The Licence of War (30 page)

But on the evening of the fourth day, the fever lowered, and Beaumont sank into a profound, opium-induced sleep. He woke about twenty hours later and gave Seward the ghost of a smile. “Where am I?”

“At his lordship’s quarters,” Seward replied, touching his hot forehead. “Praise be to heaven that your delirium has passed.”

“Digby called you here?”

“Yes, my boy, though for the past days I’ve kept him from your bedside. In fact, I’ve had to turn away a horde of anxious visitors, such as your brother and Ingram—”

“But … what happened to Rupert?” Beaumont tried to lift his head from the pillows. “Was he seized?”

“Will you be calm? He is safe and sound in Oxford, and most grateful to you. I’ll provide a full account of events when you are stronger.”

“No, Seward, I want to hear it now.”

“If you must,” said Seward, secretly overjoyed by this sign of his friend’s recovery. “It may distract you while I put a fresh dressing on your wound.” He told Beaumont how the Prince had been forewarned on the night before Aylesbury was to be surrendered, and had ridden with his Lifeguard the next morning to a hill overlooking the garrison. “Mosely had no clue that aught was amiss, and sent out his young servant to meet the Prince, rather than sending his own brother, as he had promised. This confirmed your warning, Beaumont, and Rupert instantly chose to retreat. The thaw cost him near on four hundred men and horses, but nature deals an even hand: the Earl of Essex was as hampered by flooded roads, and could not prevent him from reaching Oxford.”

“My God,” said Beaumont, weakly.

“The whole debacle was revealed at His Majesty’s Assembly in Christ Church,” Seward went on, as he tied up the clean bandage. “Prince Rupert wanted to hang Mosely’s servant
and
Major Ogle, who claimed he had been hoodwinked by the very men who aided in his escape to Oxford. The lad’s youth pleaded for him and he is being
held prisoner. Lord Digby and his father Bristol intervened to spare the Major.”

“As well they should – they were as deceived. Seward, I need more opium.”

Seward searched among the forest of vials and bottles on the bedside table. “My boy,” he said, “his lordship is keen to know how you learnt that the Prince was to be taken hostage.”

“His lordship must
never
learn how, but I will tell the King. My intelligence came from the Earl of Pembroke.”

Seward almost dropped the bottle of tincture as he poured out Beaumont’s dose. “By all the saints! I cannot wait to hear more, though you are in no state to talk, for the moment.”

“Hurry with that,” Beaumont said, of the opium, and swallowed it in one gulp. Then he went on, in a wondering tone, “Delirium can play the strangest tricks on the brain. After I was shot, when I was lost in the countryside, I imagined you were talking to me, urging me on. Your voice sounded as clear to me as it does today.”

Seward felt tempted to speak of his vision, but Beaumont’s eyes were starting to glaze over. “You were fortunate in that horse of yours – it must have scented the promise of oats and a good rub-down in Oxford.”

“It saved me twice. I hope I didn’t ride it to death.”

“It’s at Merton stables, in a stall beside your Arab. The grooms said no inferior beast could have made the journey.”

Beaumont smiled again, drowsily. “It belongs to Pembroke.”

Draycott saw Veech at his same table in the Saracen’s Head; he was studying a ledger. “Good day to you, Mr. Draycott,” he said, glancing up. “You look haggard.”

Draycott took a seat opposite. “My wife and I have been keeping vigil four nights in a row, over our eldest boy, Gregory. Had I a choice, I would not have left him, he is so ill.” Veech’s face remained impassive.
“Have you children, sir?” asked Draycott, upset by his indifference.

Veech laughed savagely and shook his head. “I cannot think of one sound reason to bring another human being into this world. Now, to business.” He passed Draycott the ledger, which was filled with entries in neat script. “I’ve been keeping a record of transactions between the Vintners’ Company and certain buyers in Oxford, from the end of December through to January.” Draycott examined them, his eyes stinging from fatigue. “Malmsey, Canary, Jerez … The gentlemen in Oxford enjoy their tipple,” Veech carried on, “and then the empty barrels get shipped back to London by barge. What I have suspected for quite a while is that they are
not
empty, and contain contraband.”

Draycott wanted to grab the book, hurl it across the taproom, and tell Veech to go to the blazes. He forced himself to concentrate. “Have you any proof?”

“Here’s where I need you, sir: according to its licence, the Company is exempt from our searches unless some clear malfeasance can be proved. Yet the licence was granted by the King and is to expire on the first of March, a month from today. I want you to draw up an amended contract on behalf of Parliament that would allow regular inspection of the barrels as they enter the City – a necessary measure due to the circumstances of war.”

“Commercial law is not my province, Mr. Veech. You should find someone with greater expertise to act for you.”

Once more Veech shook his head, this time as if disappointed in Draycott. “Have you told Judith who’s paying you to stay at home with your sick boy instead of marching in the cold with the Trained Bands?”

“I haven’t mentioned you specifically, sir, but she knows that I am in Parliament’s employ.”

“I’ll pay you extra for this.”

Draycott’s heart sank. The apothecary’s latest bill was thirty shillings, and there was the surgeon who came every night to bleed their son; Judith would consider the money a godsend. “I must consult a colleague on the precise wording of the licence, and review similar
contracts to ensure there are no loopholes that might be argued by the Company.”

“How long will you require?”

“Two weeks, at minimum.”

“Then I’ll visit you to collect the licence in exactly a fortnight.”

“No, I’ll bring it to you,” said Draycott; he could not tolerate the thought of Veech inside his house.

“If you wish. As it’s approved by Parliament, you will convey it in person to the Vintners’ representative, Sir Montague Hallam, and use your lawyer’s wiles to make sure he signs, no later than the third week of February. I hear he’s an agreeable fellow. You might become friends with him.”

“Is that an order?” said Draycott, bridling at Veech’s purposeful tone.

Veech did not reply; he was beckoning to a serving girl. “Excuse me, madam, is Mistress Sprye at work today?”

Draycott’s ears pricked up at the name, though he kept quiet.

“She is, sir,” the girl said sullenly.

“Send her to us.” When the girl had flounced off, Veech observed, “Mistress Sprye cannot have seen her lover in weeks.”

“Of course not: Price showed his true colours as a Royalist agent when he relayed your falsehood to Devenish at Winchester House. He’d be mad to set foot in London, now the King’s designs on Aylesbury have been exposed.”

Veech leant in closer. “The odd thing about Price is that he did not lie to me about Beaumont.
Beaumont was here
, so early I had no chance to issue an alert to the militia. On the seventeenth of January, a man of his description was stopped at Tothill Fields trying to
leave
the City with a safe conduct that made the sentry there suspicious. When he wasn’t allowed to pass, he jumped his horse over the gates and got away.”

“Well, well,” said Draycott, rather pleased that Beaumont had again frustrated Veech.

“I know how to lure him back in, and this time he won’t escape me,” Veech said, his eyes gleaming. “As for Price, I believe he’s a whore to both sides. He’s true only to the colour of money.”

“He
was
reportedly a thief.”

“He’s a thief and a whore.” Veech shut the ledger; a comely young woman was walking towards them. “Mistress Sprye,” he said, in a civil tone, “I am Clement Veech, and this is Mr. Draycott. We’re friends of Edward Price, who went to Oxford lately on work for me.”

She gave an impatient shrug. “He hasn’t spoken of you to me.”

“Has he ever talked of a Mr. Beaumont?”

“No, sir.”

Veech nodded as if accepting her answer. “When you see him, madam, please tell him to call on me. I’ve a hundred pounds waiting for him. We thank you, and good day.”

“And to you, sirs,” she said, and left them.

“She couldn’t lie to save her neck,” said Veech. “Our names didn’t register, but Beaumont’s did.”

“Such a charmed existence you lead, Beaumont,” declared Wilmot, perching on the end of Laurence’s bed. “I gather the ricochet of that ball saved you from a smashed shoulder blade.”

Laurence had to laugh. “I can assure you, my existence would be yet more charmed if the ball had missed me. I’m in considerable pain, and fear I may never get back the use of my right hand.”

“That’s why God made you left-handed, you old devil.”

“Thank you for your words of consolation. And how are you?”

“Thriving vicariously on the honours of my commander-in-chief. Bugger me if Prince Rupert hasn’t been created Duke of Cumberland, Earl of Holderness, President of Wales, and Captain General of four counties. Who can doubt that our golden boy will raise a massive army to conquer the west
and
repel the Scottish invaders from the north,
and
spirit across the seas a few thousand troops from Ireland to swell His Majesty’s ranks? And if he does, Beaumont, it’s largely your fault. He might have been Essex’s prisoner by now.”

“Hush,” said Laurence. “I hear royal footsteps.”

Wilmot rose to bow to Prince Rupert, with Boy at his heels, and Lord Digby. “Mr. Beaumont, are you faring better today?” inquired Rupert.

“I am, thank you, Your Highness. I expect to leave my bed tomorrow, if Dr. Seward permits me.”

“I had asked you how my uncle and I might reward you for your dedicated service. You must have some idea, since you asked for us to meet together here.”

“Yes I do, Your Highness.” Laurence let fall a pause. “As soon as I’m able in body, I should like to resign from my Lord Digby’s service, and fight for His Majesty under Lord Wilmot’s command.”

Digby flushed scarlet, glaring at Wilmot, who ignored him. Digby turned to the Prince. “Your Royal Highness,” he said waspishly, “in his invalid condition, Mr. Beaumont has succumbed to Lord Wilmot’s pressure. I must object: I will not let him go. Your Highness recently had proof of his inestimable value to us in matters of intelligence, although to this day he refuses to admit who told him of the trap that Mosely had laid for you.”

“My lord, I have to protect my informant,” said Laurence.

“Precisely my point,” Digby said, to the Prince. “How can Mr. Beaumont quit my employ and deprive us of a source as deep in the belly of Parliament territory as Jonah in the whale?” The Prince was silent, his lips twitching as if the metaphor amused him. “I would urge Your Highness and His Majesty to decline his request, for the benefit of His Majesty’s cause.”

“Mr. Beaumont,” said Rupert, “during your convalescence I pray you reflect on your decision. If you are of the same mind, my uncle and I will consider your wish. My lords, the Council of War meets in an hour. I’ll see you there.” And he walked out with Boy.

“My Lord Digby,” said Laurence, before Wilmot could interject some inflammatory remark, “I thank you for accommodating me over the past fortnight, but tomorrow I intend to leave your quarters and stay with Dr. Seward until I’m strong enough to ride to Chipping Campden, where I hope to recuperate.”

“Very good, sir,” said Digby, and sailed from the room.

“We must celebrate, Beaumont,” murmured Wilmot.

“Indeed we must, when I’ve regained my capacity for drink.”

Price was at the doorway. “Mr. Beaumont, may I beg a word?”

“Don’t tire him,” Wilmot growled, and waved Laurence goodbye.

Price appeared crestfallen. “I have to confess: I slipped up with Veech, last time I was in London. He said he thought Devenish was a closet Royalist, and like a complete fool, I reported that to Devenish himself. How they must have laughed at my stupidity.”

Laurence heaved a sigh. His shoulder throbbed, and from the chills rippling up his spine he could tell that he was feverish again. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I also wanted to thank you, Beaumont. Lord Digby was sure you’d gone to London because you were afraid for Mistress – I mean, for Lady Hallam, in her business for the King. But you went for another reason, didn’t you: you’d smelt a rat in that promise of the two garrisons, and you knew I’d be in trouble if Veech got wind of my game. You came to my aid.”

Laurence cared too little and was far too spent to dispute this interpretation of the facts. “Price, you don’t owe me any thanks,” he said. “Just go, and let me rest.”

Ingram knocked, expecting Dr. Seward to answer the door. “Who is it?” he heard Beaumont call out.

“It’s me, Ingram.”

“The latch is off – come straight in.” Dressed except for his doublet, a blanket across his knees, Beaumont was sitting at Seward’s desk
scribbling on a sheet of paper. His right arm was in a sling, and his shoulder bandaged under his shirt. Though he was still thin and sallow, the improvement in him delighted Ingram.

Beaumont set aside the quill and grinned. “How are you, my friend?”

“Very pleased to see you up and about,” Ingram said fondly.

“Not as pleased as I am.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Much less painful. Look – I can move again.” Beaumont wiggled the fingers of his right hand and shifted his arm about, in demonstration. “And my fever’s gone.”

“Dr. Seward has magical powers. It’s the second time he’s raised you from the dead, bless him. Where is he tonight?”

“In Hall, eating supper with Dr. Clarke. He told me that Rupert’s to march back to Shrewsbury tomorrow morning.”

“He is, and he’s got a daunting task ahead, to amass an army sufficient to occupy the entire northwest for the King. Thank God he can count on strong support in Wales and the border counties. He’s even started to recruit here in Oxford. He commanded Governor Aston to round together all the petty criminals in gaol who are of fighting age, and any rebel prisoners who’ll turn coat to follow him.”