The Monmouth Summer (32 page)

"Food's all I do hope for right now," muttered John Spragg. "Bain't it done yet, Philip?"

"Another ten minutes yet, I reckons. Quick cooking makes hard eating, as my old mother said often enough."

"Aye, but when you'm starved as I be it don't make no difference. You'd think if 'e was going to let us stand in that field all bloody day 'e'd've brought us some vittles, wouldn't 'ee? 'Tis only common sense, after all."

"Perhaps he didn't know we'd be standing there all day," said Adam, still grimly, stubbornly optimistic.

"Perhaps 'e don't know nothing. Perhaps 'e don't know how to lead us."

Tom Goodchild's bitter words shook Adam like a physical blow. It was the thought that was at the back of all their minds, the thought that no-one dared admit, for fear that it would become its own truth, and destroy them. Adam stared at his prospective son-in-law's gaunt, bony frame, seeing the childish panic in the usually strong face, the grey eyes deep and shadowed in the firelight, the lips loose, almost trembling. He felt a sudden, unreasoning fury at the overgrown boy in the man's body; what he said was true, but it must not be said, or it would destroy them.

"He knows more'n you, Tom. He's brought us this far and he'll take us further. We'll take the city, you'll see."

"The Lord sent us a sign last night and we did not follow it," said Israel Fuller. "He is a just God, but a terrible one; He has no mercy on them that heed not His words."

But it was not Israel's words that chilled Adam with the horror of damnation - it was as though his own fight with himself were now being conducted with them all; with those who he had previously feared because of their unquestioning bravery. Such words were too true to speak now. Courage was not a matter of truth. Courage came from daring to believe the impossible.

"Harsh words, Israel," he said. “More suited to be used of the heathen than of us. Didn't you say we have friends in the city? Perhaps the Duke was sending for them to open the gates to us, to avoid needless bloodletting."

"In that case ...”

John Spragg's words were cut off by the crack of a pistol. There was a shout from the village behind them, followed by more shots, the rattle of horses' hooves on cobbles, and a confused melee of urgent yells and orders.

"Get your muskets, lads, quick! And pikes! Fall in, hurry! Come on - Philip, leave that stew!" The bullroar of Sergeant Evans' voice had them running everywhere, like bees in an upturned hive. Adam grabbed his musket, and fell into line beside John Spragg. He was hurriedly fumbling with the pan to see if the powder was dry when he heard a roar of fury, and saw Tom Goodchild rolling on the grass with the spilled, scalding stew all over his leg. Philip Cox ran and kicked him out of the way, cursing and desperately trying to pick up the cauldron before all the stew was spilt. Sergeant Evans grabbed Philip by the shoulder, yelling at him to leave it and get his musket, and then Adam heard a bang and hum like a hornet go past his ear, and stumbled backwards over a stone as a horse's shoulder hit him in the chest.

That stone saved his life. A cavalry sabre swished through the air where his head should have been; and as he recovered himself, scrambling on all fours in the wet grass, there were horsemen everywhere, trampling and shouting and pushing through their half-formed ranks. Then he was on his feet and they were gone.

He stared helplessly round at the others, his hands muddy and empty, his musket lost. Then he looked at the ground and screamed, a horrible, shuddering scream that went on and on and on until his body was empty of breath. Philip Cox's severed head stared up at him from the grass by the fire, its eyes glinting insanely in the firelight. The headless body was slumped three feet away, blood pumping out of his neck in long spurts that hissed as they hit the fire.

Adam stared at the head, his own eyes huge with unbelieving horror. "Philip!" he yelled, hoping his friend would answer, but the face stayed set in its fixed, crazy grin, and small flames from the edge of the fire began to flicker along its hair.

He turned away and was sick, long and desperately, tears mixing with his vomit on the grass. Then as he turned, pale and shaking, to look again, Sergeant Evans grabbed him and thrust something cold and hard into his hands. Adam looked, saw it was a musket, and pushed it away.

“No ... " He felt a heavy smack on one side of his jaw, and then the other. He glared at the sergeant, enraged.

"Get in line, soldier, and hold that musket! You'll be dead, too, else!"

Adam found himself back in his line, with the rest pushed there by the sergeant, facing the road into the village where the horsemen had gone. Behind him, Roger Satchell was forming a second line facing the other way to defend their backs. When that was done the sergeant lined the hedges too, so that they formed a defensive square.

But they were too late. The royalist cavalry had been and gone. They heard shouts and shots from other parts of the village, but no-one came their way.

After about an hour, Colonel Wade came to Roger Satchell with the news that the army had been attacked by troops of horse from two directions at once. The royalists had been beaten off with some losses, the Colonel said, and three prisoners had been taken. From the prisoners they had learnt that Lord Feversham, the royalist commander, had brought the entire royal army up to face them, and that they were therefore to retreat immediately to Bath, rather than risk a battle.

It began to rain heavily about eleven o'clock, so that the soil they buried Philip Cox in turned to mud as they threw it over him. They began the retreat about midnight, without having had any of the rabbit stew he had tried to save.

"S
O YOU had no idea that Parker's troop was there, as well as yours?" Robert Pole handed the messenger a glass of wine, eager for his news. Ann felt suddenly cold, as though the man had left the door open to a winter wind, instead of the warm, damp breeze of June, rich with the scent of flowers and the tumult of birdsong.

"Parker? My dear sir, we had no idea that Monmouth was there, let alone Parker! We simply stumbled on them by accident."

"But hadn't they put out a guard? You could have been caught in an ambush!"

"So we should have been, if the rebels had any horsemen worth the name. But they've only ladies' riding-horses, and hacks, and coach-horses, that never heard a shot fired in anger before. We cut our way through them soon enough, and then beat up the camp - the foot were still cooking their supper! I beheaded one myself, by his stewpot!" The big, smooth-faced young cornet laughed at the memory.

"But you say Parker was in trouble?" Robert lounged by the mantlepiece, frowning and watching the messenger carefully.

"Yes, at first - and when we found out what was up, we went to rescue him. Feversham had sent him out to fright the rebels, and they'd sent nearly all their horse against him - three times his number, so he was in trouble, till we came at them from behind. But then they ran soon enough. The whole army was gone by morning."

"The whole army? But man, from what you say, your forces combined could not have been above four hundred! And Feversham had only a few hundred more, to defend the whole of Bristol!"

"God's truth. But they were there in the night, and gone in the morning. We found a whole room in an inn laid for supper, with plates and napkins all ready, and fifteen pairs of boots by the door. I took a pair myself - fine Spanish leather too!"

"I don't believe it! So what did you do - sit down and eat the meal for them?"

"No, Rob, 'twas a little burnt by then, what with the cooking all night. 'Tis something I mean to take up with our friend James Scott, if I meet him again - 'tis churlish in a man who wants to be King to burn his friend's supper, and flit before he comes."

Ann sat silent through their laughter, a laughter quite different from her own and Robert's the night before. Oddly, she did not think so much about how bad the news was - she thought, with the surface of her mind, how she disliked this stranger, this young Cornet Smythe, with his big, blond good looks, and the affected way he had of stroking the moustache on his upper lip as he spoke, as if he were afraid people would not notice the fair hairs against his blond skin. He stroked it again as he caught sight of her, and whistled softly, raising his eyebrows in appreciation.

"God's fish, Rob, they said you'd a lady with you, but I never thought 'twould be such a piece as this! You must introduce me at once!"

Robert did so, and explained her presence as best he could. Ann stared stonily at his elaborate bow.

"But if your father has the bad fortune to be with our mountebank friend, James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, I can only sympathise, Miss Carter. For I'm afraid I have worse news for you still."

"What's that?" Her anxiety to know overcame her reluctance to speak. Was it her father?

"'Tis that the rebels have failed also in their noble attempt to take Bath."

"What? They fled from a few hundred at Bristol, and tried to take Bath the next day?" Robert's surprise made him abandon his lounging position by the mantlepiece.

"God's truth. They launched a frontal assault on it with their crack troops, drawing immediate fire from Lord Fitzharding's militia within."

"Well, good for them. 'Tis no mean feat to attack a city after a night's march in the rain, even against the militia."

"Ah, no, Rob, wait." Cornet Smythe stroked his moustache solicitously, savouring the moment. "You see, his crack troops, in this instance, considering the importance of the noble city of Bath, comprised of a single herald, who rode boldly up to the walls and immediately let fly a salvo of fine words to the effect that if they did not open their gates at once he would burn the city single-handed over their heads. Whereupon the gallant militia, showing their full knowledge of the rules of war to a nicety, shot him dead; and James Monmouth. honour being satisfied, marched his army away again."

"Never! It can't be true!" Robert stared at him open-mouthed, then burst into amazed laughter. The messenger beamed, enjoying the reaction hugely. "But wherever does the man think he is going?"

"On a winding road to the chopping block, by the looks of it. But here's a point, Rob. Orders from Lord Churchill. You are to proceed to meet him in Bath tonight with the supply carts, so that we may join up with the main army in time to give him the final blow. After, of course, congratulating Lord Fitzharding's noble militia on their stirring victory over an unarmed herald."

"Thank God for that. I'd better start as soon as possible, then, before someone else comes with a message for me to trot up to London and fetch him a consignment of oranges."

Robert spoke a little bitterly, conscious that he was missing most of the excitement. When they had left Chard, John Churchill had ridden north as fast as he could with most of the dragoons and horse, closely followed by Colonel Kirke and his Tangier infantrymen, to join up with Lord Feversham near Bath. Robert, meanwhile, had been left behind with a small detachment of troopers to guard the slower-moving forage-carts, and find as much food as he could on the way. It was a necessary task, but hardly one that he enjoyed, although he suspected he had been given it so that he could enjoy some time with Ann, who also had to travel with the carts.

Half her life seemed to be spent on carts. Next morning Cornet Smythe left, clattering urgently back to the war, and Ann climbed miserably onto the forage-cart. She sat there dully as they lurched up and down the steep, muddy roads towards Bath, indifferent to the profusion of summer life all around her. The rain had passed on, and the long grass of the hedgerows steamed in the sun, while the flowers vied with each other to offer the brightest colours to the busy insects. Robert had picked her a nosegay of the best of them - red campion, forget-me-nots, ragged robin, moon daisies - but they lay unheeded beside her, wilting in the heat.

She felt herself as useless and unnecessary as the flowers; something picked up in delight for a moment, and then dragged around endlessly until her attraction was entirely gone. She pushed her hair irritably away from her face. The other night at the inn she had felt her passion for Robert return, sweeping aside her loyalty to her family and sense of duty. For an evening the idea of a future with Robert had seemed once again a thrilling dream that could really come true; now it seemed just a dream, and nothing more - a confusion of thoughts in the night. She felt no emotion but weariness and sick worry for her father, somewhere wandering these lanes behind a fearful, irresolute leader.

They stopped at midday to eat bread and cheese at a place where the road forded a little stream. and kingcups and water-lilies floated in the eddies. A heron flew morosely away as they arrived, and a kingfisher zipped downstream in a flash of dazzling blue. She got out of the cart gratefully, and Robert came back to talk to her. She noticed how his freckles seemed to grow darker in the heat of the sun, and had a sudden longing to put out her hand and touch them playfully. But there were too many eyes watching.

"How is my lady in her fine chariot? I am sorry I have to force you to travel so roughly."

"There is no need to force me to travel at all."

"I have to obey my orders. And orders are not always unpleasant." An ironic smile crossed his solemn face.

"Orders! But, Rob, it is nonsense. I can tell you nothing more about Monmouth's army than you know already. And if you were to let me go I could tell them even less about you."

He did not answer at once, but watched a group of swifts swooping low over the river, changing course erratically as one insect after another caught their eyes.

"Agreed. But my orders were also to take as good care of you as possible, and see that you fell into no more danger from troops of either side. Which I have done."

"Unless you think of the danger of having my bones shaken out of my body, from forever being jolted to pieces in carts." She put her hands on her back and arched it cautiously, hoping it would still bend as it should. Several eyes watched her, and she turned away from them, glaring scornfully downstream. "And having my body shot through with hungry glances from your troopers."