Page 21 of Feathers in the Wind
Even as he spoke, yells and the report of musket fire came from the far side of the town. The melee grew louder, and as they crossed the bridge a tide of men appeared, running down Bridge Street towards them.
Ludovic dismounted and lifted Perdita down. Leading the horse, he pushed against the panicked soldiers. A couple of men, their eyes wide with fear, tried to grab the horse’s bridle but Ludovic fought off their hands with his riding crop.
The doors of the townhouses were firmly bolted and the windows shuttered, and no one responded to Ludovic’s knocking. They had no choice but to press on and find some sort of shelter. He led them into a narrow laneway between two houses near the Market Hall. He pulled a pistol from a holster on the saddle and holding the terrified horse, he placed himself between Perdita and the street.
Perdita flattened herself against the wall. Around his arm she could see the fleeing men, pursued by horsemen wearing orange sashes, and the source of the conflict became clear. The king’s men were being routed from the town.
The fighting around the Market Hall grew fierce as the royalists within the buildings made one last stand. The horse broke free of Ludovic and took off into the street. Ludovic cursed and pushed Perdita down to the ground as musket balls whizzed over their heads, striking chips from the stone work above them.
Perdita crouched against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible, her elbows pressed to her sides to stop the uncontrollable shaking. Part of her wanted to jump to her feet and run as far as she could reach, but she knew if she even tried to stand, her legs would fail her.
A massive explosion came from within the Market Hall, raining Cotswold stone, tiles and dust down on the two huddled figures. Perdita raised her head, her ears ringing, her lungs filling with dust. Great holes had been blown in the walls and fire blazed through the old hall. She could hear screams and through the smoke she could see men running from the building.
The explosion seemed to shatter the last of the resistance and the street began to clear, the orange-sashed horsemen slowing to a walk as they rounded up the surrendering royalists. Ludovic helped Perdita to her feet and she shook out her cloak and skirts, bits of stone and plaster falling to the cobbles.
A shadow darkened the entrance to their hiding place.
‘You down there, come out at once.’ A parliamentary officer on a bay horse sat looking down at them, his hand on his sword hilt, his face shadowed by the iron grille of his heavy pot helmet.
‘We’re not soldiers,’ Perdita coughed. Her mouth had dried with fear and the clogging dust around them.
The soldier raised his hand from the sword and pushed the grille of his helmet back.
‘Mistress Gray. Ludovic. What in God’s name are you doing here, this day of all days?’ Adam Coulter demanded. Perdita shook her head, trying to dispel the ringing in her ears. Adam’s voice sounded as if it came from a long way away.
‘Captain Coulter, thank the Lord.’ Her knees buckled with the relief of seeing a familiar face and she had to steady herself against the wall as the world around her began to sway. ‘I had to get laudanum for Joan. She’s not well.’
He swung down from his horse and looping the reins around his arm, put out his gauntleted hand to draw Perdita into the light. ‘Your timing could have been better. Lord Brooke has just driven the royalists from the town.’ His brows furrowed and he peered at her. ‘Mistress Gray, you’re hurt. You’ve blood on your face.’
Perdita put her hand to her face, the shaking fingers coming away sticky with blood, mingled with dust. ‘Oh, you’re right.’
The world began to roar and spin around her. She dimly heard Adam’s voice calling for Ludovic before Stratford disappeared into a roaring abyss.
* * *
It had beena lovely dream of her first Christmas with the Clifford family at Preswood before the war. Geoffrey had still been alive and there had been singing and a yule log blazing in the hearth. Now the bright, cheerful fire faded and Perdita became aware of low voices around her.
‘There now, she’s coming around. I said it wasn’t bad.’
She recognised the voice of the apothecary and opened her eyes, grimacing at the bright light. Adam Coulter’s face, tense with concern, peered down at her.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘A piece of stone must have hit your head,’ Adam said. ‘It’s only a glancing blow but head wounds bleed like the devil.’
Perdita put tentative fingers to her head to encounter a bandage over a thick wad of padding at her hairline over her forehead.
‘Ow. It hurts now,’ she said. ‘It didn’t before.’
‘Of course it hurts,’ said the apothecary. ‘You’ll have quite a headache for a couple of days.’
Perdita tried to sit up but Adam’s hand on her shoulder restrained her. ‘You lie still.’
‘But I’ve got to get Joan’s laudanum and get home before dark.’
‘Ludovic’s dealt with that. God’s death, Mistress Gray, what were you thinking? You shouldn’t be riding around the countryside.’
‘I wasn’t riding around the countryside. I was on my usual business,’ Perdita protested. ‘No one told me there was going to be a battle in Stratford today of all days.’
