Impossible.
Twiston
Hall
27th
March 1642. 11:30am.
Sir
Royston had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the two
days since he had been brought home. Royalist forces, alerted by the
survivors of the skirmish at Balk Wood, had rushed to the scene. The
surviving soldiers, assisted by some of the residents of nearby
Pocklington, alerted by the gunfire from the battle, were attending
the wounded and dying.
Sir
Royston was found with a severe head wound, but still alive, the
regiments colours draped over him. Next to him lay the dead and
horribly disfigured body of Captain John Parr.
He had
been carefully transported to Twiston Hall, where further work by the
physician could be carried out on the head wound, deep and very
bloody, but not life threatening.
Now in
the care of servants, Sir Royston had to be constantly held down and
calmed as he was suffering terrible nightmares of his experiences,
reliving them as he lay there in a state of semi-coma.
The
King's Quarters, York.
27th
March 1642. 1pm.
'I
intend to take back the plate stolen by the rebels and will hang
their leaders from the town walls!' King Charles was beside himself
with rage. 'This is an open act of war, let alone treason,' he
continued. The king was pacing the room, hands clasped behind his
back. The Earl of Newcastle had never seen him in such a rage before,
he had always taken bad news with an air of dignity, possibly
seething inside, but never showing it to others, save perhaps his
wife, as befits a ruling monarch.
When
the king eventually calmed enough to take a seat, he looked directly
at the earl, anger still clearly showing in his eyes. 'Now you tell
me that it is impossible! He almost spat out the words, 'Am I to
allow this cowardly act to pass without taking any action?
The
earl, not wishing to anger him further, picked his words carefully.
'Your majesty, my sources inform me that the plate has already been
placed aboard ship, as has most of the contents of the armoury and
even as we speak is either ready to sail or already is at sea.'
'Then I
will have those responsible for this outrage instead,' hissed the
king, 'our forces are large enough to lay siege to the town, are they
not so?'
Once
again, the earl chose his words carefully, 'Our forces are adequate
to lay siege to the town, we have a goodly and growing number of
artillery pieces, but the town itself is well supplied with artillery
on the town walls and the citadel too.'
The
king stroked his beard, his eyes never leaving the earl who felt ever
more uncomfortable, he continued, 'We could surround the town, but
with Parliament having control of the sea, the town can be supplied
with men, powder and anything it needs by ship. We can never hope to
starve the town into submission.'
'Then
we shall take it by force.' hissed the king, 'and every man in it
will hang from the walls as an example to all who defy my god given
right to rule.'
The
earl winced, 'The town walls could be breached, but the citadel is
another matter, its walls would be more than a match for any ordnance
we have. The citadel also overlooks the town, making it impossible to
hold any gain we made.'
The
king leapt to his feet, 'Impossible, once again you tell me
impossible!' He almost screamed the words. 'Many brave men died and
are being buried as we speak, yet you tell me it is impossible to
avenge their deaths and that the perpetrators of this despicable
act, can safely skulk behind the walls of their town, laughing, safe
in the knowledge that I cannot touch them!'
The
earl didn't answer.
The
king eventually calmed down and once more took his seat. 'I am
travelling to Twiston Hall tomorrow to visit the brave Sir Royston.
He had to endure the loss of his captain and see his regiment torn to
shreds, yet still he tried to rally his men, his regimental flag
wrapped around his body, until he too was struck down. The king once
more rubbed his beard, 'I'll wager he didn't whine like and old woman
and say impossible.'
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