Marigold Chain

The Marigold
Chain

Stella
Riley

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2012
Stella Riley

Smashwords
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Silence, heavy
as a funeral pall, hung over the stifling heat of London. And
because it had scarcely rained since April, the stench rose
sickeningly from the filth in the gutters and from the accumulated
refuse, noisomely rotting in the laystalls. The closely-gabled
streets, empty of carriages and drays, carts and stalls, devoid of
their usual bustling throng, echoed eerily with the hurried
footsteps of those rare souls intrepid enough to venture abroad;
shops were shuttered, taverns closed and on Cheapside, once a busy
thoroughfare, grass grew between the cobbles. Like the ghost of
some interminable Puritan Sunday, death had cast its greedy shadow
over the City.

And while the
plague reigned in London and claimed a hundred thousand souls, the
Court invested Oxford with brittle brilliance and stayed to
celebrate Christmas.

~ * * * ~

Oxford, January
1666

THE
CAVALIER

‘
We have ventured our estates

And our
liberties and lives,

For our Master
and his mates

And been
tossed by cruel Fates

Where the
rebellious Devil drives

So that not
one of ten survives.

We have laid
all at stake

For his
Majesty’s sake,

We have
fought, we have paid,

We’ve been
sold and betrayed

And tumbled
from nation to nation:

But now those
are thrown down

That usurped
the Crown,

Our hopes were
that we

All rewarded
should be

But we’re paid
with a Proclamation.’

It was the
first of January in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and
sixty-six – the year for which so much had been balefully
prophesied – and, in Oxford, the sun was shining. Thin, feeble rays
fell from a pale, translucent sky and touched the rime-encrusted
trees with hard, gleaming beauty. It was cold; too cold for snow
and the ground was like iron from a succession of fierce frosts.
Today, the parties of courtiers still in exile from plague-stricken
London and usually to be seen riding on this open stretch of common
were absent, and the clearing was deserted save for the noisy
inhabitants of a rookery, a girl sitting motionless on the stile
and a sturdy four-year-old playing with a dog of uncertain lineage
but unquestionable stamina.

‘
Here,
Aggie! Here!’ called the child, rushing in pursuit of his errant
pet.

A chill wind
whipped the branches of the trees and set them dancing in a wild
aerial ballet. The girl on the stile shivered and caught the folds
of her cloak more closely around her. In doing so, she was forced
to relinquish the broken strings of her hood which instantly blew
off her head releasing a flood of pale red hair to lift and fly
behind her. She made a half-hearted attempt to recapture it and
then, resigning herself to remaining hoodless, jumped down and set
off to follow the child who had wandered further off than she
liked.

‘
Aggie’s
runned off,’ he observed. ‘Gone to caught rabbit.’

The girl shook
a strand of hair from her face. ‘So he has,’ she agreed in accents
faintly but unmistakably French. ‘He is quite faithless and a
disgrace to his name. Though how your Papa could suppose a name
like Agamemnon suitable for any dog, I’ll never know.’

‘
I want
to play in my house,’ said the child, tugging at her cloak. ‘Come
on, Crowie!’

The girl
grinned suddenly. The way Tom said it, her own name sounded even
sillier.

‘
Very
well. Come, then.’ And she took his hand as they followed the
direction that Aggie had taken along the edge of the
copse.

They could not
have been more than half a dozen steps away from the hollow oak
that Tom called his house when they saw the horsemen; four of them,
riding easily along from the far end of the clearing, their voices
ringing on the crisp air.

‘
Look,’
said Tom, unnecessarily. ‘Is it the King, Crowie?’ His one brief
sight of Charles 11 had had a profound effect on Master Tom, with
the result that he now expected to discover his monarch in all
manner of unlikely locations.

‘
No,
petit
. Not the
King. Some of his friends, perhaps.’

They were
closer now; three extravagantly dressed in velvet and lace with
sweeping plumes in their hats and the fourth, some little way
behind, older and more soberly attired but with a precision that
proclaimed the soldier. There was a sudden burst of laughter and a
light, pleasant voice said clearly, ‘Optimism and ambition are
wonderful things, Daniel. But if it’s a wager, you’re welcome to
try.’

One of the
group – presumably the aforementioned Daniel – broke away and,
drawing his sword, brandished it laughingly. ‘Nice of you! But
twenty guineas says I can unseat you.’

The gentleman
to whom his remark had been addressed also stopped.

‘
Done,’
he said. And pulling off his coat, he flung it with lazy accuracy
at the still, soldier-like figure some few yards to his left. Then
he too drew his sword.

‘
They’re
having a war,’ announced Master Tom with relish. Then, ‘I like the
brown horse best.’

The girl smiled
and kept a firm hold of his hand. Since the gentlemen were
obviously not in earnest, there was no reason why the child should
not watch and, here at the edge of the trees, they were far enough
off to escape notice.

It could not
have lasted more than ten minutes but it was worth every freezing
second. Worth it just to watch the horses - one a glossy chestnut,
the other a magnificent black - and still more so to see the
economic control which enabled their riders to manage them with
only one hand and the pressure of their knees. And the swordplay
was pure joy. The blades exploded together, ringing, chiming and
hissing, wielded with supple dexterity; but where Daniel’s play
showed neatness and the occasional flair of the well-taught, his
dark-haired friend was possessed of an easy brilliance that enabled
him to press a constant and fast-moving attack whilst maintaining a
light-hearted commentary on his opponent’s technique.

‘
Nowhere so busy a man as he there was, and yet he seemed
busier than he was
,’ he recited. ‘Oh no –
not
the feint you picked up in
Scotland! It never works, you know … better to try the German
style. You must have learned something from Rupert. Oh bravo!’ And
he parried a deceptive thrust with an agile twist of his
arm.

It was perhaps
fortunate that Daniel also had a sense of humour.

‘
Some of the ditch shy are, yet can lie tumbling in the
mire
,’ he retorted. And concluded with an accompanying
sweep that should have caused his adversary to fall as he attempted
to parry it. Instead, Daniel’s blade met empty air as the other man
dropped low to one side before returning to the saddle in the same
fluid move, his point immediately darting inside Daniel’s weakened
guard only to withdraw again.

‘
Surprise
is the essence of attack – and for God’s sake, keep your guard up.
I don’t want to stick you by mistake.
And
those that shun the frying-pan -’
The bantering voice
ceased abruptly as his point was parried and immediately
threatened, ‘Well done. That nearly worked. But those who sow the
wind, you know …
may fall into the
fire.’
And with one sharp, turn of the wrist, Daniel
found himself disarmed.

For a second
there was silence and then, kicking his feet clear of the stirrups,
the other man slipped from the saddle, saying invitingly, ‘Come on.
Get down and pick it up. Let’s see how out of practice you really
are.’

Daniel shook
his head, laughing a little. ‘I don’t think so. And anyway, the bet
was that I’d unseat you – and there you are on the ground.’

‘
But no
thanks to you.’ The dark-haired man picked up Daniel’s sword. ‘If
you want this back you’ll have to come and get it.’

‘
Blast
you, Alex – I know what you’re like!’

‘
Meaning
you’d prefer something a bit easier?’ He turned back to their other
companions. ‘How about it Giles? You’ll be gentle with him, won’t
you?’

The man wearing
exquisite grey velvet said calmly, ‘Hold me excused. I’ve no desire
to work up a sweat just now. Give Danny his sword back, Alex. The
horses are getting cold.’

‘
You’re
no fun.’ Alex looked back at Daniel. ‘If you won’t come down, your
sword stays here - like Excalibur.’ And he drove Danny’s sword into
the frozen ground.

‘
No!’
Daniel dropped quickly from the saddle and made a dive for his
maltreated blade. ‘You’re a bloody maniac, Alex.’

‘
So they
say.’ Alex advanced smiling. ‘Disarm me or put me on my back and
the bet stands. Chicken out and you lose by default. That’s fair,
isn’t it?’

‘
Just do
it, Danny,’ sighed the man in grey, ‘or we’ll be here all
day.’

Daniel shrugged
and hurled himself at Alex, his sword sweeping hard at the other
man’s blade. Alex parried, pivoted and, with another almost
invisible twist, sent Daniel’s sword spinning and Daniel himself
backwards on to the hard ground with a thud.

Alex grinned,
head on one side. ‘You should have recognised that one. It’s the
second time I’ve used it in ten minutes.’ Then, sheathing his own
sword, he held out a hand to Daniel and hauled him to his feet.
‘Pay up - and let’s go. Before Giles gets cross.’

Grinning,
Daniel pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and slapped them
in Alex’s hand. ‘You can buy the ale,’ he said. ‘I’m cleaned
out.’

Then, laughing,
they re-mounted their horses and it was over. The grey-clad man and
the soldier cantered up to join them, coats were donned and they
were off.

Tom gazed
wistfully after them, then twisted his head to look up at the girl.
‘I liked that, Crowie. I wish they’d do it again.’ And filled with
the spirit of emulation he galloped round in circles until he came
to the tree-house and vanished inside it. Aggie emerged panting
from behind a bush and followed him.

The girl hugged
her mantle round her and glanced anxiously at the sky. Another ten
minutes, perhaps, and then she must restore Tom to his Mama. She
walked a little way along the edge of the copse and, finding a tree
with a conveniently situated branch, hoisted herself on to it,
aware that the prospect of abandoning freedom to return to her own
home was even less palatable than usual. She sighed, stirring
reluctantly, and then was still as a sound reached her ears. The
drumming of hoof-beats approaching rapidly from the west of the
common. As soon as they came into view she recognised the horses;
they were racing, three of them almost neck and neck with the big
black ahead by two lengths.

They thundered
towards her down the open stretch, riders crouched low with coats
and feathers flying – and then it happened. Drawn by the noise,
Tom’s small figure came rushing out into the clearing, out past the
safety of the trees and straight into the path of the oncoming
horses.

‘
Tom!
’ The girl gave a strangled cry of warning
and threw herself forward in an attempt to reach him whilst knowing
already that it was too late. Fear made her clumsy. Her foot became
entangled in her cloak and she measured her length on the ground
with a force that knocked the breath from her body so that she
could do nothing but watch as the great sable horse bore down on
the tiny figure of the child.