The Licence of War (34 page)

“I must go,” he said, remembering his own haste.

“Will, bring his horse,” she said to the boy. “Goodbye, Mr. Beaumont.”

“Poor thing,” said Will, as they watched her walk towards the house, head bent, cradling the sack in her arms.

“The bird has a fair chance,” Laurence objected.

Will gave him a sorrowful look. “The bird has, yes, sir.”

Under the boughs of a great tree that would soon be their gibbet, thirteen prisoners were praying, heads bared, hair tousled in the wind, as Prince Rupert’s troopers crowded round jeering and hurling stones at them. Some were already bleeding from these well-aimed missiles; with their hands tied behind, they could neither defend themselves nor wipe away the blood.

“So, what was their crime?” Antonio said to Diego, who had been asking about in the crowd.

“To be captured, Don Antonio. Parliament decreed it lawful to hang any prisoners who came from Ireland to fight for His Majesty. The Governor of some town that fell to the rebels strung up a bunch of Irish. Prince Rupert learnt this morning. This is his reprisal.”

Antonio approved. He had longed to see Rupert in the flesh. Two days ago, their motley troop of recruits had finally marched out of
Shrewsbury to catch up with Rupert’s main army some thirty miles away; and last night, over their rations of beans and bread, they had heard much from his troops about his skill as a tactician. At any hour he would lead a small group of Horse from village to village and town to town on lightning raids for provisions, and his reputation for speed, agility, and invincibility made him feared but also adored. In Cheshire, as he had in Shropshire, he was drawing men to swell his ranks; and here he was again demonstrating his strategic use of violence.

Diego was more intent upon the crowd than the rebel prisoners. “Major Beaumont must be with the rest of the Prince’s Lifeguard. If we don’t find him first, he’ll spot
you
, and you will have squandered the advantage of surprise.”

When the nooses were lowered, Rupert pressed through towards the tree on his white horse. “I hold no grudge against you,” he told the prisoners, “other than that you have treacherously taken up arms against your rightful King. You have been chosen by lot to pay for what occurred at Nantwich, when the same number as you were suffered to die by the noose. I have spared a fourteenth, who is delivering a message to the Earl of Essex: that in future, for every man put to death by Parliament otherwise than in a fair fight, I shall hang two rebels. Make your peace with God, and may He have mercy upon your souls.”

“The licence of war, Diego,” remarked Antonio. “One side breaks the rules, and the other must follow suit. And soon there are no more rules.”

To the accompaniment of a drum roll, the hangmen tossed the ropes up over the boughs of the tree. A lone prisoner wept; the others burst into a defiant hymn, singing in unison, though their voices were drowned out by catcalls and laughter.

“Show some respect for their courage,” the Prince yelled at his troops.

The singing hushed slowly, as each man met his fate by the slip of the rope. When it came to his turn, the last shouted out, “I go to a happier place, to the bosom of Lord Jesus, the King of Kings!”

“Or to the lake of eternal fire, you unrepentant heretic,” Antonio scoffed at him.

All attention was fixed on the tree and the dangling corpses: the spectacle of death had sobered the crowd. Diego pointed out the officers who wore the colours of Rupert’s Lifeguard. A smart company, thought Antonio with nostalgic envy, as he sought out a face that resembled his.

“Let me ask their drummer for Major Beaumont,” said Diego.

Antonio’s heart started to pound when the boy indicated a man on a grey and white mare: he had been wrong to look for himself in Elena’s younger son; he should have looked for James Beaumont.

As if sensing Antonio’s gaze upon him, Major Beaumont swerved about in the saddle. His astonishment was far greater than Antonio had predicted: his blue eyes popped wide and his mouth fell open.

“Major Beaumont.” Antonio walked towards him. “At last I have the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Who in God’s name are you?” he asked, like a man confronting a phantom.

“Don Antonio de Zamora, cousin to your mother, the Lady Elena,” said Antonio, sweeping off his hat. Major Beaumont remained dumbstruck, so Antonio talked on, in his best English. “I voyaged from my hometown of Seville to perform an errand in London for His Majesty King Philip, and whilst there as a guest of the Spanish Envoy, Don Alonso de Cárdenas, I mentioned that I wished to renew ties with my dearest cousin. He wrote to the Lady Elena on my behalf this past December, but had no reply—”

“Ah yes,” interrupted the Major, some recognition dawning on his face. “She
did
receive his letter, at Christmastide.”

“She may have written back to him, or to me, yet … with the war …” Antonio shrugged. “When I heard nothing in months, I had to make my own inquiries.”

Major Beaumont dismounted, and bowed; his perplexity was comical. “Forgive me, sir, but you are the only member of my mother’s family that I have ever met.”

“She has not spoken of me?”

“Never in my whole life.”

“
Qué sorpresa
 … Are she, his lordship, and all your family in health?”

“Yes, when I left them.”

“How many children are you?” Antonio asked him, in a paternal tone.

“There’s my older brother, Laurence.” He spoke the name as though it had a sour taste. “And two sisters, Elizabeth, who was widowed last year, and Anne, who was lately married. My wife also lives at my father’s house, and expects our first child this summer. Have you not yet visited Chipping Campden?”

“I have not seen the Lady Elena in more than thirty years, Major – or may I call you Thomas? In Spain it is most …” He turned to Diego. “
Cómo se dice: descortés
?”

“Ill-mannered,” Diego supplied.

“Ill-mannered to descend unannounced, even upon family, without invitation. The Envoy had told me that her sons served with the King, and so I went from London to Oxford, hoping to find you there, Thomas. I did not, though I found out you were in Prince Rupert’s Horse. I therefore followed the Prince’s army, in search of you.”

“From Oxford all the way into Cheshire?” said Thomas. “But why—”

“My valet and I had the most appalling journey,” Antonio hurried on. “Praise God, our tribulations were worthwhile. It gives me such joy to meet you. And I look forward equally to meeting your brother.”

“He doesn’t serve in the Prince’s army – he’s in—” Thomas stopped, and shook his head. “He’ll be more amazed than I, when
he
meets you.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“He bears a striking similarity to you, as you both do to my mother.”

“Does he.”

“Your command of English is excellent, sir,” Thomas said, as though he disapproved.

“I thank you. Have you and Laurence your mother’s tongue?”

“Not I, but Laurence speaks it like a native. Sir, while I can’t ask leave to accompany you to Chipping Campden, I could write to her, so that your visit won’t be unannounced.”

“After our introduction, there is no need.”

Thomas surveyed Antonio and Diego with a different curiosity. “I don’t mean to insult you, but if I knew no better, by your dress I would take you for some of our foot soldiers.”

“Prince Rupert would not be pleased to recruit
me
,” said Antonio, amused. “I was for years an officer in the Hapsburg cavalry, serving the Emperor who stole his father’s kingdom and sent his family into exile.”

“He wouldn’t hold that against you, sir,” Thomas said humourlessly.

“I am not here to fight, Thomas, but to strengthen the loving relations between our families.”

A roll of drums cut into their exchange. “We’re to march on.” Thomas swung back into his saddle. “Let’s talk again tonight, when we make camp.” And with that, he trotted off.

“He’s transparent as glass,” Diego marvelled. “Not a whit of Mediterranean guile. And he hates mysteries, as he hates his brother. Don Antonio, we should disappear into our humble ranks and keep out of sight for a while. He will assume that we have gone to the Lady Elena.”

Antonio grinned up at the hanging tree, and the thirteen bodies swaying in the wind; he fancied he could smell their shit-stained breeches. “Have you a plan, Diego?”

“I’m inspired by two old tales,” Diego said, “of Cain and Abel, and of the prodigal son. You will give Major Beaumont a
version
of the truth. And not yet: let him lie fallow, then your seeds will take better root.”

The day after his return to Oxford, Laurence went to Christ Church hoping to obtain the King’s permission to quit Digby’s service, but the equerry said that His Majesty was too preoccupied, with unhappy tidings. Hillesden House in Buckinghamshire, seat of a loyal Royalist
friend, had been demolished by Parliament troops under the command of Oliver Cromwell, and its owner taken captive to the Tower. Laurence thought of his father: such a fate would be his death. And for Laurence, there was also bad news: the King had left a message ordering him to report to Lord Digby’s offices.

“I thank you for the note you sent, through Mr. Price, from Chipping Campden,” Digby said at once, in his efficient voice, “and I shall consider your advice about our strategies in London, sir, but let us pass on discussing them. I need one of your brilliant figures for my correspondence. It will be a light and pleasant task, to ease you back into your duties.”

Laurence pretended to accept defeat as regarded his service with Wilmot, and set to work. Meanwhile, whenever he and Price found themselves alone together, Price would invent some patently false excuse to disappear. One evening, Laurence burst into his chamber without knocking. “You’ve been avoiding me, Price. Is it because of the little chat you had with Elizabeth at my father’s house?”

Price turned scarlet. “I acted towards her as a gentleman should. I trust she didn’t suggest anything else.”

“No, she’s not a liar. But she is apt to be impulsive, and I won’t have
any
man taking advantage of her, no matter who he is.”

“Are you forbidding me to court her?” Price asked, a mixture of apprehension and defiance in his eyes.

Yes I am
, Laurence wanted to reply. “That’s for my father to do, should he so choose, and if he does, you’ll have to accept his decision. I’m merely warning you to continue acting as a gentleman.”

“You have my word, Beaumont.”

“Good,” said Laurence, “because I intend to hold you to it.”

Beaumont tossed a sealed roll of paper on Seward’s desk, lifted Seward from his chair, and gave him a mighty hug that knocked his spectacles askew. “Heavens, Beaumont, to what may I ascribe this violent outburst of affection?” gasped Seward.

Beaumont hopped up on the edge of Seward’s desk and began to swing his feet about, as he would as a youth when in an ebullient mood. “I was taking a walk today in Christ Church meadows, when I came upon His Majesty and Prince Charles airing their dogs.”

“A chance meeting?” Seward asked dryly, as he adjusted his spectacles.

“How
could
it be otherwise,” said Beaumont. “The Prince hailed me over, and as we were petting the dogs, His Majesty had the grace to confess that Digby had convinced him he couldn’t spare me for active duty.”

“Which was no surprise to you.”

“But it was to Prince Charles, who became positively irate. He started to talk about Pembroke’s plot and how I had saved his father’s life – and Prince Rupert from capture by Essex. And he said he’d consider it the height of ingratitude not to grant me my desire.”

“His Majesty doubtless scolded him for his impudence.”

“Not so. The King looked at him as if seeing him anew – as if seeing in him a future king. It was a … breathless moment. Then His Majesty bade me to accompany them to Christ Church, where he wrote and signed my release. His sole condition was for me to remain Digby’s faithful servant until I’m fighting fit.”

“Lord Digby will be beside himself with rage.”

Beaumont shrugged. “There’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Are you certain it’s what you want?”

“At least in
this
aspect of my life, I’m getting what I want.”

“I did notice how silent you have been on the issue of your marriage.”

“There I am well and truly trapped.” Beaumont jumped off the desk, to pace about the room. “I’m sorrier for her than for myself.”

“Do you dislike her?”

“No, I just foresee a loveless union.” He told Seward about his flying visit to the household, and Penelope’s eagerness to establish herself in the city. “My mother would never allow it. Oxford is far too
ridden with vice.” He stopped pacing. “I met Penelope’s twin sister at the house. She rather intrigued me.”

As he described the incident of the magpie, Seward’s nerves began to tingle; he might have been scrying in Fludd’s bowl. “What is her name, Beaumont?”

“Catherine,” Beaumont said.

“My nephew is on his way to Ch-chester, where he is expecting a f-further detail of Irish troops,” the King told his Council of War, “but I believe we are agreed that he should suspend his recruiting in the west and hasten to the aid of our g-garrison at Newark.”

“Should Newark fall, Oxford will be cut off from the entire northern reaches of England,” growled old Lord Forth.

Digby suppressed a sigh: Forth was stating the obvious, simply to show he had heard what was being said. He was almost as deaf as a post, and for that reason always stood close to the King.

“The rebels have at least two thousand Horse and more than twice as many infantry laying siege to our garrison,” Wilmot said belligerently. “Even Rupert can’t raise an army of that number in time to relieve it.”

“If His Majesty has one commander he can depend on for such a feat, it is His Royal Highness the Prince,” Digby said, to provoke Wilmot, though he agreed with him about the odds of Rupert succeeding.