Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 37

'As you wish, Your Highness.'

'Capital!' cried Rupert.

He called to his monkey and it skittered across the room and jumped on to his shoulder. He plucked a grape from the bunch on the table and fed it to his pet, making little clucking noises with his mouth.

Sensing that Whyte had made no move to leave, Rupert looked up.

'Was there something else?'

Whyte leaned forward. 'May I ask what plans His Majesty has once Cromwell is dead?'

Rupert opened his hands wide and shrugged. 'An army has been raised, of course. In the chaos caused by old Ironsides'

death, they will invade.'

Whyte looked uneasy. 'An invading army? From where, sir?'

Rupert sat back in his chair. 'Oh, all over. But mainly Poland.'

Whyte was aghast. 'A Catholic army? On English soil?'

Rupert looked away. 'Needs must when the devil drives, Master Whyte.'

Whyte stood up, the chair sc.r.a.ping behind him. 'Sir, this is unconscionable! '

'Rupert shook his head. 'No, sir, it is pragmatic. We must restore His Majesty to the throne, by any means we can.' He waved dismissively. 'Now, you may go.'

Whyte stood his ground for a moment, his mind full of questions, then he turned and stalked from the room.

Ben and Scrope had tailed their quarries for some distance before the men disappeared into a large covered wagon which had obviously been sent for them.

As the vehicle rattled away over the cobbles, Scrope announced that they must make for Parliament with the utmost haste.

After an exhausting journey spent weaving through the narrow, choked London lanes, they approached the broad square which faced the Commons.

Ben could hardly believe how recently he had stood before it with Polly, wondering what was occurring before its great black doors.

Scrope had belied his years and set an amazing pace throughout their journey. Sometimes he moved so swiftly that Ben could scarcely keep up and several times he had to stop and look about to see which particular warren-like alley the old man had darted through.

Ben caught his breath and turned to face Scrope.

'Now,' he said patiently, 'this is going to be difficult. But just let me do the talking and maybe we can get to see someone in authority.'

Scrope laughed his high, cackling laugh and held his sides, like a filthy leprechaun. 'Lord save you, lad!' he chortled.

'There's no need for diplomacy. Just come with me.'

To Ben's amazement he marched straight to the great double doors. Two Roundhead sentries were posted there and, at the sight of Scrope, both nodded and stepped aside.

Scrope beckoned to Ben, who, not quite believing what was happening, was ushered through into the draughty stone interior.

He had visited the Commons, the other Commons, as a child but this was a much smaller and more intimate place.

The beamed roof was quite low and there was not the same kind of ornamentation as the more familiar Parliament possessed. The overall effect was like a great t.i.the bam.

While Ben was gazing about, Scrope walked boldly past further sentries, exchanging chitchat all the way.

Ben followed close behind, noticing that all the soldiers held their noses as Scrope pa.s.sed. Some looked at him almost with pity, as if to say 'Rather you than me, mate'.

They reached a further set of doors, this time guarded by a single sentry. He barred Scrope's way with his pikestaff.

'I wish to see John Thurloe,' said Scrope imperiously.

The sentry nodded. 'Yes, sir. One moment, sir.'

Ben tapped the old man on the shoulder. 'Who are you?'

Scrope grinned at him but didn't reply. A second later, the door opened and they were ushered into a large and rather sumptuous chamber.

The guard went out again, leaving Ben and Scrope alone in the room.

''Ere,' said Ben worriedly. 'Is this all right? I mean... are you sure we should be 'ere?'

Scrope shrugged. 'Is it not our right? This is our Parliament after all. And Parliament is for the people.'

Rapid footsteps sounded outside and two figures entered in a great hurry. One was a neat, black-clothed man with a long, bony face. The other, imposing, red of face and looking very angry, was very familiar to Ben.

'Blimey,' said Ben swallowing. 'Cromwell!'

Thurloe and Cromwell turned to him, then back to Scrope.

'Nat?' said Thurloe impatiently. 'What is it? What do you have for me?'

Scrope bowed to both men and then indicated Ben.

'This is Ben Jackson, sir. A most loyal fellow, recently returned from Amsterdam.'

Cromwell peered at Ben. 'I trust you had a pleasant trip, sir?'

Ben shook his head.'No, I didn't. You see...'

He trailed off, not quite sure how to begin. Scrope patted him on the shoulder.

'You are the Doctor's friend?' said Thurloe.

Ben's expression betrayed his relief. 'He's here?'

'Aye,' said Cromwell. 'And facing grievous charges.'

Thurloe held up a gloved hand. 'Nay, General. Those cannot stand. I do believe this Doctor to be a man of honour.'

Cromwell harrumphed. 'And what of this girl? She who abetted the King's escape?'

Thurloe grimaced impatiently. 'Please, General. Let us hear Master Scrope's story.'

'Oh,' said Cromwell sulkily. 'Very well.'

He stepped back a little and placed his hands behind his back in his familiar pose. Rapidly, Scrope outlined what Ben had told him: the mysterious voyage to Amsterdam, the Dutchman and the strange reference to a 'package', Stanislaus's known enmity to the Parliamentarians, and finally the revelation that the man G.o.dley was none other than Prince Rupert.

'Rupert?' spat Cromwell. 'I thought we'd seen the last of that arrogant puppy.' Thurloe clasped his hands together and frowned. 'What is it that they can be planning? If Rupert has dared to return it must be a grand matter. No petty plot would bring him back to England. He began to pace up and down. 'I must speak to the woman Polly. She is our one contact with these conspirators.' Cromwell spun on his heel and to face the guard. 'Fetch the Doctor!'

Stanislaus, Rupert, and van Leeuwenhoek stood in a line, awaiting the arrival of the King.

The Pole was so tall that his head almost brushed the rafters of the cramped room and he' sighed periodically, impatient and anxious simultaneously. Rupert, deprived of his pet monkey for reasons of protocol, was incessantly twiddling his thumbs.

Only the Dutchman remained aloof. He stood stock still, his blanched white face perfectly motionless. Rupert shot a glance at him and shuddered.

The man had made him uneasy ever since their first meeting. Perhaps it was because his trade was death. It was hardly surprising that the atmosphere of the tomb seemed to cling to him. It was tangible in the hollows below his cheekbones, in the deep lines on his face and the musty black cloth of his garments.

The door opened and Rupert looked away, glad of the distraction.

Sir John Copper and Christopher Whyte came inside, immediately followed by the diminutive figure of King Charles.

The atmosphere in the room changed at once.

Charles deliberately avoided Prince Rupert's gaze and chose to concentrate on making his way to his chair. He sat down with his usual grace and looked steadily ahead.

Rupert was shocked by the change in his uncle. The Civil Wars had taken their toll, of course, but he seemed far older than his years. His hair was streaked with grey and there was a dead-white pallor to his skin not helped by the added dimension of this unnatural hiding.

His cheeks were roughly shaved and his clothes, obviously borrowed, were of a coa.r.s.e and ordinary kind.

Tears sprang to Rupert's eyes to see such a thing and he leapt forward involuntarily, seizing Charles's hand and kissing it.

'Oh, Uncle...' he said, his voice breaking.

To his relief, the King did not s.n.a.t.c.h his hand away.

Instead, he raised his other hand and gently patted Rupert on the head.

'Nephew,' he said kindly, 'come. It is t-time to put away our past conflicts and look to the f-future.'

Rupert sat back on his haunches, his eyes wet with tears. 'I am glad to hear you say it, Your Majesty.'

He got to his feet and stepped back, glancing over at Whyte and giving him a quick, grateful smile. 'May I present Captain Stanislaus, a most loyal servant of the crown, who ferried us here to England...'

Stanislaus stepped forward and kissed Charles's hand.

'And how is our friend the King of Poland?' asked Charles with infinite politeness.

'Most well, Your Majesty,' murmured Stanislaus. 'I bring his greetings and best wishes for your speedy return to the throne.'

'And,' continued Rupert, 'it was the captain who furnished us with our... er, Dutch "package", Master Gustavus van Leeuwenhoek.'

The Dutchman stepped forward, bowed swiftly, and set his thin lips to Charles's knuckles.

'We are very g-grateful for your energies on our behalf, gentlemen,' stammered Charles. 'And hope that our freedom has not come as too great a shock to you.'

The men laughed politely, leading Rupert to reflect that it was strangely like the fawning atmosphere of Charles's old court.

Charles indicated Copper and Whyte. 'I have these f-fine fellows to thank for my no longer being incarcerated. But they, like me, would like to be fully apprised of this plan of yours.'

Rupert squared his shoulders. 'May it please Your Majesty, we have already consulted with Sir John and Master Whyte here. Thanks to the information they have been able to... procure, we know that General Cromwell plans to attend the Commons tomorrow in order to speed up the process of your trial.'

Charles looked amused. 'I f-fail to see how it can go ahead, unless he means to try me in absentia in absentia.'

He smiled benevolently and again the company laughed all except Whyte, Rupert noticed.

'Nevertheless,' he continued, 'in the Commons he will be.

It is there that we intend to take him. Or, rather, that Mr van Leeuwenhoek will see to it that old Ironsides finally goes to rust.'

'You are much skilled in these matters, sir,' said Charles evenly. 'May we know how you intend to d-do it?'

The Dutchman splayed his bony fingers wide like a conjuror with a fan of cards, his deep-set eyes blazing.

'It's a surprise!' he cried.

The King looked momentarily discomforted and Rupert leapt quickly into the breach. 'All is prepared. By ten tomorrow the Roundheads will have lost their best man and will descend into chaos. It will be child's play to take control.'

'With a foreign army?' interrupted Whyte. 'A Catholic army?'

Rupert stepped forward to reprimand him but Charles held up his hand. 'What ails you, sir?'