‘He’ll bring the wrath of the whole Parliament force down on him if he does that. It would not be in his own best interests. Colonel Russell is an active and daring commander, highly thought of by Cromwell himself. An exchange must be negotiated.’
The soldier turned and looked at her grim-faced. ‘Not in this case. This is different. Woe be it for me to speak ill of my superiors, but Atkins is an ugly, vicious bastard, a man devoid of any kind of honour. He deals out his own style of justice—thinks he can do what he likes, and if he thinks he can get away with shooting a Roundhead officer, even one as highly valued as this one, he’ll do it without batting his eye. You wouldn’t want to witness how he deals with his enemies. He inflicts pain first, lets them stew a while, then …’ he made a slicing gesture with the side of his hand across his throat ‘… that’s it.’
The soldier moved off, leaving the girl to watch the Roundhead’s departing figure. Shock and anger at the injustice of the situation rose like bile inside her. Colonel Russell was a Roundhead and therefore her enemy, but he was too worthy a man to die in such a sadistically cruel manner that was nothing short of murder.
Much of her knowledge had come from her father, a prominent Royalist. He had told her that when officers were captured, on each side it was normal for commanders to negotiate exchanges of officers of equivalent rank, and they could even be paroled on the promise never to fight again, but it would seem Captain Atkins made up his own rules. He was to show no such leniency to this particular Roundhead who had been a thorn in his side for too long. To shoot him would be a flagrant breach of the rules of war, but Captain Atkins, a cruel, sadistic man, would not be swayed from his decision. What hope had this Roundhead of being spared by such a man? And he was such a fine man.
Raising her head and squaring her shoulders resolutely, one thing the girl knew, she would not in all conscience let them kill this brave man.
When she came to Avery she pulled her hat low over her eyes, though with such a large influx of soldiers all taking care of their own needs, no one paid her any attention. She rode up the winding, cobbled street between gabled and thatched houses and made straight for the church, which was set apart from the centre of the town.
It wasn’t difficult to find out what had happened to the Colonel. When she saw a couple of men drag him out of a building adjacent to the church, none too ceremoniously, it was evident that Captain Atkins had lost no time in putting his victim to the torture. He was as quiet and still as a dead man, but he wasn’t dead—she could hear him breathing; she heard Captain Atkins order the guards to take him to the vestry, to keep him away from the other prisoners until dark, when his fate would be sealed.
The men stood guard over their prisoner, grudgingly, for all around them their fellow soldiers, celebrating their small victory over the Roundheads, were making merry with the liquor, which was in plentiful supply in the town’s ale houses.
With a combination of her wits and a goodly amount of this strong brew, which the girl plied on these guards, she soon had them snoring. Even though she knew she was putting her own life in danger, she was determined to get the Colonel out of the vestry. After obtaining the key from the pocket of one of the guards and picking up the discarded jacket from the other, careful not to draw attention to herself, she let herself in.
The interior was dimly lit by light slanting in through a high window. The Colonel was sitting propped up against the wall. Thankfully his eyes were open and clear. The girl was slender and pleasant looking, and her dark eyes, though often defiant, were gentle. In that moment an emotion that was completely alien to her gentle nature almost overwhelmed her as she stared mutely at the slumped figure. She hated Captain Atkins for the cold and cruel calculation of which this Roundhead Colonel had been the victim. He had been treated with savage cruelty. His dark hair, blackened by gunpowder, was soaked in sweat. His handsome face was battered and bleeding, and his burned and bloodied and mangled right hand he held cradled to his chest.
Swallowing the nausea that rose in her throat and gathering all her courage about her like a cloak, she went towards him. Putting a finger to her lips, she said quietly, ‘I’ve come to get you out.’ She looked towards the door, her nervousness growing with every minute. ‘My plan is simple. But we must act quickly.’
The Colonel’s face was as rigid as if it had been carved of stone. ‘It is a brave plan and I am grateful for the thought which your heart and sense of justice dictate, but you must see it is impossible.’
In an attempt to raise his spirits, she gave him a grin of confidence. ‘Not as impossible as you think.’
‘Is it not? Tell me. Why should I trust you?’
‘I speak out of respect, not insolence. I am no chivalrous knight in gleaming armour. I saw you fight. I’ll not stand by and watch Colonel Atkins destroy you. Are you able to walk?’ He nodded. The girl handed him the guard’s coat. Out of her pocket she drew a rose-pink scarf. ‘Take off your coat and put this on. I’ll help you. It may be a tight fit, but it’s the best I can do.’ She passed him her wide brimmed hat. ‘You can wear this. Pull it well down.’ Dragging a table over to the wall, agile and nimble on her feet, she climbed on top and shoved open the window. As she looked down at the prisoner, despite her fear her grin was mischievously wicked. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to climb up here, but when the guards find you gone, they will think this is how you escaped.’
Jumping down, she helped him to his feet and to remove his coat, careful of his injured hand. Assisting him into the guard’s coat and grimacing when it came nowhere near fastening over the Colonel’s broad chest, knowing there was nothing she could do about it, she passed the Royalist colours over his shoulder.
The girl laughed when she saw the look of disgust that crossed the Colonel’s face at having this final indignity forced on him. ‘This could save your life and lose it in the same day if you are not careful.’
‘How so?’
‘It will get you away from here, but if you don’t take it off before you reach your fellow Roundheads, they may shoot you for a Royalist without asking questions.’
Tearing a strip of white cloth from one of the vestment robes hanging on the back of the door and concealing the Colonel’s coat beneath them, she set about tending the wounded hand as best she could. The mutilation appalled her, not because of the gory sight, but because it was his right hand, his fighting hand, and without it his future as a soldier—if he was successful in escaping Captain Atkins—was over.
The colonel shuddered, groaning. As he watched her bandage his injured hand his voice was harsh with bitterness. ‘Dear Lord in heaven! Could Atkins not have dealt me another wound but that? He’s made damned sure my sword hand is useless.’
Always practical, the girl said, ‘You have another hand, Colonel, a perfectly good one. If you are half the man you are reported to be, you will learn to use it. There will be other battles to fight before this business is done. Now come. The more important matter of saving your life concerns me now.’
Going to the door, she opened it a crack and looked out. Seeing the guards were as she had left them and the soldiers who weren’t clogging the taverns carousing on the village green, she beckoned the Colonel forwards. ‘Go round the church to the back. Walk through the graveyard and when you come to the gate let yourself out and turn to your left. Halfway down the street turn left again down an alley way. There you will find a horse waiting for you.’
Wonder, astonishment and, finally, admiration glowed in the Colonel’s eyes. Before slipping out he paused to look at the