‘Oh, very well. Pink ones it is. Shall I help you choose?’ But before Polly could decline her uncle’s offer, a thundering of hooves brought the market to an abrupt standstill. Twenty horsemen wearing the round helmets and leather jerkins of cavalry galloped into the square. Their mounts, teeth bared and flanks glistening, were reined sharply to a halt outside the Romsey Arms. Every head in the marketplace turned towards them, and every eye searched for a hint of menace in their demeanour. These were the first soldiers of Parliament the town had seen. Margaret instinctively gathered the girls to her, and Thomas put himself between them and the troopers.
All but one dismounted and faced the crowd, reins in one hand, the other on the hilts of their swords. The captain of the troop remained mounted. He addressed the crowd, his voice carrying easily around the square. ‘Hear this, people of Romsey. We are soldiers of Parliament, on our way to Southampton. We need food and drink, and our horses need rest. If you cooperate, there will be no trouble. This evening we shall depart. Until then, we will take our ease here.’
Thomas turned to Margaret and whispered, ‘Take the girls home. Keep an eye on the street. If you see soldiers coming, hide in the usual place. Here’s the key. I’ll be back soon.’ Leading the girls by the hand, Margaret slipped unnoticed out of the square and up the street towards the bookshop. When they had left, Thomas sat on the abbey steps and waited. He did not trust soldiers. Having refreshed themselves in the Romsey Arms, they might well start foraging for food, and plundering whatever else caught their eye. That was what soldiers did.
He was right not to trust them. Before long, two troopers, each holding a bottle of claret by the neck, stumbled out of the inn. They were followed by two more, these two holding Sarah and Rose by the hair. The men were laughing and the women cursing. Rose struggled to free herself and yelled at the man holding her to leave her and her baby alone and go and stick his prick in a sheep. He slapped her hard, shook her like a rat, and told her he had humped prettier ewes than her. Sarah was trying to reach her man’s eyes with her fingers. ‘Put that scabby thing in me and you’ll never see it again,’ she screeched. So, thought Thomas, this is how God-fearing soldiers of Parliament behave with drink inside them. This was to be no shilling tumble by the river. Sarah and Rose, hard-bitten whores though they were, were frightened. Thomas looked around. The twenty or so townsfolk watching were unarmed and unwilling to interfere. There was nothing he could do. He should go home.
Not all the troopers had gone into the inn. Some had taken the horses off to find stabling; others, the most avaricious, had set about hammering on doors and demanding to be let in, threatening to burn down any houses where they were not swiftly admitted. On Love Lane, Thomas could see a two-handled cart standing outside a large house owned by a wealthy wool merchant. Inside, he heard voices raised and a woman wailing. When he reached the cart, he saw that it was loaded with cloth, plate, bottles and an enormous pair of silver candlesticks. Two troopers came out of the house, carrying a heavy gilt mirror. They dropped the mirror clumsily into the cart, shattering its glass. One of them pointed at Thomas. ‘You there, who are you, and what are you looking at?’ It was a rough London voice, more at home in Spitalfields than Romsey.
‘My name is Hill. I’m looking at nothing and I’m going home.’
The trooper eyed him suspiciously. ‘And where is that?’
‘A little further up the lane.’
‘Well, Hill, you look a generous fellow. I think we’ll come with you,’ said the other one.
Thomas shrugged. ‘As you wish, but I’m only a bookseller. You’ll find little of value, unless you’re fond of books.’
‘We’ll see about that, master bookseller. Lead on, and you may show us your wares.’
Thomas had no choice. Walking as slowly as he dared, he led the two men with the cart towards the bookshop. He could only hope that Margaret was watching out, as he had told her to. He spoke loudly. ‘It’s only a small shop. I have little money there.’ Perhaps Margaret would hear him in time to hide with the girls. From these two thieves she would certainly be in danger.
When they reached the shop, the door was locked. Thomas put his hand in his pocket for the key, and swore silently. He had given it to Margaret. Without a key, the soldiers would know that the door had been locked from the inside, and that there must be someone there. He almost panicked. ‘Fire and damnation. My key’s gone. It’s been stolen, or I dropped it in the market.’
‘No matter, bookseller. I have a key,’ replied Spitalfields, and with two hefty kicks he broke the lock. The door swung open. ‘There. Now let’s see what you have for us.’
As Thomas had warned them, in the shop he had little but books and pamphlets. The narrow door in the rear wall was closed. Thank God, Margaret must have seen or heard them, and taken the girls to the hiding place. All was quiet. The troopers looked around. ‘Where’s your money, bookseller?’ demanded Spitalfields.
‘I have very little, as I told you.’ Thomas went to his writing table, took a small bag of coins from a drawer and tossed it to the trooper. The trooper opened the bag, looked inside and scoffed.
‘Is this all? I don’t believe you, you lying turd-sucker. Where’s the rest?’
‘That’s all there is.’ The trooper took two steps forward and aimed a blow at the side of Thomas’s head. Thomas ducked it, only to catch another one from the other side. He stumbled and fell.
‘Then we’ll look for ourselves, shit-eater.’ While Thomas sat on the floor, the two men attacked the shop. The drawers of the desk were pulled out and the contents — more paper, quills and ink — strewn about the shop, books were dragged off the shelves, and the front window smashed with a chair. Thomas said nothing. Wanton destruction he could cope with. God forbid there would be anything worse.
When the whole floor was covered with damaged books, paper and ink, and the desk and chair reduced to firewood, the two troopers stopped for breath. ‘So. No money in here,’ said one, then pointed at the narrow door. ‘Where does that lead?’
‘To my rooms. A kitchen and bedrooms, nothing more.’
‘Come on, Jethro. We’ll take a look.’ The door was unlocked. They went through, and up the short staircase immediately behind it. Thomas sat on the floor and held his breath. If the girls were going to be found, it would be now. He listened as the men climbed the stairs and entered the bedrooms above, their boots clattering on the floorboards. He heard beds being tipped over and a mirror being smashed. He shut his eyes and waited.
Eventually, the men stomped back down the stairs and into the shop. They carried a few plates and a silver cup. ‘Is this all you’ve got, bookseller?’
‘I fear so.’ A sword was unsheathed and pointed at his throat.
‘No hiding places, bookseller? You look prosperous enough.’
‘No. All my money is in the books. Or it was.’
‘And whose are the women’s clothes? Women’s and children’s.’
‘My sister and her daughters are away in Winchester.’
‘A pity. Though if she looks like you, we’d have to put a sack over her, eh Jethro?’ Luckily she doesn’t, thought Thomas, but said nothing. ‘Come on, we’ve wasted enough time in this shithole.’
Thomas got up and, from the door, watched them swagger back down the lane. They had taken a little money, some plates and a silver cup. They had wrecked his bookshop and destroyed many of his books. They had smashed furniture. But they had not harmed Margaret or the girls. When he was sure it was safe to do so, Thomas went back into the shop and through the narrow door at the back. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase, knocked three times on the first stair and said ‘Montaigne’ loudly. Then he stood back as the first three stairs detached themselves, and put out a hand to help Polly and Lucy crawl out from the tiny space behind. Terrified, they had both wet themselves and were sobbing miserably. Thomas hugged them. ‘All’s well now. The soldiers have gone. We’re quite safe.’ Margaret emerged behind them, stretching her back and legs. Her face was ashen.