Rebels and traitors

Chapter Sixteen — Birmingham: 3–4 April 1643

Kinchin Tew spent much of Monday morning out in the woods. She knew there had been arguments in parish meetings and in the taverns about whether Birmingham should defend itself or succumb. Her parents argued as hotly as anyone, though there was never any possibility her father or unenlisted brothers would fight; the Tews had decided to flee. None of them had much idea what to expect. That did not stop her father, Emmett, loudly asserting that Birmingham would be horribly punished for its acts of rebellion. 'And what poor devils will come off worst — ?'

'Us,' grumbled Kinchin's mother. As always!'

The family built a smoky bonfire in the woods, made feeble efforts to put up a temporary shelter and hunched down glumly like a group of hibernating vermin to wait until it was over. They had no pity for the town's predicament. Only the fact that whatever livelihood they scraped together depended on Birmingham gave them any interest. If Birmingham people suffered, it would reduce available charity and for those Tews who occasionally accepted labouring jobs, serious trouble might end all possibility of work. However, they had seen the King and his army pass through in procession last autumn, so they did not imagine today's events would be much worse.

Around noon, Kinchin and some of her siblings grew bored and cold. They crept back to town, where they watched the handing out of arms. They noticed Francis Roberts, the minister, leaving; he knew he would be a target for reprisals after his many anti-Royalist sermons.

At that time, before Prince Rupert arrived, the streets were quiet, although many people stood in their open doorways. Small groups of neighbours huddled together, seeking reassurance. Kinchin visited her friend Thomas at the Swan Inn on the High Street. A short, pale, mild-mannered man in his thirties, the ostler's light wispy hair was balding back from his forehead and he had a limp where he had once been kicked by an unfriendly horse. 'I'll be working later. I won't see the carnival…'

Thomas took Kinchin down into Deritend and showed her the earthworks that had been thrown up across the road. Small groups of musketeers were standing about quietly, one or two drinking beer from pint pots brought out to them by sympathisers. Kinchin parted from Thomas and moved on to beg for bread and butter from Mistress Lucas. 'And can your good man spare a sword, so that my father may fight for us with the rest?' She knew Emmett would not fight. But he had trained her to try for anything available.

"We have no swords left, Kinchin. Every finished weapon has been given out to the men. Now take yourself to some safe place, girl.'

With a shrug, foreseeing no particular danger, Kinchin made her way sulkily back to her family. They would moan at her for coming empty-handed, the laziest of her work-shy brothers moaning the loudest. Shortly after she left Mistress Lucas, the dull reverberation of the prince's cannon nearby shook the smith's house, while loud salvoes of musket shot caused the housewife to catch her breath in panic. But as Kinchin crossed the fields, she heard that first gunfire, which out in the countryside seemed distant and innocuous.

She had almost reached the wood, homing in on the wispy smoke from the fire. Then, suddenly, thunderous hooves closed in behind her. So many horses were coming, the ground shook. After one scared glance back, the girl gathered her skirts and ran. It felt as if Captain Greaves and the pursuing cavaliers were furiously chasing her. Terrified, she stumbled into the wood, just as she realised the horses had stopped. Scratched by brambles and brushwood and shaking with panic, she turned back from cover. She heard shouts and pistol shots; creeping closer, she witnessed the fierce exchange between Greaves's and Denbigh's men. Abruptly the skirmish was over. The cavalry of both sides all rode away like furies, back towards Birmingham.

Several loose horses remained, milling in the road. Her father ran out instantly with a couple of other Tews, to round up any they could catch. These were gentlemen's horses, good quality and expensive, even though when sold without a provenance they would fetch far less than their true value. Emmett would move them fast, putting twenty miles between the place he found them and backstreet stables in other market towns where scoundrels as shady as he would be glad to take the beasts, no questions asked, then sell them back to one of the armies' buying agents.

Wounded men were crawling; dead ones lay on the ground. Kinchin's mother emerged from cover. Flinging her ragged shawl back over her shoulders, she grabbed her daughter's arm and headed for these casualties. The two women hovered cautiously, then grew bolder. Her mother poked the dead to see if that produced any movement, then eagerly began to strip them. She had a rusty knife, which she plunged into her victims, rather than take chances. It was the first time the Tews had plundered like this, but they needed no lessons. Boots, hats, breastplates, jackets, belts and shirts were swiftly peeled from the bodies. Weapons, purses, finger rings, handkerchiefs, medallions, gloves, sashes and riding hose all followed. Kinchin and her mother worked fast and in silence, not stopping to waste time on cries of delight. Before her mother stripped off britches and coats, the girl's small fingers dug deep into pockets, knowing that gentlemen's pockets would probably have three interior divisions, and that she must not miss the smallest, which might be fastened with a button. Their gleanings were rushed away into the woods by other Tews who came running for armfuls of fine clothes and fistfuls of jewellery. One of the boys collected guns and bullets in a cloak, tied up the corners and dragged it away.

An elderly cavalier, heavily built and extremely well dressed, was seriously wounded in the head. Kinchin had ransacked his pockets, unaware that he was still alive until he groaned while her mother was dragging off his bloodied brocade britches. Kinchin jumped back in alarm. After landing a hard kick on the man's bare legs, her mother carried away his expensive suit in triumph. Kinchin lost her nerve. She moved away but later, after the rest of her family burrowed back into the woods to inspect their pickings, she went alone and squatted close to the old man, waiting for night and the cold to finish him off. She wanted his embroidered shirt. Kinchin had always been methodical, and very patient in her scavenging.

Stabbing him dead was beyond her. She had no knife anyway, though she wanted to do it. The Royalist was an aristocrat, like Sir Thomas Holte of Aston. Kinchin hated all his kind. So she crouched in silence, guarding her prey like a fox staring at a chicken house, until she could complete her search. She thought the man knew she was there. She thought he must know why.

As dusk fell, a new group of horsemen approached at a canter, thwarting her. Men dismounted and, looking over their shoulders in case of attack, they began hastily inspecting the now naked bodies. Kinchin Tew clung on there, but eventually a young red-haired cavalier came to the old man. She had lost her chance.

'Denbigh is over here — still breathing! Damme, he's been stripped; can somebody cover him? We must keep him warm. What are you up to, young savage?' Treves demanded of Kinchin sharply. His light blue eyes had summed up her filthy condition and her watchfulness. Suspicious, he dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder.

'I saw he was alive, sir. I wanted to help him.' Flagrantly pretending innocence, Kinchin in turn assessed this young fellow, a sharp-featured carrot-top who sounded too full of confidence. He lost interest in her, and was examining the earl's bloody head wounds, wincing. She eyed Edmund's clothes, which were plainer than those her family had dragged off to the woods, but still worth selling… He had too many men with him to risk it.

'Did you see who looted these bodies?'

'No, sir.'

'This is an important lord, a favourite of Prince Rupert's.' With a grunt of exertion, Treves was helping another man lift and put the badly injured earl over a horse's back. 'He needs attention urgently. Is there a surgeon in Birmingham?'

Reluctantly Kinchin nodded. 'Come up on Faddle.' Moments later, Treves had hoisted her up behind him on his own horse, where she clung on to his wide leather belt as he sped back into town. Adapting rapidly, she soon relaxed, as if riding on horseback behind Royalist gentlemen was her natural mode of travel. Her bare feet bounced against Faddle's hot flank and she now held Edmund round the waist with one skinny bare arm, fully confident she would not fall off.

As they rode into Birmingham, Kinchin squealed at what she saw. Cavaliers were breaking into all the houses. They were frightening the poor, threatening the rich, picking pockets and cursing, some in strange languages. Quartermasters pretended to arrange billets, an excuse for blackmail and bullying. Men were crashing about as they searched for concealed treasure or weapons — peering down wells and into pools, smashing roof tiles, running crazily through gardens. Carts and market trolleys were being piled high with stolen goods. A smell of smoke, different smoke from the normal hearth and forge fires, hung ominously in the damp April air.

Kinchin guided Treves to the surgeon's house and was put down to knock, but a maid came out looking flustered. The girl informed them that Mr Tillam had himself been shot, very seriously in the leg and thigh, as he stood at his house door, wanting to welcome the cavaliers. He was a Royalist supporter — or had been.

The surgeon's maid shot Kinchin a look of amazement. 'Get out of the road, Kinchin Tew, or the mad devils will shoot you too! I'm for hiding in the attic, me.'

Kinchin felt very frightened. Darkness had fallen. There was more noise than she ever remembered in Birmingham; the strange hubbub was clearly hazardous. Evening was for scavengers, but the Tews had lost their rights in Birmingham tonight. Louder, stronger, wickeder men had taken over.

After a brief debate with his fellow soldiers, Treves opted to carry the injured earl to the prince's headquarters; Rupert had bedded in at the Ship Inn. 'Where can I take you, mistress?' he enquired of Kinchin politely, leaning down from Faddle. The barefoot girl was still standing in the street, wondering what to do next. Having brought her as his guide, Edmund felt concerned; he knew what was likely to happen in this town tonight. But Denbigh was fading, so he was in a hurry.

Kinchin thought Treves was jesting. He must see her grimy condition. His genuine gallantry impressed her, however. She considered him an innocent; she even thought him stupid — yet she felt touched.

Her predicament was awkward. She could not ask to be taken back to her family, hiding up in the woods with their plunder. Instead, she assured Treves she had friends nearby. She convinced the cavalier the Swan Inn was a place of safety. So Kinchin watched her red-haired gallant move off through the chaos towards the Ship, where the prince was. She felt a sense of loss, and almost wished she had stayed with Treves, riding high on Faddle, to see out her adventure.

As soon as she was left alone, Kinchin panicked. Gunsmoke and the stench of burned houses made the air close. Many more soldiers were noisily pouring into town; they must have come up from Henley-in-Arden during the afternoon. All around her were sounds of assault.

Birmingham would normally be dark and still at this hour, with only a warm hum from tavern interiors; now it seemed alive with violence. Breaking window glass crashed and splintered. Men's harsh voices bellowed and swore. Women screamed. A group of prisoners were marched up to the Bull Ring, jostled and bullied by cavaliers who intended their racket to be heard and feared. Kinchin watched them searching the prisoners for money, amid threats and demands for large ransoms.

Nervously, she crept into the Swan's small courtyard, relieved that this dim area seemed comparatively quiet. A lantern swung beside the taproom. The door stood closed against the evening chill. A streak of faint light came from the stables. It was oddly still. She missed the normal buzz from regular drinkers. Even so, nothing seemed too badly amiss in those first moments.

Horses clattered up suddenly. As riders burst through the gateway, Kinchin froze. Alert for new customers, Thomas threw open a stable door and emerged from the warm stalls as he always did, ready to take the horses. He limped forwards obligingly, one hand outstretched to gather bridles, a smile of welcome blossoming.

Pistols shot. The ostler fell to the cobbles. Three cavaliers trotted right over him, and dismounted. They shouldered open the taproom door and entered, calling loudly for ale. None glanced back.

The flurry of noise over, there was silence. Kinchin stared. Thomas lay face down in the dark yard, one arm still outstretched. He must be dead. Who would do that? Why do it? He was not a threat. He was only doing his duty, coming to take their horses.

A new Royalist rode in. In a terrible miscalculation Kinchin believed this man brought help. Hard eyes took in the dead ostler, the dark pool of blood around Thomas, and the shaking girl. He levelled a gun. She had made a mistake.

He was covering her with the carbine. Faint light from the stable fell across him. Kinchin would never lose that image: the man ready to kill her, the huge horse, the filled moneybags tied to the saddlebow, the heavy spurred riding boots, the aimed gun in his gloved hand — and the reckless tilt to his curling brimmed black hat, with its bright turquoise band.

He chose not to shoot. The day was ending; he wanted rest and ale.

She felt the hot breath of his high-spirited horse as the rider pressed forwards to the taproom, then she clutched up her skirts, passed by him and ran like a rat, sliding out of the Swan gate in one long speechless streak, so secretly and swiftly the cavalier must have wondered if he ever really saw her.