Simon (12 page)

Simon’s one desire, having dismounted in the corner of a hay-field under some ancient elms, was to lie down flat on his back and stare up into the green many-layered heights of the trees, and never do anything again. But there were others in worse case than himself; Scarlet’s bright coat was sweat-darkened almost to black, his flanks heaved distressfully, and the white foam dropped from his muzzle. Simon drew a consoling hand
down the moist neck, then went hurriedly to the aid of one of his own troopers, who, having ridden with the best of them, was now swaying where he stood, with an arm that dripped red.

‘Hi! Corporal Relf!’

The Corporal swung round from mustering his men. ‘Sir?’

‘Anyone found where the ’pothecary’s shop is yet? Clerk’s hit.’

A village sage answered him. ‘Up the far end o’ the village. They’m taking the wounded up along there now. I see’d ’em when I come by. Terrible gory, some of ’em be, to be sure. You been fighting, I reckon?’

‘Yiss, we been fighting,’ Simon agreed. Then, to a trooper standing near, ‘Saundry, take Clerk up to have his arm seen to.’

‘Sir.’ Trooper Saundry got his shoulder under his comrade’s sound arm, saying encouragingly, ‘Hold up, Laddie.’ And the two of them began a wavering progress towards the tumbledown cottage that marked the beginning of the village street.

‘Sir.’ It was the troop trumpeter this time.

‘Yes?’

‘The Major wants you, sir.’

‘Right.’ Simon turned and, leading Scarlet with him, crossed to where Major Disbrow had that moment dismounted from his weary horse. ‘You sent for me, sir?’

‘I did. Have you done anything about quartering your section?’

‘Not yet, sir. I only arrived a few seconds ago.’

‘It’s your responsibility. Go and see to it now.’

Simon hesitated, and the little whipcord Major added testily, ‘Well, what’s the trouble?’

‘Anywhere, sir?’

‘Anywhere, my good boy, that is not bought up already, by officers quicker off the mark.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Simon saluted and stepped back, flushing.

Several of his troopers glanced at each other, for they had mostly suffered at different times from the Major’s barbed tongue, and knew that he was always somewhat short in the temper immediately after being in action. And they made a great show of efficiency on their young officer’s behalf, as they remounted and prepared to follow him.

The whole village was by this time thick with troops and their officers, all on the same quest; but after one or two fruitless efforts, Simon, or rather his Corporal, found vacant quarters in the shape of a small sturdy farm-house down a side lane behind the church.

The farmer, a square man with a truculent blue eye, proved difficult at first, when confronted by a young Parliament officer demanding shelter for himself and thirty-odd troopers. ‘On-christian, I calls it!’ he said bluntly. ‘Making war on your lawful King, and trapesing about over the standing hay, and a-sitting yourselves down on respectable folks, fritting the maids and firing the farm over our heads as like as not!’

‘Look here,’ Simon said, after he had heard him out, ‘we won’t frit your maids nor fire your farm, but I’m afraid you have no choice but to give us the shelter of your barns and outhouses for the night; we shall need food too, and fodder for the horses; all that will be paid for, of course.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I’m sorry about the standing hay.’

‘What do the likes of
you
know about standing hay?’ demanded the farmer.

‘I know that I shouldn’t like horses trampling through mine,’ said Simon frankly.

‘Farmer yourself, maybe?’ said the farmer with deep suspicion.

‘Yes.’

‘Parliament’ll pay, ye said?’

‘Yes. Now will you come and show us our quarters—or send someone else to do it?’

Still grumbling, the man accompanied Simon out to the knot of weary horsemen waiting in charge of Corporal Relf, and led them round to the yard at the back.

In obedience to the age-old law of Cavalry, that the horse must be tended before the man seeks his own food and rest, the troopers set to work. The horses were unsaddled, rubbed down and walked to and fro until cool; then fed from the bins reluctantly opened to them by the farmer, watered at the mossy stone trough, and picketed in the home paddock.

Normally, Scarlet was the care of one of Simon’s troopers, but this evening was no time to be putting extra work on any man. Besides, Scarlet had carried his master valiantly today, and
tonight his master wanted to do everything for him, by way of saying thank you. So, working beside his troopers, Simon unsaddled the weary sorrel and rubbed him down with straw, groomed, fed and watered him, pouring, all the while, soft proud endearments into his twitching ear.

He had just finished, and was standing to watch the picket lines pegged, when a hand came down on his shoulder, and he swung round to find his Lieutenant standing beside him.

‘Sir?’ said Simon.

‘Just a social call. We’re quartered up yonder, and I bethought me I’d best come and see how you was getting on. Any wounded?’

‘Clerk shot through the arm. He’s up at the ’pothecary’s now. Three others wounded—or killed—back there.’ He jerked his head in the direction of Naseby.

Barnaby nodded; and for a moment they stood looking over the quiet countryside. ‘Well, you’ve had your baptism of fire,’ he said.

‘Yes, Scarlet too.’ Simon drew his hand again and again down Scarlet’s arched neck, while the horse slobbered lovingly against his breast. ‘And we’ve put a spoke in Charles’ wheel as sure as unicorns,’ he added absently.

‘As sure as
what
?’

Simon flushed. ‘Unicorns. Short for “As sure as unicorns lay eggs”. It’s just a catch-phrase that a friend and I used when we were little lads. I’d almost forgotten it—and then it slipped out.’

Barnaby nodded. ‘Friend out for Parliament too?’

‘Out for the King,’ Simon said briefly.

Barnaby glanced at him. ‘Not all beer and skittles, this war, is it?’ he said.

‘No.’

There was a silence. Then, ‘Leaves blowing back for rain,’ said Barnaby. ‘You all right? Managed enough fodder for the horses? I’ll be getting back to my own lads, then.’ He swung away between the elm trees, and Simon watched him go, thinking how different Barnaby in time of action was from Barnaby of the preposterous boots.

Long after the soft June gloaming had smudged away the outlines of barn and rick and hedgerow, the village continued to hum like a disturbed bee-skep. Cromwell and his staff had taken possession of the Happy Return Inn, and every farm and cottage in the village and for miles around was full of troopers, every paddock full of picketed horses. Men came and went, on guard duty or the business of the Lieutenant-General; officers making the rounds of their men and horse-lines. Small blind-weary clumps of stragglers kept coming in too. The apothecary and his shock-headed prentice were still at work. But the villagers for the most part kept their own firesides, grimly determined to see that at least the plague of troopers which had descended on them did not fire their houses, nor unearth their life’s savings from up the chimney or under the mattress.

In the smoke-blackened kitchen of the farm behind the church, Simon and his section had eaten the supper of beans and cold bacon hastily prepared for them by the farm-wife and her maids. They were in complete possession, for the square and truculent farmer had shown his disapproval of Parliament and all its works by sending the maids to bed and the farm-hands to their quarters over the stables, and withdrawing himself, his wife and his wall-eyed sheep-dog to the seldom-used parlour. Those of the men who were not now on guard duty lounged on benches and butter-casks, or sat on the floor, with their backs propped against their comrades’ knees, many of them three parts asleep.

Simon was sitting on a settle beside the fire, his sword-belt loosened and his steel cap on the polished seat beside him. The low flames curled like fantastic flower-petals among the red-hollowed logs; blue fringed with saffron, saffron with a heart of emerald green, emerald tipped with Royal scarlet. Simon watched them until, finding himself nodding forward, he woke up with a start and looked round at his men. There had been a great coming and going throughout evening, but for the moment all was quiet. Somebody had produced a greasy pack of cards (‘The Devil’s Picture Book’ was strictly forbidden by the authorities, but there were a good many packs cherished, none the less, in the ranks of the New Model), and four of the men were playing Post and Pair, their heads bent together round a dribbling candle
in a brass pricket. Trooper Wagstaff, who always liked to have his hands occupied, was carving his name on the broad windowsill, and Simon supposed he ought to stop him, but somehow could not bestir himself to do so. Trooper Clerk, his arm having been dressed, was sleeping peacefully with his head in a corner and his mouth open. Several more were talking and dozing in alternate snatches. Corporal Zeal-for-the-Lord Relf sat in the corner of the opposite settle, his worn Bible open in his hand, his lips moving as he read, leaning forward to catch the firelight on the page. From time to time he raised his head, as though knowing the words by heart, and stared straight before him with those burning fanatic’s eyes of his, his lips still moving.

They had not the look of a victorious army, Simon thought; they were too tired. He was beginning to nod forward again when the outer door opened with a crash, and a stout red-faced trooper appeared against the background of the twilit lane.

‘Captain Vanderhorst’s compliments,’ he said, addressing the room at large, with a cheerful grin, ‘and could he be obleeged with the loan of a little corn? Six more stragglers just come in, and quartered in the vicarage, and the Reverend Gentleman ain’t got no more.’

Simon struggled free of the sleep that seemed to enfold him like a blanket. ‘I expect so. Corporal Relf, see to it, will you?’

Corporal Relf got up, stowing the Bible back into the breast of his coat; and in that same instant a joyful roar burst from the man in the doorway, and he tramped forward, holding out a hand like a mottled ham. ‘Zeal! Zeal-for-the-Lord, or I’m a cross-eyed infidel!’

Corporal Relf swung round at the sound of his voice, and his dark face lit suddenly in reply. ‘Jonnie! Why, Jonnie, what do you do here?’

‘Come in with Old Noll, two days agone. Been garrisoning Ely, I have. My, but it’s good to see you! Us heard you was killed at Gainsborough, two years back.’

‘The Lord of Hosts in His mercy protected me,’ said Zeal-for-the-Lord. ‘The shield of His Power was stretched over me.’ Then he recollected himself, and turned quickly to Simon. ‘I beg your pardon, sir; I’ll see about the corn.’

‘I’ll see about the corn,’ Simon said. ‘It isn’t every day you come back from the dead. Give your gossip some ale.’ He called out several of the watching troopers, sent one of them to inform the farmer that corn for six more horses was being taken from his bins and that he had better put it down in the reckoning, and set off with the others for the stable yard.

When he returned to the firelit kitchen, Corporal Relf and his crony were deep in talk of old scenes and old friends.

‘I was up Spalding way in the spring, buying fodder for the garrison,’ the stranger was saying loquaciously, and seemingly
giving Zeal-for-the-Lord little chance to do the talking. ‘And who should I run into but James Gibberdyke; so I went back with him for a meal. Most unwonted prosperous, he seemed too.’

Simon, back in his corner, could not help but hear every word, for the man’s voice was loud, and a lull had fallen over the drowsy troopers.

‘Barn re-thatched, and a new suit, and I dunno what-all! A aunt of his had died, seemingly, and left him a bit of money. Ah, I’ll tell you another surprising thing about James. He’d got a most beauteous thing growing in his bulb-plot; been working on it for years, he said, to get it perfect—and you wouldn’t think James was the sort for experimenting, would you? A double white hyacinth, ’twas, as sure as I stand here! A double white—’

A hoarse cry broke from Corporal Relf, and Simon, looking up quickly, saw him stagger back against the wall, as though from a blow between the eyes.

‘Why, whatever be the matter, neighbour?’ demanded the other. ‘What be there in a double white hyacinth to—’

But Corporal Relf had pulled himself together before the astonished stares of his troopers. He shook his head, and after a moment answered, ‘Nothing. Nothing in the world, Jonnie. ’Twas an old wound that ketches me sometimes, after a hard day.’

‘Well, if it ketches you like that, you did ought to get it seen to,’ said Jonnie severely.

‘I will, Jonnie, I will. Go on with what you were saying.’

‘I was saying as James Gibberdyke had growed this double white hyacinth. Going to put it on the market, come this autumn, and ’twill make a tidy bit o’ money for him, I shouldn’t wonder. We talked a good bit about you, Zeal—thinkin’, both of us, that you’d been killed at Gainsborough; and James were saying what a hidjus sad thing ’twas. Very upset about it, James were.’

‘That was—mighty good of James,’ said Corporal Relf, heavily.

‘Ah, but wait till he knows the joyful news!’

The old Ironside lifted his head, until it seemed to be looking into some dark prospect beyond the other’s square figure. ‘Yes, wait till he knows,’ he said.

‘Be you sure you’re all right now? Powerful queer you do look, to be sure.’

‘Quite all right. ’Tis time you was getting back to your Captain, Jonnie; you’ll be riding the Wooden Horse, else.’

‘Aye, mebbe so,’ Jonnie agreed. ‘Be seeing you again by and by, I reckon. And do ’ee take my advice and have that wound seen to! ’Twill most like turn to gout if ’tis left!’ And still talking, he got himself as far as the door, then turned back, remembering his errand.

‘The corn has gone off to Captain Vanderhorst,’ Simon forestalled him.

The man saluted, beaming like a jovial red sun. ‘Thank ’ee kindly, sir,’ he said, and was gone.

A while later, Simon was returning from a last look at the horse-lines before turning in. It was a very still night, the wind having dropped quite away; the stars were swollen and soft with moisture in the summer sky, and the cool air sweet with the scent of elder flowers and new-mown hay; but Simon did not notice these things, for his mind was full of that story of a double white hyacinth. Corporal Relf had seemed quite himself again, when he had accompanied him a few minutes ago, on rounds; and yet—