Chapter 4: The War Proper
By late 1642, almost one year after Edgehill, the war was toning down on both sides. Mother had come back from France and the Netherlands with a small mercenary army, (purchased by selling her jewelries) and has settled in Oxford, much to the delight of father, who grew noticeably more relaxed, especially from the bubbling laughter of my youngest brother Henry, who was now a cute, well dressed little boy of 3. Indeed, the entire court found relief in his good natured questions about everything around him, including the war. It struck me how similar I must have been to him when I was his age.
Since it was now clear that the war will drag on for a good while father began stabilizing his court. He set up governors and administrations throughout royalist England and even made me a member of the Privy Council. I didn’t attend any of its meetings, but because of the duties I received from the council, I missed many of Rupert’s fantastic raids. Nevertheless, I made good friends with Boye, who eagerly jumps on me every time it saw me, licking my face and gazing at me with large, loving eyes. It is hard to imagine this same dog is feared all over Rebel England as the devil’s familiar.
Meanwhile, there had also been noticeable changes in father’s cabinet of ministers. At the start of war, his prewar generals, including Rupert, Hopton and Goring, as well as some outspoken men, like Cary and Hyde, helped father make much of his most important decisions. Now, however, Rupert and the other military generals, who spent much of their time campaigning away from Oxford, found their position in father’s court increasingly undermined by men armed with darting tongue, most notably Digby, who had a hand in all of father’s important, albeit reckless, decisions. Luscious Cary, for example, so outspoken at the beginning of the war about his utopian, post war society, fell into recluse, unused by father. Meanwhile, disagreements between Digby with generals such as Rupert and Wilmot grew increasingly common. Despite the rift in father’s staff, however, the war was turning for the better. In the south Hopton showed as little mercy as father would allow to his nemesis Sir Waller. In several bloody battles he was able to drive Waller back and conquered all of Wessex, linking the region with loyal Wales. In the north Cavendish, helped by Lord Goring, advanced south, where, despite a few minor defeats, was able to defeat several Parliamentarian armies opposed to him. Meanwhile, in the center, Rupert, helped by his dog Boye, who had become a celebrity on both sides (Royalists paint Boye as a good luck charm, while the rebels claim Boye is the Devil’s familiar), tied up the main Parliament army and preventing it from confronting Hopton or Cavendish. Rupert must have fought hundreds of engagements now, both major and minor, capturing towns, destroying isolated regiments of enemy reinforcements, and once burning a major rebel supply base in a brilliant raid behind enemy lines, halting all rebel operations for several month. His success culminated in the storming of Bristol, the second richest town in rebel England, (after London.) Parliamentarian England was shrinking day by day, until they were pushed all the way back to south Eastern England, the heart of London. Father and his generals are now planning a three pronged attack upon the rebels, where if any prong of attack penetrates, London will fall and the war be won. Again, it looked like the war would, be over soon.
Morale at Oxford was extremely high. The citizens had never been more loyal and supportive of father. Prince Rupert was greeted like Christ every time he rode down the streets. Father’s court at Oxford was now equal, if not surpassing, the grandeur of the old court at London. Diplomats, merchants, nobles, and different leaders of different groups all sought an audience at Oxford. They were the most exotic and motley bunch I have ever seen. There were Turks, Russians, Jews, Catholics, protestants, and even 2 captured African warriors, but none drew so much attention as the savage man from the new world, which colonists of the new world has sent back for father’s pleasure. However, much as I liked listening to these men tell their stories, my attention was always drawn irresistibly to another frequent member of father’s court, the beautiful, 14 years old Lucy Walters.
The years since our last meeting had not gone so well for Lucy either. Her father had died soon after the civil war begun, and Lucy moved back to Roche with her mother. Earlier this year, however, a band of foraging rebels laid siege to the castle. It was very lucky that Lucy was not home that fateful day, else death or worse might have befallen her. The rebels looted the castle and took all the Walters family had, and as a result Madame Walter and her family could only turn to father and his court, to whom they had pledged their allegiance at the start of the war.
Lucy’s large green eyes were always filled with a staggering amount of sadness, the dark orbs like a swallowing, black sun, but it only added to her beauty. She was medium height, and fairly thin. Her skin was like ivory, but much softer in texture, her head a beautiful, golden cascade of sweet smelling hair. Her voice, always soft and quivering, was like the sweet bubbling of a gentle stream, and a small, delicate nose sat in the center of her comely face.
Father greatly liked Lucy, both for her beauty and her manners. When around father, (usually at the tables when she dines with us) she ate with the delicateness of a little spider, and made my manner of eating look like those of Boye’s. When outside the watchful eyes of adults, however, she is a completely different person. Many of the Royal Children’s shadier adventures at Oxford were led by her. One trip I remembered quickly evolved from a raid to the kitchen into the exchange of the royal dinner with the dinner of the poor Parm family. Father was very impressed with the dry bread, slim cabbage soup and spoiled meat that the Parm family would have ate that night, and as a show of compassion ordered all his ministers to eat some of that meal.
For several months my life in Oxford was normal, albeit boring. The war had come to a halt during the winter months as both sides quit fighting to retrain, and reorganize. Then, spring rolled around and father made ready to execute his campaign plans for 1643. Better yet, since I was now 14, father put me in command of a regiment of musketeers.
“You would be like Alexander,” father assured me, “leading King Philip’s companion cavalry and helping the Macedonians achieve victory.”
My regiment was soon put to the test. In late spring, father finally proceeded with his campaign. The royal army, over 30,000 men strong, marched out of the walls of Oxford and made for London, led by father, his generals and me. Cary accompanied us on the campaign. I found solace in this, since Cary seemed nonchalant to anything for the past few months. He wore grey every day, his eyes dimmed and even his hair greys more with each passing month. He seemed like he found no purpose in life. Now that he showed interest in the war again, perhaps he has snapped out of his depression.
The army marched east for many days before stopping at the key fortress of Gloucester. Gloucester was located on an important road between Royalist Wessex and Royalist Wales. If Gloucester could be captured, the two theaters could be joined into one single front. At the same time, father also had a less political reason of capturing the fortress. Henry was named the Duke of Gloucester when he was born. Father wants to recapture my little brother’s fief before the boy’s third birthday. However, Gloucester is defended by high walls and thick moats, and its elaborate system of intelligently placed defenses would make it a nightmare to attack. Still, if the fortress falls, London would be like a bright fruit ready to be plucked from a branch.
Upon arriving outside the thick walls of Gloucester, Rupert’s vanguard force of Cavalry immediately surrounded the fortress and captured any soul that was too slow to retreat within the temporary safety of the walls. A few merchants were captured, and several farmers detained. The rebels shut their gate and watched Rupert’s men.
With the gates closed, and the rebels beginning to eat from their precious storage of supplies, Rupert began surveying the fortress’s defenses. The town of Gloucester was defended by a mere 3,000 men, as opposed to father’s army of almost 30,000. However, its walls are intelligently build, and very, very strong. The fortress i
tself consisted of two layers of defenses. An outer layer of curtain walls and ditched were manned by musketeers, screening the thicker, inner walls from our cannons. Thus, the outer walls have to be stormed first before our cannons and be brought to bear upon the inner walls of the fortress.
On the morning of August 10th, father’s main army began entering the vicinity of Gloucester, regiments after regiments of well-dressed musketeers and pike men. By August 15th, the artillery train slumbered into our siege camp. Immediately all the soldiers got to work, preparing for the siege. My regiment and I was put beside father’s main camp, and I was given the honorary but empty duty of defending the king’s lodging if the enemy sally out from the walls. Every day father’s cannons blasted away at Gloucester’s stout walls, and every day I dreamed about the day I could lead my regiment into battle. I had expected the battle to turn into another glorious battle ending in a decisive royalist victory. How wrong I eventually turned out to be!
Father put batteries of artillery at the South and the East gate, and they began shelling the fortifications of the city. Meanwhile teams of soldiers, armed with picks and shovels instead of swords and guns, diverted streams from the city. Other regiments burned houses and trees around the fortifications to create a clear view of the battle field. All was set for an assault.
The shelling continued all the way to the next day, when the enemy walls were near collapse, but then disaster struck. Father, confident of victory, had not installed regiments to guard our artillery batteries. Overnight several teams of rebel soldiers infiltrated our camp and spiked many of father’s cannons, making our batteries useless.
With all possibility of knocking down Gloucester’s walls gone, father must now resort to slower, costlier methods. Attempts to fill the ditch with rocks and bags of dirt, (so that siege towers could be erected over the walls) were fruitless, for many men died in the attempt, (under fire from the walls) and what little part of the moat that was filled quickly sunk and had to be refilled the very next day. After almost a thousand men, and 3 weeks were lost in attempting to fill the moat, father looked for other options. Our men began to tunnel under the walls of Gloucester, and they seemed to be making good progress. Then, however, disaster struck again. The rebels sallied out and filled the tunnels with moat water, making our efforts futile. We are now 14 days into the siege, had lost almost 2,000 men, and there were news of a Parliamentarian relief army forming in London. Every day we glaze upon the hated walls of Gloucester, walls we are unable to breach.
Finally, father, growing desperate, ordered Rupert to find more artillery pieces. Rupert responded by raiding several nearby Parliamentarian fortress, but found them all empty of the much needed guns. Finally he reported that a friend of his, a certain prince of a small German state had, in his procession a huge cannon, of black monstrous proportions and so powerful it can knock down most walls with one hit! Father was amazed. If he could acquire that cannon, then Gloucester would finally surrender, or be pounded into submission! Immediately he sent Rupert to Europe with 500 pounds to borrow the cannon. The trip should have taken only days, but the Parliamentary navies control the channel and it took Rupert a week and a half to have the gigantic cannon docked on the shores of England. Finally, on August 25, Rupert’s large cog docked on the shores of Gloucester. A team of 40 men slowly rolled a monstrous black thing down a plank and onto shore. The gun was huge. It was as wide as 5 men, and it fires stones the size of small huts. 2 entire barrels of powder was put into the behemoth before its appetite its filled. After that it took nearly 2 hours for the gun to be adjusted and aimed. (father aimed the gun at the Gloucester Cathedral. He hoped to show off the Gun’s tremendous power with the first shot, and if the rebels still did not surrender then he would demolish the walls with the second shot.)
As both armies watched, two soldiers, with a flaming rod, slowly lowered the stick into the powder chamber. For a moment there was a loud sizzling, and then a huge explosion. The cannon and its vicinity was surrounded with smokes, and several trees nearby were flattened. Everyone’s eyes went over to the cathedral, waiting for it to collapse into dust as if struck by God. When that did not happen, slowly all the eyes turned back onto the cannon. It was gone. There was a huge crater where it once stood, and in the middle of the crater was a desolate black wreck. The wheels have fallen off and were lying flat on the ground. The black steel of the cannon had been shattered and lay around the wheels like broken pottery. The engineers that fired the gun were all gone.
While our army stared at the black behemoth where all our hopes had been gathered, the relieved rebels let loose jeers and mockeries from the walls, jeering which had to go unpunished for times being. By August 26, morale at father’s camp was at breaking point. The men were tired of the long, fruitless siege, they were aghast at the heavy casualties suffered against the bloody wall so the city and they were depressed at the dwindling amount of supplies at the camp. With only 2 options, one in which we retreat, and likely lose all our baggage, artillery (what’s left of it) and wounded, or the other in which we launch an all-out assault against the walls. Father chose the latter option, and on the morning of August 26, all the soldiers in father’s army except for Rupert’s 6,000 cavalry left as reserve charged the cracked walls of Gloucester, attempting to overwhelm it with sheer numbers. Father’s men obeyed, perhaps understanding this is their last chance to take the city before Essex’s relief army arrived. As they charged murderous musket fire poured from the walls, each little puff of smoke signaling another one of father’s tightly packed men fell. Cary, leading his regiment at the front, riding on a tall white horse, made himself an obvious target. Rupert had told him the foolishness of riding a horse at the charge, but Cary insisted upon it, saying he was weary of the times and foresaw much misery to his own Country and did believe in victory for either side. He had murder and madness sin his eyes, so much that even Rupert backed off and let him go! Indeed, Cary had fallen from father’s favorite minister to a recluse, and was far overshadowed by the less talented Digby. Indeed I saw him thrown from his horse in a mist of red, joining the many of his soldiers that lay dead around him.
Although father’s men fell by the hundreds, the charge was too desperate, too ferocious to be turned back by the equally tired and demoralized rebel musketeers, and finally regiments began overwhelming the defenses and squeezing between cracks and small holes in the wall made by the initial bombardment. I was caught up in the fervor of battle, and with a shrill cry, ran forward toward the breaches in the wall. My regiment followed, and then ran after me. I didn’t know whether father would feel pride from my bravery, or fear from my recklessness, but he sent a general, Sir Compton after me.
There were bodies everywhere, some half rotted, others fresh, a few screaming for water or help. I would have stopped along the way, but I had no water and I knew others would be better suited to help them, and thus I rode faster and faster toward a large gap in the wall, ignoring the wounded around me. Once I fitted through the small hole, (Compton followed close behind me,) the battlefield turned into hell. The streets were filled with the bodies of soldiers and unfortunate civilians that had gotten in the way of the fighting. There were several houses burning, and muskets were firing from everywhere in every direction. Scattered men fought with swords and clubs in the streets, with a surprisingly large number of civilians picking up arms and fighting against father’s uniformed soldiers. Teams of musketeers stormed houses after houses, clearing it from partisans firing at royalist soldiers through windows. I watched the fight for a while, and realizing the battle is bloody and jaunty, wanted nothing more than to escape once again out of the walls to the safety of father’s cavalry. Unfortunately, my regiment of musketeers was now pouring in from the few holes in the walls at such a rate that there is no way I could go against the flow and exit the walls. What’s worse, several of the towers in the walls have yet to be stormed, and they pumped balls into the congested entrance from where men poured through. A han
dsome captain, with white hair and stubble was encouraging his regiment as it poured through the wall when a random bit of lead struck him down. He gave a gargle and started writhing on the ground. No one made a comment, as the soldiers just pushed past him. Father’s old physician had told me that a man can still think for minutes after he was dealt a mortal blow. Heads can blink and even bite after being chopped off. I wondered what the captain saw, what he thought at the harsh world around him as he lay dying. Wouldn’t anyone wish for a nicer place to be laid at rest? A warm bed with soothing soup and surrounded by one’s loving family is so much better than rolling on the ground, trampled by feet and covered with blood.
As I was still in my thoughts, I heard a horn note in the distance; a great deep note that vibrated again and again, as if it was attempting to draw us back. I looked at Compton next to me. The man was dead white.
“Go!” He pushed me. “Leave! Your father has sounded the retreat. Essex’s men must have been spotted. Go!” He said to me again. “Get out of the city!”
I looked at Compton in surprise. Essex’s men spotted? How is that possible, that Essex shows up right before we take Gloucester? I looked around, confused on what will happen next. To my horror, my regiment of musketeers was routing! Men had stopped flowing in from the hole in the wall but were instead flowing back out. From behind the rebels put up a halfhearted chase, themselves having taken heavy casualties.
I struggled to run to the hole in the walls, but men around me, in their desperateness to get away with their lives, pushed me down on the ground and ran over me. I tasted blood in my mouth. Compton had drawn his bright sword.
“Move! Stop! Make way for the prince!’ He shouted, helping me up and warding off desperate solders, intent on saving their own skin.
“Go!” He said, his eyes fierce. I looked at him in gratitude and admiration. This man, who had not known me at all before this day, was so loyal to the crown that he would risk his own life to save that of the King’s son.
The rebel army had begun to catch up to our retreating soldiers. It composed not only of soldiers, but also large numbers of wrinkly old men with muskets or clubs, or carving knives, who have turned out from their homes to strike out against father’s forces, which besieged the city for so long. Our soldiers, too busy running, was unable to form a battle line in time, and many were slaughtered. I even saw a rebel make for me, murder in his eyes. He had a long knife strapped to a pole, and I knew he could gut me with that weapon. Luckily Compton intercepted the man on the way, hacking brutally at the man with his sword. I didn’t want to see either fall. The rebel was old and probably had a large family. I knew if Compton’s sword connected the man would be killed if he’s lucky, hewn and left to die from infections if he’s unlucky. Either way some part of the man would be cut up in a barbaric manner. On the other hand I didn’t want to see Compton hurt. He was old and polite, and the thought of such a wise, cultured head lost to the crude weapon of some rebel arm was suffocating!
I was almost at the hole in the wall. Several soldiers around me recognized who I was and gave me a wide berth, a few even helping me out. I quickly glanced back, to see if it was possible to rescue Compton. The old general was surrounded by several rebel soldiers, who demanded his surrender. I can see Compton refusing. His words were brave yet despairing.
“I would, but I will not surrender to such a lowly mob of rebels like you here. I only surrender to nobles and the generals of other nations, true adversaries of the King!” Compton swore as he swung his sword halfheartedly at one of the soldiers.
I knew he was done for. He was surrounded by 20 men. I wasn’t even able to get a final look at him as soldiers pushed me out of the walls of Gloucester.
Compton may be dead now, but his foresight was amazing. Essex’s cavalry was within sight at the edge of the battlefield. The remnant of father’s army, those that hadn’t charged into the breach yet, stared at Essex’s men uneasily.
As I tried to run back to our siege lines, I tried to imagine the pain father must be going through right now. Victory had been in our hands, but the enemy stole it away. To rub salt in the wound, so many soldiers had died for nothing in the fruitless assaults. Father must have felt like King Darius had, as his soldiers melted apart in the face of relentless attacks by the merciless Alexander.
As I ran toward father’s lines with countless other routed, royalist soldiers, drums began to beat, which were soon complimented by the beats of pounding hooves. The rebel cavalry was charging!
Instead of continuing my dash for our lines, I changed directions and headed for the nearby woods, hoping I would be more safe there. Luckily for me, the charging Parliamentary cavalry was much more eager to hunt down hundreds of running royalists that go after one little dark figure, and I was able to make it to the safety of the woods.
Once inside the tree line, I began to travel directly opposite of the sounds of hoof beats and fighting. I knew the routing Royalist would have been slaughtered, and father likely defeated, if not captured or dead!
After about 2 hours, (the sun had begun to go down) I began to tire and stopped running. I was fairly deep in the woods and completely lost. My hunger was unimaginable, and even the bread rolls the servants eat at lunch seemed inviting now. Furthermore I was not looking forward to spending a night in the woods by myself, as there are wolves in the woods of western England. Finally, right when the sun had begun to set, I heard the drumming of horse hooves. I was so glad of this sign of humans that I openly sought out the hooves. To my dismay, it was a band of foraging rebel cavalrymen.
I used to think rebel cavalry looked clumsy, and second rate compared to the brightly dressed and well equipped cavaliers, but from up close they looked deadly all the same. There were about 20 troopers, each riding a tall, unarmored horse and armed with pistol and sword, dressed in tight black suits. They all had their sword drawn. One of them, wearing a red, plumed hat, dismounted and grasped me.
“What’s this? A little bird fallen from his nest?” He laughed.
A chill ran down my spine as I realized he knew who I was.
“Alger, we have best ride away soon……that witch dog of Rupert will soon be onto us.” One of the soldiers remarked nervously.
“Right.” Alger said, even as he continued to study my face. “Come, lets tie him up. Sir Fairfax will be very pleased when he sees what we have!”
The rebels tied my hands together and paired me with an old, rider less horse, and before Rupert and his cavaliers had a chance to form up and pursue, they rode off with me.
I could hardly believe my bad luck. If my life had seemed bad before, now it had now hit rock bottom. I at least had my family and a large group of friends before, but now that I am captured and probably doomed to live a commoner’s life, or even worse, made food for the carrion, I will have nothing I had before.
That night the rebel cavalry came to a stop in the small royalist village of Gisim, home to about 20 families. The trampling of the horses’ hooves must have woke up the village, for an old peasant, probably the village elder, emerged from the village center.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” The elder demanded angrily, his hands gripped tight around his walking stick.
“Who gave the dog permission to bark?” Alger remarked, feigning annoyance.
“Why, by the grace of the King____” The elder replied, angrily.
“Silence. My men need to borrow your house to rest for the night. We have important cargo.” He said, giving a slight laugh. “If you do not comply, we will burn down your village.”
The old man stepped back.
“I…..my house is full, sir.” He stuttered.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Alger said as he rode toward the village center, where the Elder’s house lay. All his horsemen followed.
“Please sir, my family is all asleep.” Begged the old man. “We do not even have food to serve you. The war has been hard on us.”
“Serves you r
ight, declaring for the king.” Alger gave a laugh as he came to a stop in front of the old man’s house.
“Throw out its inhabitants.” He ordered. 2 riders dismounted and advanced inside the house. I gagged in horror. Why are they doing this? Must they be so unnecessarily cruel?
“Sir, I beg you, re__” The old man began.
“Shut up, you stinking dog!” Alger replied, charging his horse at the elder, as if his ears were damaged by the old peasant’s words.
The elder tried to get away, digging his stick into the ground and hobbling to the right, but his walking stick failed him and he slipped, sprawled in a ungainly heap in the mud. The unwilling charger tried to jump as it neared the old man, but Alger whipped his horse, and the beast, frightened, failed in its jump as its large hooves pounded onto the downed old man.
A frightful snap and a long, pained yowl filled the air, and were followed by utter silence except for the assuaging hoof beats of Alger’s horse. The old man lay in the ground, his face buried in mud. His arm was in a weird position, as if a twig snapped in half but not quite fallen apart. I looked up at Alger in horror, to see if the soldier have remorse for his actions. To my surprise the man had a sneer in his face as he rode back to his waiting riders, ignoring the man he had just trampled over.
One by one the house’s inhabitants were tossed out. An old woman and two girls soon joined the old man in the mud, huddling together in one heap. I wish I could comfort them, offer them money or gratitude for their loyalty to the crown, but alas, I had none. I was as striped of wealth and status as these poor souls.
I was given a bed to sleep on, which surprised me greatly. Alger had a fair amount of respect, or at least tolerance for me. I thought it was weird, how he abused a few peasants that had done nothing to him, but how he had tolerance even for his noble enemies. I will ask father about this when I get back to Oxford. If I get back to Oxford.
The next day we continued to ride. I didn’t know what direction we rode in, but since Alger mentioned Sir Fairfax I figured we would be riding due north. Indeed after 3 days, we were stopped by a large column of several hundred horsemen. We immediately rode to the front of the column to meet a tall man in dark armor. The man looked familiar and upon closer examination I found him to be none other than Thomas Fairfax, the man who had tried to stop father from fighting parliament, and also the military commander that foiled many of father’s army’s attempt to take over central England.
I may be one of Fairfax’s worse political enemy, but the man still treated me with great respect when he saw me, taking off his hat and bowing.
That night we made camp in a small meadow. I was given a tent to sleep in, but two soldiers prowled at the entrance. The next morning I was awoken by the faint smell of grilled meat. I poked my head up. I was completely free to move about! Slowly I exited my tent. Both sentries standing guard at my tent were asleep! Tip Toeing I circled around my tent once and found a plume of smoke in the sky. Curious to see what caused the smoke, I walked in its direction and found a large fire. A large, pink slab of meat was roasting over a greedy fire, dripping little drops of juice and grease, each followed by a little sizzle. There were many tents around me, but the soldiers were probably all asleep, as it was still early. One lone, dark figure, however, sat near the meat, overlooking it. I figured he would be the cook.
When I half jumped half walked over to him in a clumsy manner, (as my hands were tied,) he turned around to look at me. He looked amazingly like…Anthony!!
“Anthony! Is this you!”
“Ay, it is me! How did you end up here? Were you captured?” He asked, completely surprised.
“Well, yes and no. I was out by myself when your guys ambushed me.” I sighed. “Such a fitting end to the prince of Three Kingdoms!”
“Three Kingdoms that you do not deserve to rule!” Anthoyn reminded me good naturedly.
I laughed. “Ah, I see. You still do not regret your decision to betray the King and support Parliament in its rebellion?” I joked, knowing he would immediately begin defending Parliament again. TO my surprise he did not. He was silent, and he looked down thoughtfully.
“Right? Are you regretting that decision or not?” I asked.
“I……things turned out more complicated than I imagined.” He said simply. “But whatever. How is the war going for your party? Other than the fact of course that you were just captured.”
“Well, if I was not captured just now, I would say it was going well. We are destroying Essex and his Rebel army. London should be within reach by the end of the year.” I told him.
He gave a little laugh. “So soon? I may agree that your side has the upper hand at the present, but that is soon about to change!”
“Change?” I asked. “How?”
“Do you promise not to tell your royalist friends? For what I am about to tell you is crucial to the Parliamentarian cause!”
“I promise.” I told him eagerly. What is this great secret that Anthony is hiding?
“Parliament turned out not as perfect as I thought” Anthony admitted. “There is a bit of strife even within the body itself. Meanwhile, Essex barely listens to the orders of the house.” He sighed.
“That is good news, but you only tell me what I already know. The King will win the war, and all of you, unless you surrender now, will be executed for treason.”
“Oh, but that is not the entire story. To fix this, Parliament ordered Essex to delay the King as much as possible while they draft and create a new army!” Anthony told me. “They are attempting to create an elite, trained army that obeys no one but Parliament. This army will train for several years while Essex and the King fight it out, and then arrive on the scene and win the war for Parliament!” Anthony said, excitedly.
“Oh really? How is that army doing at the present?” I asked, curious.
“Well, Parliament really only have a skeleton of that army so far. They’ve already drafted the men that would form the army, and also considered all the commanders of that new army. I think they chose a man named Oliver Cromwell to eventually lead it.” Anthony said thoughtfully. “But I agree, they are nothing to be stared at so far. Right now the army is nothing but a group of unorganized peasants and a few generals attempting to organize them.” He told me. “Don’t laugh though; they have the potential to become a fighting machine!” Anthony told me.
“We’ll see. The royal Army is not exactly weak. I’m sure Rupert and his cavalry will cut apart this new army of yours before it is even formed!” I replied confidently.
“Do you want to put that bet through?” Anthony challenged.
“Very well, I bet the New Model Army will be defeated by Rupert one day on the field of battle. You are betting on the exact opposite.” I told him.
“And the stakes will be….well, the loser has to surrender and join the winner’s party.” Anthony suggested.
“That will be hard, if I lose, for the prince to betray his father and join his rebels, but since I am confident in Rupert, I will bet you. It’s on!” I told him.
“Very well.” Anthony laughed a slight bit. “I cannot let you go free, but I can help you escape. I’m grilling that slab of meat right now so that Rupert’s cavalry can locate you. Soon they will show up.” He winked. “I better make my escape now!”
With that he unharnessed a horse from the campsite and rode away. I lay next to the fireplace on a pile of leaves, surprised and grateful of my good fortune but also a slight bit unsettled by what Anthony had told me. The general Massinus was right when he justified for his refusal to hire spies by saying he doesn’t want to be scared to death by seeing his enemies’ plans. Half an hour later, Algers woke up and got out of his tent. He was either drunk of very sleepy, for he stumbled about a bit, glanced at but ignored me, and sat down next to the campfire. He started to doze off, while I was dreadfully afraid he would realize the hazard of the fire and put it out, dosing my only chance of escape. Luckily when Alger woke again he saw the meat and
, after lipping his lips and making a satisfied grunt, lumbered back to his tent again. I let my breath go.
Half an hour later as I began to doze off I thought I heard the barking of a dog. I snapped out of my sleep and indeed, hoof beast soon filled the air. Rupert and his cavalry rode into the camp grounds. Boye was firmly held in the hands of Rupert, eyeing me intelligently.
“Rupert!” I shouted. “They’re all in the tents!” I knew there were a lot of enemies. If Rupert wanted to get away with a victory today he would probably have to strike fast.
“Sorry boy, we’re just gonna pop you out of here. No fighting today!” He yelled. “The dog didn’t approve!” He laughed as he rode by me. Before I knew it, I was on the back of his horse as he rode away.
The camp was now coming alive. Soldiers, some armored, some not, some armed, others not, were now pouring out of the tents, looking for their commanders in order to get organized. There was no way they would get ready in time to stop our lightning strike! Then I saw him. Algers, half closed charged toward us. His hair was wild and he had a sword in his hand, but what scared me the most was the ugly back determination in his eyes as he ran straight toward us. Algers must be a fairly adequate swordsman, or at least acted like he was. I had never seen him fight. He looked desperately determined though.
I looked up at Rupert’s face. I knew we could get away if we wanted. We had a 20 yards head start and we were on horseback. Rupert, however, had a look of disgust, of contempt on his face.
“I’ll teach this runt a lesson.” He promised as he wheeled his horse around, sword drawn.
Alger charged at us. Rupert gave his horse a light kick, and the beast started charging forward. I was a bit intimidated by Alger, but Rupert’s cocky confidence put all fear behind me. I had seen this confidence before. At Edgehill he radiated Ego like a bright jewel before he obliterated the rebel horsemen he faced.
Just before impact with Algers, Rupert jerked his reins left. Rupert’s well trained charger obeyed silently, leaping almost a meter to the left. This completely surprised the swordsman, who had braced his weapon to meet the impact of the charge. For a single moment, Algers was exposed. Rupert moved in like a cat. A bright flash, and the cruel sneer on Alger’s face loosened as the dead man fell down into the earth.
With all haste we rode west toward royalist territories. Several bands of rebel horsemen chased us through our entire journey, but Rupert’s cunning maneuvers and the sheer haste of the well trained horsemen put them far behind us, and within days we were behind the safe curtain of several well-guarded royalist fortresses. Immediately we made for Oxford to meet father. The defeat at Gloucester had not been crushing, but it was devastating to Royalist moral. I had, however, acquired vital information from Anthony. I was a bit hesitant to tell father what I learned, as I had promised Anthony I would remain silent, but when I imagined the consequences of staying silent, such as father being killed in battle, the royal army annihilated, Oxford burning and its citizens enslaved, I gave in and reported every last detail I knew about the New Model Army. I also asked him about Alger’s treatment of the peasants.
“During my capture, we spent a night in the Royalist village of Gisim. Algers was extremely cruel to the poor peasants of that village. Your soldiers would never do what he did right?” I asked hopefully, almost certain father will say yes. I had asked just to be assured by father’s warm voice.
Father gave a sigh. I looked at him in alarm.
“I….I would lie when you were young, but now you are grown. You are a man now Charles, and I cannot hide these things from you any longer.” He said, shutting his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Though I try to prevent it, such carnage is extremely common on both sides of the conflict.”
I looked at him in dumb founded surprise.
“What? Why? Why would we be so cruel to those poor villagers? They are but weeds in the winds of the conflict, pawns in our games. If anything we should be cruel to the leaders of our enemies, not to the common peasants!” I remarked.
Father looked down and sighed. His eyes were glassy. I realized he must have been in a lot of stress recently, and stopped pressing father. Instead I asked
“What will happen, now that Gloucester did not fall?”
Father sighed again. “It will ruin all my campaigns this year. I cannot thrust into Eastern England with such a potent enemy force behind my lines. Did you know how close the city came to falling?” He asked me. His face was completely covered with wrinkles.
“How close?” I asked.
“A few exchanged prisoners reported that the city had only 3 barrels of gun powder left when the siege was broken by Essex.” Father told me sadly.
Later I asked god if he was toying with us and our cause. The snatch victory from our hands even when we grasped it as tightly as we could. Soon I vowed not to ever be present at a battle again, for I never want to see such disappointment again. Soon father took my regiment away and made me instead a member of his privy Council.