Highwayman: Ironside (12 page)

Tomkin
Dome's entire body hurt. His lungs felt weak and sore, his skin crawled. But he managed a deep bow in spite of it all. "I am a loyal subject of King Charles. And his murdered father before that."

"You
will die too, you pathetic little worm," Chickering said darkly.

"I
embrace it, young man, for I have taken this small revenge and will die happy." He turned to look up at the horseman. "Thank you."

Major Samson Lyle nodded and slid from his horse. Star grumbled, but kept calm enough. He thanked God for His providence, for the plan had worked. The party had left Newbury on time, and Bella had tracked them so that he knew when they were likely to cross the River Wey. He felt so alive, his blood zinged through his limbs in a way that it had not done since before Ireland. He thought of Felicity Mumford, and, for the first time, felt no guilt.

Lyle
reached for one of the saddle's leather loops, through which hung a long war hammer. They were designed for piercing or crushing plate armour, though he had used it against many an infantryman, and the effects on an unprotected skull had been more horrific than he could ever have imagined. Now, though, the target was not skin and bone. It was the heavy lock that hung from the doorway to the cage. Lyle lifted the hammer, poised to strike. "See to our friends, Eustace!"

"Pleasure,
Major!" Grumm called back. The old man jerked his pistols and the prisoners resumed their slippery progress down to the grassy bank. "Couple o' nice, cosy boats for you to try, chums," he chirped at the backs of the crestfallen troopers. "Perfectly river worthy I assure you."

Lyle
swept the war hammer into the waiting lock. It clanged, the sound echoing about the trees with unnatural loudness, the gurgling of the river its only competition. He repeated the blow twice more with deep grunts, the flapping of startled birds shaking the canopy above, and then there was an almighty crack as the lock twisted and broke. Lyle slid the bolt back, tugged open the door. "Sir James Wren?"

The
man in the cage had barely reacted to the frenetic action swirling around him, but now he crawled stiffly to the little doorway. "Aye."

"Then
come. The coast awaits. You must take a ship."

Wren
took Lyle's proffered hand, bracing himself against it as he stepped out. His hair was lank and filthy, falling over his face in greasy clumps. His eyes stared out from behind the dark veil. He seemed exhausted, broken, though a new light came into his face, as though waking from a terrible dream. "I know you."

"Lyle."

Wren seemed puzzled. "A Roundhead, were you not?"

"I
was."

"Allied
now to the king?"

"Allied
to none but myself."

It
was Wren's turn to extend his hand. "I shall tell the king of your service nevertheless."

"As
you wish."

Tomkin
Dome had chased off eight of the troopers' mounts. Now he came to stand before the man who had hitherto been a captive of the Protectorate. "Sir."

Wren
stared at him for a few heartbeats, before his eyes widened. "Sergeant? Sergeant Dome?"

Dome
beamed. "You have it, sir, and good it is to see you again."

They
shook hands. Wren swept the hair from his face, the life pouring into him with every moment. "What risk you have taken in this enterprise."

Dome's
face became sad, and Lyle thought of their first meeting, when the brittle carter had told him of his illness. It had been a Godsend for the mission, but that did not make him happy. Dome cleared his throat awkwardly. "I am not long for this world, Sir James. I would fight for my king one last time." He glanced at Lyle. "Thanks to this man."

Lyle
could not stifle a smile. "A small matter, gentlemen. Now if you wouldn't mind, I must be away from here. And you have a ship to catch."

"How?"
Wren said.

"The
major has arranged our passage to France," replied Dome. "We must ride hard for the coast."

Lyle
nodded. "Ride like devils, for they will hunt you."

Wren
was already walking gingerly towards the two mounts Dome had selected for their journey, but he looked back at his rescuer. "Why are you doing this, Major? You were a rebel."

"It
will hurt Goffe and Cromwell, Sir James," Lyle said as he watched the two men hoist themselves into the saddles and quickly kick the beasts into a canter. The hooves clattered south over the bridge. "That is enough!"

Lyle
went to the side of the bridge. He leaned over the stonework to peer down at the two skiffs. They each carried five passengers, fury etched into every face. He waved. "Give my regards to Major-General Goffe!"

Lieutenant
Chickering tried to stand, causing the boat to list violently, throwing him back onto his rump. "He will track you down," he snarled as Lyle, Grumm and Bella brayed to the scudding clouds at his floundering.

"I
count on it! Be sure to tell General Goffe who it was that outwitted him.”

Chickering
stared up at him as the boats slipped swiftly downstream. "Then who are you?"

"Major
Samson Lyle, sir. The Ironside Highwayman!"

Historical Note

The Rule of the Major-Generals was a 15 month period of direct military government during Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate.

The
new system was commissioned in October 1655 and the country divided into 12 regions, each governed by a Major-General who was answerable only to the Lord Protector. The first duty of the Major-Generals was to maintain security by suppressing unlawful assemblies, disarming Royalists and apprehending thieves, robbers and highwaymen. To assist them in this work, they were authorised to raise their own militias.

Colonel
Maddocks and his men are figments of my imagination, but William Goffe was indeed Major-General for Berkshire, Sussex and Hampshire, and it would have been his responsibility to hunt down Samson Lyle and men like him.

Sadly,
Lyle himself is a fictional character, but he is indicative of many outlaws of the period.

Contrary
to the classic tradition of the 18th Century dandy highwayman, mounted bandits have infested England's major roads for hundreds of years.

Indeed,
in 1572 Thomas Wilson wrote a dialogue in which one character commented that in England, highway robbers were likely to be admired for their courage, while another suggested that a penchant for robbery was one of the Englishman’s besetting sins.

During
the years immediately following the Civil Wars, highway banditry became more widespread simply due to the sheer number of dispossessed, heavily armed and vengeful former Royalists on the roads. This idea was the inspiration behind
Highwayman: Ironside
, though I felt it might be more interesting if my protagonist had been a Roundhead rather than a Cavalier.

The
locations in the story are all real. The London to Portsmouth road became a major coaching route in the eighteenth century, but it had already been an established highway for centuries. Many inns punctuated the route, and the Red Lion at Rake (now a private house) was certainly present in 1655.

The
Manor House at Hinton Ampner was indeed purchased by the Parliamentarian, Sir John Hippisley after the wars. The current house was built in 1790, and is now owned by the National Trust.

The Ironside Highwayman will ride again.

Michael Arnold