Page 20 of Dawnlands

“We’re all of that mind. D’you know anyone here that can vouch for you?” The duke gestured around the table. He smiled at a fresh-faced young man of nineteen. “Not William Hewling here. But anyone else?”

“I’ve been away from England for many years. Half my comrades are dead of old age! Anyone who was in my company at Naseby might remember me.” Ned hesitated. “I don’t know that’s a recommendation to you, sir: I was fighting your grandfather Charles I.” Ned glimpsed the Stuart mournful smile.

“A civil war is always a family matter. I’ll be taking up arms against my uncle, an ordained king. I shall be the first Stuart to deny the power of the king. I shall be a Leveller Stuart.”

“My father was a major in the New Model Army.” A man of about twenty years spoke up from the foot of the table. “Major Wade? D’you know him? A one-armed man, but he could ride a horse as well as any other.”

Ned grinned at the trap that had been laid for him. “The Major Wade I knew had two arms,” he said. “A godly man, name of John. Family were great men in Bristol. Cursed like a stevedore when he was angry.”

“That’s him.” Nathaniel Wade nodded. He glanced at Monmouth. “Probably is who he says he is,” he said grudgingly.

“I’ve made covenants with these men already,” the duke replied.“I’ve said that if I succeed in England and the throne is offered me, I’ll take it, only if the people of England want a king. If they want a Lord Protector, I’ll offer to serve. But it shall be for the people to decide.”

“You’ll hold parliaments every year?” Ned persisted. “And not when it suits you?”

The duke nodded and waited for more.

“And give every landholder a vote?”

“If the parliament requests it.”

“And impose no religion or belief on any man or woman, but let each consult his own conscience? No imprisonment without just cause. No picking of judges to suit yourself. No new taxation?”

The duke nodded again.

“Then I offer you my service,” Ned said. “Such as it is.”

“I accept your service,” the duke said. He gestured for Ned to sit at the table. “Did you train men for the New England militia?”

“Aye,” Ned said. “And in England, in the first civil war. I can drill foot soldiers and teach the use of a musket.”

“D’you have any funds?” a handsome man demanded from the end of the table. “For all this talk of kings—and some of us would have no kings ever again—we need a royal fortune to kit out a ship.” He hesitated. “I’m Thomas Dare, from Devon.”

“I’ve no more than I stand up in, and a few coins in my pocket. I can pay my way and buy my weapons.”

“D’you have family? Tenants? Servants?”

“I’m a single man.”

“You’ve got a slave,” another man observed in a rolling west-country drawl, glancing at Rowan, who stood still and silent by the stairs at the door. “Can you sell him?”

“He’s free,” Ned said. “He travels with me until he wishes to leave.”

“We’re desperate short of funds,” Thomas Dare explained. “I’m Paymaster—but I’ve nothing to save or spend. And we have to hire ships and buy arms, and pay for munitions, banners and favors, and we’re taking a printing press to print the muster…”

The duke gave a little grimace and plunged his hand into the deep pocket of his richly embroidered jacket. He brought out a fat purse and slid it across the table.

“My honor is in this purse,” he said. “Make sure you get full value for it.”

Thomas Dare, who had been a goldsmith in his home of Taunton, untied the purse and peeped inside. He let out a quiet whistle and tied the purse again and put it in his own pocket. “Her ladyship’s jewels?” he asked the duke.

Monmouth nodded. “She has given up everything for me,” he said quietly. “And now the very rings from her fingers, and from her own mother’s neck.”

“I should get enough from this and from the sale of your goods to pay the rest of the fee for the ships and buy arms,” Dare said, rising to his feet.

“Take Mr. Ferryman with you,” Monmouth said. “He can check the guns. And I’ll write to my friends again, someone must lend us more money. I’ll pawn the rest of my goods.” He frowned. “I’ll clear the house, even the linen from the beds.”

“And quickly! We’re promised to sail within days,” another man reminded him. “Argyll is counting on support; we can’t fail him.”