Read 1635: A Parcel of Rogues - eARC Online
Authors: Eric Flint,Andrew Dennis
Tags: #Fiction, #Alternative History, #Science Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #General
“Ah, richt,” the fellow said. “Ah said, ye’re no from hereabouts. But so ye said.”
The man was talking slowly and clearly, as to an idiot or foreigner. So it was like that, was it?
Hayseed hillbilly retard, comin’ right up,
Darryl thought.
“Ja!”
he said, figuring he’d play it up a bit. “I am Darl Karzigssohn. From Saxony.” It was his right name, near enough.
“Whit brings ye t’em’bra?” the man asked.
Darryl sniffed. “Zu much popery in Germany. I knowed some Scotch soldiers, good Protestants, I am decided to move here. My wife, she is half-English, so we know the English. We do not want to live there.” He’d heard enough German guys mangling English to be able to imitate it. The rope-seller had smiled when he’d said “too much popery.”
A hit!
“Oh, aye, too much popery. They have a cardinal, do they no’?”
Darryl nodded. “Zis Mazzare. An American. Zey tolerate. Next it is all must convert.
Achtung!
” He decided he’d better rein it in a bit before he started dropping in bits from old war movies. He’d never be able to keep his face straight.
The rope-seller sighed. “Aye, weel, we’ve a mort o’ the filth here. Look yonder.” The man gestured into the middle of the marketplace with his chin. “Teuchter horse-copers. Gypsies. Rootless, wanderin’, papist thieves an’ drunkards.”
“Ja?”
Darryl said, looking where he was bid. All he could see was a bunch of guys standing around talking about horses. Scruffy lot, but he wasn’t generally what you’d call high-fashion himself, so he’d no cause bitching them out about it. “Zis is tolerated?”
“Aye, an’ worse. There’s popery comin’ frae England, the Kirk o’ England full o’ Arminians the way it is. It’s God’s ain mercy the king’s popish wife wa’ kilt, or there’d be worse put on us.”
Well, ain’t you just the little fuckin’ charmer,
Darryl thought to himself. Charles Stuart could go piss up a rope for all of him, but wishing death on the man’s wife? Darryl had heard first hand about the coaching accident that killed her and crippled the king. You’d have to be a prize shithead to wish that on anyone.
“Are zey plottink?” he asked, hoping that the angry face he was surely wearing would get read as anger against the popish plotters. Rather than as a desire to, for instance, punch this bigoted jackass in the face.
And, oh, didn’t that open the whole can of worms. Friend rope-seller, proprietor, Gordon’s Cordages, didn’t just have an opinion on the subject. He had a whole rack of the things, and took them out and aired every single one for Darryl’s appreciation and examination. In fact, once the man got into full flow, Darryl realized that this guy didn’t have opinions. He had
peeves.
Whatever everyone else might make of the Protestant religion, for this guy it was the place he stashed his grievances, grudges, gripes and prejudices. And, for sure, it was just a matter of time before the Evil Catholics rose up and murdered everyone in their beds. Irish men in town! Heathen foreign jabber! Plotting! It was like the Club 250 all over again. With a touch more God and Scots and a lot less hillbilly. And, of course, the snide remarks were a bit more original, being three centuries older when this guy made them. Darryl would, at that moment, have bet a healthy pile of silver thalers that the earliest cavemen had been making the same cheap cracks about Neanderthals. He was glad to get away, in the end.
He bought some rope though. He figured he was going to need it sooner or later. Nothing else, he was taking it out of the hands of a likely supplier for the lynch mob.
He met up with Vicky after another half-hour wandering around the market. “Find anything?” he asked.
“Some nice pins, needles and thread, and and I’ve ordered some twill, since we’ll both need winter coats. The stuff they have here is a lot sturdier than what we get in London.”
“Makes sense,” Darryl allowed as they passed through the Flodden Wall by Cowgate, barely acknowledged by the watchmen on the gate. They were there to collect customs charges, after all. Shoppers walking home for lunch barely rated a halfhearted greeting. “It’s colder up here.”
“I like it,” Vicky said, “at least in the summer. The evenings are longer and, well, you’ve seen what London’s like at the top of summer.
Gross.”
Darryl chuckled at the up-timer word she’d chosen to adopt. “Julie’s rubbing off on you. Should I buy you a rifle?”
She swatted him on the arm. “I’m a pistol sort of girl, silly. Anyway, all I got was the rumor that the drovers and horse-copers are plotting with Finnegan’s Irish. Everyone murthered in their beds, the usual.” Vicky’s shrug managed to convey that this was what you expected of these provincials, and as a London girl she’d be far more sceptical about such rumors. Or that anyone could murder as tough a crew as native Londoners in their beds.
“I think I did a little better,” Darryl said. “I bought all this rope from a guy who’s probably
starting
most of those rumors. Remember me telling you about the 250 Club jackasses, and the Klan, and rednecks, and that kind of asshole? This guy was the 1634 equivalent.”
There’d been a time when he’d have made jokes about pointy tartan hoods, but everyone looked blankly at him when he’d mentioned tartan the one time. There was plenty of the stuff about, but nobody called it by that name. There were lots of little details like that.
“Anyway, I kind of blew him off at the time, just another dipshit with his head up his ass, but then I was getting my knives sharpened, there was this little Irish peddler guy with a grinding wheel. Told him I wasn’t really German, I just didn’t want all the bullshit that came from admitting to an Irish name. He agreed with me, what with Finnegan’s idiots going around stirring up trouble. They’ve been pretty badly behaved whenever they’ve come in town, apparently, especially whenever their boss isn’t around. And the thing about them recruiting the drovers and horse-traders? It’s
true.
”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Vicky said, “Mister Oliver’s secret plotter isn’t a real thing, then.”
“Oh, no,” Darryl went on, “that ain’t the interestin’ part. The rumor about the recruiting started
before the recruiting.
”
Vicky’s eyes went wide as the penny—farthing or groat in this day and age, Darryl supposed—dropped.
“Ain’t that something?” he said. “When Oliver and Gayle get back from helping the Committee, this is going to light ’em
up.”
Chapter 34
Montrose stood to greet his guest. The protocol perhaps called for him to remain seated. The practical politics of the matter meant that insisting on his personal representation of the king with all of the privileges of etiquette that went therewith would be unwise.
Nevertheless he took his seat before he invited Archibald Campbell, chief of Clan Campbell, to sit.
Campbell smirked as he sat, pausing while the servants laid bread and cheese and fruits on the table. “I hope you’re not playing any kind of etiquette game, Jamie,” he said, “because I
could
choose to take that as you acknowledging me the king’s equal.”
Montrose smiled back. “Now, now, Archibald. I invited a new acquaintance, and I hope a new friend, to my Edinburgh home that I might have a meal with him and discuss the interesting political issues of the day as between gentlemen of repute and influence. Without all the nonsense of court etiquette. We are not, after all, Frenchmen.”
“That we’re not,” Campbell agreed. “And if I’m to swear on it, a seat at table with stone walls around me seems like a better prospect to meet you, since our last.”
Montrose chuckled. “I don’t doubt you sent for word of the Americans’ rifles too. I’ve an order with a gunsmith at Suhl for one of my own.”
“Aye?” Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a useful article for the hunting.”
“With any luck the thing will arrive in time for culling the deer. I fancy there’s some good sport to be had there.” Montrose watched Campbell’s face carefully. “Oh, were you looking for some subtlety, Archibald?”
Campbell chuckled. “I was, rather. I wish I’d thought of getting one of those rifles for myself. I’m no great shooter, but from what I hear they’re a hunting weapon of rare devising.”
Montrose noted that Campbell was not saying aloud that he’d ordered a case of the blasted things for his men to train with, and that at ruinous expense. A one-off gunsmith’s piece could be had readily. The products of the Americans’
machine shops
with their interchangeable parts and ammunition? Considerably more expensive to the private purchaser, since the bulk of production was being bought up by the armed forces of the USE and Sweden. Montrose had deemed it not worth the expense or effort, not least because as a great officer of the king of England his order would be treated with greater suspicion than that of a local nobleman, however powerful.
What
had
been worth the expense was the hiring of two or three smart fellows with a little experience in the art of loosening incautious tongues.
It would be some while yet before Montrose had an intelligence office up to the business of a Lord Lieutenant of Scotland—if such a thing were possible, Scots being what they were—but the obvious first target was Campbell of Argyll. Any man who could put twenty thousand men in the field, if he called everyone to his banner that would come, that man was worth watching carefully.
Of course, putting twenty thousand men in the field was all very well, but the list of Campbell enemies was long and their grudges obdurate. Montrose had already had word back from assorted MacDonalds, MacLeans and MacArthurs, to name only the three largest, that they could and would rally in the highlands if the Campbells ever marched. Not, perhaps, Campbell’s twenty thousand, but they would be firmly and larcenously in his rear. Up to their thieving highlander balls, Montrose hoped.
Even some of those twenty thousand might be worked on. Lamont of the Lamonts, for one, personally loathed Campbell, and if given half the chance would enrich himself at Campbell’s expense. Of course, better still would be no need for such scheming and stratagems, but it made a pleasant thought as he sat at meat with his biggest problem to know that he
could
make that problem rather smaller. Still the occasion of much effusion of blood, but by no means the ruination of the kingdom that a simple appraisal of the matter might suggest.
“Speaking o’ hunting,” Campbell went on, “has your man Finnegan caught this Cromwell yet?”
“He’s not my man, as you know right well, Archibald,” Montrose said, carefully soothing the hot flame of irritation that had sprung up in his breast at the mention of both names. Cork’s letter had gone some way to assuring him that the tomfoolery unfolding in Edinburgh was not going to be laid at his door. He’d resolved to give Finnegan a week before intervening and having a lawyer appear to move that Finnegan’s commission was no lawful cold trod. While it would not do to appear to be prevailing on the bench for a particular result, he could surely make it clear to the gowned laggards that the matter was vacation business and for the sake of public order the courts could sit a day out of term to send the troublesome Irishman back south of the Tweed with his tail between his legs.
Especially
if he was, as rumored, assembling a crew of vagrant ruffians to bring his business to a head. If that wasn’t an abuse of
posse comitatus
, the law had no meaning whatsoever.
“Aye, aye, I know,” Campbell admitted. “It seemed too ripe a jest to leave unplucked, though. Have you had words with Mackay about it?”
“Briefly,” Montrose admitted, grudgingly. It might do some good to take Campbell into his confidence in the matter. Forbearance with Mackay might give the Campbell reason to talk before raising his banners if the king got himself in an uproar again. “And I told him what I tell everyone: I’m charged with peace and quiet north of the Tweed, and if that means looking the other way once in a while, that I’ll do. It seems that this Finnegan has no more evidence against Mackay’s bastard than one sighting at fifty yards through a cloud of smoke. A drunken pupil of a barrister could raise cause to find
that
not proven. As best we can guess he wants Mackay as his tethered goat to catch Cromwell, who may or may not be lying low about Edinburgh. For myself, I believe the man has got the idea fixed in his head that holding Mackay in the Tolbooth is the thing he must do and he’s thought no further than that.”
Campbell nodded. “It’s not rare that a man gets himself to folly by a lot of clever steps, aye. Forbye, there’s no sighting of Cromwell anywhere but Edinburgh. I don’t doubt you’ve had word out?”
“Aye, over and above Finnegan’s,” Montrose agreed. “And for all I have every sympathy with you regarding the policy of preemptive arrest that His Majesty executed in England—”
“Rankest folly, and invidious to boot,” Campbell snapped.
“As you’ve always said.” Montrose carefully omitted to disagree or agree with the plain words. “For all that there are difficulties which any reasonable man might have with the policy, Cromwell by escaping has become the danger to the king’s peace that he never was before.”
Campbell shrugged. “The man was turbulent before, I’m told. Required to explain himself before the English privy council. Over a matter of the rights of the common folk, I understand.”
“Just so,” Montrose agreed. “Such men bear watching at the best of times. After prerogative arrest in which his wife and son were killed? What the man might do in the heat of his grief I shudder to think. What he might do if pursued to a spirit of cold vengeance? Such a man might laugh to see the world burn.”
Montrose could tell that that had hit home with Campbell. While the man himself had made no great store of enemies in his own person, he’d inherited
centuries
of grudges against his clan. They hadn’t gotten to the position of preeminent among the clans without reducing other contenders or even mere inconvenient obstacles to penury and wretchedness. And while penury and wretchedness were oftentimes remedied by the industry of descendants, the grudges lived on. Were nurtured, nursed and fed. A man bearing such a grudge against a whole nation, especially now that he seemed to have made friends in the USE, was a man who could create the kind of chaos that unmade even the greatest.
“Did you ask me here to discuss Cromwell?” Campbell asked after a moment’s thought.
“Among other matters, aye,” Montrose said. “I’m sure you have people here and there that report to you. And I saw you had a fine crew of bonny lads about you when last we met. And it would be poor form of me to involve myself directly in Finnegan’s misdeeds.”
“Aye?” Campbell had both eyebrows raised. He’d not been expecting a recruitment, that was for sure.
“Well, it seems to me that a man who’s all afire for the rights of Scotland might take offense at an Irish mercenary serving the English state holding a Scotsman prisoner while threatening a member of the Scots peerage. However felonious this Cromwell is, Finnegan’s cold trod is treading all over Scots prerogatives. Would you not agree?” Montrose had come prepared to hedge the matter all about with hints and suggestions. For some reason the imp of the perverse was upon him—Campbell ought not have jested with him, really—and he was spelling it out plain.
Campbell snorted. “I’ll grant ye the prize for audacity, my lord Montrose,” he said. “And aye, a man in my position could count himself much happier for the likes of Finnegan gone south of the Tweed.”
“Now, I’m in no case to make this a lawful command in the king’s name, but a charter of suppression making it lawful for one of His Majesty’s subjects to act in the name of the king’s peace, would that suit you for present purposes?”
“Present purposes being?”
“I essentially want Finnegan gone. Finnegan may gather what collection of drovers, copers and vagrants he may, your pockets are the deeper when it comes to that coin. If that puts Mackay in your debt, take what advantage you may. For my part, I may say that I unleashed you to the task and thus have some favor with the Mackays and through them ease the fears of the Scots serving abroad. I want them to come home sure of the king’s peace.”
Campbell roared with laughter. “Oh, now here’s an equivocator that swears in both scales!” he quoted when he got his voice back. “Keeping the king’s peace against the king’s own man—”
“He’s not and we both know it,” Montrose snapped.
“Oh, aye, and how many of the common folk know it? The man unfolds his royal commission more often than he unbuttons his britches.”
“The worse for him. A brigand’s a brigand, and him being under color of law means I have to step around the law to stop his brigandry. The man’s as much an officer of the law as a Border March Warden, without even the excuse of being a born savage—”
“The man’s an Irishman—” Campbell grinned.
Montrose snorted. “Aye, and there’s Irishmen and Irishmen. This one’s got his letters and is at least halfway to being a gentleman. Or do you think some illiterate bog-paddy could carry off the pretense of being a justice of the peace as long as he has? No, he’s Cork’s man, a hireling throat-cutter with education to make him dangerous. While I’ll sign no man’s death warrant without lawful judgment on him, should he perish in chance medley, I for one will not weep a single tear. And let Cork learn to keep his ruffians south of the Tweed.”
* * *
Julie could tell that her father-in-law was agitated, although he was hiding it. She knew he was going through a lot of Tom Stone’s finest, and the ease he’d had from the pain was doing him a power of good, but she’d heard that weed could make you paranoid. Did that explain the little tics that were giving his nerves away, or was this guy
really
that important? She chanced asking him.
“Oh, aye, that an’ more, lassie,” the old baron said, “that an’ more. I cannot imagine what brings the man here—a bare quarter-hour announced, at that—and I’ve surely no notion how I ought to have prepared.”
“Can you prepare for a meeting like this?”
A moment’s sharp look. “For the mightiest clan chief in Scotland? Aye, prepare, and that right well, for the de’il take him that does not.”
Julie gave him a level look. The man needed to calm the hell down, but telling him that outright was, she judged, not likely to help.
He took a deep breath. “But if you mean, as I suspect you did, can a man prepare for a meeting all unexpected such as this, no.”
“So Campbell hasn’t either, probably,” she said, “and I reckon that that tells us something too.”
Mackay raised an eyebrow. “Aye?”
“If he’s willing to be this close to being rude—” Julie had taken a while to pick up all of the little customs and rules that went with not being able to call ahead before you visited. Campbell was just a hair short of being actually impolite. Which said that, whatever it was, he wanted to keep his manners but it was urgent enough that he was willing to skirt the edges of unmannerly.
“True.” Baron Mackay took a deep breath and visibly settled himself. “The most we may do, I suppose, is be calm for the man. He’s clearly flustered.”
Julie smiled. “Yep. Poor fellow’s probably got his panties in a bunch, you’ve got to calm him down. Get no sense out of him otherwise.”
“Panties in a bunch? Och, awa’ wi’ ye, lassie.” Mackay was openly beaming now.
Good,
Julie thought.
The last thing we need is the old boy panicking when he needs to be icy sharp. Probably the political equivalent of buck fever.
“I’ll listen in upstairs, if you turn the radio on. Since Darryl fitted that patch cable, I can get Gayle and Oliver on. Major Lennox too, if he’s not out buying horses. I think Darryl and Vicky are doing helping out at the Committee charity kitchen.”
“Very well,” Mackay said. “All the better if Oliver can be attending. The man has an excellent ear. One of Thomas’s boys came by to change the batteries this morning.”
“I’ll pass the word to Meg on the way out to see that there are refreshments ready for Campbell,” she said, and left.
* * *
“My Lord Argyll, forgive me for not rising,” Mackay said when Campbell entered.
Campbell waved it aside. “Forgive me in turn for the great fash I’ve put you and yours to,” he said, “but my Lord Montrose seems to have the imp of the perverse upon him this day.”
“Aye?” Mackay knew that Montrose was trying to carry out several sets of inconsistent orders, and that was apt to produce strange behavior, but enough to have Campbell agitated enough to be paying a call here but not raising his clan’s banners…