As soon as we discovered that Nick’s wound was painful but relatively superficial we bound it up, left money on the bar and ventured out into the streets again. I had the overwhelming feeling that the people in The Lost Apprentice were half-dead, waiting for a boat across the Styx. Given that we must have been a very strange-looking party, they showed only a dull interest in us. Mr Sweetlick did make a half-hearted attempt to keep us at the bar for a further drink but nobody followed into the cold. I had the impression they never went out. Were these the undying damned of the Sanctuary?
In ten minutes we had reached familiar territory, the lively, bustling heart of the Alsacia. In another five minutes or so we at last saw our square, with the big, welcoming coaching inn on one side and the solid old stone abbey on the other. Wood smoke, ornamented by glinting sparks, drifted up from the inn’s big crooked chimneys. Had Prince Rupert been successful? It was our first question as friends and acquaintances gathered. Was the king safe? Who had died on the scaffold? Someone, they claimed, had heard the bells.
I could tell them very little. It wasn’t my place. I looked impatiently for Rupert and the musketeers.
‘And the ravens came in. They perched on the roof of the abbey before they flew away!’ Tiny, rotund Sebastian Toom brought in hot wine. We were glad of it and thanked him heartily. The unique chill down by the old stairs had woven itself into our bones. Was that stuff only a mixture of miscellaneous gases onto which I imposed my imaginings? To me, it was something almost intelligent and probably malevolent. I associated it with the Whispering Swarm.
‘It’s ravens flying south, I tells thee,’ Mr Toom confided. ‘That says good luck.’
On cue I heard a busy flapping. Out of the shadows my old friend Sam came to settle on his shoulder. The bird cocked his head with what I took to be a sardonic expression. Good luck for whom? Sam looked at me and winked. Did anyone else there know he could talk?
Mrs Toom had made up her mind we had been starved on our mission. She and her servants came storming in carrying an extraordinary collection of dishes. The next thing we knew we were in a booth contemplating a hot steak and kidney pie ‘dressed’, as they liked to say there, in dumplings, carrots and runner beans. There were few meals better than Mrs Toom’s pies but I had little appetite. Even Nevison, who could usually tackle a plate of food at any hour of the day, didn’t do justice to his dinner. He had lost too much blood, he said. He needed to restore himself with black beer. And he ordered another shant of porter.
We all knew what the bells had meant. And, no doubt, the royal ravens knew, too. We hardly needed to talk about it. In spite of our attempt to save him, and due to his own by turns obstinate and mercurial nature, Charles I of England had met his end. He had believed so thoroughly in his own right to rule that he rejected all legal help. Refusing to accept the legitimacy of the court, he did not defend himself at his trial. Only at the last, when he understood his sentence, did he try to speak in his own defence. Yet, in the end, he might have been a fool, but he was never a coward. He went bravely enough to his death. He was martyred by a belief in God’s justice common to both sides. I had to work hard to keep my mouth shut. An old-fashioned liberal republican to my bootstraps, I still felt sorry for the man, as did any number of his enemies.
On my mind, Marvell/St Claire’s treachery now weighed heavier than Molly’s. If anything stood to attack my thoroughly uncynical nature it was his actions! I had suffered betrayal upon betrayal. Marvell had hung around for months, collecting information, spying. He was nothing less than what his contemporaries called an intelligencer, as Christopher Marlowe had been known a century or so earlier. No wonder Marlowe had been murdered! I had liked and admired Marvell. I had seen him as someone to emulate. Now I knew him to be treacherous to the bone. No doubt he had told his Puritan masters all about me. They seemed to see me as a special enemy. I was fuming as I slowly forced myself to eat my steak and kidney pie. What was worse, my anger and disappointment did nothing to improve my appetite, either. Yet, for fear of seeming ungrateful, I had managed to get most of the food down when the door of the saloon opened and in strode the very enemy of whom I had been thinking. He was flanked by his sneering Parliament men, Clitch and Love. All were a little disheveled and out of breath. I guessed they had failed to follow us up from the ice and had entered through the main gates.
Did Marvell have the power to sense the hidden universe and lead others through it? Had they left their men out on the ice? These three, it seemed, also had the power to pass to some degree between one plane and another. Marvell must have been their guide. I already knew he was as capable as I was of stepping over dimensions where the Black Aether ran like a deadly tide. Perhaps I should have given that some thought earlier. The entrance they and Nixer had carved for themselves with the aid of various fifth columnists had been blocked off again. Only those with what Prince Rupert called my ‘second sight’ could get in.
I put my fork on my plate and wiped my knife before slipping it back in my belt. I pushed the remains of my dinner away. All three of us stared in silence at Marvell as he and the other two strode up to the bar and ordered rum. Toom began to fill three pots from the barrel, calling the price out very loudly, glancing from us to them and back again. ‘Rum for honest men claiming sanctuary,’ called Corporal Love, challenging us to honour the laws which preserved us all. Laws he had broken more than once and threatened to break again. For all that, I admired their courage in risking this venture into the enemy heartland.
‘Rum for spies and traitors, Mr Toom,’ I said. ‘I’d be curious to see the nature of their silver. A little soiled and tarnished I would guess, like their consciences.’
Duval rose from our table as I did. Nick Nevison took a little longer to get up. He showed signs of a fever and his eyes carried a terrible grief. The realisation had struck him at last. His closest friend had died hours since at the hands of Roundheads.
‘You have no business here,’ I said. ‘This inn only serves the brave and the bold and has no wish to make money from murderers and traitors.’ Which caused Mr Toom a little embarrassment as he reached to take the pennies Captain Marvell had placed on the bar. With a shrug he left them there.
Marvell leaned back and took a pull of his rum, his eyes full of amused irony.
‘Our business is with murderers and traitors indeed.’ Colonel Clitch leaned against the bar and stuck his hand in his wide, green sash, staring in our direction. ‘We learned today of a plot to save the condemned Charles Stuart from justice and so defy the law of England! One of your cutthroat rumpads was killed in the attempt. We come to arrest the remains of the band.’
‘England’s laws are her own,’ I said. ‘Not those of self-raised criminals and traitors who think they can play a cheap game with the crown of the Three Kingdoms.’
Colonel Clitch scratched his short red beard and offered us a crooked smile. ‘We play no games here, gentlemen. We respect the laws of sanctuary. We come to arrest you. We have redcoated soldiers standing by who will burn down this whole town if she continues to defy the law of the land. We have a warrant to that effect.’
‘Warrant? Let’s see it!’ Duval stretched out his gloved hand.
Corporal Love reached into his waistcoat. From an inside pocket he took out a thick, foolscap document which he proceeded to unfold and then began reading: ‘Whereas the Crown of England by common consent now lies under the benign protection of General Cromwell…’
‘Why, lads, he acts out some penny play like those we saw on the ice today as we strolled amongst the mummers!’ called Duval. ‘None can arrest another while in sanctuary. God’s law trumps Man’s. Is this a satire to regale us, Master Love? A moral to improve our consciences?’
Corporal Love had none of his master’s self-control. ‘No fiction. It has the support of several bishops. ’Tis a warrant. It removes the right of sanctuary. You are dead men, gentlemen. There remains but the ceremony to confirm it. Or shall you take your punishment here?
’
‘Here’s a good enough place for you to try, gentlemen.’ A fresh voice. A voice with authority. ‘The right of sanctuary can only be established in God’s name by the king and removed by God Himself. You come to us claiming to be protected against our blades by the laws of sanctuary, then you attempt to abolish those same laws and put us in custody!’ Prince Rupert laughed with genuine amusement. ‘Can you not see how you are situated, Mr Marvell?’
Marvell’s smile was full of self-mockery. With an inclination of his head he acknowledged the prince’s point.
Prince Rupert stood in the doorway, still in his mixture of borrowed clothing yet somehow managing to look elegant as he drew two massive pistols from his sash and pointed them in the general direction of the trio. ‘Well now, shall you place your weapons where your money is? Or shall we fight? I’m confused.’
There was no doubt about it. If I cared for hero worship, Prince Rupert of the Rhine would be the hero I worshipped.
Grinning, I stepped up with hands outstretched to collect their weapons. Marvell’s men were baffled. I don’t think they had expected to find so many of us still alive. They had planned to round up the rank and file, believing the ringleaders dead out there on the ice. Glancing at their leader for guidance, the two mercenaries hung on to their weapons. When he nodded to them to obey, they reluctantly disarmed. Only Marvell responded with good humour to Prince Rupert’s logic. Wryly, he unbuckled his sword and laid it on the counter. He had no other weapons.
‘Thank God you are safe!’
Moll’s voice came from the stairs leading down into the bar. It was uncertain to whom she spoke. I looked up at her and might have gasped, she looked so beautiful. She stood there, freshly bathed and dressed and as lovely as ever. She looked directly at me. And for a moment I loved her more than I had ever loved her and wanted her more than I had ever known.
51
ALL FOR ONE …
With the tension broken at Prince Rupert’s arrival, the place was all of a bustle. Some of our men were for binding the three Cromwellians; some Cavaliers wanted to kill, blind or otherwise maim them. Marvell and Co deserved death, as far as Nevison was concerned, for Jemmy had been a true and loyal friend, but they had neither fired the bullet nor commanded it and had shown courage in coming here when so heavily outnumbered. Further, the laws of sanctuary had been invoked. Our argument over all this was to take some twists and turns, to be avoided altogether for a while as more shants were ordered up. But eventually the chivalry of the day prevailed. Marvell’s courage had impressed us. We wondered what drove him.
I saw Moll go over to Rupert and speak a few words before pecking him on the cheek. My emotions again had the better of me. I hated her suddenly. I recalled all I had given up to be with her. And I almost hated Rupert when he smiled at her, murmured a word, then disappeared to his rooms. As I watched him leave, I could only wonder what England would have become had Rupert and Thomas Fairfax remained in command respectively of the Cavaliers and Roundheads. Moll moved through the crowded tavern, heading for me. I should have turned my back on her but could not bring myself to do it. Then she stood looking up at me.
‘I’ll be waiting for you when you come back from Amsterdam,’ she said quietly.
‘Will you, Moll? Can I trust you?’ I didn’t expect an answer.
‘I promise,’ she said. ‘All I want is to look after you for the rest of your life.’ Suddenly she reached up and kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘I know that now.’
I remembered that ride across the heath, those wonderful weeks together, that intense period of loving and writing, our laughter, the pleasures we had learned. But I shook my head. ‘I’m not going to Amsterdam,’ I told her.
She wasn’t listening. She turned to go back even as Duval approached me. He had heard what I said. ‘Your help would be of great use to us, friend Michael,’ he murmured. ‘Our success would go a little way to avenging Jemmy’s death.’
Of course I could not refuse. With a deep sigh, feeling everyone was working to persuade me against my own interests, I inclined my head. I had no choice, but I might yet compromise. ‘Meanwhile, how shall we continue to give our friends sanctuary?’ I asked.
Having spared their lives and most of their limbs, we appeared to be at stalemate with Marvell and his men. Should we deal with them simply as we had dealt with Nixer, and send them home with fleas in their ears? Should we believe them when they claimed reinforcements were coming? Probably not, we thought, or they would be here.
The prince was soon back. Now, with his own magnificent silver, gold and ebony pistols in his sash and delicate lace dripping at throat and wrist, Prince Rupert swung into the room. ‘Oh, we have had a busy day—’ He carried himself like a man trying to make the best of a disaster.
‘Busy but unfulfilling, I would say,’ said D’Artagnan.
‘Fulfilling enough. We learned a fresh gavot.’ Before a grimly smiling Marvell and his glowering henchman, Aramis began to dance. Stepping back and forth between one pool of light and another, he disturbed some of the other Cavaliers. Although I could not see what he imagined, I knew that he danced rather as I had danced, on silver roads above the running darkness. Perhaps Aramis had led Prince Rupert and his friends to safety, back to the Alsacia. The other musketeers were shouting for him to stop. He obeyed with a shrug, raised his eyebrows and sang in oddly accented English: ‘Oh, we’ll go ahuntin’ a merry, merry buntin’, we shall go ahuntin’ all along the moonbeam roads. We’ll go ahuntin’ tonight.’
‘That’s a threat only made by those free to go about that Devil’s world,’ says Porthos, laughing without humour. And Aramis stopped.
Athos inclined his head a fraction, speaking with a quiet, sharp smile: ‘For our pleasure, if you please, Mr Clitch. You, too, Mr Love. Shall you perform a measure with us? Or maybe the Great Galliard itself?’
The other musketeers seemed familiar with their friend’s cryptic words and behaviour. Was he warming for a duel?
The conversation became obscure. Everything was conveyed by a hint and a gesture. A kind of rehearsal. I think it was intended to establish a certain atmosphere without recourse to weapons but I could hardly follow it, especially since some of it was in Latin. Jemmy Hind’s name was mentioned once or twice. I felt sick when I remembered the sound of his body hitting the ice.
‘Well, well, Mr Marvell now, is it? Did you enjoy your jaunt with Jack Frost? Like Captain St Claire’s dabble in politics?’ says the prince. ‘It gives you a good living?’
‘Poetry rarely pays well, my lord. One requires a patron.’
‘So, sir, you’re forced to earn a crust as Cromwell’s creature, are you? Been so all along?’
‘Cromwell’s cause suits me well enough. I never told you otherwise. I’m my own man, Your Highness. I live and serve according to my conscience.’
Prince Rupert spoke with derision. ‘Aye. I’ve encountered those consciences. They satisfy themselves by torturing priests, firing churches and looting the homes and fields of English yeomen.’
‘Best not to speak of so many faults, my lord.’ Marvell’s voice was low as he leaned back on the bar eyeing his confiscated weapons and taking a pull of his shant. ‘War makes barbarians of us all. Especially men of some wit who are forced to take up arms because others will not.’
Prince Rupert acknowledged this. There were many of us there who preferred the pleasures of peace.
‘Christian men, attend thee!’ Coarse, braying from the bar, a drunken Love was a Love to be avoided, for alcohol was evidently not his friend. I was glad I had taken his pistol from him. ‘Your treasure is the commonwealth’s now.’
We all seemed to be waiting for something. Had a bold attempt to arrest us been their real motive for coming here? Why did Marvell seem to show a keener interest in me than the rest of my companions? I felt time was running out. Were they hoping we’d bribe them with a treasure not ours to give?
‘Now sirs,’ said Prince Rupert, much enjoy
ing the joke. ‘What d’ye say we play some games and carouse a while longer, since you were so happy to make this day a public holiday, not yet a holy day?’
‘That will come,’ said Love, ‘with the dawning of the millennium.’
‘Hark!’ said the feverish Nevison, recovered enough to sit up in a booth. ‘There’s a sound of fornication.’ Pretending to a vision? ‘Oh, lord! Get the women in. Up the drawbridge. Fool! Old fool! The enemy’s here and not a single dancer for the crown.’
‘We know you all took part in a plot to rescue a convicted murderer!’ cursed Clitch as if hauling on that tiller would force the conversation back to what he understood.
My friends, of course, outnumbered Marvell and his pair of jacks-in-office. Their weapons piled on the bar, they sat there, sullen and defiant, sipping their rum. I didn’t think them in danger. Molly was distracting herself with the flirtatious attentions of two other Cavaliers, but she kept glancing at me. My already damaged nerves weren’t in great shape. I felt an almost unbearable pain in my chest. In spite of everything I was almost irresistibly drawn to her. Her beauty. Her fire. Her intelligence and daring. I longed for the old days back. She had the means to bring about their return. Could I just forget everything else and fall back into her arms? Never have to hear the Swarm again? How much longer could I stand the pain of staying away from her?
Prince Rupert ignored her, perhaps for my sake. Though now in his best clothes, he wore a broad black ribbon on his arm to mourn the death of his king. He scarcely said a word but clearly blamed himself for our failure to rescue the king, even if the king had refused rescue.
Remember!
I began to think I had no reason to stay there. Maybe I should return to the abbey and perhaps try to read one of my books? Later perhaps I could ask Father Grammaticus to tell me more about the silver roads, the bizarre mantra that came from nowhere, the Green Knight, the black tides. All the mysteries.