Believe or Die (17 page)

“The matter is beyond my influence,” said Ketch smoothly.

“What would you have us tell our men then Colonel?” pressed another captain, “And what think you they might do when they learn of this treachery?”

A frosty atmosphere now pervaded the inn. For a few moments now, Richard Mead had been becoming increasingly aware of activity outside the end. Now, in the sullen silence that had descended, he turned and peered out of the distorting glass of a window and discovered its source.

“Look you captains,” he called to his comrades, “I think our men will not need any telling!”

With a quick glare at Ketch, the officers rushed outside to find themselves confronted by a double-ranked body of harquebusiers. A battery of light artillery, earlier concealed across the river, was now formed and its guns were trained on the bivouac of the Regiment. Either side of the confused troopers, a Regiment of Ironsides quickly formed. Amid the houses and alleyways, and either side of the inn, stood Oakey’s Regiment of Dragoons. In command of the nearest body, Mead recognised John Lilburne resplendent in a new red coat. ‘Honest John’ Lilburne caught Mead’s eye, shook his head warningly, and looked away.

“Is this the kind of justice we fought a war to achieve?” said Mead.

“Aye, and killed a King for his arrogance as well by God!” spat Brocket.

Lilburne pushed through the surrounding soldiers, his hands open and his manner placating.

“Please Gentlemen, lay down your arms I beg you. I promise you I will do all in my power to gain you redress.”

“Have you turned politician too John?” inquired Mead.

“Not I. Not at least I pray. But perhaps I still have a little influence … ”

“With Cromwell you mean?” snapped Brocket “I’ll warrant his name is on the bottom of that parchment in there. Nay, save your influence Master Lilburne, you may well be next on his list, you may have need of it yourself!”

Ketch’s second-in-command, EthanWilmot, who had started the war as an earnest Royalist, appeared in the doorway.

“Gentlemen, I pray you, come within and let us see how best we may resolve this state of affairs.”

The captains reluctantly and dejectedly filed past him back into the inn. Brocket stopped momentarily and ran a hand over Wilmot’s coat. Although plain Puritan Black in colour, it was of superb quality.

“A good coat Master Wilmot,” Brocket mused. “A coat of such quality would probably cost as much as all my men together are owed in arrears. Yes, a very good coat. I wonder when you’ll turn it again!”

All but one of Ketch’s captains, Mead included, opted to resign. Most had some form of independent income, mainly in the form of smallholdings. Richard had only the sketchiest of notions as to the state of his former homestead, but the last letter he had received from his mother suggested it still survived though in what condition was anyone’s guess. Nonetheless, he felt he might be able to make a go of it. Then again, would he really be able to turn his sword into a ploughshare? It seemed a very long time ago since he had last worked the land. Also, he would need every penny of his pay arrears, ten shillings a day for nearly seven months, to tide him over and invest according to need. Invest? Invest in what? He would not know where to begin!

And what of his men? What would they choose to do? In truth, for most there was no real choice. A lot of people throughout the land would go hungry this winter and at least the Army would feed them after a fashion. Indeed, when had the New Model EVER gone hungry unlike the rest of them! It might just be bread and cheese but it would keep body and soul together. Also, there were signs that the New Model were now getting better organised and disciplined than they had once been. So, perhaps his men would manage to get by. Their pay, when it arrived, would amount to over two shillings a day for most, a sum not to be sniffed at in hard times.

So it came to pass that the Regiment ceased to exist and Richard Mead was to become a civilian once again. But not quite yet apparently, for Ketch had summoned him to a private meeting.

“I have a task for you Richard. A mission should I say.”

“You forget Sir, I am no longer under yours or anyone else’s command.”

Ketch smirked and turned to gaze out of the window.

“How many of your troop decided to leave the Army?” he asked over his shoulder.

“A round dozen, no more.”

“And have they all left this place yet?”

“Four remain,” said Mead puzzled by the question. “We thought to keep company on the road.”

“You thought you would be keeping your horses? Army mounts?”

Mead glowered.

“I thought … It was my opinion that after all the perfidity we had endured, the Army would not begrudge us a handful of fly-blown nags!”

Ketch waved a hand in dismissal.

“It is of no consequence, merely an observation. Keep the beasts. But tell me, what of your other men, those who now march to Acton to swell the ranks of the New Model?”

“Departed yesterday under Pye’s command as ordered.”

“So, it is just you and your four die-hards?”

“I do not understand the direction of this conversation Sir,” snarled Richard.

“The mission I spoke of. Yes, five men would be admirably suited for it.”

“And why, in the name of the Saviour, would any of us be willing to do anything for you Sir?”

“Pay Richard, all your arrears. Every penny owed to you and they. Paid in coin without waiting for assessments or judgements.”

Richard was taken aback. It was exactly what he needed, his men even more so.

“Full payment? Full payment in advance?”

“Let us say half now and half when the task is fulfilled.”

“Supplies? Victuals? Arms? Re-mounts?”

“Whatever you require.”

Too easy! Far too easy!

“Who do you want killed?”

Ketch smiled, a cold reptilian smirk that told Richard he had hit the mark. Ketch began slowly pacing the room, a furrow across his brow. It was almost as if he were even now rehearsing a speech in the House.

“I have decided to enter politics,” he announced.

“I noticed,” sneered Mead. Ketch ignored him.

“I believe I can secure a seat without too much difficulty, but there is an issue that must be tidied up so as not to offend the sensibilities of my backers.

“And this ‘issue’, this embarrassment, that stands in your way? And why, whatever it is, should I and my men risk involvement?”

“Richard, you need the money, as do your men. And think you, so too do your former comrades recently departed under Colonel Pye’s banner.”

Realisation struck Mead.

“You would deny them justice, deny them their arrears?”

“Not I Richard. But things do take such a terribly long time to be resolved by Parliament’s auditors. It matters not to them whether a man has joined the New Model or has returned to the land. Delays, unaccountable endless delays can ensue if the process is not, shall we say, coaxed a little. Why, a man might starve to death while he waited on the Treasury! I don’t think it will come to that though, do you?”

“It seems I have no choice!” hissed Mead.

“No, not really. And you have much to gain from accepting my charge.”

“Hah! You mean my men have all to lose if I refuse it!”

“Good. I see we understand each other.”

“Explain your mission then damn you!”

“In a word, witches. They are a curse upon the land and an abomination unto the Lord.”

“You wish me to kill a witch?”

“No. I wish you to hunt down a self-appointed Witchfinder whose zeal has exceeded all reason. This man has hung nigh on three score of people thus far and his evidence for the continuing of his quest grows flimsier by the day.”

“I have heard of such a man. Matthew Hopkins I believe is his name … ”

“No. Hopkins is in East Anglia. He, though he calls himself ‘Witchfinder General’ is not the one you seek. No, your man is fast becoming even more rabid than Hopkins. Many are the innocents he has strung up. His activities are causing … disquiet.”

“Why though does this concern you?”

“He seeks his prey in the county of Gloucestershire. I have, shall we say, ‘interests’ in that county.”

“Ah, your backers perhaps? Too many dangling from the gallows is bad for your political dealings? Attracts too much attention?”

“As you say Richard. Just so indeed.”

Too easy again. Too pat
.

“How will I know this man or do you suggest that I just follow a trail of corpses until I find him?”

“But Richard, you know him already. He once served in your troop. Tatchell is his name.”

“What? It cannot be! The man is dead!”

“Not so Richard, but I sincerely hope he will be so in the very near future.”

“So that is the mission in plain speech? Seek out Ephraim Tatchell and terminate his activities. Will there be no questions asked about his disappearance?”

“None. A grateful silence and a loss of memory shall befall Gloucestershire.”

“Then it seems I have no choice. Do you have any notion of Tatchell’s whereabouts in the county?”

“Here is a package which contains all known information of his recent activities. It should point you in the right direction I believe.”

“The money?”

Ketch reached under the table and tossed a bag forward.

“Exactly half of what I estimate to be the sum owed to you and four troopers.”

“Two of them were corporals.”

“Very well. The amounts will be amended upon completion of the deed and paid with the balance. Is that satisfactory?”

“It will have to be. I’ll need requisitions for supplies and such.”

“I will instruct the quartermaster to attend to your needs.”

“Ah! ‘Instruct’ is it? Nothing in writing then?”

“It might prove … inconvenient.”

“So would a noose around my neck! Do not play me false Sir or you will live to regret it!”

“No threats please Richard. I see this as a business opportunity, one that is beneficial to both of us as well as those others formerly under your command. Threats are as unnecessary as they are counterproductive. Depart as soon as you can and may God go with you.”

“How do I find you when all is done?”

“In the package Richard, in the package.”

Mead hefted the purse and turned on his heel. He had no compunction with killing Tatchell, that was not the issue and as Bowman had said, the man was evil. As to his crimes, Richard had little time for the witch fever that seemed to be sweeping the country. No doubt witches did exist, but most of those charged as such that he had come across seemed merely to have crossed their neighbours. Old women mostly, drowned or hung as “Disciples of Satan” when a man’s cow died of the flux. Richard hefted the purse again then went to locate his soon-to-be partners in crime. Was this what he had been reduced to? A mere hired assassin? Something else was nagging at him. Ketch. Could the man be trusted? Could he be believed? Mead thought not. The whole scheme rang of falsehood. But what choice was there? He must proceed, but he must tread very carefully, very carefully indeed.

Ex-Captain Mead collected his men who were sullen of countenance and looked naked without their arms and armour. He led them to a graveyard some distance from what little remained of the Army’s activity by the river. They squatted on a hillock to the side of the cemetery and looked up at an ornate arch erected a century before by a grieving but clearly wealthy landowner. Nearby, a lane ran up a hill to the centre of the little town. It was lined with closed-down inns and dominated by an ancient but now ransacked church. The aspect was drab and joyless, a veritable microcosm of England itself. Mead looked into their faces and considered each in turn.

“I thought you’d be glad to go back to the land Doggett,” he said to the nearest.

“Thought on it Captain. Prayed for a bit of guidance on the matter too so I did. But the King’s men took my farm and the plague took my wife and kin. I got nothing to go back to and that’s the truth of it.” “And you Corporal Hitch? No more soldiering for you?”

“Can’t see nothing worth fighting for anymore Captain. All we seem to have done after all the blood and woe is to have swapped one set of bastards for another.”

“Amen to that brother,” agreed Corporal Poulton. “Everyone is at everyone’s throats. Parliament argues with the Army, Westminster argues with itself, and we’re caught in the middle. You mark my words, them as stays in the Army, New Model though it be, if they can’t keep their mouths shut, they’ll be sent all over creation. Ireland, Scotland, Flanders, the Caribe, whatever, it is as good a way as any to get rid of a problem, and that’s the way Cromwell is looking at it I reckon. I wouldn’t be surprised if them at the top just disbands the whole Army now it’s done its job.”

Mead was impressed. That was the most he’d heard Poulton say in one go in all the years he’d known him.

“Master Shalley, what say you on the subject?” asked Mead of the remaining man.

“Captain. I’m just plain confused. If I told you I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my days, I’d be lying. The fact is that afore the war, I was always in and out of trouble. Ain’t got a trade lessen you count soldiering. I liked soldiering, methinks I’m going to miss it. I just don’t know what to do. Likely I’ll end up on the gallows I ‘spect.”

Shalley’s remarks sat ill with his comrades, particularly with Mead and a silence ensued. Then Hitch tapped out his pipe and pointed it at the young man.

“You ain’t without skills boy. What about your cooking? You were the best our troop ever had, we ain’t never eat so well since you turned up. I hear tell a good cook can earn a pretty fair living.”

“Well there’s some truth in that Corporal, but a man would need funds to set himself up for a cook. He’s need premi … prem … somewhere to work, and he likely need a partner if he ain’t so good with his sums.”

“So you have been thinking on it then!” chuckled Poulton.

“Well, a small inn or maybes a chop house or such. It crossed my mind I’ll admit, along with a hundred other notions as to how I’ll spend all my arrears of pay. And when pray tell me Corporal is that likely to happen?”