‘And who can blame them?’ asked Charles miserably. ‘Three days of wretchedness waiting for a battle they don’t want to fight, or a dry bed and a warm wife. Which would you choose?’
‘If this goes on,’ said Adam, ‘neither side will have any men left. Warm wives and dancing Ranters will have taken them all.’
‘I rather think that the Mermaid has also taken some,’ said Thomas. ‘I noticed a party heading down the hill yesterday.’
‘Did you now? Perhaps we should make sure that they haven’t come to any harm.’ Charles sounded more cheerful. ‘What would you advise, Adam?’
‘On such a matter, I would defer to the governor’s principal secretary.’
‘So would I.’
‘In that case, if you care to follow me, gentlemen,’ said Thomas, ‘I will show you the way.’
It’s an ill wind, thought Thomas, as they pushed their way into the Mermaid. Despite the early hour, the inn was heaving with drinkers, too intent upon getting their mugs refilled by one of the landlord’s cheerful serving girls to notice the new arrivals.
Charles managed to catch a girl’s eye and called for a bottle of their best claret and three glasses. ‘Confusion to our enemies,’ he said, raising his glass.
Adam followed suit. ‘And prosperity to our friends.’
Thomas took a sip and looked around. He saw familiar faces to which he could not have put names and heard voices whose origins he could not have placed. He heard snatches of tales of wet clothing, leaking boots and rotten meat, and watched bedraggled men swallowing as much drink as they possibly could before having to return whence they came.
To his surprise, some of the voices were Scottish. And when he listened carefully, he realized that they belonged to men whom, only two days earlier, they might have faced in bloody battle. Ayscue’s men had also found the Mermaid. He pointed this out to his companions. ‘More Scots,’ said Charles, unconcerned that they were sharing an inn with the enemy and ordering another bottle.
Squashed together as they were, it took no more than a drink and a half before the men of Parliament and the men of the king were happily arguing, comparing conditions in their camps and cursing their respective lots. The Scots complained about the lack of whisky, the English about the lack of beer. When told about the old ‘turkey and shoat’ law, the Scots made a point of shouting Roundhead and Cavalier as often as possible. The Roundheads swore that they were treated worse by their officers than the Cavaliers were. The Cavaliers claimed to be owed months of pay. Within an hour, with but one exception, there was neither a sober nor an unhappy man in the inn.
The exception sat alone in a corner. Having spent the best part of two days in the Mermaid waiting for news that battle had commenced, Robert Sprot looked less than his usual smiling self. No doubt he imagined that four thousand men trying to kill each other would provide plenty of lucrative work for a skilled surgeon without particular political affiliation, but judging by the mood of these men a battle was now unlikely.
Perhaps, thought Thomas, he’s hoping for a fist fight to break out, providing at least a broken bone or a bloody nose. But there was no mood that day for fighting. These were men who wanted to laugh and drink, not fight. Before long Sprot picked up his precious satchel and left.
The singing broke out soon after Sprot had gone. A tall Scot, encouraged by his comrades, hoisted himself on to a table and launched into a revolting song about the ladies of Fife. He was followed by a fat planter who used much the same words to describe his experiences in Holetown and before long the whole inn was in lusty voice. The singing continued while the serving girls sloshed drink into mugs and glasses, fended off unwelcome hands and collected whatever coins they could from the drinkers.
By two o’clock, however, the Mermaid was deserted. The landlord had run out of beer, wine, ale and rum, and Adam Lyte, Charles Carrington and Lord Willoughby’s principal secretary, none of them entirely sober, had followed grown men splashing like children through puddles in the streets of Oistins, singing as they went and for once not minding the soaking they were getting from above and below. Some walked arm in arm, others held on to each other for support.
When the party reached a fork in the road at the bottom of the hill, one of the Scots was so enamoured of his new friends that he tried to accompany them back to their lines rather than his own. Only with great difficulty, and a clout on the head with a bottle, was he persuaded by his colleagues to stay with them.
The dripping sentries turned blind eyes to the returning soldiers. Many did not try to locate their platoons but simply lay down under the trees near the cavalry horses at the rear of the camp and went to sleep in the rain. Having reached his tent, Thomas’s last thought before passing out was that men who drank and sang together would not relish blowing each other’s heads off or sticking swords into each other’s stomachs.
The next morning, Willoughby sent for the three of them again. Heads covered, they splashed their way past artillery pieces stuck fast in the mud, abandoned muskets and sodden barrels of powder to his cottage, where they were given breakfast. His lordship had news.
A squadron of six ships had been sighted approaching from the north-east. They were too far away to be identified with certainty but from their look they might have come from Virginia. If so, they were either settlers or reinforcements for the blockading fleet. Lured by the promise of prosperity in a more agreeable climate, settlers from the American colonies were arriving in numbers to start new lives in the Caribbean. Barbados, for its society and its wealth, had become their most favoured destination. But Cromwell might have sent a fleet to take control of Virginia and having done so, it might have had orders to join Ayscue. The squadron had anchored outside Oistins harbour.
‘We must find out who they are,’ declared Willoughby. ‘If they are reinforcements, Ayscue will be even more reluctant to agree a truce. I imagine there is no risk of his being able to attack today any more than we could?’
‘None,’ replied Charles. ‘If anything, he’s even wetter than we are. Modyford’s troops came ill-prepared and have been sleeping in the open. Their rations are poor and if they haven’t drowned, they certainly won’t be up to fighting.’
‘How do you know this, Charles?’
Charles coughed lightly. ‘Information to that effect fortunately came to our notice.’
‘Have you heard any more from Colonel Walrond, my lord?’ asked Adam, quickly. None of them wanted to be drawn on the source of the information.
‘He’s as bellicose as ever,’ replied Willoughby. ‘He asked my permission to lead a troop of two hundred men in a surprise attack on their flank. I refused it. Ayscue may yet change his mind and we should do nothing to provoke him. Are we still adequately provisioned, Charles?’
‘For the present, yes. Supplies are brought daily from Oistins and Bridgetown. The meat is not always fresh and the bread often stale but as long as it continues to arrive, we need have no fear of starvation. Of water, we have an abundance.’
‘What about the enemy? Who’s supplying them?’
‘Much the same merchants, I daresay. I doubt they’re particular about their customers, as long as they can pay.’
‘Is there any more we can do?’
‘Other than keep dry, I can think of nothing.’
‘My lord, if you will forgive me, would it not be wiser to seek a settlement?’ ventured Thomas. ‘Once we’ve started hacking each other to pieces, it might be difficult to stop. And our position will be gravely weakened if we suffer heavy losses.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘If I may, my lord, that we send a message to Sir George Ayscue to the effect that we are prepared to fight but would rather find a peaceful solution. His response may tell us more about the squadron.’