The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (3 page)

Francis looked at him.

‘Is that a suggestion?’

‘Call it more of a challenge.’

Major Langley lifted one dark brow.

‘A challenge?
 
How medieval.
 
But I think … I really think I must accept.’

* *
 
*

In the end, the party in the upper room of the Fish Inn to which Charles was discreetly conducted later that evening, was augmented by two persons.
 
Buckingham – because, as the King’s closest friend, he couldn’t be left out; and Alexander Fraizer, because his ability to mingle medicine with intrigue meant that he’d find out anyway.
 
Also, as Ashley pointed out, after the amount they’d all eaten and the amount they intended to drink, a doctor might come in handy.

To preserve His Majesty’s incognito, bottles were fetched and carried by Ashley’s servant, Jem – a burly individual whose fund of thieves’ cant made Francis wonder where Mr Peverell had found him and soon had the King memorising phrases.

By the time toasts had been drunk and the coronation thoroughly dissected and joked about, everyone was pleasantly mellow.
 
Then Charles said, ‘Try not to laugh your boots off, gentlemen – but Argyll thinks I should marry.’

‘Does he?’
 
Buckingham reached for the bottle.
 
‘How quaint of him.
 
And whom does he suggest as a potential bride?’

‘A paragon of birth, beauty and virtue.
 
In short, the Lady Anne Campbell.’

The room fell abruptly silent.

‘His daughter?’ asked Nicholas feebly. ‘He wants you to marry his daughter?’

Charles nodded, his dark eyes impassive.

There was another silence.
 
Then Ashley said, ‘They must be allowing the Engagers back.’

Buckingham’s brows rose.

‘I thought we were discussing His Majesty’s proposed marriage?’

‘We are.
 
Argyll’s position has been slipping since Dunbar.
 
The return of Hamilton and the Engagers will destroy it completely. But with the English holding Edinburgh and everything to the south of it, the Scots army needs all the help it can get – so the repeal of the Act of Classes is only a matter of time.
 
Consequently, Argyll is trying to join his star to the King’s before it vanishes completely.
 
Simple.’

Francis eyed him thoughtfully.
 
Whoever – or whatever – Ashley Peverell was, there was plainly nothing wrong with his intellect.
 
The King obviously knew this already for he said, ‘So tell me, Ash.
 
How badly do I need him?’

‘A lot less than you did yesterday,’ came the frank reply. ‘If I’m right about the Engagers, the only influence Argyll will soon have left to him is over the Kirk – and since you can’t afford trouble from that direction, you’ll have to go on charming him for a while longer.’
 
Ashley grinned.
 
‘But a marriage negotiation is a weighty matter which can take months, Sir.
 
And you can’t even contemplate it without Her Majesty, your mother’s consent.’

‘Which, of course, she won’t give,’ murmured Charles with an answering gleam.

‘No.
 
But you don’t need to tell Argyll that.’

‘I wouldn’t think,’ remarked Buckingham, ‘that he’ll
need
telling.
 
However … since you seem to have it all worked out, perhaps you’d like to evaluate His Majesty’s chances of regaining his throne in the not-too-distant future.’

Alexander Fraizer said flatly, ‘That’s no a fair question, your Grace – and one nobody here could fairly answer.’

‘Not you or I, certainly, Sandy.
 
But I’m sure Colonel Peverell is much better informed than we are.’

Colonel
Peverell?
 
Francis looked across at Nicholas and received a rueful shrug.

‘Or perhaps,’ added the Duke, slanting a slyly malicious smile in the Colonel’s direction, ‘you prefer to be called The Falcon?’

Francis narrowly suppressed a groan.

The Falcon?
 
Really?
 
Christ.
 
Who
was
this fellow?

‘Not particularly,’ said Ashley prosaically. ‘We all know the general situation.
 
Ireland has been left groaning under Henry Ireton’s boot; Mazarin will offer us nothing while France remains at war with Spain; and the death of William of Orange means we can expect little of the Dutch. As for England – sporadic risings like the one in Norfolk before Christmas are crushed within hours.
 
So for the time being, our only real hope lies in a strong, fully-united Scots Army.’

‘Woven about yourself and the Engagers, no doubt,’ said Buckingham sweetly. ‘So you’ll gladly do penance in sackcloth and ashes like poor Middleton?’

Colonel Peverell fixed him with a cool, faintly impatient stare.

‘Why not?
 
If His Majesty can swallow his pride, I’m not about to stand on mine.
 
Francis – pass the bottle, will you?
 
This is supposed to be a celebration.
 
Doesn’t anyone know any funny stories?’

Buckingham did and immediately embarked on an anecdote about a pair of startled lovers and a misdirected golf ball.
 
Francis leaned towards Ashley and said softly, ‘George doesn’t like you, does he?
 
Any particular reason?’

‘You’d better ask him.’

‘On the contrary. I think I’d better not.’
 
Amusement stirred behind the sapphire eyes and then was gone.
 
‘Why didn’t you say you were a colonel?’

‘I didn’t want to put you to the trouble of saluting.
 
Does it matter?’

‘It shouldn’t.
 
But I can’t help wondering why you didn’t want Nick to reveal it.’

‘No reason that will make you feel any better.
 
Get ready to laugh.
 
Buckingham’s building up to his grand finale.’

Curiosity had always been Francis’s besetting sin and he had no qualms about indulging it.
 
Fortunately, one golfing tale had a way of leading to another – so it wasn’t difficult to get the King and Sandy Fraizer started on the last game they had played together.
 
Smiling, Francis turned back to the Colonel.

‘I’ve heard this one.
 
It takes about ten minutes.
 
So … where were we?’

‘Nowhere that I can recall.
 
Don’t you like golf?’

‘Not as a topic of conversation.
 
It ranks alongside
Generals I have known
and
How I lost my leg at Naseby
.’

Ashley laughed.
 
‘My God.
 
How do you pass the time?’

‘I read.
 
Poetry, mostly.
 
And I write a little.’
 
Francis re-filled both their glasses and sat back.
 
‘In truth, though I trained at Angers, I expected to spend my life at Court.
 
It was the war that made me a soldier – and not, I’m afraid, a particularly good one.
 
By the time we got to Marston Moor, Rupert had cured my worst faults and I learned a whole lot more at Colchester.
 
But I’m no military genius … and I still prefer books to battles.’
 
He smiled again. ‘That’s my guilty secret.
 
What’s yours?’

Ashley drew a short breath and then loosed it.

‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘Rarely.
 
But at least I’m asking you, not Nick.’

‘It wouldn’t do you an enormous amount of good if you did.
 
But there’s no need to show me the stick,’ came the dust-dry response.
 
Then, with a slight shrug, ‘You wish to know if my military rank is a courtesy title?
 
It isn’t.’

‘And The Falcon?’

‘Does things the Colonel can’t – and isn’t a sobriquet I either sought or want.’

‘I … see.’

‘I doubt it.’
 
Ashley grinned suddenly.
 
‘But if you can’t live without at least one incident from my murky past … between Preston and joining Charles in late ’48, I took to the High Toby.’
 

Francis blinked.
 
‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I was a highwayman.
 
Jem says I was a very bad one – but that’s due to a difference of opinion coupled with the fact that it was his profession long before it was mine.
 
You must have guessed that, of course.
 
His vocabulary is extremely … colourful.’

‘Incomprehensible, more like.’

‘Not to me, fortunately.’ Ashley stood up and stretched, then turned back to murmur wickedly, ‘You’re right about Buckingham, by the way.
 
Asking him about me wouldn’t be very tactful.’

‘So I had assumed.
 
Is there a good reason?’

‘He certainly thinks so.
 
Her name was Veronique.’

Charles and the doctor reached the end of their golfing reminiscences and the talk became general once more.
 
By the time Jem Barker appeared with fresh supplies, the party was growing very merry and Buckingham was decidedly the worse for wear.

Dumping his cargo on the table, Mr Barker said, ‘Here’s some more boozing-cheats for you – though I reckon you’ve all got bread-and-cheese in your heads already, going by the din.’
 
He bent a severe gaze upon the Duke and then, turning to Ashley, said, ‘Better watch that’n.
 
Looks about ready to flay the fox, to me.’

The door banged shut behind him and, amidst the laughter, Charles said unsteadily, ‘F-flay the fox?’

‘Throw up,’ translated Colonel Peverell obligingly.

‘In my presence?’ demanded the King.
 
‘He’d better not.
 
It isn’t respectful.’
 
He paused, looking at Ashley. ‘You’re not drunk, are you?
 
Why not?’

‘Because someone has to see you safe home again, Sir.’

‘I don’t
want
to be seen home.
 
I don’t want to be discreet.
 
And I’m sick of not being able to stir without a pack of preachers at my heels.’
 
The dark, Stuart eyes gathered an obstinate glow.
 
‘It’s got to change, Ash.’

‘It
has
changed, Your Majesty.
 
You’ve been crowned.’

‘Not in England. Nor, without a united army, will I ever be – and amidst all the damned squabbling, I can’t see how I’m to get one.’

‘A royal progress,’ said Francis languidly. And then, when Charles peered owlishly at him, ‘Travel about those areas not occupied by Cromwell.
 
Draw the people to you – and make sure that the Kirk is aware of it.’

There was a short silence.
 
Then Nicholas said hazily, ‘Rose-petals and banners, cheering crowds and hosts of pretty girls … fountains flowing with wine --’

‘In
Scotland
?’ murmured Ashley.

‘True,’ said the King.
 
‘But it’s a good idea for all that. Popularity is important.’
 
He paused, his face creasing in a tipsy, sardonic smile.
 
‘Not that I’m ever going to be popular with the Kirk unless I repent being born.’

‘Long-nosed canting miseries,’ grumbled Sandy Fraizer into his glass. ‘They fair give me the marthambles.’

‘Me too.’
 
Lurching to his feet, Buckingham grabbed a bottle and collapsed back into his seat with it.
 
‘Whole bloody country givesh me the marthambles.’

‘And Cromwell,’ pronounced Nicholas.
 
‘Let’s not forget Old Noll.
 
Lucky Noll, warty Noll, Noll the nose.’
 
And sang, ‘
Nose, nose, nose, nose – who gave thee that jolly red nose
?’

And with enthusiastic if imperfect unison, his companions responded, ‘
Cinnamon and ginger, nutmeg and cloves – that’s what gave thee that jolly red nose!
’

One song led to another.
 
Sir Nicholas climbed uncertainly on his chair and conducted the ensemble with a poker.
 
Dr Fraizer beat time on the log-box, the King used a pair of pewter plates as cymbals and his Grace of Buckingham, slightly green about the gills, participated with a series of violent hiccups.

Then the door burst open and Jem Barker flew backwards into the room on the end of someone’s fist.

Nicholas fell off his perch.

In the doorway, three men-at-arms made way for the stern-faced Moderator of the General Assembly and a pair of horrified ministers.

‘Shit,’ burped Buckingham. And threw up in the hearth.