The Rebel’s Daughter (6 page)

Jonathan urged Buchan to one side, out of
the way of the terrified horses, hoping Aaron had kept his seat,
and his mount Strider, on course.

Most of Gray’s cavalry had fled the field.
A blow; but there was nothing Jonathan could do. He hoped the
handlers of the ammunition carts left at Peasey Farm would stand
fast, as the horsemen were headed that way.

“
Turnabout and line up by the ditch. Keep to the ditch,
men!” Jonathan’s throat burned with shouting, though his message
had the desired effect as the infantry formed a ragged line along
the edge of what must be the Bussex Rhine.

Jonathan slashed and cut, grunted and
flailed, fighting to keep his seat on Buchan, who reared and
screamed in terror. It took all his strength to keep the animal
from bolting. His head ached from the roar of the cannon, his voice
hoarse from shouting for more ammunition from men too dazed to hear
him, or too terrified to obey - for none came.

From the corner of his eye, Jonathan saw
Monmouth, his half pike in his hand, waving his men onto the edge
of the ditch, ordering them to fire, while in the distance
Feversham’s officers ordered the Cavalry brought up for an
attack.

Wiping sweat from his eyes with one hand,
Jonathan looked up. No longer black as pitch, the sky showed purple
and blue in the distance. Fingers of light crawled across the
horizon, harbingers of a summer day so many would not see. Dawn was
coming. How could the night have gone so soon?

The dragoons had formed into an imposing
barrier behind the ditch. Musket fire continued off to the left,
though all around him silence fell and horses pawed the ground,
some whickering in fright. No one moved forward.

What are they waiting for?

Then it came to him.
Of course. Feversham
was holding off until daybreak so he could order a full charge in
better light. Still nothing moved.

Well, come
, if you are coming, you
bastards.

As if in response to
Jonathan’s silent
scream, a wave of horses and men flooded across the ditch across a
waterlogged field, and the royal troopers fell on his
men.

Jonathan
’s chest swelled with pride at the
sight of his ill-equipped troops, running full pelt at the royal
horse, keeping up a constant fire on the foot battalions. There was
the repeated wet whoosh of steel slicing into flesh, and the primal
cries of men in agony doomed to be trampled by horses – friends” or
foes”.

Dawn showed that the first enthusiastic
wave of rebels had been forced back, the stalwarts who fought on
being steadily shot or slashed without mercy.

Most of Jonathan’s men had been scattered,
and even those still able to hear his orders were most likely dead,
or too injured to obey. He urged Buchan on, between and over fallen
men of both sides, his ears closed to the shrieks of the wounded,
until his mounts flanks shook with exertion.

“
I have
more to ask of you, boy.” Jonathan reached forward and patted the
clammy neck. “I have to find the Duke.”

Their options were few, but the next
decision was not Jonathan’s to make. He found Lord Grey and
Monmouth beside a massive tree at the edge of the field, their
armour piled at their feet.

Buyse and Anton stood nearby, their faces
haggard.

Jonathan halted beside them. “What now my
Lord? Our men are all but slaughtered.”

“
We have
no choice, Woulfe.” Lord Grey stepped in front of Monmouth, who
seemed unable to look at Jonathan. “We must get away as best we
can.”

“
You’re
leaving us?” Jonathan’s anger made him reckless. “Look at them!” He
waved an arm at the devastation on the field. “They’re being
massacred. You cannot abandon them.”

Grey winced and made to step nearer, but
Buchan gave a half-rear. Holding up a hand to fend the massive
horse off, he raised his voice. “If the Duke is no longer here, the
troopers may show some mercy.”

“
You
coward, Grey,” Jonathan growled, his head bent to inches from the
man’s ear. “I’ll see you pay for this treachery!”

Grey started as if he had been slapped in
the face, then his eyes narrowed and he stepped back, his place
replaced by Monmouth, now mounted.

“
You’ve
been one of my best and most loyal, Jonathan.” The duke held out a
hand toward him. “Come with us.”

Temptation pulled at Jonathan and he
looked into the distance to where the Polden Hills, and possible
freedom, stood. He sighed and turned back to Monmouth, though
neither man spoke.

Monmouth nodded, dropped his hand and kicked
his horse into a canter.

Jonathan watched them crest the hill,
wondering if James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, could still hear the
sound of the faithful men he had left behind as they fought to
their death in the mud. For him.

He knew with certainty that he would never
hear anything else.

Chapter 4

With over half the stable lads
gone to join Monmouth, everyone had to
pitch in with the outside
chores.

Helena was unused to outdoor
work
. After
an hour spent feeding horses and sweeping stables, she took out her
temper on her hapless brother, who trailed behind her across the
courtyard, muttering the odd complaint.

Glancing up, she saw Bayle and hastily
smoothed down her stained skirt in embarrassment; keenly aware of
her dirty apron, and dishevelled appearance. She realised he must
have heard her shouting at Henry, and uttered imprecations under
her breath while warmth crept up her neck.

N
o one at Loxsbeare would take her for a
lady if she couldn’t control her temper in front of the
servants.

She took in Bayle’s drawn face, and the
way he stared back at her with lifeless eyes, and froze.

“
Helena,” Henry protested from behind her. “Watch what you
are doing, I nearly tripped…” Cold, muddy water had splashed onto
her feet, but she paid no heed.

“
What’s
happened?” Helena demanded of Bayle, her voice strangled by
dread.

“
There
was a battle,” Bayle began. “A terrible battle. Hundreds are
dead.”

“
Who’s
dead?” Henry split a look of horror between them.

“
Where?”
Helena gasped. The yard swayed around her, and Bayle’s face blurred
and receded. His hand came down upon her shoulder as if he sensed
her fight to stay upright.

“
Somewhere near Bridgwater,” he said, his voice low. “They
attacked the King’s men last night.”

Helena tried to scream that he was wrong,
but her throat constricted.

“
The
rebels fought bravely but the King’s men drove them off the field,”
Bayle went on. “Those not killed have most likely been captured by
now.”

“
Captured?” Hendry’s bucket hit the cobbles with a thud.
“They cannot be! Father said they were going to London. Bridgwater
isn’t anywhere near…”

“
Master
Henry.” Bayle gripped his arm with his other hand, drawing them
into a tight triangle. “Bridgwater is now full of troopers
searching for escaped rebels. It’s all I know. We may hear more
later.”

Henry clutched at Bayle’s arm. “What of
the Duke?”

Helena glared at him. How could he mention
that man’s name when his first thoughts should be of their family?
Although tempted to harangue him for his lack of feeling, she asked
instead, “how do you know all this, Bayle?”

“
News
has been filtering into
The Ship Inn
all morning. One of the tap boys came up to tell
us.”

Nodding, Helena swiped a hand that came
away wet, across her face, aware that several house servants had
drifted out into the courtyard, watching curiously from a distance.
“Don’t let them see you upset.” Bayle leaned closer, apparently
having seen them too. “If they believe all is lost, they’ll likely
desert Loxsbeare.”

“
Is
Monmouth dead?” Henry murmured, his head down.

Bayle closed his eyes briefly. “He left
the battlefield. That is what I have been told.”

“
He
fled?” Hendry’s eyes rounded and Bayle shook him gently. “Stay
strong, master. The stories are wild. No one knows the truth
yet.”

Helena
’s eyes filled with tears. “What
about Father? And Uncle? Where’s Aaron?”

Her panic transferred itself to Henry, who
gaped. “Will the King’s men come and arrest us?”

Bayle wrapped a protective arm around him.
“I think not,” he whispered.

“
Why
not?” Helena snapped, scornful. “Everyone must know Father joined
the rebels.”

“
Hush!”
Bayle flicked another glance at the servants. Their numbers had
doubled and they stared back with no more expression than a flock
of sheep.

“
I don’t
care!” she snapped. Appearances were the last thing on her mind.
After today, the Woulfe name would be used in the same breath
as
traitor
.

Not that it mattered, not to her. She
wanted Father home again, to feel his laughter rolling in his chest
as he held her against him, the scratch of his rough coat on her
cheek and the smell of his skin in her senses.

“
Mother
was right.” Panic rose in her chest, but she couldn’t think, or
even move. “We are all doomed!”

“
Which
is why you must leave here.” Bayle’s voice remained
calm.

“
That
makes no sense.” Henry rubbed has face with a dirty hand. “If we
are not to be arrested, why must we leave?”

“
Because, Master,” Bayle said softly. “Condemned traitors
forfeit their property to the Crown.”

“
They
will take Loxsbeare?” Helena gasped on an exhaled
breath.

Hendr
y’s face paled and he groped for her
arm.

Bayle’s face twisted in anguish. “They
will expropriate everything Sir Jonathan owns.”

Grief vied with rage in Helena’s head.
What value did their father’s high principals for the Anglican
Church have, now they would be driven from their home? Where would
they go, and how? Panic built up inside her until she wanted to
scream. Her breathing quickened and just when she thought she might
give way to her horror, she made a decision.

“
I must
go and find them.”

“
Go
where, Helena?” Henry asked, his misery replaced by abject
horror.

“
To
Bridgwater, or wherever the battle was.” She shrugged away from
Bayle’s grip, lifted her skirts, and pounded towards the house,
calling for her maid Chloe as she ran.

“
A
battlefield is no place for a gentlewoman,” Bayle said when he
caught up with her on the upper landing.

“
It’s
not a battlefield any more is it?” Helena waved him away. “From
what you said, everyone is dead or captured.” She was being
unreasonable, and she knew it. She couldn’t spend another day
waiting anxiously in the house for the worst to happen, while her
mother grew more self-absorbed by the hour.

If she could find them, and bring them all
back, perhaps it might rekindle some of the spirit which had
deserted Mother these last weeks. With Aaron restored to her, she
might forgive their father for taking him away from her in the
first place.

Propelled by anger, she opened chests and
drawers, hurling items of clothing onto the coverlet.

“
You
cannot go!” Henry followed her round the room. “You have no idea
where they are!”

“
I’ll
find them.” Her oldest shifts and two plain, worn gowns joined the
pile heaped on the bed. She glanced down at her muddy skirt where
bits of straw still clung to it. At least she looked the part.
“Chloe,” Helena addressed the confused maid who limped on her
damaged leg into the chaos. “Fetch one of Father’s traveling bags.”
When the girl hesitated, her snapped “This instant!” sent her back
into the hall at a run.

Into the commotion strolled Betty Humbold,
their housekeeper, a tall, gaunt woman with large bones. “What’s
sent that lass Chloe running like demons was after her?” she
demanded.

Bayle gave her a brief explanation, then
issued instructions for provisions to several housemaids who
crowded the hall. The girls repeated their orders to others in the
hall, together with Helena’s name, their voices echoing through the
house in a mixture of alarm and excitement.

Into the noisy mêlée stepped the elegant
figure of Lady Elizabeth, an enquiring expression on her
face.

Helena
’s heart lurched and she turned away,
murmuring under her breath
Not me, please don’t let me be the one who tells
her
.