The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (6 page)

Shrugging, Ashley described tersely and in the vernacular, what General Leslie might do with himself.

‘An interesting idea – but scarcely conducive to Anglo-Scottish harmony.’

‘Tell that to the poor devils who died today – most of them needlessly, I might add.’

‘Point taken.
 
But will creating ill-feeling throughout the army bring them back?
 
And are all our efforts and His Majesty’s prospects to be buried with them?’

There was a long silence while the latent fury gradually faded from Ashley’s face.
 
Then, shutting his eyes and letting his head drop back against his chair, he said tonelessly, ‘Hell.
 
You’d better find me a sheet of paper.’

It was unexpected.

‘Paper?
 
Why?’

‘Why do you think?’
 
His eyes opened again, their expression bitterly ironic. ‘I’ll have to swallow my bile and apologise.
 
And since Leslie won’t receive me, I’m going to have to write him a damned love-letter.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Thanks to some tactful intervention by the King, General Leslie was eventually persuaded to accept Colonel Peverell’s apology and allow him to return to duty.
 
This was just as well for, during the week that followed, Cromwell started moving slowly and circuitously northwards, taking Inchgarvie and Burntisland.
 
And that, as everyone in the Royalist camp was well-aware, gave them a choice between turning back to defend Perth or letting it fall while they marched south.

As far as Charles was concerned, there was only one answer to this question and, on July 30
^th
, he finally forced General Leslie to accept it.
 
Argyll (who couldn’t accept it at all) promptly went off in a huff again – causing Hamilton to remark that all the rogues had now left them.
 
And Charles swept into the billet shared by Ashley, Francis and Nicholas saying, ‘I’ve done it.
 
We march for Carlisle tomorrow.’

Nicholas’s grin threatened to split his face.

‘Oh well done, Sir – well done indeed!
 
Now
we’ll show them!
 
Just wait till I tell the men.’
 
He paused on his way to the door.
 
‘I can tell them, can’t I?’

‘By all means.’
 
Smiling a little, the King stepped aside to let him pass.
 
Then, looking at Colonel Peverell, ‘Well, Ash?
 
Will
we show them?’

‘I hope so, Sir.
 
We’ll certainly do our best.’

‘I know,’ returned Charles.
 
‘If I didn’t, we’d be heading for Perth instead.
 
Or then again – perhaps not.
 
This opportunity may not come again and they say that the secret of success lies in seizing the hour.’
 
The smile returned, albeit sardonically. ‘I just hope the hour I’m seizing isn’t the wrong one.’

When he had gone, Francis murmured meditatively, ‘So this is it, then.
 
The day we’ve all been waiting for.’

‘Bring on the drums and trumpets.’

‘How long before Cromwell sets out after us?’

‘Three or four days, perhaps.
 
Without reinforcements, Perth will fall like a ripe plum.
 
But it isn’t only Cromwell we have to worry about,’ said Ashley a trifle grimly.
 
‘It’s Lilburne and Harrison in the north and hostile local militia just about everywhere else.
 
It’s the difficulty of recruiting along the way without wasting time – and the four hundred miles lying between us and London.’
 
He paused briefly.
 
‘If anyone thinks this is going to be fun, they’re deluding themselves.’

*
 
*
 
*

They crossed the border on August 6
^th
with sixteen thousand men and reached Carlisle three days later.
 
They were not made welcome.
 
Meanwhile, the Duke of Buckingham (who had been sulking at not being given a senior command) was sent on ahead with General Massey to do some advance recruiting while, behind them, Cromwell took Perth and set off in apparently leisurely pursuit.
 
Worried by the lack of haste, Colonel Peverell obtained permission to undertake some personal reconnaissance and returned with the sobering news that Lambert was already well on his way to join Harrison with between three and four thousand Horse.

Charles looked up from the map he’d been perusing with Hamilton.

‘Where?’
 
he demanded.
 
‘Where will they try to stop us?’

‘I can’t be sure, Sir – but I’d hazard a guess at somewhere in the region of Preston.’
 
Ashley’s mouth curled slightly.
 
‘There’s nothing like familiar ground, after all.
 
And they probably hope it will be as lucky for them now as it was in ’48.’

He didn’t add that they could do with a little luck themselves.
 
He didn’t think he needed to.

The dark Stuart eyes rested on him broodingly.

‘You were there, weren’t you?’

‘At Preston?
 
Yes, Sir.’

‘And was it luck that gave the New Model their victory?’

Ashley hesitated for a moment, wondering how to answer in a way that was neither discouraging nor untruthful.
 
Then, unable to think of one, he said bluntly, ‘No, Sir.
 
It was bad leadership on our side.
 
If Lord Callander had sent even a thousand more men to Sir Marmaduke Langdale, the outcome might have been very different.’

‘But he didn’t.’

‘No.’ Ashley stopped again and then, looking the King directly in the eye, said, ‘Sir, some generals have a tendency to hold back the reserves until it’s too late to use them at all.’

‘And Cromwell?’

‘Isn’t one of them.’

‘I see.’
 
Charles restored his attention to the map.
 
‘Thank you.’

*
 
*
 
*

The army resumed its plodding march into England and the Scots grew grumpier with every passing mile.
 
Charles was proclaimed King at Penrith; Kendal and Lancaster fell wearily behind them and Preston, when they got there, proved miraculously free of the enemy.
 
Warrington, on the other hand, did not. Major-Generals Lambert and Harrison lay south of the river with roughly nine thousand Horse.

‘Ah well,’ said Ashley to his unservile servant.
 
‘I was right about them choosing familiar ground.
 
They’ll probably try to hold the bridge against us.
 
But if memory serves me correctly, they may find that difficult.’

Jem Barker spat on the Colonel’s breast-plate and polished it with his sleeve.

‘How come?’

‘According to my information, the bulk of their force is cavalry – and cavalry need open ground.
 
Amidst the hedges and ditches south of Warrington Bridge, there
is
no open ground.
 
Consequently, I doubt they’ll be able to hold us.’

‘Less of the ‘us’,’ Jem grunted.
 
‘I’ve told you afore.
 
I give up fighting after Marston Moor and I ain’t about to take it up again now.
 
Still … it’s good you’ve got it all worked out.
 
Busy as a body-louse, ain’t you?’

‘You know me.
 
No task too large, no detail too small.’

‘Maybe so.
 
But you’re seeking a hare in a hen’s nest this time, Captain.
 
Noticed General Leslie’s face, have you?
 
Looks as miserable as a gib-cat, he does.’

‘That’s his natural expression,’ murmured Ashley.
 
‘Jem … do you
have
to spit on my armour?’

‘Being as we ain’t got no polish – yes.’
 
Mr Barker set about buckling the back and breast into position. ‘I heard as Hamilton said this caper was ‘grasp all or lose all’.
 
Wouldn’t dice on them odds, myself.
 
And I can’t see a fop-doodle like Buckingham bringing good, honest northern lads flocking in, neither.’

Nor could Colonel Peverell but he merely said, ‘I’d like to be ready today, if possible.’

‘Put your sword on, then,’ retorted Jem, stepping back.
 
‘I’m done.
 
Fine as a lord’s bastard you look, too.
 
Major Langley’ll be using you as a mirror.’

It was the morning of August 16
^th
.
 
Having ascertained the enemy’s position, the Royalist army covered the remaining miles to Warrington with increased alertness and arrived at the bridge over the Mersey in time to see Lambert and Harrison pulling their troops back to guard the London road rather than engage over unfavourable ground.
 

Colonel Peverell watched appreciatively for a time and then, finding the King beside him, said blandly, ‘Such a nice, orderly retreat.
 
Do I have permission to spoil it a bit?’

Charles smiled.

‘More than that, Ash.
 
You have my express
order
to do so.
 
And Leslie can go hang.’

Ashley grinned and, wheeling his horse, threw a series of concise orders to his Major.
 
Fortunately, Francis had been expecting them … and, in less than five minutes, the regiment was trotting smartly across the bridge in the wake of Lambert’s rear-guard.

It was only a brief skirmish and it inflicted little damage.
 
It did, however, clear a path for the advancing Royalists and its effect on morale was enormous.
 
By evening, even the dourest Scots were talking about how the New Model had fled before them; and Ashley’s own men – having fought their first action under his leadership – were as one in deciding that their pernickety Colonel might be a rattling good fellow after all.

*
 
*
 
*

It was the first and only moment of encouragement.
 
Despite all the King’s high hopes, the Lancashire Royalists did not flock to his banner as he moved on south and no Catholics appeared at all.
 
This was a bitter blow.
 
Charles had known that his English supporters might be reluctant to join with the Covenanters but he had counted on using his personal presence to sway them.
 
What he
hadn’t
bargained for was that the Royalist leaders who hadn’t compounded for their estates were mostly in prison … or that when General Massey left to go recruiting again, he took with him a declaration from the ministers of the Kirk, telling the Presbyterians not to associate with the Malignants.
 
The result was that the Cavaliers stayed offendedly at home and recruits only arrived by the handful.

Leaving the volatile Earl of Derby to use his local influence to mend matters, Charles decided to march on by way of Whitchurch and the Welsh borders in the hope of finding more support there than he had in the north.
 
Once more, he was disappointed.
 
When he sent the Governor of Shrewsbury a cordial summons to surrender, he received a curt refusal addressed to ‘
The Commander-in-Chief of the Scottish Army’
.
 
Gloom descended once more on the weary, travel-stained army; and Colonel Peverell found maintaining his customary
éclat
required a good deal of well-concealed effort.

Sometimes, when fatigue and anxiety regarding the current situation started to weigh more heavily than usual, Ashley strove to restore his mental balance by letting himself drift briefly into a memory.
 
Anything would do so long as it was far removed from the all-too-frequent responsibility he bore for the lives of men … both the ones he did his damnedest to save in battle and the ones he’d occasionally been required to snuff out in secret.
 
The latter had a nasty habit of crawling wraith-like from the shadows of his mind when he tried to snatch a couple of hours sleep. And when telling himself that he’d never killed anyone he hadn’t had to didn’t banish them, he summoned brighter times to push them back into the dark.

It was a well-practised trick and one that generally served him well.
 
Unfortunately – and for no good reason that he could think of – when he employed it these days the image that came to mind was always the same.
 
The image of a slender, red-haired girl in a blue gown, illuminated by a dozen candles.
 
In one sense, this was highly enjoyable.
 
In another, it was bloody aggravating – because indulging in mildly erotic fantasies whilst sharing quarters with Francis and Nicholas was not just ridiculous but potentially downright embarrassing.

So he gritted his teeth, shoved Athenais de Galzain back with the other spectres … and lay open-eyed, staring into the dark.

*
 
*
 
*

Lichfield and Wolverhampton fell gradually away behind them … then Kidderminster and Hartlebury.
 
And on Friday August 22
^nd
, having marched three hundred miles in three weeks, they arrived at the gates of the one place they felt might actually welcome them.
 
Worcester; the first city to declare for Charles 1 and one of the last to surrender.
 
A jewel set between the Severn and the Teme, backed by the Malvern hills … and known, proudly, as the Loyal City.

It was a place Ashley Peverell knew very well indeed.
 
For the truth – which not even Jem Barker knew – was that his home lay not a dozen miles distant.

He hadn’t been near it since the day, shortly after Naseby, when – with their father scarcely cold upstairs – his elder brother had calmly announced that he was turning his coat to the winning side before they lost everything.
 
There had been a monumental row and Ashley had left before the funeral.
 
That had grieved him – but, at the time, it had seemed better than watching James lick the Parliament’s boots and overturn everything their father had stood for.