The King's General (30 page)

This would not be hearsay from my brother, but frank admissions on the part of Richard himself. Always unscrupulous where money was concerned, now that he had an army to pay, any sense of caution flew to the winds. Again and again I would hear, his justification: "The country is at war. I am a professional soldier and I will not command men who are not paid. While I hold this appointment from His Majesty I will undertake to feed, clothe, and arm the forces at my disposal, so that they hold themselves like men and warriors and not roam the countryside, raping and looting and in rags, like the i disorderly rabble under the so-called command of Berkeley, Goring, and the rest. To I do this I must have money. And to get money I must demand it from the pockets of the; merchants and the gentry of Cornwall and Devon."

I think, by them, he became more hated every day, but by the common people more respected. His troops won such credit for high discipline that their fame spread far'] abroad to the Eastern counties, and it was, I believe, because of this that the first seeds of jealousy began to sow themselves in the hearts and in the minds of his brother I commanders. None of them were professionals like himself but men of estate and'! fortune who, by their rank, had immediately, upon the outbreak of war, been given I high commands and expected to lead newly raised armies into battle. They were I gentlemen of leisure, of no experience, and though many of them were gallant and f courageous, warfare to them consisted of a furious charge upon blood horses,' dangerous and exciting, with more speed to it than a day's hawking, and when theî fray was over, back to their quarters to eat and drink and play cards, while the men I they had led could fend for themselves. Let them loot the villages and strip the poor! inhabitants; it saved the leaders a vast amount of unpleasantness and the trouble that | must come from organisation. But it was irritating, I imagine, to hear how Grenvile's I men were praised and how Grenvile's men were paid and fed and clothed; and Sir*

John Berkeley, who commanded the troops at Exeter and was forever hearing | complaints from the common people about Lord Goring's cavalry and Lord Went-; worth's foot, was glad enough, I imagine, to report to his supreme commander, Prince Maurice, that even if Grenvile's men were disciplined, the commissioners| of Devon and Cornwall had no good word to say of Grenvile himself, and that j in spite of all the fire-eating and hanging of rebel prisoners Plymouth was stilljj not taken.

In the despatches that passed between John Berkeley and Richard, which from time| to time he quoted to me with a laugh, I could read the veiled hint that Jo Berkeley at ^ Exeter, with nothing much to do, would think it far preferable for himself and for the | royal cause if he should change commands with Richard.

"They expect me," Richard would say, "to hurl my fellows at the defences without! any regard for their lives, and having lost three quarters of them in one assault, recruit! another five hundred the following week. Had I command of unlimited forces and possessed God's quantity of ammunition, a bombardment of three days would reduce Plymouth to ashes, but with the little I have at my disposal I cannot hope to reduce the garrison before the spring. In the meanwhile I can keep the swine harassed night and day, which is more than Digby ever did."

His blockade of Plymouth was complete by land, but the rebels having command of the Sound, provisions and relief could be brought to them by sea, and this was the real secret of their success. All that Richard as commander of the siege could hope to do was to so wear out the defenders by constant surprise attack upon the outward positions that in time they would, from very weariness, surrender.

It was a hopeless, gruelling task, and the only people to win glory and praise for their stout hearts were the men who were besieged within the city.

It was shortly after Christmas that Richard decided to send Dick to Normandy with his tutor, Herbert Ashley.

"It's no life for him at Buckland," he said. "Ever since Joe went I've had a guard watch him day and night, and the thought of him so close to the enemy should they try a sally becomes a constant anxiety. He can go to Caen or Rouen, and when the business is well over I shall send for him again."

"Would you never," I said with diffidence, "consider returning him to London to his mother?"

He stared at me as though I had lost my senses.

"Let him go back to that bitch-faced hag," he said, astounded, "and become more of a little reptile than he is already? I would sooner send him this moment to Robartes and let him hang."

"He loves her," I said; "she is his mother."

"So does a pup snuggle to the cur that suckled him," he answered, "but soon forgets her smell once he is weaned. I have but one son, Honor, and if he can't be a credit to me and become the man I want, I have no use for him."

He changed the subject abruptly, and I was reminded once again how I had chosen to be friend, not wife, companion and not mistress, and to meddle with his child was not my business. So Dick rode to Radford to bid me good-bye and put his arms about me and said he loved me well.

"If only," he said, "you could come with me into Normandy."

"Perhaps," I said, "you will not remain there long. And anyway, it will be fresh and new to you, and you will make friends there and be happy."

"My father does not wish me to make friends," he said. "I heard him say as much to Mr. Ashley. He said that in Caen there were few English, therefore it would be better to go there than to Rouen, and that I was to speak to no one and go nowhere without Mr. Ashley's knowledge and permission. I know what it is. He is afraid that I might fall in with some person who should be friendly to my mother."

I had no answer to this argument, for I felt it to be true.

"I shall not know you," I said, summoning a smile, "the next time that I lay eyes on you. I know how boys grow once they are turned fifteen. I saw it with my brother Percy. You will be a young man with lovelocks on your shoulder and a turn for poetry n six months' time."

'Fine poetry I shall write," he sulked, "conversing in French day by day with Mr. Ashley."

If I were in truth his stepmother, I thought, I could prevent this; and if I were in truth his stepmother, he would have hated me. So whichever way I looked upon the jflatter there was no solution to Dick's problem. He had to face the future, like his lather. And so Dick and the timid, unconvincing Herbert Ashley set sail for Normandy the last day of December, taking with them a bill of exchange for twenty pounds, which was all that the General in the West could spare them, Dick taking, besides, my |^ve and blessing, which would not help at all. And while they rocked upon the mouth which this time, so he promised, would not fail. I can see him now, in his room in that north block at Radford, poring over his map of the Plymouth defences, and when I asked to look at it he tossed it over to me with a laugh, saying no woman could make head or tail of his marks and crosses.

And he was right, for never had I seen a chart more scribbled upon with dots and scratches. But even my unpracticed eye could note that the network of defences was formidable indeed, for before the town and garrison could be attacked a chain of outer forts or "works," as he termed them, had firstly to be breached. He came and stood beside me and with his pen pointed to the scarlet crosses on the map.

"There are four works here to the north, in line abreast," he said, "the Pennycome quick, the Maudlyn, the Holiwell, and the Lipson forts. I propose to seize them all.

Once established there, we shall turn the guns against the garrison itself. My main strength will fall upon the Maudlyn works, the others being more in the nature of a feint to draw their fire."

He was in tearing spirits, as always before a big engagement, and suddenly, folding his map, he said to me: "You have never seen my fellows, have you, in their full war paint prior to a battle?

Would you like to do so?"

I smiled.

"Do you propose to make me your aide-de-camp?"

"No. I am going to take you round the posts."

It was three o'clock, a cold, fine afternoon in January. One of the wagons was; fitted as a litter for my person, and with Richard riding at my side we set forth to view; his army. It was a sight that even now, when all is over and done with and the siege of | Plymouth a forgotten thing except for the official records in the archives of the town, I. j can call before me with wonder and with pride. The main body of his army was drawn I up in the fields behind the little parish of Egg Buckland (not to be confused with thel Buckland Monachorum where Richard had his headquarters) and there being nol warning of our coming, the men were not summoned to parade but were going abcutff their business in preparation for the attack ahead.

The first signal that the general had come in person was a springing to attention of| the guards before the camp, and straightway there came a roll upon the drums fromf within, followed by a second more distant, and then a third, and then a fourth, so that! in the space of a few moments, so it seemed to me, the air around me rung with ai tattoo as the drums of every company sounded the alert. And swiftly, unfolding in| crisp cold air, the scarlet pennant broke from the pole head, with the three golden rest staring from the centre.

Two officers approached and, saluting with their swords, stood before us. Thisl Richard acknowledged with a half gesture of his hand, and then my chair was lifted I from the wagon, and with a stalwart young corporal to propel me we proceeded roundj the camp.

I can smell now the wood smoke from the fires as the blue rings rose into the air, and I can see the men bending over their washtubs or kneeling before the cooking! pots, straightening themselves with a jerk as we approached and standing to attention! like steel rods. The foot were quartered separate from the horse, and these we! inspected first, great brawny fellows of five feet ten or more, for Richard had disdain^ for little men and would not recruit them. They had a bronzed clean look about them, the result, so Richard said, of living in the open.

"No billeting in cottages amongst the village folk for Grenvile troops," he said. "The result is always the same, slackness and loss of discipline."

I had fresh in my mind a picture of the rebel regiment who had taken Menabilly>| and although they had worn a formidable air upon first sight, with their close helmet! and uniform jerkins, they had soon lost their sheen after a few days or so, and as I' weeks wore on became dirty-looking and rough, and with the threat of defeat had oc and all reverted to a London mob in panic.

Richard's men had another stamp upon them, and though drawn mostly from the farms and moors of Cornwall and Devon, rustic in speech and origin, they had become knit, in the few months of his command, into a professional body of soldiers, quick of thought and swift of limb, with an admiration for their leader that showed at once in the upward tilt of their heads as he addressed them and the flash of pride in their eyes. A strange review. Me in my chair, a hooded cloak about my shoulders, and Richard walking by my side; the campfires burning, the white frost gleaming on the clipped turf, the drums beating their tattoo as we approached each different company.

The horse were drawn up on the farther field, and we watched them groomed and watered for the night, fine sleek animals--many of them seized from rebel estates, I was fully aware--and they stamped on the hard ground, the harness jingling, their breath rising in the cold air like the smoke did from the fires.

The sun was setting, fiery red, beyond the Tamar into Cornwall, and as it sank beyond the hills it threw a last dull, sullen glow upon the forts of Plymouth to the south of us.

We could see the tiny figures of the rebel sentries, like black dots, upon the outer defences, and I wondered how many of the Grenvile men about me would make themselves a sacrifice to the spitting thunder of the rebel guns. Lastly, as evening fell, we visited the forward posts, and here there was no more cleaning of equipment, no grooming of horses, but men stripped bare for battle, silent, motionless, and we talked in whispers, for we were scarce two hundred yards from the enemy defences.

The silence was grim, uncanny. The assault force seemed dim figures in the gathering darkness, for they had blacked their faces to make themselves less visible, and I could make nothing of them but white eyes gleaming and the show of teeth when they smiled.

Their breastplates were discarded for a night attack, and in their hands they carried pikes, steely sharp. I felt the edge of one of them and shuddered.

At the last post we visited the men were not so prompt to challenge us as hitherto, and I heard Richard administer a sharp reproof to the young officer in charge. The colonel of the regiment of foot, in command of the post, came forth to excuse himself, and I saw that it was my old suitor of the past, Jo's brother-in-law, Edward Champernowne. He bowed to me somewhat stiffly, and then, turning to Richard, he stammered several attempts at explanation, and the two withdrew to a little distance.

On his return Richard was silent, and we straightway turned back towards my wagon and the escort, and I knew that the review was finished.

"You must return alone to Radford," he said. "I will send the escort with you.

There will be no danger."

"And the coming battle?" I asked. "Are you confident and pleased?"

He paused a moment before replying.

"Yes," he answered, "yes, I am hopeful. The plan is sound, and there is nothing wanting in the men. If only my seconds were more dependable."

He jerked his head towards the post from which we had just lately come.

"Your old lover, Edward Champernowne," he said, "I sometimes think he would do better to command a squad of ducks. He has a flickering of reason when his long nose is glued upon a map ten miles from the enemy, but give him a piece of work to do u Pon the field a hundred yards away and he is lost."

''Can you not replace him with some other?" I questioned.

"Not at this juncture," he said. "I have to risk him now."

He kissed my hand and smiled, and it was not until he had turned his back on me and vanished that I remembered I had never asked him whether the reason for not Burning with me to Radford was because he proposed to lead the assault in person.