Page 198 of Feathers in the Wind
When I got homethat evening, Alan and Nat were sitting on my sofa, drinking my beer while Alan tried to explain the rules of cricket to Nat.
Nat stood as I entered.
‘Jessie,’ he said, sweeping his hand at the sofa. ‘Come sit down with us and perhaps you can explain to me what it is about this sport that your brother finds so entrancing?’
‘Call yourself an Englishman?’ I chided as I plopped down next to him
As his arm slid around my shoulder, Alan cast us both a sideways glance.
‘Ah, so that’s how it is?’ he said, ‘Leave you alone for one day, and look what happens. Want a beer, Jess?’
Nat and I looked at each other and smiled. Alan let out a heavy sigh, stood and walked into the kitchen. ‘I’ll take it as a yes for the beer.’
‘Alan let me drive his motor carriage today,’ Nat said with a grin.
‘Oh, Al, how could you? What if you’d been caught?’
‘We went out to the old airfield. Not much harm he could do there,’ Alan said from the depths of the refrigerator.
I looked at my lover. ‘So, did you enjoy it?’
Nat grinned. ‘I believe I reached a speed of twenty miles per hour,’ he said. ‘Imagine how far I could go in that time!’
‘Twenty miles? Were you practicing on one of our motorways?’
Alan chortled and Nat looked from one to other of us. ‘Is there some merriment?’
‘Our motorways are renowned for their traffic jams,’ I said, but seeing the puzzlement in his eyes, shook my head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
Undeterred, Nat continued, ‘I see you have one of Leonardo’s machines in your garage. Can you show me how it works?’
I stared at him blankly. ‘One of Leonardo’s machines?’
‘The contraption with two wheels. We saw the old woman on one.’
‘Oh, my bicycle. It’s a lady’s bike but sure, I’ll teach you how to ride it.’
Alan returned with beers for the three of us. ‘This weekend is the fair up at Heatherhill Hall. Mortlock’s regiment is having a muster to commemorate the Battle of Chesham Bridge. I thought it would be amusing if you could come along, Nat.’
Nat looked at him blankly. ‘A muster? What are you mustering?’
‘Alan is a member of the local historical re-enactors. They re-enact life in the armies of the English Civil War. A muster is when they get together and put on a demonstration of…’ I paused, feeling rather foolish. ‘Life during the English Civil War.’
‘Why?’ Nat asked.
A faint color rose to Alan’s cheeks. ‘Because we find it particularly interesting,’ he said.
‘It’s not interesting. It is a war,’ Nat said. ‘The worst of wars- a civil war. I would think it is best forgotten, not, what do you call it, ‘re-enacted.’ Do you kill each other?’
‘Of course we don’t.’ Alan cleared his throat and looked away.
‘But they pride themselves on being authentic,’ I said. ‘That’s what convinced Alan of your story. Your clothes.’
‘I have- I had- two brothers,’ Nat said. ‘My youngest brother, Thomas, took up arms for Parliament. He was killed at the battle at Long Marston in Yorkshire last year.’
‘Were you there?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, but my second brother Edward was. He cannot live with the fact that he could have faced his own brother on the battlefield and not known. That is what a civil war means.’
