the smell of powder to stir up men’s intellects. We shall march towards Wiltshire, according to the word from the people here. There are forces loyal to Parliament in Poole and the southern parts of Dorset, or there were just a few weeks since, and so we need to show our faces in the parts more urgent for the King.”

“We might well meet our enemy stirring towards us, you think, sir?”

“Better to do so than to have to try to find them, marching to every village in the hope of stirring them out. They could be at Mottisfont or Whiteparish, close to hand, or miles distant Devizes way. A cry for help bringing them to our hands will be far more convenient.”

“So it will. I had not thought of that.”

They made camp close to the River Test and waited for the townspeople to come to them. The first peddlers were in camp almost before they had lit their fires; curious boys, drawn to the sight of armed soldiers, followed soon after. Commercially-inclined girls of the town appeared after darkness fell.

The morning saw His Worship entering the camp, followed by two of the burgesses, a boy leading a donkey cart and two large labouring men with cudgels.

“I have made the collections, Major, as promised. We are not the richest of towns and money is short before harvest comes in.”

That was obviously true. Merchants came with their gold and silver to buy the brewers’ barley and millers’ wheat in July and August and others would arrive to purchase the apple crop later in the season; beef sold at the markets all through the late summer after fattening up. In June, coins were naturally short.

Daniel nodded cautiously; the strongboxes would not be wholly empty even so.

“We have put together one hundred and sixty pounds, mostly silver but with a deal of coppers too.”

“Hence the cart?”

“In part, sir. There are also a few of muskets in the town, and a round dozen of flintlock pistols. On discussion, we felt it wiser to have none of such rather than too few to defend the town. A hot-headed youth firing a musket at a soldier could set the whole town aflame. Better our hands are empty, we believe. The muskets and pistols and some fowling pieces and the powder horns and a pair of kegs and the ball and shot for them are all in the cart. We have kept the few blades we possess, they being less of a hazard to us.”

That seemed a wise act to Micah.

Daniel agreed.

“You are sensible indeed, Mr Mayor. Your town is far better protected without the instruments of temptation to hand. As you so rightly say, there is always the prospect that some silly boy might fire the shot that ruined the lives of all. On the topic of young men, foolish or otherwise, are there those who might profitably come to our ranks?”

The Mayor, a pompous little man perhaps, but a successful small-town shopkeeper, was astute enough to pick up on the word ‘foolish’. There were several youths who merited that description, youngsters who would not learn a trade or settle down as day-labourers and who would, sooner or later, come before the bench of magistrates and be given a flogging and eventually either come to the noose or be sent off to sea or to servitude in the quarries down at Portland. It might be simpler to get rid of them now, into the ranks of the army, out of the way of decent folks.

“If, perhaps, sir, you was to send a few of your men and an officer with me, we might lay hands upon a few lads who would be better employed in your ranks than in hanging about the town…”

“Captain Slater! A recruiting gang, if you would be so good. A platoon and a good sergeant and some lengths of rope, perhaps.”

It took a very few minutes, Sergeant Driver having a very good idea of how such a party should be organised.

“A long rope, sir, the lucky young men who are to join us to have their hands secured and a length of cord tied to them and to the rope so they can march along in line. They say as how some shackle them by the neck, but that seems cruel to me, sir, for a stumble could strangle them. Wasteful as well.”

They followed the Mayor into the few back alleys of the little town and into hovels that he specified. It was mid-morning and the idlers were mostly still abed, or lying in ragged pallets, more correctly. Nine youths were hauled out in quick order, their ears cuffed when they complained too loudly, their backsides kicked when they would not march. The womenfolk – mothers and sisters for none could afford a wife – wailed a little, but not too loudly, for idle mouths were no great loss to them.

One foolish boy found the need for braggadocio, shouted that his mother need not weep for him, he would soon be back; the soldiers could not keep the likes of him for long.

“Keep your eye on that one, Sergeant Driver.”

“I got him, sir. He shall learn the error of his ways, see if he don’t!”

“Well done, Sergeant. Do you think we should crop an ear? To mark him so that any constable will know him as a runaway, if he should go?”

“Not yet, sir. Give him the chance to knuckle down to the life. Besides, sir, a man can always grown his hair long to hide the top of an ear cut off. Better to slit the nostrils, sir – ain’t no way of hiding that a man’s had either side of his nose cut open up to the bridge, sir.”

“I’ve never seen that, Sergeant.”

“Not so common in England, sir. Saw it more than once in the Germanies. They still have serfs there in some places and one of them who runs has his nose slit – makes them look like pigs’ snouts, sir, hanging back open. Gave us a laugh more than once!”

That needed a stronger sense of humour than Micah possessed. It had an effect on the big- mouthed boy, however; he turned pale and clamped his teeth determinedly shut.

The Mayor swallowed back the bile and hoarsely agreed that the measure would certainly mark any villain for life.

“Excessive, I believe, Mr Mayor – but these are hard times we live in today. We shall march this afternoon, on the Salisbury road is our current intent. There is little to attract us in the New Forest itself, unless you might suggest one of the small places there that might benefit from our attentions?”

His Worship could not imagine that any town would be said to benefit therefrom. He knew nothing of the towns of the Forest – they looked towards Poole, he said, while Romsey traded with Winchester and Southampton almost entirely.

“The Forest is short of lordships, Captain. There are few manors there, because of its nature as a hunting preserve. I cannot think that the little folk will be of any great interest to you and the towns of Brockenhurst and Lyndhurst and Lymington are tiny places, Beaulieu even smaller. There is Hurst Castle, down at the Solent, but of that I know nothing, not even whether it is garrisoned. Best indeed that you march across towards Salisbury, which is a rich town, comparable with Winchester.”

Micah was prepared to wager that the Mayor knew of troops towards Salisbury and would be happy to see the regiment meet up with them. He suspected he would feel the same if his coffers had just been emptied by the soldiery.

“March this day, Major?”

“We can put ten miles in this afternoon, Red Man, and remove our happy recruits from their homelands. They will not have strayed five miles from town in their lives, will be lost by the time we have marched three hours.”

The land was heavily wooded and the lanes wound between the oak and beech plantations so that visibility was rarely as much as a furlong. There was little undergrowth between the trees and ambush was unlikely; a charge of cavalry down the road was well feasible.

“Might be half a minute between seeing them and receiving the charge, Red Man. Lead with a company of pikes, marching in fours. Muskets behind them, the sergeant to keep a length of match lit against immediate need; we cannot afford every man to stay lit – that would waste a hundred yards and more of match on the afternoon. We have not got so much that we can throw it away on maybes.”

Micah nodded and called his orders.

“What to do with your troop is the problem, Red Man. There is an argument for holding you to the rear to counter-charge after the enemy has hit home; equally, you might be useful well to the fore, seeking out the foe.”

“I had rather lead, sir. I am not one to hang back, even when perhaps I should.”

“So be it, Red Man. Take your troop out in front, not more than two or three miles ever and falling back on the column at intervals to be sure that all is well with us.”

“What will you do with the baggage, sir?”

“Keep it in the column rather than lagging behind. One company of pikes to the very rear and another of mixed and then the train, and the captains to know to prick the waggons on. We cannot afford to lose them or to be separated.”

Micah took the troop forward in pairs, the lanes being narrow; four abreast would have risked a trooper stumbling into the shallow ditch to the verge and laming his horse.

“Send a pair ahead as scouts, Fletcher. Not to go too far distant – two furlongs or so. Able to see round the next bend in the lane. If they come across the enemy, either fall back on us or fire a shot and flee into the woods, depending on what is possible.”

They walked the horses; there was little point in getting too far ahead of the marching column.

“Road is rising, sir. Climbing a bit of a hill. Likely to be more open on top.”

“Halt where the trees end. Keep ourselves in cover while we look out over the countryside ahead.”

Fletcher had been about to suggest the same, was glad to see that his ferocious but still green captain was learning the trade.

“Scouts coming back, at the canter, not a full gallop.”

Micah translated that to mean that they had seen something of interest rather than immediate danger. He raised an arm to call the troop to a halt, waited for the scouts to arrive.

“Down yonder, sir, in the bit of a vale on t’other side of the hilltop. Fields either side of a bit of a stream. Down to the plough except for them what’s fallow. Enclosed land, not champion, what ain’t been so much seen round these parts. Not by me, any roads. Bit of a village with a little church too poor to have a spire, sir. Not much of a place. Can see down into it, two farmyards with barns and a couple of troops of horse settled down between the pair, half to each. Too far to tell what sort they are, whether it be heavy horse, dragoons like, or more like mounted infantry, sir. Got cook fires going in the yards, so they’re camped for the night. Didn’t see no sentries, sir; could be they’re hidden up in the lofts and looking out from on high. Might be they’re slack and don’t see no need to be alert, sir. Full quarter of a mile of open hillside to get down to ‘em, sir. Bound to be seen, and pretty rough going for a night ride.”

The other scout agreed.

“Can’t get down unseen, sir. Couldn’t see no way round, neither. No other lanes or tracks coming out of the woods on the downhill. Bit of a bridge over the stream and couldn’t see no other for a ways east or west. Whiles they stay there, we ain’t going to winkle ‘em out without guns, sir. From the looks of them, they only got there a little time back. Might be, they going to ride out in the morning.”

The decision would have to be made by the major.

“Send a man back to Major Carew, Fletcher. Beg him to ride up and inspect our discovery. Explain what it is.”

“Best these two should go, sir – they seen it all.”

Micah nodded, sent the scouts back.

Daniel arrived within the half hour and went forward with Micah to inspect the scene. He came back mildly irritated.

“A single troop of horse. No more than sixty or seventy men and sufficient to hold us up in our march. They can do three things in the morning – ride back, come forward or stay put. If they go back we shall have to proceed cautiously, for not knowing where they may stop. If they come on, we shall meet them here in the woods and put an end to them – we far outnumber them. If they are such a nuisance as not to move at all then we are faced with the same problem as we have now and with twelve hours wasted.”

“Best we put a stopper on their capers, sir. Not now – some would certainly escape us and raise the whole countryside, or whatever troops there are in it.”

“Agreed. We cannot show ourselves in broad daylight.”

Micah suspected Daniel was trying to make him think, to use his brain on the problem, and was offering a hint.

“Two choices, sir. We might charge in the dawn, before they are wide awake. Otherwise, a night escalade is the possibility.”

“Which?”

Micah was silent, considering the advantages of each course; a couple of minutes and he had decided.

“Night, sir. On foot and not with the dragoon troop. My company of muskets in two parts. In front, myself and say two score, twenty with me to one farmyard and the remainder with Eglinton to attack the other. Those forty not to have their muskets but with blades only. The sixty remaining with match lit but hidden, to run past the yards to the other side of the village and block the road there, facing inwards to pick up runners. They can come to the aid of either of the attacking parties at need. Say two hours before dawn. The cooks will not be moving at that time, though they would rise soon after. The dragoons to be ready and to come downhill just as soon as there is light for them. The regiment to follow as practical.”

“That sounds best to me, Red Man. Do you wish your men to carry pistols? The dragoons could give them two apiece.”

Micah shook his head.

“Not in the black of night, sir. Wiser they should not be shooting blind. Give me a few minutes to think the business out, sir, and I will give you a final plan for the night.”

“Do that. I will halt the regiment back in the woods, downhill far enough that cookfires will not be seen. Keep your people here. I will send your company forward when they have eaten. You can pass the dragoons back then, to use the hidden fires.”

Micah set the horsemen to scouring the woodland for dead branches and twigs, had them make bundles of wood that should flare quickly when dropped on the coals of a cookfire banked overnight.

They ate army hasty stew, boiled over an open fire for no more than an hour. It was better than going hungry, but not by a lot.

“What was in the pot, Rootes?”

“Dried mutton, sir, smoked over the fire for a few days and kept overwinter in a cold shed. Onions and turnips besides, sir. A bit of greenstuff – burdock and dandelion leaves, for them being good for a man’s health, as is well known. Stuck in boiling water and left to it as long as can be, sir.”

“God help my poor innards, Rootes!”

“All in a good cause, sir. Sentries are set, sir, and know to wake you up at moonset, that being a couple of hours before first light, sir.”

“I’ll get some sleep, Rootes.”

Micah had the feeling that Rootes would have been upset by any other answer.

Rootes woke him at the set time.

He joined the men at the pit they had dug back in the trees and readied himself for a day’s violent activity. Rootes had provided him with a handful of broad dock leaves for his convenience. Micah grinned quietly, having heard the tales of officers who were disliked and discovered stinging nettles hidden inside the dock plants. No such misadventure befell him and he stepped out to lead his men unscathed.

“Mr Eglinton?”

“Here, sir. All of my men present and correct, sir.”

“Mr Halleck?”

“I have my sixty, sir. When do I light the match, sir?”

Micah thought quickly.

“On entering the village, after you cross the stream.”

“Very good, sir.”

He called out to his own twenty, selected the night before.

“Here, sir. All present, sir.”

“Good.”

He raised his voice, still not too loud.

“You all know what to do. Exactly as I told you last night. March downhill keeping together and silently. Go with God! My people, follow me!”

Eglinton waited until the twenty had filed past him and called his own men onto the track. Halleck counted off sixty seconds, as he had been ordered and marched his own men after the first attackers.

Chapter Thirteen

The track was rough underfoot. Fist-sized sharp stones stuck out every yard, an inch or two proud, enough to catch a man’s heel as he walked. Men stumbled every minute, it seemed, but they were disciplined sufficiently not to cry out. Micah was content with his decision; had he ridden there would have been screaming horses with broken legs raising the alarm before they were halfway down the slope.

They heard the stream before they saw it, slowed to cross the bridge.

“Silent! Don’t thump your boots down on the wooden planks!”

The men shuffled across and Micah led his party to the nearer farmyard.

“Fires, sir!”

He peered over the waist-high fieldstone wall, saw men stirring up a pair of cookfires. Perhaps they were to march early, were to eat before dawn. There were four men working the fires, two tending while another pair took an axe to branches they had gathered the previous evening. They were thirty feet distant from the wall, would be able to shout an alarm before their throats could be cut.

“Can you see Mr Eglinton’s people?”

“They was on our heels, sir. Went straight on past us.”

That was the instruction given; they were to attack immediately on arrival at their yard, perhaps two minutes further up the lane. Micah counted slowly to one hundred before giving his order.

“Line up on the wall… Go!”

Micah scrambled over the stones and ran, was at least ten feet in before the first cook heard a noise and started upright to see what was happening. The cook began to shout.

“Wake up! Up! Attackers upon us! Wake…”

Micah swung the backsword, slashed into his throat, heard the others falling as his men reached them. He ran towards the farmhouse, Rootes and two others at his heels.

The farmhouse door was barred but not especially strong. Micah rammed his shoulder into the door next to the frame and it sprang open, wooden bar clattering onto the floor. He burst into the room, found a man who had been sleeping on the floor and was stumbling to his feet. Micah jerked a knee, hard, then rammed the hilt of the heavy sword into his face as he doubled over and swung round, sword outstretched down to his right, the back of the blade crunching into another unready figure, waking up slowly from deep sleep, coming to his knees.

“On the stairs!”

Rootes’ voice yelling the warning.

Micah hauled a pistol from his belt, left-handed and clumsy, thumbed back the hammer and pointed to the movement, to an idiot holding up a lit candle and trying to distinguish what was happening and making a target of himself. The room was a chaos of shouting and screaming and a thick and particularly loud voice yelling from close to his feet.

“My nose! My bloody nose!”

Micah squeezed the trigger, felt the pistol buck in his hand and saw the figure with the candle slowly double over on himself, falling onto the little flame.

The crash of the shot, deafening in the little room, silenced the wailing man.

“Get a bloody lantern, Rootes!”

Micah jumped across the room, hurdling a pair of bodies writhing on the floor and landing on a third, the man he had just pistoled; he screamed, weakly.

Crouching on the bottom stair he made out vague, cautious movement at the top.

It was a single flight, straight up to an open loft rather than sleeping chambers. There could be three or four men up there still… He fumbled the empty pistol back into its holster, thinking he should have done that before he moved. He pointed the second pistol up and fired, heard a crashing as the shot blew tiles off the roof. He drew a third before running up, bellowing at the top of his voice, sword held out in front of him.

A thin voice squeaked and cried out.

“Surrender! Quarter! Mercy! Don’t kill me!”

“Or me!”

A third quavering little whisper came from the other corner.

“My hands are up!”

Micah suddenly found the whole affair funny, had to force back the laughter. He managed his fiercest voice.

“Strike a light or die!”

“I will, I will!”

There was a sudden clatter.

“I’ve dropped my tinderbox!”

“Pick it up then, prick!”

One of the figures scrabbled on the floor and then made a performance of striking flint and steel and blowing hard on the tinder and lighting a little spill which he touched to a lantern hanging at the back wall.

The flickering light strengthened and showed one older man in drawers and undershirt and two youths in breeches and shirtsleeves, all pressed back against the wall, hands at shoulder height, heads bent forward under the low roof. There were four pallets.

“Weapons?”

“On our coats, sir.”

Micah followed the pointing finger, spotted four swords and a collection of pistols in the corner, next to the chimney breast.

“Downstairs, now. Rootes! Three prisoners coming down!”

“Got ‘em, sir.”

Micah followed the three and ran out into the yard. He had been inside for nearly five minutes, or so it felt, far too long away from the main business of securing the bulk of the men in the yard and barn and stables. The cook fires were blazing bright, dry wood flaming high.

“Driver?”

“Got ‘em all, sir. Threw a lit torch into the barn in front of us and held ‘em as they come running out yelling ‘fire’. Put it out before it caught the barn alight, sir.”

“Well done, man! Clever!”

Sergeant Driver nodded. He knew that, was glad to see his officer recognise his virtue.

“How many?”

“Thirty, sir. Nigh on forty horses in the stables and picketed outside, sir. Counts for the officers and their men inside, sir.”

“Good. Heave them out from the house. Should be three or so wounded and one stiff, unless he’s lucky. Be kind to them or they’ll swoon, Driver – not the most martial of gentlemen!”

“They’re out, sir. Rootes has kicked them through the door.”

Micah glanced behind him, saw the party from the house being manhandled into the light, heard the laughter at the skinny-legged older officer in his underclouts.

“Likely to be their captain or major, Driver. Throw his breeches to the poor old fellow – not the most handsome of sights!”

A couple of minutes passed and Rootes came out with breeches and coats, having taken the opportunity to run his hands through their pockets first. He ducked back into the farmhouse and came back dragging one dead man.

“Hit him clean, sir. Right in the middle of the belly. Left-handed as well. Good shooting, sir!”

“Good luck as well.”

“Anything from Mr Eglinton’s farm, Driver?”

“A few pistol shots, sir, then I heard the muskets fire two platoon volleys, sir. Went quiet after that.”

“Untidy. I hope they didn’t kill too many horses. We could use extra mounts.”

“Never heard no screams, sir. You know the noise horses make when they’re hit, so I reckon they weren’t touched. Runner coming, sir, down the road. Hear his boots clattering.”

“Get ready in case he’s one of them trying to escape.”

The runner turned into the yard, came across to the fires.

“Message from Mr Eglinton, sir. Farm is taken, sir. Eighteen prisoners and seventeen dead and wounded. Lost six of ours and seven more hurt, sir.”

Micah whistled – that was too many for a small skirmish.

“Go back to Mr Eglinton. He is to hold the taken men and secure the horses and all weapons. Feed our men a breakfast from stores there. Be ready to move out at first light.”

The soldier repeated the message and then trotted off.

“See what you can work up by way of grub for ours, Sergeant Driver.”

“Yes, sir. Got our people looking for their stores, sir. Can’t use their cooks seeing as how we topped the lot when we come over the wall, sir.”

“It happens, Sergeant. What are the figures?”

“Running a count now, sir. None of ours dead, I know. Might be some with scratches and stuff. Of theirs – four cooks and the one you shot, sir, stiffed. Wounded, looks like three from the house, sir.”

“One of them took a thumping to the face and another was rapped over the head by the back of my sword. Rootes did for the third.”

Examination of the three showed two dead and one with his nose spread across half of his face; the man with the broken nose was clutching his groin and his face alternately, unsure which injury was worse.

“The one what you hit with the blunt bit of the sword has got a dent in his forehead you could put half a hand in, sir. He ain’t going noplace after that, sir. Good old sword that one! Rootes put a blade through the other bugger’s chest, sir – in and out the other side.”

“Very good. Neat and tidy work – just what we are looking for. What’s for breakfast?”

Inspection showed that the troopers had butchered and spitted two of the farmer’s pigs on the previous night and had been proposing to finish the meat together with a cask looted from the village beerhouse and bread they had brought with them for breakfast.

“Cooking up something hot for the officers, looks like, sir.”

“Typical! That’s what the King’s Men are likely to do all the time. Don’t see them sharing with the men. What about the farmer? Have you seen anything of him?”

There was no sign of the man, though inspection of the house as it grew lighter revealed the clothes of a small family.

“Ran off and left them to it, by the looks of it, sir.”

“Sensible man, Sergeant. No place to be with forty troopers billeted on you.”

Micah looked about the little farmhouse, decided it was a poor sort of place.

“What you get when the land’s still held in the old way, sir. Likely that the farm don’t belong to the farmer, sir. Chances are he pays a share of the crop – half and more – to the lord of the manor in exchange for use of the yard and barns and his acres. No money for a house and the lord don’t care he lives like an animal. Two rooms, sir, one up, one down and all the family to live in them.”

Micah knew now why Sergeant Driver had gone to the wars, and why he was fighting against the King and his land-owning followers.

“There is no justice for the little man in this country, Sergeant. Perhaps if we get rid of this King we may make a few changes.”

“Not much chance of that, sir. The rich will still tread on the poor. But, if we do the work right, there won’t be so many of the rich left alive!”

“Perhaps, Sergeant. Send a man back on one of the horses to tell Major Carew that all is well and he should bring the regiment down.”

“Done it, sir. Saddling up now.”

“I must go up the road to see Mr Eglinton.”

“Take an escort with you, sir. No sense being on your own when there’s a chance that a few of them might have escaped and be sneaking about trying to find a way to someplace safe. Ride, sir, even if it’s only a furlong or so.”

‘Don’t keep a dog and bark’ – sergeants existed to be listened to; it could never be right to wantonly disregard a sergeant’s advice.

“Rootes, you and two, please. We are to ride up to see Mr Eglinton.”

Ten minutes and four of the taken horses had been saddled and were ready.

“Good horse, this one, sir.”

Rootes pointed to the tall, dark stallion he had picked out for Micah.

“Officer’s horse, got to be.”

Sergeant Driver nodded.

“German breeding, sir. Black horse, they called them sometimes. Standing tall at the shoulder and good for a day on the march and give you a charge at the end of it. Hey, Schwartzer!”

The stallion nickered and turned towards Driver, recognising the name.

“Lots of ‘em got called that, sir, being as that’s the word for black. Came back with an English officer, I’d bet.”

Micah put a hand out, patted the big horse’s neck.

“You’re mine, Schwartzer. Come on, let’s go.”

The stallion allowed Micah to mount and showed quietly responsive to the rein.

“Behaves well, Sergeant.”

“Cost a load, sir. Always get the best of grooms and training to them black horses, most often, that is.”

One of the boy prisoners ventured a protest.

“I say there! That’s my horse, you know!”

A faggot of firewood swiped casually between his shoulders, knocked him face down in the mud. A loud voice called him to get up and stop lazing about. A hand hauled him upright and pushed him back into line.

“That was your first mistake, mister. You want to make a second?”

The boy stayed silent.

“Clever lad! See, you can learn sense, can’t you.”

Micah looked across to the source of the disturbance.

“Corporal Perkins, that is no way to treat a prisoner.”

“No, sir.”

“He is an officer and a gentleman and must not be thumped as if he were a common soldier. If he steps out of line again, shoot the bastard!”

There was a shout of laughter and Corporal Perkins was heard promising to obey his captain.

Micah tapped the black horse with his heels and they moved out of the yard, Micah berating himself for allowing the word ‘bastard’ to sully his lips. He had never said anything like that before.

Five minutes later, listening to Eglinton he was much inclined to use the word again. The boy lieutenant had made a cock of it, had lost the advantage of surprise and had allowed his men to be killed unnecessarily. Micah had thought the task to be simple but it had been beyond the youngster’s powers; the mistake was his, he should not have made such a misjudgement.

“We shall talk it over later, Mr Eglinton. For the moment, what is the position here?”

“We took five-and-thirty horses, sir. None of the mounts injured, sir, and none lost. We killed or took thirty-five men, sir, so the figures are right. Two officers dead and fifteen of the men either killed or like to die from wounds, sir. Eighteen more or less unharmed prisoners, sir; cuts and bruises at most. Twelve of those prisoners are youngsters, sir, who did not try to fight. They say they were taken from their villages over the last two days and forced to ride with the troop, sir. I have put them to one side.”

“What of their horses?”

“Their own, sir, or their fathers’ more likely. They come from the better-off local folk. They said that there was a regiment of foot as well that was picking up young men who had no horse.”

“Where?”

“Gone marching back towards Chippenham, they said, sir. The cavalry was making a sweep out further than the foot would risk.”

“Keep them to one side. Tell them to pick out their own horses and saddle up. Watch them to make sure they know what they’re doing and are not trying to lie to us. Major Carew must make a decision about them. What of the other six?”

“One cornet, sir, and five troopers. All of the men are experienced in war, I would say. The cornet’s name is Holmes, he tells me. A real bloody fool, sir!”

Micah laughed, asked why that might be.

“He has been making threats, sir. He is an important man. His father is a lord. He will see us hunted down and shot, every last one of us, if we do not instantly release him.”

“You’re right, Eglinton. It’s a fool indeed who makes threats when his hands are bound and he is a prisoner. Again, I’ll give him into Major Carew’s care.”

“About our own men, sir. I didn’t know what to do when they fired back and waited too long to make my mind up to charge. They should not have died, sir.”

Eglinton was close to tears. That had to be stopped if the men were ever to follow him again; an officer who broke down and wept was finished.

“You know your mistake, Mr Eglinton. Don’t do it again. If you do, put yourself to the front and don’t come back. For now, you have lost your men’s confidence and it is up to you to regain it. You are their leader and you must be seen at the fore shouting ‘follow me’. You will have the chance to redeem yourself next time we go into a fight. Take that chance and do not let your men down a second time. I made you an officer because I trusted you; I still do. Any man can make one mistake. Remember that when an officer makes an error, it is commonly his men who die for it. Off you go now. Ensure the men are fed and that they are ready to march out when the time comes. Mr Halleck, here, please!”

The senior lieutenant had been waiting the call.

“What have you noticed, Halleck?”

“The men are carrying little by way of fodder for the horses and nothing for their own rations. I think they are to return to their base today, sir. Two dead officers were dressed in new uniforms, sir. New in the field. The cornet is loud-mouthed and wholly unlearned as a soldier. Freshly raised troops, a mix of men who have fought overseas and locally raised greenhands. Still short on numbers, I would say. I think this might be a regiment, not a single troop of cavalry. Making a ride through the countryside, a sweep to pick up horses and men.”

“You could well be right at that. We have an older officer – their major or colonel, I expect – and a pair of youngsters. Have you seen any of the villagers?”

Halleck shook his head.

“Run; hiding up in the church; dead – could be any of the three, sir.”

“If they are dead, the prisoners are going to the noose. The officers and sergeants, that is. Bring those youngsters over here, the ones newly forced into the ranks. They can lead their horses.”

“What happened to the local folk?”

One of the boys raised a hand.

“Beg pardon, sir. We were kept at the rear, sir. Under guard. They didn’t call us prisoners, but there was a sergeant and four of the older men watching us and they had pistols and we don’t. They gave us straight swords, sir, and said they would teach how to manage them on horseback when we got back to camp, which is over towards Devizes, so they said, sir. John White said he was not going to join them, sir, when they took him up, and they tied him to a post in the village – Larkhill, that is - and flogged him, sir. A hundred lashes as a traitor, they said. They left him for dead when we rode out and I did as I was told, sir.”

“You cannot be blamed for that, young man. You say you did not see what happened when they came here yesterday?”

“No, sir. I don’t think it was anything bad, sir. They weren’t talking about doing anything when we were brought into the farm here, sir. If they had killed them, or anything else with the girls, they would have been talking about it, I think.”

Micah was impressed by the lad’s sense.

“Well thought. What’s your name?”

“Parsons, sir. Henry. My father has an estate over towards Larkhill and Knighton Down, sir. I am second son and the soldiers said I must join as I was the right sort to be a King’s Man. My father did not want me to go; he told me to keep my eyes open and use my common sense to get away when I could and if I could not, to do as I was told.”

“He sounds like a clever man. I shall speak with my commander, Parsons, and tell him what I know of you and the others beside you. I do not know what he will decide. He is not a cruel man.”

Micah nodded and turned away as Sergeant Driver called from the road.

“Sir! Got a vicar here, sir. Come to the yard just now and asked for an officer so I brought him along to you.”

“Well done, Driver.”

Micah turned to the man in clerical bands, little older than himself, obviously screwing up his courage to speak to the ferocious soldiery.

“What can I do for you, sir? Do you have the village folk in your care? I cannot discover what has happened to them and fear for the poor people.”

“They are in the church, sir. The Lord protected all in his mercy.”

“Good. They will have lost much, I do not doubt. They have their lives and will not suffer more at our hands. I am Captain Slater. Major Carew, the commanding officer, will be here within minutes, I would expect.”

“I will speak to him, Captain. It would be to the benefit of the villagers was some of the horses to be left behind, that they might be sold at the Salisbury horse fair to make recompense for their losses.”

“I do not doubt that it would, sir. We need the horses to mount more troopers to go to war against the man of blood, Charles Stuart. I much fear that your request will be refused.”

Daniel agreed – the horses could not be spared.

“Should any be sick or lame, you might keep them and bring them to fitness, sir. Otherwise, the needs of war come first.”

The vicar shook his head sadly, suggested that the officers might have been carrying coins that could be passed into the villagers’ hands.

Daniel laughed.

“They might well have had purses, master vicar, but they will have fallen into their captors’ hands. I shall see nothing of them, and nor, I fear, will you. Soldiers are not inclined to relinquish their loot, however sad they may be at the sight of the destitute in your flock. Be thankful that your people live, sir. There are many who will not be so fortunate. Should any of your younger men wish to join our ranks, I shall pay a small bounty to their kinsfolk remaining here. Not a great deal – I do not possess it myself. I could find perhaps eight full crowns – silver coachwheels – for each man who became a soldier.”

It seemed clear that the village was too poor to supply troopers with their own horses.

The vicar shook his head, unwilling to send men away, possibly to die, almost certainly never to return; soldiers who had seen the wide world were unlikely to come back to a poor village. There was little alternative. Crops had been trampled and pigs had been slaughtered and the villagers would be hard pressed to bring in a harvest sufficient to survive the next winter.

“I will speak to some of the families, Major.”

“Tell them that their men will be given warm clothing and boots for their feet, and that they will march under my command and that of the Red Man, who is known to many. They will be fed and will have the chance to pick up a penny or two besides – and they will fight for the right and can be sure of the Kingdom of God if they fall.”

The cause was an afterthought – poor and illiterate villagers knew nothing of Parliament or King, and their lives would be unaffected by the victory or defeat of either.

“What of these forced recruits, sir? Should we make them prisoner or offer them the chance to join us or simply send them home again under pledge of good behaviour?”

Daniel was unsure.

“They have been poorly treated, it would seem from all you say, Red Man. The thing is, troopers have horses and that means the chance to quietly disappear and be ten miles distant before they are missed, perhaps. Desertion is far easier for the man on horseback. There is little gain to forcing them into our ranks – not like the foot soldier who cannot easily get away.”

“And hence the flogging of the poor fellow who shouted his mouth off unwisely – to strike fear into the hearts of his companions. I would not wish to be part of that, sir.”

“It was unwise, Red Man. That is the way for an officer to end up with a pistol bullet in his back. You have spoken to these youngsters. Ask them to join and give them permission to go home if they prefer – but without their horses. We need the nags. If they leave, then a writing under their signature that they will not go to war for the King – which might frighten them into good behaviour in future years.”

“If I join, Captain, will I be a trusted man, one who might be promoted one day?”

“If you ride with me, Henry Parsons, then it is as one of my troopers, on the same terms as every other. Show able, you may soon become a lieutenant; show cowardly, you may dangle in a noose. We are at war, as you know, and you could die tomorrow – or you could be a victorious officer, well rewarded by Parliament at the end of this bloody affair. The end you achieve will be to a great extent of your own making. I would wish you and all of your friends in the like situation to come to war at my back – and you will be a trooper like every other.”

“Then I shall join with you, sir. Johnny White was my good friend and should not have been treated so. We sat in dame school side by side and I will not forgive those who left him dangling, no more than a flayed side of meat!”

It was as good a reason as any to go to war.

The others decided to follow as well, but probably more for being unwilling to walk back home without their fathers’ horses.

The vicar brought four young men to the ranks and left with the eight pounds he had been promised and two more besides from Micah’s pocket, he having noticed a number of joints of fresh pork tucked away on the company waggon and suspecting that another one or two of the farmer’s pigs had come under the butcher’s knife.

The officer prisoners were a problem – they refused to give their parole. Daniel offered them their freedom consonant on their signing a pledge never to serve against Parliament, but they would not. The old colonel swore that he would ride for the true King at the first opportunity. That meant they must be held prisoner, which required them to be taken to a safe city such as Portsmouth where there were facilities for prisoners. To do that meant to send an escort with a horse and cart, probably to be gone for a fortnight and having no knowledge of where the battalion might have marched the while.

“I am tempted to hang them, Red Man. That would get them out of my way!”

Micah shook his head – he could not see that as right.

“Best they should march behind the foot, sir… Better yet, with the baggage train. Hands tied so that they may not escape and a rope to each neck and tied to a waggon so that they may not fall behind. A day or two marching in such fashion and they may well reconsider their parole, sir.”

“So they may, Red Man, and all done legitimately without torture or coercion.”

“Better treatment than they offered to the boy White at Larkhill, sir. They flogged him near to death for refusing to join them. If he did not die – and young Henry Parsons did not know that for sure – then he will likely never be a strong man again.”

“Cruel of them. I will deal with them fairly.”

Daniel called the four officer survivors before him

“You have refused parole. That is your choice. You will be held prisoner, marching with the baggage train until we reach the village of Larkhill. Once there, you will be given into the custody of the White family, to do with as they will.”

“White? Who are they? I know not of such a family.”

The colonel was puzzled, could not understand Daniel’s purpose.

“The son of the family refused to ride with you, sir. You had him flogged almost to death and left him hanging, bleeding on the village green. It is only just that I return you to their care.”

“I did what was right! He defied the summons of his King.”

“No doubt the family will do to you only what they consider right. Take them away, Red Man.”

Micah had them led to the baggage and oversaw his men as they tied them into line behind the waggons.

“Do not fall, gentlemen. The waggons will not stop for you.”

He turned then to the remaining prisoners, waiting in some terror to hear their fate.

“Take your boots off! Now!”

They obeyed, unable to see why but frightened to refuse.

“You have a choice. You may carry musket or pike in our ranks – in which case, put on your boots. If you prefer, you can walk away, without boots and penniless.”

One of the older men called out nervously.

“I walks off, they villagers going to scrag I, master! I ain’t got no way to look after meself.”

“Your problem.”

“Wait a minute, master, whiles I puts me boots on again. Take I a minute or two. I be going for a soldier with thy men, sir.”

The captive sat down in the grass and wrapped his foot cloths tidily before setting his feet into his riding boots and stamping them into place.

“Begs permission to serve with thee, sir.”

“Granted. Join us and if you show loyal, you will be given a horse in time. For now, go to the pike company to your front.”

A second raised a hand, painfully.

“I’se a bit cut up like, master, across me back where one of you blokes swiped I wi’ a sword. Didn’t do more nor nick me a bit but I ain’t in the way of carryin’ no pike for a couple of weeks.”

“Join my company as an officer’s servant until you are healed. Put your boots on.”

A third called out to ask where they were going.

“If so be thou art bound for Devizes, master, then I had best not come with thee, for they was like to hang I excepting I become a trooper in the regiment.”

“They will not hang any of my soldiers.”

“I’ll join thee, master.”

Micah did not ask what he had done; he preferred not to know and a soldier’s past was his own affair while he behaved in the ranks.

He saw the others were putting their boots on, assumed they had volunteered and pointed them either to pike or musket, depending on their size, the pike being better suited to the bigger men.

“The remainder of the prisoners volunteered to serve, sir. Some few have wounds and are to be servants until they are healed.”

“Nearly fifty men between the two encampments, Red Man! Useful indeed!”

“Very much so, sir. Without doubt, some will run when they have the opportunity, but they might knuckle down and make soldiers.”

“Desertion always exists. Let us be thankful that we have the chance to persuade them to stay.”

They marched just ten miles on the day for making a late start, ended up making camp on the common outside Odstock, to the south of Salisbury.

Daniel was uncomfortable.

“Not where I wanted to be, Red Man, but little choice now I am here. Put together a guard of half a dozen troopers, if you would be so good, and come along yourself. We shall visit my parents.”

Daniel pointed to a hillside a mile or so distant where they could see a big house, a mansion.

“The ancestral home of the Carews.”

“Rich!”

“Thus speaks the soldier! You have become one of us, Red Man.”

They laughed and set out down the carriage lane to the house.

“An avenue of old yews, Red Man. Tradition says that many of the bows used at Agincourt were cut from these trees.”

“A good use of the timber, sir.”

Micah glanced behind him, made sure the dozen troopers were correctly in pairs and upright in the saddle.

The house was ancient, grey local stone, fortified in parts, Elizabethan manor in its more modern wings. It was large with a multiplicity of windows under brown baked tiles. There was a lake and lawns to the fore, a gravel driveway leading up to a massive portico and double doors in black oak.

“The rose beds are just coming in, Red Man. A week or two and they will be a blaze of colour. They will have seen us; let us discover whether they wish to give a welcome to the rude soldiery.”

The doors were opened by a pair of servants and a man in his fifties, dressed as a gentleman, walked out.

“The prodigal returneth! Well, Daniel?”

Major Carew dismounted, signalled Micah to do the same.

“Good afternoon, Father! Do I find you well?”

“You do, young man. I do not believe your men have the look of those who support the King.”

“I am major in command of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, sir. We are raised in support of Parliament.”

“Not necessarily the least short-sighted of moves, my son. It seems that the King might be winning just now.”

“I doubt he has the capacity to bring matters to a successful conclusion, sir. He is not a capable man and has not surrounded himself with the most able of his subjects.”

“That is true, for I am not at his side! Come indoors, your mother and sisters will wish to greet you. Who is the Judas-haired gentleman at your side?”

“Captain Slater, second in my Regiment, sir. The Red Man, who has attracted some attention already in his career.”

The two made their bows, Micah having learned how to do so from Daniel.

“Come in, the pair of you. My steward will take your men and the horses to the rear, Daniel. That is a fine stallion you ride, Captain Slater.”

“Schwartzer, sir? Or is my lord more correct?”

“My lord, if you insist.”

“He is a black horse, I am told. Brought across from the Germanies and recently come into my hands. He is a good horse to ride, sir. Powerful and with a smooth gait.”

“A Landsknecht horse, I believe. I shall not ask how he came into your hands. He is a fine beast indeed – too good to send out into an untidy and confused war. I would be pleased to offer you a strong gelding in exchange – a good working horse – and as much as thirty pounds in cash. I would dearly like to put him to some of my mares.”

Micah grinned – it was a tempting offer.

“Much though I would wish to oblige you, my lord, you might cause offence to some of your neighbours by taking him. I believe his original owner’s family may be found towards the town of Devizes. The young gentleman is marching as a prisoner in our train.”

The elder Carew showed disappointed.

“Wiser I should not put him into my stables, Captain Red Man. A pity! I would dearly like his bloodline in my pedigree. I doubt I have ever seen his like – read of them, but never come across one such… I might be able to keep him a year or two, ignorant of his provenance, one might say, and then offer to purchase him when he was inevitably discovered in my possession – I could not keep knowledge of so magnificent a beast from spreading… I will risk it, if you will sell, sir.”

He was a truly magnificent animal, Micah knew, and would attract every eye. He would dearly love to ride out on such a stallion – but it would be hard to keep him in condition, marching him every day and without a certain supply of grain, reliant on grass-feeding.

“He is yours, my lord. I must not keep him without a certainty of looking after him properly. A reliable gelding in exchange, if you would be so good. As for money? He cost me nothing and it would be wrong to take your cash. Bid your groom to change my saddle to my new horse and we shall be even, my lord.”

“You are very good, Captain. Come back in four or five years and I shall make thee a gift of one of his line.”

“Should I survive and still be in England, my lord, I shall do so.”

“A bargain! Come into the house now. The family is waiting to see you, Daniel, and you, Red Man, will ever be welcome here.”

King’s follower or Parliament’s was irrelevant – Micah was the man who had presented my lord with a magnificent stallion and given himself freedom of the house for life.

Chapter Fourteen

“Do come in, both of you.”

Daniel ushered Micah in front of him and down a hall to a large reception chamber.

Micah delayed long enough to strap his helmet to his shoulder before entering the comfortable room, out of place in steel plate, leathers and high boots. He was conscious of the six pistols he carried and of his heavy sword, a brutal intrusion into a place of peace. He bowed as he was introduced to the four women and two younger men there.

“Lady Carew. My daughters, Elizabeth, Mary, Rachel. My eldest son, Samuel Carew and his brother, David. Captain Slater.”

Micah was able, just, to make an impression of the six, noticing that Lady Carew was too young to be mother to the three men and the eldest daughter. A second wife, evidently. The two younger girls were of his own age or a year or two less.

The eldest brother, Samuel, a solid-seeming gentleman of more than thirty greeted his junior with some slight disapproval.

“Well, Daniel? How are you after so many years?”

“Eight, is it not, Samuel? I am well in myself, though I have yet to make my fortune, I will say. I am a major and command one of the larger battalions in the Parliamentary army, which is some slight achievement at my age. Captain Slater, the Red Man, is my senior captain and leads my troop of horse as well as his own company of muskets. We are the better part of nine hundred strong.”

Samuel nodded, acknowledging that his brother had achieved something, even if not in a field that he could admire.

“Are you on the march to join the Western Army?”

“No. We have been making all tidy in the South Country before waiting further orders. There were a few of disaffected garrisons and small fortresses holding out for the King and offering a threat to the Wealden gun foundries. They have been pacified and the supply of muskets and great guns has been made secure. For the moment, we are tidying up on the south of the Plain here.”

The middle brother, David, two years younger and even less approving it seemed, frowned and commented that he had understood the Devizes Regiment of Horse had been recruiting in the area.

“I had been considering joining their ranks, Daniel.”

“Such consideration is moot, David. We met the Regiment this morning. Those of the officers who survived the encounter are now held prisoner and the rankers have mostly joined our companies. Their horses, of course, have made a very welcome addition to our strength. We have also benefitted by some scores of pistols and straight swords.”

Lord Carew smiled quietly.

“I had wondered about their martial skills, I will confess. I believe you suggested that natural virtue and gentle birth would be adequate to ensure victory, David?”

There was no reply.

Lord Carew enquired what was to be done with the prisoners.

“They are a nuisance, sir. I asked their parole, as is normal practice, to send them home under pledge to fight no more, and they refused. I have threatened them that they will be taken to Larkhill village where they had made themselves obnoxious; I intend to place them in the hands of the squire there. One of the gentleman’s sons of that locality refused to ride with them and they flogged him almost to death and left him displayed on the green there, as a warning to others who might not be loyal to the King.”

“Truly?”

“A boy by the name of John White, sir.”

“I know of the family. The Whites own broad acres around Larkhill. Two families in fact, brothers who split the lands, grazing to one and arable to the other. It is a shameful act on the part of the colonel of the Devizes Regiment. Oldbury, his name, a man I have never liked.”

Samuel shook his head.

“That puts an end to your riding with that particular crew, David. Wiser far to stay at home and avoid all such adventures.”

David was shocked, scowled mightily.

“The oldest of the Whites is not eighteen years, Daniel! It cannot be right to flog a boy!”

“I agree. His close friend, one Henry Parsons, was much angered and has joined my people. I expect to make him an officer within weeks.”

“Parsons? I do not know the name.”

Lord Carew did.

“Small family – settled in Larkhill from Poole, perhaps ten years ago. The father was a shipowner and did well on the Guinea Coast trade. There is money to be made there, for those who survive the fevers. Mostly running servants to Bermuda and the Virginias. They have no land – just a big house and three or four acres – but they have wealth, I believe. Foolish to offend those who might otherwise dip their hands in their purses.”

Daniel nodded.

“If you wish to ride to war, brother, I can always find a place for a gentleman.”

“No. I might have fought for the King, though I shall not now after such brutality. I cannot support Parliament.”

The youngest girl applauded that sentiment.

“How can any gentleman not stand for his King, David?”

“Daniel is a gentleman. Ask him.”

She did.

“Rachel, I can give you a short answer or a long. In brief, the King is a fool. He has the idea that he rules solely by the will of God. I believe that he leads the English people as their fountainhead of honour and virtue, and at their consent. We are not Frenchmen or Spaniards to be slaves to King and Church. We are freeborn men to be ruled by law and justice, not by royal whim.”

“But… he is King!”

“Not for much longer, sister. If we lay hands upon him on the field of battle, we shall remove his crown, and his head with it. No few Kings have gone that way in our past. We shall do our best to ensure that he is reminded of the English way of ruling the land.”

She could not believe his words. Killing a king was not to be countenanced, that she knew.

“Richard III discovered the falsity of that belief, sister. No doubt there were others previously, but I was never one for my history book.”

“He was a false king.”

“Only after he was killed at Bosworth Field, my dear. He was a perfectly ordinary king until that slight error on his part. Had he won the battle, he would still have been a very fine king.”

That smacked of impiety.

Micah was mildly amused, while thinking she was a very handsome young lady when animated by indignation. She was darker than her brother, with striking blue eyes her main feature. She was a well-grown girl besides, not a lot shorter than him and built strongly. Clever, too, and there was much to be said for a female with a mind of her own. She was also daughter to a lord and as such not one for him to look at twice. He grinned, amused that he should even be in the same room as such a young lady.

“What of you, Captain Red Man? Can you approve of killing your King?”

“Only if he comes within the length of my sword, ma’am. If I meet him on the field of battle, then he will go the way of all my enemies. As for taking him captive and then removing his head – that I must leave to a court of law. I am a soldier, ma’am, and very little more.”

“A fierce soldier, it must seem! Do all such carry six pistols and a sword that smacks of the butcher’s cleaver?”

Daniel intervened to say that Micah had been made to his current rank solely for his virtue in the field.

“His men love him dearly, sister, for being first to enter the fray, leading them whatever the risk may be. As for the great sword he carries, he is a strong man and can swing that blade for an hour at a time if need arises.”

Lord Carew interrupted to say that he did not know of a family of Slaters.

“No doubt from the North Country, Captain Slater.”

“Midlands, sir, not so far from Stamford. But you would not have heard of the family, for there is none such. My brother owns two quarries at Collyweston and I grew my strength hewing and toiling in them. I joined the armies as a runaway boy and was fortunate to meet a few Scots first and then other disaffected individuals and was made an officer. I find I enjoy soldiering far more than ever I did hacking out slates in a quarry!”

“That I can understand. I must correct you, Captain: there is a family of Slater now, for you have created it. All families have a beginning, sir.”

Micah had not considered that concept, was not greatly moved by it now that it had been set before him.

“You may well be right, my lord, but I do not have any expectation of becoming a power in the land. I suspect that when this war is over I shall be, as they say, surplus to requirement, and will quietly disappear. Possibly there will be another war in a different land; perhaps I shall take ship to the Americas and make myself a home there. I do not think there will be a place for the bloody-handed in a land newly made at peace with itself.”

“You may well be right, Captain. Do you expect an early end to this war?”

“I hope so, my lord. I have heard little of the progress of the campaigns but know for sure that ordinary folk, and some of the mighty, have suffered for being fought over. John White is but one example of the innocent being abused. It seems that war allows the wicked to give free rein to their passions.”

Daniel nodded shortly.

“Indisputably so, Red Man. One might say in its favour that war also gives the opportunity to bring to an end the careers of the wicked. I much suspect that we should have hanged the good Colonel Oldbury, you know; the world would be a far better place without him defiling it.”

“You may well be right, sir. You probably are. I have no stomach for the noose, however.”

“Nor me – but that may be weakness on our part. That one is a man who would be far better with his neck stretched.”

The ladies protested and the two soldiers apologised for bringing such bloodthirsty topics before their ears.

“What of you, brother?” Daniel smiled politely, enquiring whether there was a wife in the offing.

“I am to be wed in some three months, Daniel. Mistress Williams, of Salisbury, eldest daughter to the Bishop and possessed of an inheritance from her grandmother, who had lands in her own right. She brings more than three square miles of grazing and no little of arable down in the valleys between the downs. She will add much to the viscountcy, I believe.”

Daniel agreed that it sounded to be a prudent match. It was clear to him that there was little of affections involved – the heir had sold his position to a high bidder. In some ways, a very wise match.

“And for thee, David?”

His second brother shook his head.

“My income does not lend itself to a wife, Daniel. I am content to be steward to the family lands.”

“It is that or be off to the wars, brother. I would advise you to arm a few of the hinds and have them ready to protect the house and family. There will be deserters and villains under arms and willing to loot the weak and defenceless – wherever there is war there is carrion seeking to profit from it.”

Lord Carew had not considered that possibility; now he thought Daniel’s words wise.

“Could you sell me a dozen of pistols and blades, my son? It will not be easy to purchase them in Salisbury.”

“Consider it done, sir. And not against cash! I will send a waggon across when I leave.”

The older man gave his thanks.

“I must inform you that Mary expects to wed this year, to a son of the Land in Wiltshire. Elizabeth remains at home and Rachel is as yet young to leave us.”

It sounded as if Mary had taken the son of a squire, a man with a respectable competence but not one of the aristocracy. Micah thought that Rachel was no more than seventeen, hardly of an age to wed.

“What of you, Captain Slater? Have you a lady waiting at home for you?”

Micah shook his head.

“No, my lord. I have no home to offer any young female. I have managed to set up my sisters in Stamford and believe they are sufficiently looked after, but I have nothing to go back to myself. When the war ends, I shall have to look for a living, in fact – will be in no case to keep a family.”

Lord Carew said no more.

They left within the hour, Daniel needing to return to the regiment, saying that it could not be left without its most senior officers for more than a very few hours.

“Solders will find mischief without an eye to watch them, sir.”

Micah returned with a waggon containing twenty of pistols and a dozen of short swords, all they had spare. Both men had agreed that there was no sense to giving long blades to untrained farm labourers. They had added a keg of powder and another of ball.

“They can find their own spare flints on chalk lands such as these, Micah.”

David Carew greeted the waggon, was polite in his thanks.

“What would you say, Captain? One pistol apiece or two?”

“Select your men, sir, and discover who can shoot straight. You may find no more than four or five who can point a pistol. Do not waste them in the hands of the inadequate. Any man who has handled a brush hook can swing or stab with a short sword. You will wish, of course, to be sure of the loyalty of those you arm.”

Mr Carew was inclined to be indignant. He could not imagine that any one of his people could display anything other than love for the family.

Rachel appeared and demanded to know whether she might be allowed a pistol of her own. David was urgent with her that she should give up so unreasonable a demand.

“Pistols are not correct for young ladies, sister! Will not you agree, Captain Slater?”

Micah grinned; he had little liking for Mr Carew, found him stuffy and not especially bright.

“Not entirely, sir. The horse pistol is a heavy weapon – but it can be fired two-handed. Many men choose to rest their pistol on a windowsill if firing from inside a house. I am of the opinion that any young lady should be permitted to defend herself if the occasion arises. Add to that, there is no small pleasure in shooting straight at a target. Was the decision mine, sir, then I would give Miss Carew her own pistol.”

My lord had arrived and stood unseen behind them, listening quietly. He intervened now.

“I agree, but not a horse pistol, daughter. I have a pair of lighter flintlocks of my own and I shall give thee their use, my dear. Come with me now and I shall roust them out.”

Micah left, quietly entertained. He told Daniel of his sowing the seeds of dissension in his family.

“David has always been a straight-backed sort of fellow, Red Man. He is one always to find a reason why anything should not be done rather than to welcome any change. An honest and dull plodder, my middle brother. There is little harm in him, and not much else. Samuel has a value for him and will ensure he is looked after all his life. I doubt he will ever leave the estate; I was amazed that he had so much as considered riding for the King. On that topic, the soldiers of the King, that is, you will be pleased to hear that Colonel Oldbury has begged audience of me. Come with me now and we shall deal with him.”

As they expected, the Colonel had spent the day in deep consideration of his plight. He did not wish to be sent to Larkhill, he said. He would tender his parole, as would his officers, in ordinary form, pledging himself to stand neutral in the fighting during this particular war.

Daniel accepted his word, though demanding it in writing.

“It is late in the day now, Colonel. In the morning, I shall have you conveyed to Salisbury where, I doubt not, you can make your own arrangements. Do explain carefully to your young men that if they are ever taken under arms by Parliamentary forces, then upon being known they will be hanged out of hand, without trial or appeal.”

Colonel Oldbury promised to explain fully the ramifications of their promise; he much hoped they would not so much as consider breaking their word.

“They are gentlemen, sir. That should be sufficient for them.”

The pair conferred again over breakfast.

“A short while and they will be gone, Red Man.”

“Good riddance to them, sir.”

“I agree. There is nothing in the Colonel’s parole to prevent him urging others to serve the King or arranging to send a regiment against us, if he can locate one. I much hope he may do so. I did not like to hear of the footmen recruiting here on the Plain. If they are sent to hunt us down, we can destroy them and remove their menace from behind our backs. You said that my father has given Rachel a pair of pistols? She was always a bold little girl – I think I like her better than the rest of my family.”

“She is certainly a lively young lady, sir, and most attractive withal.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“More so than the baker’s daughter, Red Man?”

Micah flushed, unable to answer that question easily.

“A young man may often not know his own mind in the company of an attractive girl. I doubt I shall be back to London ever, sir. As for your sister – she is a pretty lady, and far above me. My comment was made in passing, one might say. Nothing more than admiration from a far distance.”

Daniel was inclined to believe that was right and proper. His sister should be admired – but no more than that by a man who had no way of keeping her comfortably and who in any case was of neither birth nor breeding. He had a respect for Micah, and some considerable liking, but that did not make him fit to keep company with his sister.

“As the head of the house of Slater, you must consider the dynasty, Red Man!”

“I suspect your father spoke with his tongue in his cheek, sir. My family is not and never will be of the great in the land.”

“I am sure you are right, Red Man – but you will always be among those much respected, the backbone of the country.”

It was possible, Micah conceded, but he could not see a future for himself. He was a strong right arm, for the while. When the wars ended, he would be irrelevant, his sole skill no longer valued.

“Not to worry, sir! What comes first this morning?”

“Oh… I think we send the honourable Colonel Oldbury into Salisbury, in a cart. We shall publicly deposit him in the square outside the cathedral, quite possibly in no more than his drawers, his three surviving young men beside him.”

“We should also announce that he has given his parole, sir. Humiliate him sufficiently that he will make immediate contact with the King’s forces, do you suggest?”

“Precisely, Red Man! Let him be so angered that he will call for our heads, urging the single, fresh recruited regiment of foot out in hot pursuit of us.”

“And we shall make good and sure that they catch us. Hopefully before they can call on other troops to outnumber us. Even if there is a second regiment to hand, I much doubt that they will match our lads. March slowly and with an eye on the country, do you think, sir?”

“Selecting our ground as we go. I think so. Marching along a valley so that the King’s people seem to have the advantage of the high ground. In reality, we shall have one flank anchored on a river and have a good chance to find woods or wetland on the other. That worked very well in the Germanies once that I recall. I was with a regiment of pikes and shot, much like ours but without our troop of horse, and we brought a pair of regiments of dragoons down on us. The ground forced them tighter and tighter together as they charged us until they became an almost immovable mass, the pikes pushing into them while the shot volleyed from just out of their reach. Butchery! An elegant morning’s work!”

Micah was entertained by the choice of words; he accepted that the soldier’s elegance was not that of the ballroom but was not sure he should applaud butchery with unrestrained delight.

“Let us hope we can match it, sir. I should use the troop for scouting, do you think?”

Daniel agreed that to be wise.

They waved the waggon farewell as the prisoners were conveyed to their freedom in Salisbury, the city located easily by the tall spire visible for many miles cross the Plain.

Colonel Oldbury was outraged. He was made a laughingstock, dropped outside the cathedral stark naked, hands clutched in front of himself to preserve his modesty. He would have kicked young Cornet Holmes who had chosen to insult and threaten the sergeant in charge of the cart bringing them into the city but could not do so without exposing himself to the market day crowds who had come to point and chortle at his plight.

Sergeant Driver had listened stolidly to the boy’s tirade, had not even acknowledged his words apart from laughing at his threats. When they reached the cathedral he had stopped the cart and bundled the officers out of it, his men holding them while he personally whipped their drawers down and ambled away, waving them as a trophy.

“Hang me if you wants, my little lordship! I reckon you’ve got a bigger crowd than will watch me!”

The Parliamentary soldiers drove off, the crowd opening for the cart and the file of musketeers marching behind. There were a few cheers, the majority simply standing aside, wanting no part in the business. Laughing at the bare-arsed gentry was one thing; joining either side was another for most of the townsfolk. They were, naturally, more inclined to be sympathetic to Parliament now for giving the best free show in living memory – they would chuckle about Old Colonel Barebum for years in the pubs.

The clergy in the cathedral observed the disgraceful goings on and closed the doors, wanting no part in it. Colonel Oldbury was left exposed for a good twenty minutes before the mayor sent the town clerk and his assistant with dressing gowns to the rescue. The pair had to force their way through the cheering crowds who did not want their amusement curtailed, who could still think of mocking insults to shout.

Colonel Oldbury spent the morning writing demands for revenge on his persecutors and sending them off to the Lord Lieutenant of Wiltshire; to the Western Army; to the Devizes Regiment of Foot in its current camp near Chippenham, on the other side of the Plain, and to every supporter of the King he could think of. He called them to rendezvous at Upavon before apologising that he could not join them for having given his parole, under threat of death but still binding on his honour. He then called Cornet Holmes and apostrophised him as a bloody fool and the cause of all his miseries and dismissed him from his presence, penniless, half-dressed and twenty miles from his home; he felt a little better after that.

Sergeant Driver reported his doings and presented four smelly sets of drawers as evidence of them, was sent away to dispose of his trophies, leaving Daniel and Micah roaring with laughter.

“That should bring the hosts of the righteous down upon us, Red Man.”

“Two days, I would think as the earliest they could assemble, sir. More like three, thinking on it. Follow the river north onto this ‘Plain’, do you call it?”

“Big and almost empty apart from sheep. A very convenient battleground as a result. Follow the River Avon north makes best sense. Water to hand and a dozen of villages and hamlets where we could buy mutton and possibly vegetables; not a lot else at this season of the year. Geese, might be. I like goose. Make our way towards Upavon and then choose what to do next. We really should make a loop back towards Winchester and then returning to Guildford, according to our original orders, which we have interpreted according to conditions in the field.”

“What does that mean, sir?”

“We fancied poking our noses out to see what could be found Salisbury way. While I report victory and a pacified countryside, London will not know one town from another and will not wish to find out.”

“So be it. March in the morning, sir?”

“In good order, Red Man. Your troop to the fore and to fall back on the main body on contacting an enemy.”

The Downs swept to either side, not especially high, rolling and grass covered and open. There were trees and people in the valleys, particularly that of the Avon, a small river but the only one for miles and supporting fields and water meadows and cress beds as well as less valuable marshes with osiers and willows for basket making. The track wound a little above the valley bottom on the eastern side, sheltered by woodland for much of its length. The hamlets were three or four miles apart, seemed prosperous to Micah’s eyes.

“Many of the villagers work up woollens, Red Man. Spinning is big along the valley and there are handlooms as well. Most houses have a money income as well as the produce of their fields.”

“Not many recruits here, sir.”

“Few, I must imagine. The young men have work and every pair of hands is valuable. They can buy in flour for the winter rather than grow their own wheat. They will keep half a dozen children busy carding and spinning and weaving or working osier baskets, as well as those who will look after the sheep. There are no idle hands along the valley, and no useless mouths to be sent off as a soldier. Few horses – the fields too valuable to go to their pasture.”

“Short of winter firing, I would think, sir.”

Daniel nodded. Timber would be brought in from some distance and there was the occasional peat working, or so he had been told.

“Not seen it myself, Red Man, but I have been told it is so. How will you set the men if they come at us?”

“The valley sides are mostly too steep for horse to come from the flank and the river is just wide enough and sufficiently deep that they will not cross except at a bridge. Few of them, bridges, as well, and all old and stone and narrow so that two horses might cross side by side and no more. There are a few dry dales that come down to join the main valley, but not many and they have no more than footpaths in them. Except in the larger villages, they can come at us only from the front.”

“True for the next few miles until we come towards Upavon and the effective end of the valley.”

“Then it seems that we must anchor our left on the river or marsh, depending on the ground, and our right on the hillside where horse cannot outflank us. Given open ground, I would be inclined to set the pikes in six main blocks, all to the fore, perhaps twenty men abreast and three deep. The shot, again three lines, but in seven blocks interspersed and with two full companies of shot held back in reserve and to go where they might be needed. My troop of horse to sit immediately behind the centre and to wait the opportunity to charge forward and break the foe when he first begins to fall back from our line. All this to assume there are no guns.”

Daniel nodded.

“No reason to suppose there will be artillery, Red Man. Should there be, we refuse battle and fall back to ground of our choosing – which will be one of the villages where we shall hold and fight street to street, the guns far less able to do us harm.”

“Little other practical answer, sir. We might try to advance our horse and attack the guns from the flank if they are left exposed, but that chance seems slight to me.”

“And me. No, best to assume they will be mostly foot with a vanguard of horse. The pikes to hold and the muskets to kill them. What do you propose for the advance?”

“Foot are better utilised to hold in defence. Pikes are unwieldy and can press forward only slowly and muskets are slow to reload and must be sheltered by pikes after they fire or hold strictly to three lines firing at carefully paced intervals. We hold against their attack and then hammer them with better disciplined musketry until they break and allow our horse to cut them up. Only when they are running can we really set the foot to charge. We need more of horse, dragoons with pistols and carbines as well as swords, to destroy the enemy.”

“Agreed, Red Man. Without as many horse as we have muskets, which is for the best, twice as many as pikes, can we hope to do more than break up the enemy. There can be no great killings without horse. The regiments we may face are newly recruited, will probably disperse to their homes at a defeat. We must hope so, for we cannot expect to destroy them except we are lucky with the ground. Force them against a bend in the river, where they cannot run, and we may take or kill many; not otherwise.”

It seemed a reasonable expectation.

“Then we must choose our ground, sir, and hope they are too green to see what we are doing. Do we know any names of those opposing us?”

Daniel did not – he had heard of none of the local commanders.

“There will be some like myself who have come back from the Germanies and know what we are doing. I suspect – and much hope – that the most senior men will be those of rank and position and money, and very little experience. There will be those like my foolish brother David who firmly believe that aristocratic breeding and natural virtue far outweigh military knowledge and discipline and training. I do hope so!”

Chapter Fifteen

“Camp early this afternoon, Red Man. Two miles or so this side of Upavon, before the valley becomes too shallow to protect our flanks. Keep an eye out for a stretch of convenient ground for our purposes. I don’t know this part of the Plain too well, but I seem to recall grazing lands down on the flat here, not too well drained and too much likely to flood to be used for a wheat or barley crop. Can’t understand it, myself – all that is needed is a few ditches and rough pasture can be turned into good ploughland. Short sighted landlords who won’t spend coppers now to make silver in the future!”

“Common land, perhaps? No single holder to have the authority to make the change?”

“Not in this area, Red Man. The sheep lands of the Downs, and the valleys in between, were all brought into enclosure in Queen Bess’ day. Made my family’s fortune, that I know!”

Micah had heard of enclosure in the sheep pastures. It had happened in parts of Lincolnshire and he knew at second hand of the distress it had caused in the previous age, of the dispossessed villagers who had walked miles in hopeful search of work in the slate quarries and been sent on their way empty-handed.

“So, the landowner hereabouts is too mean or too stupid to improve his lands, you think, sir?”

“Most likely living in London, knowing how to spend his money on fashionable diversions but with no concept of making more, of benefitting his whole family. A lounger about the Court whose sole skill lays in kissing the King’s arse!”

Micah frowned – there were too many such in the country.

“With luck, he will have gone to war at the King’s side, there to die. His successor may be a better man.”

“If we are fortunate, Red Man. We shall bring a cleansing to this country of ours, if all goes well. Let us do our own best in this valley of the Avon.”

They came to ideal ground a little further than they wanted from the village, but not so distant as to make it ineligible.

The river was not so wide but was a good five feet deep, impossible for a laden soldier to ford and impractical for a squadron of horse. There was no bridge in easy reach.

“The ground is dry enough for horse but they are not about to take us from the flank. We can anchor our left here in safety.”

Micah listened to and agreed with his mentor.

“A good two furlongs width of rough pasture, crossed by the roadway and ending in scrub on the edge of the downland. Haw and sloe bushes mixed with brambles climbing the side of the chalk for nearly a hundred yards and too steep beyond that for marching men, let alone horse. We can set our line, a little wider than I might have wished, perhaps. Good enough to hold, though.”

“My troop of horse must need be careful, sir. There are rabbit holes in places, especially near the scrub.”

“A walk rather than a gallop, Red Man. No matter. We hear a lot about charging cavalrymen but dragoons do better at a more precise pace, bringing themselves to position to use carbine or pistol effectively. The wild boys attract the stories but it is sober men who win the day more often.”

It seemed likely.

“What do you say, sir? Sit here and rest the men for two or three days, hoping that Colonel Barebum may have shouted his people into action? Should I take a platoon up to the village to make a stir, asking of the location of the houses of malignants? That should move some of them to send for help, with luck.”

“Do that, Red Man. Be ferocious in your demand for the location of King’s Men to burn out. Try not to actually find too many – we do not wish to scatter about the countryside chasing down the ill-disposed.”

The village was small and poor. The thatch on the roofs was blackened, the cottages damp and dismal. A few children mooched about in the single street, too poorly fed to have the energy to run and play. Micah found a few pennies, handed them out; the boys took them and ran while the little girls screamed for their mothers, yelling there was a dirty old man offering them coppers.

“So much for Christian charity, Sergeant Driver!”

“Unknown in these parts, it seems, sir.”

Doors slammed shut as the children disappeared. There was no village store and only a single, empty beerhouse.

“If we want to know anything, sir, best we go inside. The barman will be there.”

Micah dismounted and went in, Rootes at his shoulder.

The single bar smelt of piss and stale beer, the two hardly distinguishable. There was one table with a wooden bench on either side and a short wooden counter, a single barrel behind it. A scrawny middle-aged landlord scowled at them.

Micah was horrified – a village was poor indeed if its publican could not afford a belly.

“Captain Slater of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, in the service of Parliament. Who is the landowner here? Where will I find him? Speak up! Quickly now!”

“Beg pardon, master. Ain’t got one. ‘Er’s dead, this four year. The mistress don’t dwell round these parts no more, nor the young squire what ain’t no more nor a little boy anyhow. The land agent, Mr Willis, do live in Amesbury and don’t be seen next or nigh to us except come Quarter Day when ‘er comes for ‘er rents.”

“Is there only the one owner?”

“Always ‘as been, round these parts. Squire got the lands for all of we folks. Ain’t been no squire these last years and ain’t been nothin’ done for the likes of we. Can’t do nothing whiles young squire ain’t of an age. Ten more year, if us don’t starve first. Half the places are empty for the folks going off to find a living some place else. Nobody don’t care for we.”

Micah had never seen such misery, could not find anything to say.

“Pass the word that the regiment shall be camped down the valley a way for the next two or three days. Any man who wishes to carry a musket or push a pike can come to us to join. We need drummer boys as well. There will be pay and a belly full of food – most of the time.”

Micah turned away – there was nothing to be gained by asking any more questions. There was no prospect of messengers going from the village to the King’s forces – they had no horses. He made his way back to the camp, reported on the state of the village.

Daniel was surprised but could understand what had happened.

“No master and none to replace him for years. Best you should send parties of scouts out, Red Man. Three or four together under a sensible corporal or senior man. Ride out a few miles to see and be seen and draw the attention of the King’s people. The news will spread that there are strangers riding the Downs – or so I hope.”

Nothing happened next day except for the men moaning that their snares were empty. There were no rabbits left in this poor country.

“Short of songbirds, too, sir. Everything they can eat, they have taken.”

Micah shook his head; Sergeant Fletcher said he had seen the like overseas where the armies had repeatedly tramped over the fields and destroyed the harvests, but he had not looked for it in England.

“They don’t care none for ordinary folks, not in this part of the woods, sir. Ain’t like it every place in the country. Bad hereabouts. Do you see they watching us, back in the bushes, sir?”

Micah glanced about, spotted movement, well concealed.

“Looking to see if we empty out the leftovers from the stew pots, sir. Or for peelings and leaves from cabbages what we can’t eat. Some of them going to go home and tell them we got food. Watch what happens come the morning.”

Micah took an early breakfast and looked across to the lines, hearing noise there.

“How many, Sergeant?”

Captain Vokes’ company had the guard and had collected the hopefuls as they had come into camp.

“Eight of men, sir, or big enough to be called that. Five of boys what wants to be drummers.”

“Are they fit to march?”

“Just, sir.”

“Take them on. Get them some grub. Talk to your captain and if he does not want the burden of so many underfed objects, spread them through the companies. Let Captain Prothero organise that.”

The Adjutant would have to be informed of the extra names for the payroll, had as well do the rest of the work.

Micah was surprised that none of the village girls had come overnight to pick up a few coppers. Perhaps most of an age had already drifted away to make a living in the towns; there would be little other choice for them.

Villages were hard on women. He was glad he had been able to do something for his own sisters.

The scouts rode out in their threes and fours, going to the roads leading towards the towns on the edge of the Plain where the soldiers might be expected.

Mid-morning saw one of the men coming back at some speed. Not riding hard but making good time. Micah walked across to Daniel’s tent to listen to the report.

“Coming down from the north, Chippenham way that is, so the locals said, sir. I saw a regiment of foot and a troop of horse to the front and dust behind, sir. Corporal sent me back, sir, while he rode round to see what was coming up from their rear. Horse was no more than thirty troopers, sir, with long swords and maybe pistols. Couldn’t see for sure, didn’t look like they had long guns. For the foot – no more nor eight companies and them not so big as ours. A good hundred less than us. Might be that was another regiment behind, sir. Way they’re marching, well, they’re eight miles, more or less, distant and I reckons late afternoon afore they gets here. Didn’t feel like they was old at the game, sir.”

“Well done. That is a good report and tells me much that I need to know, soldier. Can you say anything about the officers?”

Micah noticed that Daniel did not give a direct question, guiding the scout towards any particular point. He allowed the man to tell what he had seen and what he thought was important.

“They was all of them a-horseback, sir. Not all with their companies, sir. They was in groups, you might say, half a dozen of mates all talking and laughing together. There was one lot at the front what I reckons was the colonel and he had seven or eight round him.”

“That is worth knowing, too. Poor discipline! Well done. I shall send you out again, soldier. What is your name?”

Micah answered.

“He is Trooper Ayreton, sir, who joined us in Romsey and has shown very willing and is one of those who may well rise from the ranks, sir.”

“Thank’ee, Captain Slater. I shall remember your name, Ayreton. I am always looking for good soldiers who can become sergeants and possibly officers.”

Ayreton rode off, sitting tall and proud.

“One of the gentleman’s sons, sir. I sent him as a scout despite his lack of time in the battalion because he has ridden since boyhood, is one of our best horsemen.”

Daniel agreed with Micah’s decision; they had too few of men experienced in the saddle.

“Take the rest of your squadron, Red Man, just to the other side of the village and up onto the downs on either side. No enemy scouts to see what we are doing. I doubt they will advance beyond Upavon today – it will make a sensible place to hold. I would like them to come on us in the morning unexpectedly. Set your Lieutenant Halleck to place the company and dig a trench for the muskets. The pikes cannot use fieldworks so well. Can Halleck be made captain in your place? I would like you to stay with the horse and recruit more to make your number up to a good eighty, within the week, if possible. In time, we can make you into commander of two or more squadrons, if we can lay our hands on pistols and horses.”

Micah had not realised the extent of Daniel’s ambitions for the regiment whose command he had inherited. It seemed he wanted to lead a powerful unit of horse as well as his increasingly large and experienced battalion of foot. He wondered just how expansive his plans might be, decided to go fishing.

“Those half dozen of demi-culverins might be useful at the moment, sir. With them dug in behind earthen walls we would be able to hold our ground with no difficulty at all.”

“You are, of course, entirely correct, Red Man. We shall return by way of Palethorpe’s, I do not doubt. If we cannot pick those guns up, possibly we could purchase sakers or falcons from the Wealden ironmasters. Smaller guns, admittedly, but handy for events such as these.”

‘Horse, foot and guns’, Micah mused.

He cocked his head enquiringly.

“We become our own little brigade, sir.”

“Why ‘little’, Red Man?”

“Do you have it in mind to pacify our own country and hold it against all comers, sir?”

“Not as such, but the general who held a substantial part of the land for Parliament might well seek some reward for his pains, think you not?”

“He might indeed, sir.”

Micah decided to pursue that question no further. He made his farewells, collecting his horse together and leading them up the road north.

“Eyes out for scouts poking their noses south of Upavon. None to see the regiment down in the valley or get any idea of our numbers or where we are to be found exactly, or what is happening. The Major wants them to stumble across us all unprepared in the morning. In pairs, in sight of each other and to form a line on either side of the river where it turns east.”

Micah remained with Rootes and four troopers on the road half a mile north of Upavon where he could be easily located. Two of the scouts sent out at dawn found him within the hour.

“What news, Corporal Weaver?”

“Sent Ayreton back earlier to say we’d found ‘em coming this way, sir.”

“You did. He told us of a regiment of foot, smaller than ours, and a small troop of horse.”

“That’s right. There’s another one back a half mile or so, out of the dust. It ain’t much. Don’t reckon it to be four ‘undred strong and no muskets. Reckon as ‘ow it’s no more than the tenants of three or four big estates been put together at the muster. They got some pikes and short halberds and old swords and some are carrying felling axes, like they was foresters. Not marching proper-like, more like wandering along. Got about a dozen of officers on horseback and some of they ‘as got old-fashioned helmets and such. Got a flag up, they ‘as. They don’t look like soldiers do. Don’t mean they ain’t up for a fight, sir. Reckon as ‘ow they might be proper bad-tempered buggers, if you’ll excuse me, sir.”

“Well said. Go back to Major Carew and tell him all that you’ve said to me, Weaver. You have done very well. I am pleased with your work.”

Weaver nodded – he thought he had done his job properly, was pleased to be acknowledged.

“Have you spotted any of their scouts around this area?”

“Don’t know they got any out, sir. That regiment in the lead don’t look like they knows a lot about what they’re doin’, sir. Tell thee one thing, sir, what I did see and was going to tell thee and damned near forgot. That boy with the big mouth, the cornet, what you sent into Salisbury all bare-arsed and red-faced? Never did hear his name – big-mouthed and shouting off what he was going to do to every last one of us. He’s riding with the front of them, next and nigh to the colonel.”

“Holmes? He gave his written parole! If you’re right, Weaver – and I believe you when you say you saw him – then he’s one to have his neck well stretched as soon as I lay hands on him. Little sod! Breaking his pledged word, his very honour! Oh, I shall see to him, watch if I don’t! Tell Major Carew, if you please.”

Major Carew was displeased. The parole was central to the concept of honour – it was part of the very soul of the soldier. To breach parole was to deny the existence of military decency. He sent a message back to Micah, in writing, a rarely formal order.

‘It is reported that the man known as Cornet Holmes, who gave his parole at Salisbury, has been seen in arms at the head of a force of Royalists. If such be true then all efforts shall be made to take him captive that he may be placed before a court of honour and then be subjected to the noose. There is to be a reward paid in gold to the man or men that takes him alive. Inform all of your troopers, if you please.’

Micah passed on the message, assuring the men that even if Holmes was taken by the efforts of a whole platoon, every man involved would see a gold coin in his hand.

“What if us kills ‘im, sir?”

“Bring the body in and you will be paid a smaller sum. He has dishonoured his name and should be hanged publicly if at all possible.”

They nodded thoughtfully, quietly working out that they could half-kill him and still pick up the full reward. That might be easier than taking him unwounded, considering that he must know the treatment he would receive if he was taken a second time.

The royalist force camped for the night to the north of Upavon, settling in two separate bodies, as they had marched. No scouts on horseback set out before nightfall.

Micah fell back on the regiment south of the village.

Riding in, he saw that there had been an attempt to dig trenches and build small earth walls. They had been successful in the area on the right of the position, the slightly higher side, but closer to the river the trenches had filled with water as soon as they were dug.

Daniel was not too concerned.

“It will push them into a smaller stretch of land, Red Man. They are bound to funnel across to the less obviously defended part. I have switched the companies about so that there is an extra block of pikes closer to the river. That should slow their push down and allow our shot to work upon them. I am a little concerned about this half-battalion of irregulars – they will not know the rules.”

Micah raised an eyebrow.

Daniel laughed in response.

“A professional officer will make his assault and call it off when he can see his men are being defeated. If the losses mount out of proportion to the ground being taken, he will pull back. If he loses one in ten, or thereabouts, of his men, he will accept defeat and either seek terms or go into headlong retreat. All very well when both sides fight according to the same book; if one side has never read the book, then they will not behave in the proper fashion. I have only fought irregulars once, and on that occasion we killed a good half of them and they still kept coming forward! We defeated them in the end – and we lost far too many men in process!”

“I must imagine you killed almost all of them, sir.”

“Every last one, Red Man. The men were so much angered by the fight that they gave no quarter, slaughtered the wounded as well. Out of control, would not even listen to their sergeants – I have never seen the like and want to see no repetition, Red Man. If the need arises, I shall order the men to fall back in the centre and draw them in so that the pikes can hold while the shot fires from three sides. Your horse can break them when they come to a halt – drive them off. When men have no discipline to fall back on, any retreat immediately becomes a rout; they will run and not stop until they get back home. We will kill many that way, but hopefully fewer than by simply holding our line against them.”

Micah was surprised by his superior’s desire not to kill the enemy.

“They are not soldiers, Red Man! It is none of their business to be going to war. I will kill – most happily – those villains who have brought them to arms, make no mistake about that. But the untutored peasantry have no place on the field of battle. Make soldiers of them by all means – that is what they are good for. Do not send them ignorant into battle; that is wrong.”

There was a morality to soldiering, it seemed.

“Ride out in the morning, Red Man, your whole troop together in column of twos, along the road to Upavon where you may be surprised to discover the enemy and will flee before them. They have only a few horse, you tell me, and we can bring them down upon us and dismiss them at an early stage. Hopefully, the foot will follow and come upon us piecemeal. It will reduce our losses and possibly theirs.”

An early breakfast in the damp river mists before dawn.

“I hate this time of day, Rootes!”

“It ain’t day. It’s bloody night, sir. I emptied the pans of your pistols last night, sir. Need to prime them again this morning. Didn’t want the powder to get damp and flash in the pan, sir.”

Micah nodded his appreciation and checked the spark of each flint before filling the pans with fine powder and carefully laying the firing hammer flat on them. He called Lieutenant Halleck across.

“You are to be captain from this day, Mr Halleck. The Major is very pleased with you. I am sure you will replace me most effectively. Watch your match this morning – it may play up in the damp airs. Use the campfires to dry and then light it.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall, sir. Can I have another ensign, sir?”

“Name him to Major Carew, Mr Halleck. It is thy company and choice is thine.”

Micah deliberately resorted to the more formal language to emphasise that Halleck was now his own master.

“Very good, sir. Will you want to take more men for the horse, sir?”

“If we can lay our hands on the mounts for them, certainly. Continue to recruit – we need more bodies.”

“The regiment is already big, sir…”

“It may yet become two battalions, and horse besides. Every chance for an active captain to rise in the world still further.”

“So there is, sir. Very good, sir.”

Halleck marched away, shoulders back and strutting, the epitome of the ambitious young man. He had evidently forgotten his cousin, Captain Dunton; certainly he had buried any grievance in his shallow grave.

Micah grinned.

“I shall talk to him again tonight, Rootes.”

“Hold his hand while he counts his losses on the day, sir? If he makes it, that is. Going to be prancing about at the front, showing off to the men, ain’t he?”

“Likely so, Rootes. A young man in his first fight in command. He will wish to show that he deserves to be where he is. If he lives, that one will do well enough, I think.”

“He ain’t stupid and he’s got a pair of balls, sir. Don’t need much else to command a company.”

“Thank you, Rootes!”

The horse walked out, slowly – it was likely to be a long day.

Half a mile short of the village they saw smoke, too much for campfires. A voice called from the scrubland at the bottom of the hillside.

“Soldier! Don’t go shooting at we over ‘ere!”

Micah drew rein, looked across.

“Come on out. You are safe from us. Who are you?”

The scrawny landlord of the beer house showed himself.

“They burned us out. Last night, the bastards! Come to the pub wanting beer, so they did, and I ain’t got no more than the half of a barrel fit to drink, for not brewing up much at a time, not having the sale for it. Ran out of beer inside ten minutes, so I did, and they ripped the place apart looking for more. Then they set fire to it and it spread all over. The others in the village what got any sense all run for it. Dunno what might ‘ave ‘appened to some of them. Wasn’t no officers nowhere to stop it. Didn’t have much before. Now we ain’t got nothing.”

“Go down the road to the soldiers there. They will look after you for the next while. Wait in hiding till the battle is over. After we have dealt with the soldiers, you must go somewhere else. Walk down to Salisbury, perhaps. The churchmen at the cathedral might find charity for you… Maybe.”

The landlord showed little joy at that prospect, but a crust of bread at the camp was better than nothing. He called to the others who had joined him and told them the soldiers would at least see them fed for the day.

“Keep off the road, man! There will be fighting here before long. Stay out of sight.”

Peter Peveril, riding two ranks behind Micah, spoke up.

“All the same, the King’s men, sir. They do not care for the ordinary people of the land.”

“That is why we fight them, Peveril. Why we must win. They must learn that they cannot treat us in the way I am told the French nobility behave to their peasants. We are free-born Englishmen and we have our rights and no damned King is to trample on them!”

The words passed down the little column, were greeted by the occasional ‘amen’ and ‘hallelujah’ and more of thoughtful nodding.

“Forward, men. Let us find these villains!”

Micah felt slightly embarrassed at his own words; the men seemed to think them only right.

“Corporal Weaver. Take Ayreton and ride a furlong or so to the front. Give me the word on anything you see.”

Two bends of the winding valley road and the pair came back at speed.

“Horse just this side of the village, sir. Small troop but about all they got from what we saw yesterday. They was scattered out on a loose front, sir, but it looked like their officer was calling them together after he spotted us.”

“Bringing them into a single body for a chase? Well done.”

Micah turned in the saddle and called the troopers to spread out into a double line on either side of the road.

“Fast walk. Watch for soft ground and rabbit holes! Sergeant Driver, bring your people in behind them if you can. On the caracole – lead in and fire one pistol then return to use the other.”

Driver raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Fletcher, hold the line to the right until you can flank them. I shall stand here in the centre.”

It was a simple plan but they had the advantage of numbers.

The ground was open and they could not mount an ambush. Micah hoped that the King’s people would be sufficiently arrogant – or stupid – to charge headlong.

Two minutes, they had barely formed their lines and set their spacing, and the first of the enemy came round the bend a hundred yards distant, almost silently, the sounds of their hooves muffled on the damp turf.

They had spread out, were galloping, the better horses – or worse disciplined riders – to the fore. The thirty men were spread out over at least eighty yards in a loose mob. An officer well to the fore started to wave his sword and yell, seemingly shouting them to charge.

“Ready! Draw your pistols. Wait my command… Cock your locks… Fire at will!”

Micah urged his horse forward, slowly. His shouted commands had drawn attention and there were three of the cavaliers riding directly for him. He fired his pistols, right and left and holstered them, making a display of calm, drawing his sword with his right hand, firing a third shot with the left. One of the three fell. He tucked the pistol away and drew a fourth and put his spurs to his gelding.

The horse jumped forward, between the remaining pair and he slashed with the sword, hitting something hard and feeling a blow in exchange while triggering the pistol at the man to his left, no more than two yards distant. Something hurt and his right arm was stiff, but both men were down. He looked around and saw the skirmish was ended, had lasted no more than a minute.

“Sergeant Fletcher! Report!”

“All over, sir. Tidying up now. Looks like a good score of horses taken, sir. Maybe ten down and being seen to now, sir.”

He heard the sporadic crack of pistols as the wounded horses were put down.

“What have we lost?”

“No horses, sir. They didn’t use their pistols, sir. The officer kept yelling something about swords and cold steel, sir. That is, ‘e did until you bloody near chopped his head off, sir. Blood from arsehole to breakfast time, sir! Three of the troopers behind him just dropped their swords and stuck their hands up at the sight of it! You’re covered in it, too – proper Red Man, sir!”

“Some of it may be mine, Fletcher. He poked me a bit before he went down.”

Rootes heard and came scurrying to Micah’s side. He had dismounted and had been running his hands over Micah’s three and his own victim, now turned to more important business. He had, besides, discovered the officer’s purses and finger rings and a pin with a stone that tied his cravat, had done the bulk of the job.

“Let’s take a look, sir. Down you get.”

They sat Micah on the turf and removed his breast-and-back and cut his shirt sleeve open, over his protests that it was too good a shirt to ruin.

“Bugger the shirt, sir! Sliced you up from a hand’s width above the elbow to the point of the shoulder, so he did. Deeper than I like… You can see he swiped at you and bounced off the breast, sir. Silly bugger never learned you got to thrust a straight sword, not slash with it. He ain’t going to learn much now, anyhow. Going to hurt, this bit, sir. Got to clean it up.”

Micah sat stoically as Rootes soaked a piece of cloth in gin, taken from a pocket flask, and wiped it down the wound.

“Got a few bits from your shirt stuck inside, sir. They’re out now. Waste of good gin, sir, but I seen it to work for healing before now. Any case, it’s pretty bloody poor gin, truly speaking. Didn’t cost no more than tuppence in the boozer in Romsey. Kept it because it tastes so bloody bad I didn’t want to drink it if there was anything else.”

Micah almost laughed.

“Tie it up tight in its own blood. Always best for healing that. Stands to reason, don’t it, sir. The body ain’t going to be hurt by the blood what belongs to it. You hear these silly buggers what says they ought to be washing cuts clean, but that don’t make sense, to my mind. Up you stands, sir. Best to keep moving. Stirs up the humours, sir.”

Micah could not argue; Rootes’ words made simple common sense. He tucked his right hand into his breeches pocket and asked Rootes to strap on his armour – he had to show the men that he was ready and able to lead them still.

“Drag the dead horses off to the side, in the bushes. Is that fellow from Upavon still here?”

“He stopped where he was, hiding, when he heard there was going to be fighting, sir.”

“Sensible man. Ride back and bring him here.”

Ten minutes saw the cadaverous landlord nervously standing before Micah.

“Get your people busy, man. There’s the better part of a dozen dead horses here. Have you got butcher’s knives?”

The mournful face lit up.

“Bloody right we ‘as, Soldier! Us can go down the valley, Netheravon way and get one of their blokes with a cart to come up. I’ll send the boy off running now. They’ll take the horsehide and a good bit of the meat what we joints up and let us have some flour for it. Give us use of a barn to live in maybe as well. Saved our necks, so you ‘ave, Soldier. Not going to live, othergates, we wasn’t. Can’t do much, for thee. I can tell the other folks what it was Parliament what looked after us, and King what did us down.”

“Do that, man. I wish you luck in your future.”

“Needs it, don’t us, Soldier!”

The field was cleared, the bodies and wounded removed, put out of sight behind scrub, together with the dead horses. The troop rode back to the battalion, to warn them of the impending onslaught.

Daniel walked across.

“You are wounded, Red Man?”

“Cut on the arm, sir. I shan’t be waving the sword again today. I shall be leading my men.”

“Take care. If you become faint, get down from your saddle and give command to your second. Eglinton can do the job, or all I want from him today.

Micah did not say that he had his doubts about that. He nodded.

“Place your troop on the road, behind the battalion, Red Man. When the time comes, I shall call you forward into the attack, through our line and then right or left as I point you. Did you lose many?”

“Only one dead. Six cut beside me. They would not use pistols. Their lieutenant in command was a youngster and was shouting them to get into us with the sword. Apparently he was of the opinion that gentlemen with cold steel would defeat any number of ‘tradesmen and peasants’, such as we are. There were thirty-one of them and we have taken eight unharmed and eleven variously wounded and twenty good horses. We have the tack and all of their pistols and swords and some good boots.”

Daniel was amused that they had possessed pistols but had chosen not to use them.

“How many? All flintlocks?”

“Fifty-two, sir. Some men had only the one. More of them are wheellocks than flintlock; we have the spanning keys for them. Each man had a straight sword with a thirty-inch blade, sharpened both sides, not point and single-edge which is more normal.”

“Slashing – not so effective as the thrust. Poor practice. What of armour?”

“Old helmets, all to a pattern. For the rest, a mixture of new and old and none at all. The lieutenant had a breast plate and some sort of thigh guards of overlapping layers. I thought his armour was old – his grandfather’s, perhaps. Heavy, for sure.”

“Not sure that armour makes sense in this day and age, Red Man. A musket ball will pierce most plate mail and shot from a gun will certainly destroy any man, whatever he wears. I saw cuirassiers in the Germanies, armoured top to tail and slow, and never thought them so dangerous as light horse with leather coat and sword and carbine or pistol. Their day is done, I suspect, except that they look most fearsome. Place yourself, Red Man. The foot must arrive soon.”

The horse walked back to their place and dismounted to rest their horses.

Rootes appeared with a camp chair.

“Do you sit down for the while, sir. We ain’t doing much for the next little while. Take a count of what we picked up this morning while we’re quiet, sir. That officer was a rich man’s son if ever there was, sir!”

No fewer than three heavy purses were laid at Micah’s feet.

“One in his pocket and two in the saddlebags, sir.”

The largest of the three, more of a leather sack than a pocket purse, contained silver half crowns only.

“Sixty of ‘em, sir. I reckon that to be two week’s pay for the troopers.”

“Thirty pennies a week? Not much for horse. More like just the one week’s money, I would say.”

Rootes agreed that might be more likely.

The others had mixed gold coinage, minted in all of the countries of Europe, as was usual enough. Any man taking payment in gold would expect to put the coins over the scales first and calculate their value by weight.

They hefted the heavy purses and agreed on the better part of a hundred pounds sterling.

“Tuck those away safe, Rootes. Share them out later. What else did he have?”

“Got a tiepin, sir, what you might want to wear. And a ring or two what won’t do for your fingers.”

“Good enough. What’s the chance of something hot, Rootes?”

“Got a mug of smouch steeping, sir. Thick and strong, what does you good.”

Bitter and harsh on the throat, as well – but Micah would drink it, accepting it as medicinal, a tonic as well as something warm.

An hour and they heard a pair of drums beating in the distance.

“That reminds me, Rootes. We have taken on drummer boys but have no drums for them.”

“Buy them when we get back to London, sir. Not going to pick them up out in the sticks here. Ready to go, sir?”

Micah rose to his feet, not entirely steadily.

“Only a cut, Rootes! Shouldn’t be doing this to me!”

“Shakes you up, it does, sir, taking any wound. You’ll forget it when you get busy.”

Micah hoped his man was right. The wound hurt, was throbbing, and his whole shoulder felt bruised. He pulled himself into the saddle – there was work to be done.

Chapter Sixteen

The drums rattled and banged, hammering out a quick march, the boys keeping well to time and clearly enjoying themselves. A pair of trumpets squawked an uneven counterpoint, very martial if short on musicality.

Micah cocked an ear, made a show of shaking his head at a particularly shrill false note.

“Don’t want to recruit that one after the fight, Sergeant Fletcher.”

“Not if he can’t do better nor that, sir. Much tempted to stuff his trumpet where he won’t be inclined to play it, sir.”

There was a chuckle as the men agreed with his sentiment.

“Take the drummers on, sir. They ain’t too bad.”

“Reckons as ‘ow I could do better with that old horn, sir.”

Micah turned to Trooper Wheelwright, a generally quiet, pious sort, little more than a boy.

“Learned to play at chapel, Wheelwright?”

“So I did, sir. Pastor taught I for liking to play, sir.”

“Good! See if you can pick up those trumpets, if they don’t get ruined in the fight.”

Wheelwright nodded, as did the men beside him, evidently friendly to the youngster.

“They’re here, sir.”

The cry went up all along the front of the battalion.

The leading ranks of the King’s force appeared and halted and then slowly organised themselves from column of route to line. They formed up in a double row from riverbank to the edge of the scrubland, almost a furlong distant from the regiment.

Micah counted twelve officers on horseback behind the ranks, four pairs and four spread singly as if there were eight companies and too few lieutenants for one apiece. A brightly uniformed colonel sat his horse at the front, accompanied by a pair of young men and the trumpeters and a trooper carrying a colour.

The trumpeters played a fanfare followed by a call in rising and uncertain triplets – presumably a known signal.

Daniel stirred forward, turned in his saddle and beckoned to Micah.

“Parley, Red Man. Ride at my side.”

They walked their horses slowly forward, stopped at about a hundred yards from their own men. The colonel came forward with his whole party.

Daniel called his name when the two parties were about ten yards apart.

“Major Carew of Colonel Jevons’ Regiment, in the service of Parliament.”

“Colonel Lightfoot, Devizes Regiment at His Majesty’s command. I order you to lay down your arms and eschew your treason, Carew. Should you not do so, then our righteous wrath shall fall upon you.”

“There is no treason in bringing an ill-conditioned King to book, Lightfoot. There is, however, much to find outrageous in your conduct. Why do you lend your countenance to the dishonoured brat Holmes? I see him at your side, a week since he wrote his parole and was released from his captivity. I call on you to dismiss him from your service and return him to face a court of honour.”

“That I cannot do, Carew. The treasonable are strangers to honour. However… I know nothing of a parole. Mr Holmes, are these words true?”

Holmes looked about him, discovered every face to bear a scowl.

“No pledge made to a traitor can be confining upon a true man, sir. A treasonable dog cannot offer or accept a meaningful parole.”

Colonel Lightfoot’s face reddened in anger.

“Give me your sword, Holmes!”

“Do what?”

“Surrender your sword this instant, boy! You are a forsworn rogue and bring shame upon all of us who march with you. Your sword, and your pistols, now! You are to hold yourself under arrest. Go to the rear, to the baggage waggons. You will be set before a court as soon as we have thrashed these villains.”

Holmes stared about him, suddenly clapped his spurs to his horse’s flanks and hauled its head around. He galloped off, lashing the beast with his riding crop.

Colonel Lightfoot watched Homes go, almost unbelieving. He turned back to Daniel.

“I must offer my apology, Carew. I shall post his name as a deserter and place a reward on his head. He is yours to do as you will if you catch him. If we get to him first, then I assure you that he shall hang.”

“Thank you, Lightfoot. I accept that you were unaware of his criminal nature. No blame accrues to you, sir. We outnumber you, Lightfoot, and we have a disciplined and experienced force. Lay down your arms and march off with honours of war, sir. Many of your men, and a few of mine, will die if we put them to the test of battle. We have destroyed your horse, for the loss of one man of ours. Send your men back to their homes, to their wives and children, sir, for they will do no good here.”

Colonel Lightfoot shook his head.

“We are in the right. God will strengthen our arms and bring His Majesty victory. My son leads my horse. Have you anything to say of him?”

“He and five more came up against the Red Man, Colonel. The leading three died and the others laid down their arms, wisely. As you will see, Red Man carries a scratch to his shoulder.”

Micah bowed in his saddle.

“He was my only boy.”

“He was outmatched, sir. So will all of your force be. I beg of thee to withdraw from this field, Colonel.”

“Take your place, Carew, and make your peace with God. I can say no more.”

Colonel Lightfoot stared at Micah, setting his face in his memory before turning away, his shoulders shaking.

The two parties returned to their lines.

“What did you see, Red Man?”

“Six hundred men at most, sir. No more than two hundred shot and most of them with the old, lever matchlock with the serpentine that falls back towards the face of the firer. Of the pikes, the bulk are no more than twelve feet. The poles are mostly green timber, recently made, not all of the bark stripped, and possibly not especially strong. The irregulars, as you called them, are held back by almost another furlong and are bunched up in clumps rather than forming a line.”

“Well spotted. We shall hold and let them advance until they plant their rests and ready their volley. Then we shall shoot first. I shall pass the word. Be ready to fall on their line as it breaks. Do not advance as far as the second body; give them the chance to observe the defeat of the leading men and consider whether they might be better off to march back home again.”

Daniel passed the word to his captains, instructed them to wait his shout of command. He made particular mention of the need to hold the men together when they advanced. The first few orders he gave himself.

“Musketmen, set your rests!”

The shot companies behaved well, working to command and pushing the stakes with their ‘Y’ shaped tops a few inches into the thin topsoil and then letting their muskets drop to the horizontal, the unbalanced weight of their barrels taken from the men.

“Level your pieces.”

The shorter men found that command difficult as a general rule. Where the captains and lieutenants were awake to the problem, they had sawn a few inches off the rests so that the musket laid naturally parallel to the ground.

“Make ready!”

The company officers and sergeants took over, instructing the men to blow on their match and be ready to open the covers on the firing pans.

They stood quietly in their triple rank and watched as Colonel Lightfoot brought his men forward, at the slow march and held together, obedient to his command. The Royalists stopped at twenty yards distant and the shot planted their rests while the pikes lowered their unwieldy weapons to the horizontal, ready to push forward.

Daniel gave his shout, roaring as loud as he could.

“First rank will fire!”

One third of the muskets gave their throaty cough and a cloud of powder rose, shifting forward slowly on the light breeze. There was a rattling as the lead balls hit against the armour of the few possessing any and clattered against muskets and helmets.

Daniel counted off twenty seconds, deliberately, muttering the time out loud and listening to the first yells and howls from the enemy line.

“And nineteen; and twenty… Second rank… Fire! And one; and two…”

The powder smoke thickened and eddied as the first return fire came across the narrow gap. A few men dropped. The bulk continued their methodical reload, ramming home and filling the pans and blowing on their match and holding their pieces to the ready.

“Third rank… Fire!”

Captain Vokes on the far right of the line, able to see more because of the wind direction, shouted and waved.

“Breaking, sir!”

Daniel acknowledged and stood in his stirrups, pointing forward.

“The regiment will advance!”

The pikes pressed forward immediately, holding their formation, stepping out into the smoke. The shot retrieved their rests and waited for the third ranks to complete their reload before following.

Micah raised his left arm and waved his troopers forward at a fast walk through the murk of the powder smoke. He came to the first bodies still in the gloom, perhaps a score of men down, most motionless, still in the first shock of being hit by the big, heavy, soft lead balls. There were more rests than bodies, some still upright in the ground. He spotted a good dozen of muskets discarded by running men. Some at least of the Royalists had broken.

He kept to the walk, cautious – that some had run did not mean that all had lost their discipline. The air began to clear after fifty yards. He spotted Colonel Lightfoot’s bay stallion down to his front, his master thrown clear a yard or two distant. A second glance showed both to be dead. It was a pity – a fine horse, he had noticed earlier. The colonel had a shot wound in his chest, powder burns showing the discharge had been at close range, and his sword lay on the turf where it had dropped from his hand; it seemed likely he had tried to force his men to hold when first they had started to run.

“Shot by his own people, Fletcher.”

“Seen it before, sir. Not very clever, standing in front of men in a panic. Always has been a good way of getting dead in a hurry, sir. Best we hold here for a minute, sir. They’re all tangled up with the other lot just now.”

Micah’s arm hurt and his head was aching. He could hardly make sense of what he could see to the front.

“They’re fighting each other!”

“Bloody daft, sir! Looks like the one set of officers has tried to make them stand again, has turned their own men on them to try to get them to obey. Don’t work, not when men are running. Wait a few hours until they’re calmed down, you can set them in their ranks again, if you can find them! While the first fright’s on them, nothing will make them think and act sensible. All they know is they got to run, and they’ll kill any man that tries to stop them.”

Micah nodded, and regretted the act as his head hurt even more.

“Leave them to it. Hold our men here, Fletcher. We’ll clean up in a few minutes.”

“Best ye should get down from thy horse, sir. Before ye fall off!”

Micah tried to protest, decided his sergeant was right.

“All this for no more than a little cut, man!”

“Ain’t so big, but it’s nigh on down to the bone, sir. Needs a bit of looking after.”

Micah heard a shouting of orders, slowly saw that the remainder of the regiment had drawn up in line on either side of him, waiting for the confusion to the front to resolve itself. Daniel came to his side.

“Ten minutes and they will have come to a conclusion, Red Man. I would expect them all to break up and run off home. I shall not pursue if they do. No sense to harrying the land and killing men whose sole crime is to have been forced into the enemy’s ranks. The second body may hold, though. In that case, it is either terms or another fight – the choice being theirs.”

They waited, watched as an effective commander managed to tidy up the confusion.

“He has given up the effort to bring them back to discipline, Red Man. They are running, mostly without their muskets, which will not concern them too greatly… Ah! Here they come. Four officers riding towards us, flag showing. We will wait for them to come up to us – we need not offer them any pretence of equality by meeting them halfway.”

The four stopped a few yards distant.

“Parley?”

“Granted, sir. Come forward.”

Three country gentlemen and one younger man, an obvious professional soldier.

Daniel introduced himself, taking pains to be courteous.

“I know Colonel Heering from some years back, gentlemen.”

“The Colonel has offered his military experience to our cause, Major Carew.”

“He has done as much for several different causes in the past, I know, sir. He is a very competent soldier. He must have told you that this is a lost field, gentlemen.”

The three local men, all unknown to Daniel, grunted acceptance of his statement.

“There is no need to see more men dead, gentlemen. Nor is there any requirement to shame any man present. You have come to the field of battle and have found yourself outmatched. The wise course is to send your people home, back to their families. I will be happy indeed to accept your word of honour that you will not fight more this year, gentlemen.”

“What of the men, Major?”

“Those who have pikes and muskets to leave them here on the field. Some few seem to be carrying the tools of their trade – woodsmen with their axes in particular. They should take them home again. I would require your pledge not to call them to arms again, gentlemen. No penalty to accrue to men who came to their masters’ command.”

The country gentlemen, out of their depth, assented to what seemed to them to be generous terms.

“What of me, Major Carew?”

“You, Colonel Heering? I would suggest you find another employer, sir. There will be many in need of your skills this year. Best you should go to London. You have worked to General Skippon’s orders in the past; no doubt he can find a place for you again. Do be certain to collect your pay from these gentlemen before you go!”

The mercenary laughed.

“I am paid for victory, Major Carew. The understanding is that failure will leave these good folk short of the half-crowns needed to settle my account! I shall ride off to London, sir. No doubt we shall meet again. You have a well-disciplined regiment here, Major Carew. My current employers could learn much from you. What is my best route for London?”

“South to Salisbury and then to Winchester will keep you in land held by Parliament all the way. Wiser than going north and picking up the road from Bristol.”

Colonel Heering turned in his saddle and whistled to a pair of servants leading a packhorse. He bowed to the three gentlemen and quietly walked his horse off, seeking his next employer.

“What a villain!”

Daniel shook his head.

“Just a soldier by trade, sir. I expect he gave you good service while he was with you.”

“Are all mercenaries like that, Major Carew?”

“He is more honest than most. Now, gentlemen, time to finish our business. Will you send your men off to their homes or do you wish to march them back to your manors? Have they been paid? Will they turn to brigandage if you dismiss them?”

“It was the Devizes men who burned Upavon, Major. Ours are not that sort of gutter rat!”

“Then send them home quickly, would be my advice, sir. Broken soldiers will commit every crime in my experience and you should send your men off to protect their homes and families. Move them off and then return to me to discuss your parole.”

Micah was a little surprised that Daniel should treat the three so leniently.

“I am not to remain hereabouts to hold their manors and keep them docile, Red Man. We march back to Salisbury today. We are too few to hold the Plain and will only meet more and more troops sent against us. Tidy this business and then away we go while we still can. The local squires will be far less likely to risk their necks again for the King and we have done what we came here for.”

They marched in late morning, having buried their few losses and collected together all that was valuable on the field. By the time they camped Micah was in fever and unable to sit a horse.

He travelled in a waggon next day and was barely conscious when they stopped at the big house at Odstock. He noticed the comfort of a mattress and a big bed before falling back into restless sleep.

Two days later he woke and found himself uncomfortable but alert and being watched by a young female. He blinked and placed who she was.

“Miss Carew?”

“You are awake, Red Man! We had feared for you, sir. A high fever but now broken. Your arm is less reddened as well. It was too high for the surgeon to cut, sir. Otherwise you would have lost it, I doubt not. Do not move, sir. Your man is here to look to your needs. I much suspect you will be some weeks with us yet.”

She left the room and he heard her call to Rootes that he was awake.

Rachel, he remembered, the youngest of the girls. He had thought her to be of the King’s persuasion but she seemed friendly enough - presumably because he was wounded.

Rootes came in, bearing a very welcome chamber pot.

“Thought you was a goner, sir, the way that old fever mounted on you. Lucky, so you was, sir. Fell on your feet, sir. The Major said you was to stay until you was fit, sir. Then you goes to the Regiment again, if you know where it is. If not, off to London to General Skippon, sir. For now, just get well again. The lady will look after you, sir.”