Page 202 of Feathers in the Wind
‘Germany,’ Nat said.
The man turned to look at the Van Dyck portrait. ‘You will pardon my curiosity, but I can’t help but notice that you bear a striking resemblance to my ancestor. Are you distantly related to my family?’
‘You are a Preston?’ I asked, deflecting the question.
‘Indeed. Colonel George Preston. The last of the Prestons, alas.’ The elderly man indicated the portrait of Nat. ‘My ever-so-great grandfather by direct line. One of the dashing cavaliers of King Charles. He died in the Civil War.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nat wince.
The Colonel had not missed the momentary lapse in Nat’s composure. ‘But you haven’t answered my question. Are we related?’
Nat met the eyes of his great-plus grandson. ‘Family history is not my interest. I would need to consult my grandmother.’
‘Well, I would be most interested to meet with you again, Mr...’
‘Preston, Nathaniel Preston,’ Nat said with a smile. ‘I carry the name, Colonel.’
George Preston’s moustache twitched. ‘Indeed you do, sir. Well, if you will excuse me, I believe I have the honor of starting a battle. I look forward to our next meeting.’ With a slight bow, the military gentleman left us.
‘Well, that was an odd conversation,’ I remarked.
‘Odd,’ agreed Alan. ‘You would think he knew who Nat was.’
‘Yes, but that’s not likely is it?’ I said. ‘Come on, Al, you’ll be late.’
‘What exactly are you doing today?’ Nat asked Alan as we walked toward the line of tents that marked the muster.
‘It’s supposed to be the battle of Chesham Bridge but we’re not blowing anything up.’
‘What was blown up?’ Nat inquired.
‘The bridge, of course,’ Alan replied. ‘It stopped the Parliamentarians in their tracks and allowed time for the king to bring up more troops. We should use you as our technical advisor for the battle.’
‘Alan, may I remind you, Nat hasn’t fought the battle of Chesham Bridge yet,’ I said and instantly regretted my words.
In two days time, Nat would fight the battle and he would die but he didn’t appear to have heard me. He had wandered over to one of the cavalry and was talking to the trooper. In fact, he appeared to be giving the man some advice on his equipment.
Alan introduced him to the gathering as a technical specialist on seventeenth century armament who he had invited along for the day. A trumpet sounded, and the muster assembled.
Nat shuddered. ‘I’ve no stomach to watch this. Come, let’s go for a walk to the river.’
We found a gate in the wall and strolled with our arms around each other, through the orchard to the banks of the River Nene, which flowed deep and dark from upstream of Chesham. Nat sat down on the bank. I spread my skirts and sat beside him. We fell back in the sweet smelling grass and I laid my head on his shoulder as he slid his arm around me.
We lay together, listening to the murmur of the river and the distant sound of the battle.
‘This is nice,’ I whispered, feeling his fingers stroking my hair. ‘Let’s enjoy it, while we can,’ he whispered.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep.When I opened my eyes, the sun had slipped away and we were lying in shadow. Despite the heavy woolen clothes, I shivered as a cold breeze blew across the water.
No sound came from the direction of the Hall. The battle must have finished and Alan and his mates would have retired to the beer tents.
I stretched and sat up. ‘Alan will be wondering where we are,’ I said
Nat brushed the grass from his breeches as he stood up. He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.
‘Have they finished fighting my war?’
