Rebels and Traitors (93 page)

Mistress Pernelle sat back down on the settle very suddenly, white as ash, with her heart pounding.

‘Blow me, you’ve only killed the blighter!’ commented a new voice from the passage doorway. More trouble. A man was already in the room, bending over Jem’s boots. ‘If I tow him out into the yard, do I get the fun he was asking for?’

‘Don’t even dream of it.’

Always worth a try! I’ll dispose of him for you anyway. Let’s chuck him over the gunnels before anybody cops us —’ A sailor. He was as good as his word, starting to pull the lifeless man to the back door. The girl rallied to help him, which speeded up the process. Beyond the door lay a lane, where Jem’s body joined the drunks and riff-raff who were often found there, some clinging onto miserable life, some dead of cold or worse, all causing little public comment in this sordid area in the fields beyond the city walls. The sailor took coins from a pocket. ‘Shall I save his boots?’

‘I want nothing of his.’

‘You knew him then.’

And I know you too,
she thought to herself as they returned indoors. In the few moments while they removed the corpse, she had considered whether to say anything. One old acquaintance in a night was bad enough.

The sailor gazed at her. It was almost ten years since she had seen him. She had been about fourteen, and was now in her middle twenties, the age he must have been when he went away to sea. He was in his mid-thirties, a fit, lean man, dark-skinned from years of wind and weather, short, wiry, otherwise undistinguished-looking. One thing marked him out: he had the sing-song lilt of an ineradicable accent, one that came from as far inland as could be. She had noticed it immediately, feeling a pang of homesickness, and an urge to welcome him too. He had failed to spot that she spoke with the same intonation and vowels.

‘Well, Mistress Pernelle!’ The young sailor addressed her with the cocksure confidence of their home town. He had Midlands’ goodheartedness too. He had known deprivation; he reacted kindly to her predicament. ‘I covered him with leaves, nice and snug, but if he may be traced to you, you may like to think whether it is safe for you to remain here.’

She jumped up quickly, at that. With a pragmatic nod, she led the sailor down a passage to the brewhouse, where she normally slept on a mattress and kept her few belongings. Quickly putting together a bundle, she remarked that it had been in her mind to move on to a more respectable house. Brewing was a skill, she now realised; it could be marketed. The speed of her packing showed that her plans were already advanced. She turned her back and changed from her low-cut brothel gown into a plain skirt and jacket in unbleached linen, high on the neck, with a neat apron and white collar over it, clothes she must have hoarded ready for this day. She plumped a good hat on her head.

While he leaned on a malt shovel, waiting, the sailor revealed he too had dreams. He was carrying his savings and now planned to leave the sea, hoping to set up somewhere and earn his living on land.

‘What can you do?’

‘I can turn my hand to anything.’

‘If you can work in a tavern,’ suggested Mistress Pernelle, ‘why don’t you come along with me?’

‘Do you have your own tavern, malt-masher?’ chortled the sailor, with his easy grace.

‘Not yet,’ she quipped back, with the same wry humour. ‘I shall have to begin in someone else’s place, then persuade them to give it up to me.’

‘Better bring your warming pan in case you need to bash heads.’

‘No, that’s Priss Fotheringham’s own bed-warmer. I’ll not be a thief — especially from her.’

’Well, it’s true the pan got dinted badly. The next person who has it will be burned by the coals falling out. That should enliven the bawd’s bed.’

‘Say no more of bawds. My plan is to turn respectable.’ She too had a few savings to bring to the venture, though she would not tell him so until she was sure that she trusted him not to drink or steal the money. We must go right across the city, where I am not known and the naval press-men will not look for you. Look out for purse-snatchers and pickpockets.’

They slipped out of doors and set off into the night. The sailor was intrigued. ‘So why do you so suddenly trust your fortunes to a stranger?’ At his side, the skinny brewster merely smiled, enjoying her mystery. ‘My name is Nathaniel Tew — so who are you?’

‘You will work it out eventually’ said the pale little wisp whom Nat Tew would in time recognise from long ago as one of his own raggletaggle sisters: the one they had all called Kinchin.

It was a small fleet that Prince Rupert took to Ireland: the
Constant Reformation
(his own command as admiral), the
Convertine
(under Prince Maurice as vice-admiral), plus the
Swallow, Charles, Thomas, James
and
Elizabeth
(the latter a hoy, or small sloop-rigged coastal vessel). On warships there were two commands; the captain and sailors operated the vessel whilst a separate complement of soldiers carried out the fighting. Prince Maurice’s fighting troops included Orlando Lovell.

As colleagues they were polite but never close. Lovell grudgingly chose to attach himself to Maurice, Rupert’s somewhat overshadowed younger brother, hoping he would be more congenial. Immensely tall, though not as striking as the daredevil Rupert, Prince Maurice had failed to get the measure of English politics and was thought unpersuasive in debate, so he was considered lightweight; it suited Lovell, who was as prone to jealousy of good commanders as to irritation with weak ones. The bravery, leadership and organisation that Maurice had shown in the war on land were beyond doubt; he was loved and respected by his immediate followers, and had provided Charles I with valuable officers. Serving under him at sea was not a retrograde step, or Lovell would never have done it.

Their first base was Kinsale in the south of County Cork, a perfect enclosed harbour, guarded by a narrow entrance that was almost invisible from the open sea, especially in rough weather — and the Irish Sea was notoriously rough. An attractive medieval town fringed the harbour bowl, long the centre of a thriving wine trade with Bordeaux, so Prince Rupert had something to drink when he fell ashore suffering from agonies of seasickness and Orlando Lovell had something to abstain from when he wanted to be fastidious. It was at St Multose Church that Rupert had his cousin immediately proclaimed King Charles II when, not long after they arrived, he heard of the execution of Charles I. The two princes had family reasons to be shocked, as well as feeling horror that an anointed monarch had been killed. For their men it was bad news too. Lovell, for one, took it to heart glumly. He had made the wrong choice, entirely his own fault, and was now consigned to serving as an adventurer among beaten men. He did not like it, but was in too deep to see any better options if he left.

They went to Ireland to prey on commercial shipping, and were resoundingly successful. Soon, as an adjunct to the land-based forces of the Marquis of Ormond, Rupert’s ships also became a factor in the Commonwealth attempt to gain control of Ireland. He threatened Cromwell’s supply line, forcing Admiral Robert Blake to patrol outside Kinsale whenever the foul weather was not interfering. The Royalists lurked in the mist like sea-wolves, threatening relief for the expeditionary force. But once they were penned up, the harbour became so full of shipping even neutral merchantmen could not enter. The Irish feared damage to their trade. Plots were fomented by supposed allies. Cromwell’s galloping conquest of Ireland eventually made Kinsale untenable until, seizing his moment adroitly, Prince Rupert evaded Blake during a storm and sailed for Portugal.

They arrived at the mouth of the River Tagus in November. For almost a year Rupert made this an operational base. His initial reception from the King of Portugal was friendly; he sold prize goods, refitted and bought supplies. But Blake was on his heels, which unsettled Portuguese traders whose ships Blake threatened. Rupert issued an intemperate denunciation of Parliament; he became a liability. Blake several times prevented escape. Ingenuity was used on both sides. The English planned to ambush Rupert and Maurice while they were on land, hunting, but they galloped out of the trap. Rupert invented a booby-trap bomb disguised as a barrel of oil to blow up Blake’s vice-admiral, but his agent gave himself away by swearing fluently in English. In August 1650, a French fleet arrived in a relief attempt, but their flagship sank and two others were taken, so the rest dispersed. Only in September, the month of the battle of Dunbar, did Rupert’s ships slip out from the Tagus and bolt for the Mediterranean.

They were still being menaced. At the end of December, the little fleet was chased until five or six ships were ‘defunct’: two ran aground, one was set ablaze, two were captured. Rupert, temporarily separated from Maurice, escaped in a nimble sailor’, the
Rainbow.
Maurice only caught up with him later at Toulon.

Intrepid piracy now became the way of life for the princes and their tattered band. They were outcasts, rarely permitted to land in European harbours and never again allowed to establish a base. Poverty-stricken and in constant danger, they were forced to hunt for prizes in shipping lanes where Blake patrolled and harried them.

They preyed not only on English merchantmen but on those of any country allied to the English Commonwealth. Only the Dutch saluted them as allies. Even countries that were hostile to the Commonwealth were nervous commercially, because the Rump Parliament was strengthening its navy, building new ships, appointing experienced New Model Army veterans to command and looking overseas for trade and position. The tiny Royalist flotilla made little impact and, apart from a general hope of seizing ships and treasure, their wanderings became troubled and aimless.

As they struggled, Lovell did not make a good pirate. There were intensely long periods when the ships were either moored or cruising on the lookout for prey, often pointlessly While they were not fighting, he loathed the inactivity. Aboard ship or just as uncomfortable ashore in filthy taverns, he kept to himself, which made him unpopular, then he let it show that he despised people he had offended. He would not fawn on the princes; he would not cosy up to the men. Lovell could cope with deprivation; he prided himself on his hardness. But he regretted his decision to join this outlaw navy and he showed it. Always critical, he grumbled until he fell out of favour with Maurice. Though never as seasick as Rupert, he was frequently queasy, which did nothing to improve his sour mood. If he could have thought of anything better to do he would have left, but very few opportunities existed for landless cavaliers.

So, to his own surprise, he stayed with the princes for the three or four years they were at sea. As an existence it was hard and brutalising. Men ran a constant risk of being drowned or shot. Lovell lost colleagues he did respect to filthy weather, bad food and water, scurvy, other diseases and wounds. The group were denounced as common pirates. They had no letters of marque to validate them; no nation protected them under its flag; all ports offered an uncertain reception, so finding food and water was a constant anxiety. They committed brave acts of plunder, taking thirty-one prizes altogether, but were so hard pressed they never managed to sustain their good luck. Some of their ships were wrecked; some crews mutinied and deserted.

In November 1650 at Cartagena, Rupert managed to sell some valuable bronze cannon so was able to refit his little fleet, but the refurbished vessels still failed to prosper. Six months later, the French allowed him to berth at Toulon, where he bought stores, though on massive credit. He pinched together enough money to buy a ship he named the
Honest Seaman;
another they called the
Loyal Subject
joined them as they set off on travels that now took them through the Straits of Gibraltar and away from Europe. Rupert wanted to sail to the West Indies, where he believed there were Royalist supporters and rich pickings, but through 1651 was held off the west of Africa by endless wrangles among his men as they struggled to beat bad weather, the uncertainty of finding supplies and their own disagreements. Open plotting broke out among the officers on board.

Rupert’s own ship, the
Constant Reformation,
had been leaking, and in a violent storm off the Azores the situation became desperate. His men were unable to plug the rift; they manned the pumps, heaved guns overboard to lighten the ship and used everything to hand to make a barrier against incoming water. Rupert even ordered them to force in 120 pieces of raw beef from their victuals but the storm battered through and poured in. The vessel was doomed — and so was the crew. Alerted by cannon-shots, Maurice brought the
Honest Seaman
as close as he dared, hoping to take people off. Rupert refused to leave the comrades who had been through so much with him, but a group of men jumped him and dragged him to the single lifeboat. They rowed him to safety. A couple more rescue trips were bravely made, Lovell supervising one, but the task was hopeless. The remnants of Rupert’s crew kept their ship afloat until nightfall, but soon those with Prince Maurice watched the
Constant Reformation
go down, taking over three hundred men. Most of the treasure the fleet had acquired went to the bottom with her.