Page 200 of Feathers in the Wind
‘Cromwell,’ he said musingly, ‘I have heard his name. He is a fine commander of the cavalry I believe. I must ask Alan what he did to warrant such a place of honor.’
‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ I said and proceeded with a history lesson on Cromwell’s rise to being Lord Protector. He listened intently, his expression grim, and made no comment.
We stopped at the modest building that was the last remaining vestige of the great Whitehall Palace, the Dining Hall designed by Inigo Jones, another building apparently known to Nat. As it was open to the public, I paid our entry and we joined a guided tour.
Nat grew more and more withdrawn as the tour progressed. The guide stood by the windows and described how King Charles I had stepped onto the scaffold on that cold winter’s day in 1649 to meet his death. Nat turned away and left the group.
I found him standing on the street outside, leaning against a wall. ‘Are you all right?’
‘They killed the king,’ he said without looking at me,
‘Yes, they did. You will need to ask Alan more about it.’
‘Everything we are fighting for, everything I will die for will be for nothing.’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No, because of what happened, England will be a better place. The monarch will be accountable for his or her actions to the parliament. There will be no more civil wars.’
‘And your queen?’ he waved a hand in the direction of Horse Guards. ‘Does she rule by divine right?’
‘No. She is a figurehead with no real power.’ Nat straightened. ‘I need a drink.’ I took his hand. ‘Let’s find that drink and then we’ll go to the Natural History Museum. I think you will find that far more interesting.’
As we boarded the train at Paddington on Friday afternoon, I wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction. The battle of Chesham Bridge would be in three days time. The thought filled me with foreboding. Sometime before then Nat would return to his time to die too young. As wonderful as our few days in London had been, it was as though I had given someone with a fatal illness their last taste of life.
So he would not see my tears I turned away and looked out of the window at the passing countryside.
Chapter 5 - MUSTERING AT HEATHERHILL
‘Today,’ Alice says. ‘Are you ready?’
My arm tightens around Jessie the Witch and she sighs in her sleep.
‘Alone?’ I ask her.
‘No, she will come with you.’
I kiss Jessica’s hair. Will she find my world as strange as I find hers? When I die will she be stranded forever between times?
‘No, Alice.’
Alice sighs. ‘I must talk with her.’
‘Then talk to her as I do with you, Alice. Don’t ask this of me.’
I hear Alice’s skirts rustle as she paces the room. ‘I cannot, Nathaniel. She must come to me.’
‘How?’
Alice laughs.
So many things I will never understand and that defy logic. I have no choice but to trust her.
* * *
Irolled over and looked down at my sleeping lover who lay on his back with one arm flung over his head. I knew every inch of his hard, lean body, every scar and blemish. I wanted to hold on to this moment forever, keep him here beside me, but as inexorably as time, I knew he would be leaving me and when he went, I would be heartbroken. A tear trickled down my cheek. I didn’t want to let him go back. If I could nail him to this time and place, lock him in this room, I would.
Instead I cooked him breakfast.
Alan had picked up Nat’s clean and mended clothes from the laundry and left them at my house. Nat had spent Friday night polishing his boots, belt and baldric but when the morning came he would not wear them.
