Claire Letemendia - The Licence of War

Laurence sat shivering, knees drawn to his chest, head bowed against the wind, cursing himself under his breath. He had been hauled unceremoniously onto the barge, where the militia had confiscated, along with his pistols and saddlebag, his cloak and doublet, and the knife he always kept in his doublet’s breast pocket. They had tied his wrists and ankles with a rope and fastened it to an iron ring embedded in the deck. As the barge nosed its way through murky fog, they had left him alone, in spite of his repeated demands to talk to their corporal. A brutal interrogation probably awaited him, and God only knew which of his severed parts Lord Digby might receive in a package. He should have ignored his instinct, and travelled with Violet.

At last a man approached carrying a lantern. He wore a buff coat, the orange sash of Parliament, high boots, and a good beaver hat. “I am Corporal Giles Draycott of the London Bands,” he informed Laurence, in a courteous, educated voice. “Who are you and what were you doing on this barge?”

“Corporal Draycott, there’s been a mistake,” Laurence said, in a brusque though somewhat friendlier tone than he had used with the militia. “I applaud the vigilance of your troops, but they’ve arrested the wrong man.”

Draycott set the lantern on the deck, and squatted down. In the flickering light, Laurence discerned intelligence and gentleness in his face, and a likeable straightforwardness in his eyes. They were perhaps the same age. “Pray explain, sir,” he said.

“You must keep what I tell you between us. I’m an agent of Parliament returning from Oxford. I was in haste to report vital news to the Committee of Safety at Derby House. That’s why I took passage on your barge. Don’t bother to ask my name — I’ll give you a false one, on the instruction of Mr. Pym himself.”

“Heavens above,” murmured Draycott. “But why did you claim to be an excise officer, and then try to flee?”

“Why would I admit who I am to a common trooper? I tried to flee because I knew I’d be delayed and questioned.”

“If you won’t give your name, are you carrying any credentials?”

“ Credentials? Sir, there are enemy spies everywhere, including among our militias, who would not hesitate to cut my throat if they found me out. I’ve put my cover at risk by telling you even this much. I’m not well known yet in England, which has been an advantage to me thus far,” Laurence went on, inspired by Digby’s portrait of the butcher. “I was away, fighting in the wars abroad. Now, untie me, and you must let me off as soon as the barge docks.”

“How can I, when for aught I know, you might be an enemy spy?”

Laurence sighed, thinking. “Corporal, did you hear of the King’s plot for a revolt in London this spring?”

“The whole City heard.”

“I helped to detect it, when I first came back from the Low Countries. If you want proof of who I am, ask me anything you want about it.”

Draycott seemed to consider. “Tell me how Lady d’Aubigny and Lady Murray smuggled in the King’s Commission of Array authorising the revolt. Their coach was thoroughly searched when it entered London.”

Laurence could provide a bit of the truth for a change. “The document was hidden down the front of Lady d’Aubigny’s dress, where she assumed no gentleman would search, and none did. I was warned she had it on her, and I followed her, the day she delivered it,” he added, less truthfully.

“To Sir Edmund Waller’s brother-in-law.”

“No, to a man named Chaloner, who later passed it on to him.”

“The ladies were fortunate to be spared a public trial,” Draycott remarked.

No idle observation, Laurence suspected. “They were saved by their rank and their sex,” he said, feigning scorn.

“Yes — for so-called rebels, we behaved ourselves scrupulously towards them. They were shielded from the common view throughout, to the disappointment of most Londoners. Lady d’Aubigny was rumoured to be exquisite in appearance — tall and flaxen-haired,” Draycott said, his eyes watchful.

“Lady d’Aubigny is exquisite, though she’s small in height, and her hair is dark brown,” said Laurence, amused: he could have offered a more intimate description of her charms. “Rumour confused her with Lady Murray, who is tall and blonde, and less exquisite.” Draycott’s face relaxed, hinting to Laurence that he had survived a test and won a measure of trust. “I’d be pleased to satisfy your curiosity at length on another occasion,” he went on, “but I swear, if you don’t free me tonight, there may be grave consequences. Where is the barge to dock?”

“Lambeth,” Draycott said. “I must convey the troops to Captain Harper, who’s in charge of the fort at St. George’s Fields. I’ll ask his permission to accompany you back across the Thames, to confirm with Pym that you are his agent.”

“And blow wide my cover? Pym won’t thank you for it.”

“Then supply me with some token of proof to take to Pym, in confidence. You’ll be kept but a few hours at the fort. You have my word, sir.”

It was more than Laurence could have hoped for: Lambeth was not far from Mistress Edwards’ house; and during those hours at the fort he might exert his powers of persuasion on the Captain to release him before Draycott could reappear and unmask his lies. “Very well, Corporal. Until we dock, please ensure that none of my property goes astray — especially my pistols.”

“They are a splendid brace — they must be worth a great deal.”

“They were a gift from a friend who was killed in battle at Newbury. I value them as a memorial of him, not for their worth,” Laurence said, with absolute honesty, thinking of Falkland.

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I heard it was a terrible fight, though I did not witness it.” Draycott settled back on his heels and cast Laurence a rueful smile. “I haven’t seen action, thus far. I was a lawyer before I enlisted this summer. I dealt mostly with crimes of fraud, cheating spouses, petty theft — and the odd murder.”

“You moved fast through the ranks, to be made a corporal.”

“My learning and profession got me where I am. For how long did you serve abroad?”

“S-six years,” said Laurence, his teeth beginning to chatter.

“You must be cold, sir,” said Draycott.

“Frozen would be closer to the truth.”

“We thought you might have messages sewn into your cloak or your doublet. I’ll have them returned to you.” Draycott rose, picking up the lantern, and walked away; and a militiaman soon came with the garments. After Laurence put them on, his bonds were refastened, and again he was left alone.

As the barge neared Lambeth, he could distinguish the imposing silhouette of the Abbey and the outlines of Westminster Hall and the Palace of Whitehall across the river. The men were jostling for a view, talking more cheerfully among themselves, obviously keen to get home after their day’s patrol in bad weather.

“Who’s for a flagon at the Dog and Duck tomorrow?” one of them shouted out.

“Can’t afford it on our pay,” grumbled another.

“What pay? We’re owed since August.”

“Hush and ready yourselves, boys,” Draycott told them.

Laurence braced himself, hanging onto the iron ring as the barge lurched to a standstill. A militiaman freed him and cut the rope from his ankles, leaving his wrists tied, and hustled him onto the pier where Corporal Draycott was supervising the stragglers. Then they marched along empty streets, meeting a sole nightwatchman who saluted them with his torch. Ahead Laurence saw more lights, and the fort, a new, solid construct with bulwarks on all sides.