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Authors: Anne Herries
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war, of how it seemed to have reached a stalemate these past months.
‘Neither side was truly prepared for it,’ Captain Colby said. ‘Tempers were raised and men threw down their ploughshares and took up swords, but most had no idea how to fight. What we need are trained soldiers and Cromwell is the only one of our commanders who sees how it must be done at the moment. His troop is the best equipped and the most disciplined of our troops.’
‘Surely it would be better to make peace?’ Sir Matthew said. ‘Cromwell seeks to win a war with soldiers that are trained to fight—but it is still brother against brother and cousin against cousin. It would be better if the King could be brought to the table on some agreeable terms.’
‘Perhaps,’ Colby agreed and frowned. ‘Yet there are too many hotheads that will not listen on both sides. They say Prince Rupert struts like a young cockerel and speaks of teaching the rabble to know their betters—such talk does not bode well for peace.’
‘Will the King not listen to sense?’
‘Why should he when he thinks he is in the right?’ Colby asked. ‘Had he been less stubborn, more inclined to listen to the views of those who understood the mood of the people, we should never have come to this situation.’
Babette sat, twisting her hands in her lap. She wished she had some sewing or perhaps a book of sonnets that might concentrate her thoughts. This talk of war and the allusions to the King were little short of treason to her mind. She felt like protesting, but bit her tongue, keeping the unruly thoughts from becoming speech. She would offend her uncle and their guest if she spoke what was in her mind—but oh, how angry she felt to hear such falsehoods. She was sure that the King was not half so stubborn nor yet as intransigent as he was made out—but why should these men try to dictate to him when he was King by divine right? They should know their duty to his Majesty...
‘You are very thoughtful, mistress?’
Babette glanced up as Captain Colby looked at her, his fine brows arched mockingly.
‘I was thinking that I promised my aunt I would help her prepare the oatmeal for breakfast,’ she improvised. ‘Forgive me, Uncle. I shall not be long—and when I return I shall bring my sewing.’
Before her uncle could refuse her, she rose and left quickly, though she saw Sir Matthew frown and knew he had wanted to keep her with him in the parlour. He had never required her company before, which meant he thought she should make the most of the time Captain Colby remained as his guest. Guessing that he was hoping their visitor would offer for her, she felt a surge of temper. How dared he interfere in her life? She would wish to marry one day, when John introduced her to a man she could like and admire, who would offer for her—but she would not be pushed into an arrangement that did not suit her. She would never, never wish to be the wife of a man like Captain Colby!
Escaping to the kitchen to find her aunt absent, she took oatmeal from the larder and put it to soak in a big earthenware bowl, then filled a linen bag with bread, cheese, the remains of a cheese and onion pasty and some cold cooked bacon. She added a flask of ale and the small bottle of fever mixture and fled before Aunt Minnie could return.
* * *
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was not observed, she had run swiftly to the appointed place. John was waiting at the gate that led to the orchard.
‘Where have you been?’ he hissed. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Be careful. Stay in the shadows,’ Babette warned. ‘The soldiers’ leader is suspicious. Sir Matthew kept me after dinner and I made a weak excuse to escape them. I must go back quickly or Captain Colby will think something is going on and he may have men watching for me.’
‘Give me the food and medicine.’
Babette thrust it at him. ‘Just a small dose every few hours—there is enough for two days. Do not
‘Neither side was truly prepared for it,’ Captain Colby said. ‘Tempers were raised and men threw down their ploughshares and took up swords, but most had no idea how to fight. What we need are trained soldiers and Cromwell is the only one of our commanders who sees how it must be done at the moment. His troop is the best equipped and the most disciplined of our troops.’
‘Surely it would be better to make peace?’ Sir Matthew said. ‘Cromwell seeks to win a war with soldiers that are trained to fight—but it is still brother against brother and cousin against cousin. It would be better if the King could be brought to the table on some agreeable terms.’
‘Perhaps,’ Colby agreed and frowned. ‘Yet there are too many hotheads that will not listen on both sides. They say Prince Rupert struts like a young cockerel and speaks of teaching the rabble to know their betters—such talk does not bode well for peace.’
‘Will the King not listen to sense?’
‘Why should he when he thinks he is in the right?’ Colby asked. ‘Had he been less stubborn, more inclined to listen to the views of those who understood the mood of the people, we should never have come to this situation.’
Babette sat, twisting her hands in her lap. She wished she had some sewing or perhaps a book of sonnets that might concentrate her thoughts. This talk of war and the allusions to the King were little short of treason to her mind. She felt like protesting, but bit her tongue, keeping the unruly thoughts from becoming speech. She would offend her uncle and their guest if she spoke what was in her mind—but oh, how angry she felt to hear such falsehoods. She was sure that the King was not half so stubborn nor yet as intransigent as he was made out—but why should these men try to dictate to him when he was King by divine right? They should know their duty to his Majesty...
‘You are very thoughtful, mistress?’
Babette glanced up as Captain Colby looked at her, his fine brows arched mockingly.
‘I was thinking that I promised my aunt I would help her prepare the oatmeal for breakfast,’ she improvised. ‘Forgive me, Uncle. I shall not be long—and when I return I shall bring my sewing.’
Before her uncle could refuse her, she rose and left quickly, though she saw Sir Matthew frown and knew he had wanted to keep her with him in the parlour. He had never required her company before, which meant he thought she should make the most of the time Captain Colby remained as his guest. Guessing that he was hoping their visitor would offer for her, she felt a surge of temper. How dared he interfere in her life? She would wish to marry one day, when John introduced her to a man she could like and admire, who would offer for her—but she would not be pushed into an arrangement that did not suit her. She would never, never wish to be the wife of a man like Captain Colby!
Escaping to the kitchen to find her aunt absent, she took oatmeal from the larder and put it to soak in a big earthenware bowl, then filled a linen bag with bread, cheese, the remains of a cheese and onion pasty and some cold cooked bacon. She added a flask of ale and the small bottle of fever mixture and fled before Aunt Minnie could return.
* * *
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was not observed, she had run swiftly to the appointed place. John was waiting at the gate that led to the orchard.
‘Where have you been?’ he hissed. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Be careful. Stay in the shadows,’ Babette warned. ‘The soldiers’ leader is suspicious. Sir Matthew kept me after dinner and I made a weak excuse to escape them. I must go back quickly or Captain Colby will think something is going on and he may have men watching for me.’
‘Give me the food and medicine.’
Babette thrust it at him. ‘Just a small dose every few hours—there is enough for two days. Do not
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