Part 37 (1/2)

'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.