Chasing Shadows Chapter One

Chasing Shadows

Chapter One

Nottingham, England, 1642

The King and his army rode into Nottingham on the morning of 22nd of August, 1642 through driving rain and a fierce wind, making it a miserable affair. Turned away from the gates of Coventry by the city’s Trained Bands, and a less than enthusiastic response in Newark, the King had hoped that this profitable market town, could offer him more men, and more financial support for his cause. Unfortunately, the mood of the few townsfolk, who ventured to the common to have a look, was more of displeasure for the possibility of having to bear the cost of food and billets for his Army. Besides, August was harvest time, and the one thought that was foremost on everyone’s mind was not a desire to preserve the King’s “Divine right to rule” but to bring in the harvest, put it to market and keep their families warm and fed for another winter.

Not far from the common, and halfway down Merchant’s Row, a teenage boy burst through the door of his father’s shop, soaked to the skin shouting, “The King is here. Here in Nottingham!”

The boy’s mother exclaimed, “God save us.”  Tutting, she grabbed her shawl from the hook and threw it around her son.  “Just look at you Will, dripping wet, and Saints Bless me if you don’t get taller every day. Come to the back and get yourself out of those wet clothes. You are not to go anywhere near the common till the King is gone from here. John!  Have you heard what Will is saying?”

Her husband came running from around the corner and stood panting as Will repeated his news. “Right, no time to lose. Thomas get in here!” he shouted for his elder son to come through from the back, then turned to Will, still dripping and shivering in the middle of the floor. “Help you brother.  No time to dry off, get those crates and bring them down into the cellar.  Remove everything you can before those thieving soldiers start helping themselves to our wares.” His voice was urgent.

Thomas came running at his father’s summons, and started shifting crates.  Will stood in a puddle of water as his parents and brother bustled around him, feeling completely ignored.  Let them get on with it, he thought. If he was to be left there dripping wet, well, then they could just do it themselves.

His mother trotted after her laden husband and son, calling, “Come on Will, get a move on.” Will pulled a face as the three of them disappeared into the back of the shop with their armloads of goods.  He then ran for the shop door and did a disappearing act of his own.

By the time the King’s men marched the Royal Standard up a hill near the Castle and raised it high, the rain had slowed to fine drizzle but the wind remained, leaving the flag to flap about uncontrollably. Captain Snowden, a tall, sandy haired twenty year old from Monmouthshire, waited impatiently on top of his mount, a chestnut gelding, given to him by his Uncle.  “A strong and able horse is essential for a soldier,” his Uncle had told him before he left. Snowden had become partial to the animal over the last few months and renamed him Xanthos, after one of a pair of immortal horses given to Peleus. But unlike Peleus, Snowden knew he was no hero, he had caused his Uncle so much worry over the years, even though the old man had been so kind to him.

As the rain eventually stopped, more townspeople ventured out to the common to watch the spectacle.  Three troops of horse and 600 foot soldiers stood by as the King, who cut a small pitiful figure against the steel grey sky, waited for the Herald at Arms to read the Proclamation.

 

“Get on with it,” Snowden muttered, as he watched drops of water falling off the wide brim of his hat and onto his hands. Even from this vantage point, he could see that Prince Rupert, the King’s nephew, was showing his impatience by gesturing and shouting orders to those stood nearby. Snowden could only guess what was being said and that it was most likely spoken with a heavy German accent. He chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?” the man beside him whispered.

Snowden leaned in to answer. “Twas nothing, I was just imagining what was being said up there.”

“I’ve heard that when he’s in bad temper, you can barely understand him at all,” the man replied, just as the trumpets exploded in fanfare, snapping them both back to attention.  

The Proclamation was made declaring just cause for the King to set up his standard in order to suppress the Parliamentarian rebellion in the south, led by the Earl of Essex and that he also required the aid and assistance of all his loyal subjects.  Once read, drums rattled and trumpets sounded and the multitude that had gathered there threw their hats in the air shouting “God save the King!”, but in spite of all this pomp and circumstance the wet throng dispersed and very few offered their assistance to the King’s cause. The Royal standard was then carried back into the castle and was then hoisted up onto the battlements.

Captain Snowden handed Xanthos off to a stable hand and trudged his way in soggy boots to the company’s office to inquire as to where he should sleep for the night. He couldn’t wait to shed his wet clothes and find something to eat. As he made his way across the inner bailey the clatter of the Royal Standard made him look up to the tower where it was fixed and at that very moment it broke its bonds and blew down.  Not being a very superstitious man, even Snowden had to admit that the fall of the standard from the tower was a cruel omen and should not go unheeded. 

copyright Luanne Uttley