The Whispering Swarm (64 page)

‘I'm sorry, Prince Rupert,' I said, ‘but did you say whispering swarm?'

‘Oh, it's just a reference to the gossiping mob. A bit of verse by a common enemy!'

‘I've heard that Swarm.' I was barely able to keep my trembling hands still. Was this a reference at last to some shared experience? ‘I hear it almost every time I leave the Alsacia. What is it?'

The prince merely looked mildly embarrassed. ‘It might be something of our enemy who sits drinking in the inn across the way.'

‘Captain St Claire? He's still here?'

‘Aye. His companions are nothing more than taproom bravos but Mr Andrew Marvell, as he's otherwise known, is a man of some gifts.'

I'd heard of Andrew Marvell, of course. A Cromwellian. That would explain his interest in the Alsacia and why he wanted to overhear Prince Rupert when he demonstrated his orrery. He certainly was not a common spy. He was an educated eye. A knowing ear. What else had I inadvertently told him? How much had he passed on to Cromwell and how much had he kept to himself?

‘Marvell's surely an adept of some kind. He knows of the silver way.' Friar Balthazar frowned. ‘And plans to betray us?'

‘How could he betray us?' Rupert asked. ‘What could he tell Cromwell which the Lord Protector does not already know? What could he show him that he would believe? Or condemn as Satan's illusion?'

‘What does Cromwell know? More than we guessed?' The abbot smiled at the table in general, seeking to reassure us. ‘He wants what we possess. I think he fears it. Or covets it. Or both.'

‘You'll be able to tell when he makes his next assault,' said Rupert grimly. ‘Perhaps you should all abandon this place and settle in some other?'

‘Your Grace forgets,' the abbot said, ‘Cromwell has no personal knowledge of the Sanctuary. The Protector relies on the reports of creatures like Nixer, who has certain crude abilities. Nixer, Love and company fear what we hide and what we know. Most outsiders believe the Alsacia to be no more than a den of common thieves and renegade royalists. Cromwell would destroy us on principle. He's never seen us yet he allows Nixer and others to pursue their ends as part of a general policy to attack London's rookeries. Sadly, his natural instincts never let him believe in the Sanctuary for what we know it truly to be!'

I hoped then that he might expand a bit on what the Sanctuary actually was but Prince Rupert interrupted. He was still uncomfortable. He was lost in his own thoughts. ‘A poet,' he murmured, ‘and a swordsman. An intelligencer for Cromwell, too! That could be a dangerous mix. I saw such a creature in my last full reading.'

‘Reading? You're familiar with the tarot, my lord?'

He shrugged. ‘A little. I was thinking on how we are compromised. Can we be followed? If so, who would follow us?'

‘I believe Captain Marvell is able to see and use the silver roads,' I said. ‘Probably in a limited way.'

‘Aye, 'tis possible. He's an alchemist of sorts, I hear, an adept and an Oxford scholar. What did he say to you, lad?'

‘He spoke poetically. He talked about everywhere around us being deserts of vast eternity. I thought the vision a bit bleak.'

‘Well, if he knows certain routes and is a good poet, he speaks truth of sorts,' said Master Elias. ‘Poets can be seers. My great-uncle, for instance. If he's a genuine poet and no mere versifier, we should perhaps believe him. He has power. His words resonate. Yes, we must be very wary of your Mr Marvell. Where is he now?'

‘We left him in the Swan,' said Prince Rupert, rising. ‘Come, Master Moorcock. We must confront him, I think. It might be necessary to make him our permanent prisoner.'

Friar Erasmus looked up. ‘Could that duty not be left to us?'

‘There are three practised swordsmen there,' Prince Rupert warned him. ‘My musketeers already await. No, Brother, I think we had best be on hand in case there is violence.'

Erasmus turned away with a faint smile. Prince Rupert's lips were pinched and his eyes narrowed. I had learned from this expression that he anticipated trouble but didn't know if he had the means to deal with it. He picked up his sword and pistols from where he had left them outside the dining room. I wished I had brought a weapon as we left the abbey. I took big strides to keep up with him.

‘They are only three. They can't be much of a danger to us, surely?' I caught my breath.

‘It depends on the men they have ready, what he knows, and if he knows what that means. I did not see him for an adept.' Prince Rupert reached the door of the Swan and paused. ‘Don't let them suspect I am taking action against them,' he murmured. ‘And stay clear, lad. You're keen but you're no swashbuckler.' With me behind him he pushed the door open, to step inside.

The place was very busy. I saw no sign of Marvell and his uncouth companions. We searched every possible part of the inn. But they had gone. When we found Mr Toom he told us they had abandoned their weapons. They remained piled on the bar where, as Toom pointed out, they could have retrieved them if they so wanted. They had left at least a half hour since. There was nothing we could do. Our plans were not clear even to the musketeers. ‘We had thought it your strategy to let them go,' said Athos. Duval had taken the injured Nevison into the saloon bar to separate him from the three interlopers. I was the sole person amongst our band Prince Rupert had taken into his confidence.

Again we all spoke in French.

‘I supposed them trounced,' said Porthos. ‘I did not understand they were in need of a further trouncing.'

‘Alors!'
Athos dabbed at one eye with a soft glove. ‘I was for finishing them. Why did you not let me challenge them, Aramis? While they were here?'

‘Because I understood we were not to indulge in brawling in an inn protected by the prince!' Aramis spoke with familiar dry wit. ‘Believe me, Your Highness, we should have enjoyed nothing more than to engage your king's enemies. But I understood—'

‘You were right. You were right.' The prince drew in a great breath and let it out again. ‘Well, they're gone, maybe for reinforcements. I still don't fathom their game. My guess is that they suspect a plot by us to introduce more than one king's double. They were here to make certain they had indeed killed the king and not some second substitute. I doubt they'll be back before we leave. Marvell's to be feared but the other two are mere flotsam in his wake. Hurry. We must prepare. Gather here. This is the right moment to go. We'll take our charges to the ship as soon as we're all assembled.'

While he climbed stairs to his room I returned to the abbey and told them to prepare. Then I went to my cell. I got into some suitably warm clothes, wishing I, too, had a sword and pistols at my side, then returned to the chapel where several of the rabbis already waited. Soon the other travellers were gathered. Chief Rabbi Elias was the last to join the group of rabbis. Just as we prepared to set off for the Swan and meet Prince Rupert, an anxious monk ran in.

‘I think we are attacked again, Father Abbot. Armed men at the main gates. About thirty or more led by that Mr Marvell we thought a friend. What shall we do?'

‘Only one thing for it.' Father Grammaticus was grave. ‘You, Brother Michael, make speed with Master Elias and our fellows. Tell Prince Rupert what has happened. We'll delay these others as best we can. We are all expert swordsmen and pistoleers when needed. Go—and may our Lord's grace go with you!'

Somehow I found myself outside the abbey helping six bearded Jewish rabbis bundle Master Elias, their Chief Rabbi, into a heavy sea-cloak and then get him into a sedan chair. I was tempted to pick the old man up bodily, since he seemed so light, but I was too respectful to suggest it. So we crept along at his speed, with many glances behind us, and reached the Swan just as we saw the gates of the Sanctuary swing open to reveal Messrs Marvell, Clitch and Love at the head of at least a score of heavily armed redcoat troopers.

We couldn't risk the Chief Rabbi being harmed. Rather than obeying our natural instincts, we turned for the Swan just as Prince Rupert, the four musketeers and Claude Duval ran out with their scabbarded swords and sword belts still in their hands. The Frenchmen had their muskets on their backs. I was still unarmed. Seeing this, D'Artagnan darted back into the inn and re-emerged with one of the blades, a musket and a pistol surrendered by Marvell and Co. With him, struggling into his own harness, came Nick Nevison.

‘What's the rush?' Nevison asked me, slipping his belt over his shoulder and settling his sword at his side. Then he saw them all slowly filing in through the big gate. ‘Ha! Well, I've looked forward to dealing with them! We have you now, Mephistopheles!'

Duval growled. ‘You're not well enough, Nick. Let them nurse you at the tavern!'

Nevison's glare of contempt silenced the rumpad captain who shrugged and readied himself to run at the redcoats. Prince Rupert halted Duval. ‘We need to make speed, old friend. Come, there'll be plenty of enemies to engage later. Our duty is to get our Treasure aboard Sprye's brig. Others will stop those lads!'

‘Others?' Duval adjusted his hat. ‘There's barely a dozen Cavaliers in the house and they're in poor condition for a fight.'

As if on cue the monks of Whitefriars Abbey appeared between us and the Roundheads. I thought at first I witnessed some kind of Gandhi-like demonstration. Then I noticed what the monks had in their hands. Forming a line between us and Marvell's men each monk flourished a large pistol in one fist and a heavy sword in the other.

‘Those poor creatures are good as dead!' exclaimed Porthos.

‘Make haste!' cried Rupert urgently. ‘There really is little time. Marvell and his men got what they wanted from us. They know our plans!'

Abandoning the monks and hearing their first shots in defence of the Sanctuary we rushed down into the maze of streets where the Whitefriars Old Stairs waited for us.

 

53

ACROSS THE ICE!

As we ran down to the river, the rabbis took turns to carry a sedan chair probably heavier than its occupant. I heard gunfire behind me, the urgent cries of battling men and the sound of metal striking metal as swords met pikes.

I still found it hard to accept that Marvell had been intriguing against us from the very first moment we'd met. We had bonded in our view of the world. He had seemed so generous, so friendly. I had been certain he liked me as much as I liked him. What other betrayals should I have anticipated? Moll's treachery still hurt worse but now, if I hated anyone, it was Marvell. Otherwise I was now thoroughly wrapped up in the adventure though I knew it to be very dangerous, even lethal. Should I, the father of two young children, risk my life so readily for what might be a delusion? Probably not, though I'd scarcely had much choice in the matter.

We armed those others who could use muskets. Prince Rupert, Rabbi Solomon, Duval and myself carried one as did Nevison who was defiant in his insistence on coming. Prince Rupert now laughed, accepting him. ‘A limping Nevison is better than no Nevison,' he said. The musketeers still carried their own guns. They had made Athos their captain. They had three big pistols each, giving us a fair amount of firepower. Most of the Jews were unfamiliar with any weapon. Few sported as much as a sword. They stayed close to the sedan chair, as if to protect it with their bodies.

Now we were at the steps and descending very carefully, trying not to bump the chair on the slippery wood.

Once at the river the point of their choice of transport became clear. The thing had brass runners and could easily be pulled and pushed over the smoother ice. The surface varied widely. Whole stretches were as unruffled as an Olympic rink; other parts were covered in hubbles and knolls made by the cold and wind.

Carefully, we lowered the sedan chair onto the slippery planks leading away from the bank. I went ahead then, treading carefully through the darkness, following the rotting planks I had used earlier. Again fog rose up around me, clinging to my clothing, obscuring my vision, chilling my flesh. It almost felt as if solid bodies pressed against mine. Silvery threads tangled themselves in front of me, forming shapes, dissipating, muttering. I took as firm a grip as possible on the sword D'Artagnan had found for me and pushed on against the yielding fog. As before, I let the next man hang on to my musket and gingerly we moved forward. Shadows swam around us like ghosts.

Off in the distance the hazy light of the Frost Fair warmed the night. Here, we were hidden in darkness. We were a good-sized party consisting of the six rabbis and their Treasure, four musketeers, Nevison and myself. We would be easily recognised by anyone looking for us. Duval, Prince Rupert and Porthos led the rest. D'Artagnan, Aramis and Athos formed a useful rearguard. Their dark lanterns could be adjusted to make the smallest amount of light. With these they could only see or be seen for a short distance ahead.

At least for the moment we had outfoxed Marvell. He had expected us to leave by Carmelite Inn and planned to capture us all as we emerged beyond the gate. Did he know the nature of our Treasure? I felt oddly humble in the presence of the six young rabbis and the old man who claimed to be about the age of Methuselah. The rabbis clearly adored their Chief and considered Prince Rupert to be a good friend. They probably weren't aware he had originally planned to bring King Charles with us or that they were almost incidental passengers.

The rabbis obviously considered him a hero. Scientist and explorer, experimenter and strategist, privateer, courtier and wit, he had everything he could have except luck in his choice of allies. Some had already schemed against him. That was why he had not lately commanded the king's forces. Cromwell respected his skill and his courage as a leader. He would have dearly loved to get his hands on the ‘German prince'. Only Rupert could plan a successful uprising. If yet another royalist army was raised more than likely Prince Rupert would command it. Even now, as leader of our little band, Rupert instinctively knew our strengths and weaknesses.