Rebels and Traitors by Lindsey Davis Page A

Jukes?’
    Gideon altered his grip on his musket. ‘I am Gideon Jukes, and I have work to do here, sir.’
    ‘I am Mr Blakeby’
    And what is
your
business?’ demanded Robert, becoming defensive of Gideon.
    Mr Blakeby kept up his peculiar scrutiny. ‘I am told you are steadfast and have good judgement. Also that you have experience as an
actor?’
He barely lowered his voice, so heads turned. Gideon cringed.
    ‘I once donned feathers in an entertainment, sir. I was a boy. It was a trifle. I was misguided.’
    ‘But were you any
good?’
Mr Blakeby asked with a smile, keeping his gaze fixed upon him.
    Gideon wondered with annoyance if his brother Lambert had given him this unwelcome character-reference, and whether his brother had brought the man here on purpose — perhaps to escape Blakeby’s attentions himself. Lambert tended to attract notice because he was seen as a ‘hearty lad’, yet he was conservative. He would not want to be singled out. ‘I am recruiting trusted men for special tasks,’ offered Blakeby.
    ‘Then please trouble yourself elsewhere.’
    Though Gideon had answered back in such a forthright manner, Mr Blakeby was certain now that the scowling young man had a dark side that would suit his purposes. Jukes was too tall and his fair hair worked against him, but his intelligence and spirit showed.
    The place was too public for argument. Mr Blakeby accepted the refusal, merely saying as he left, ‘I should like to meet and talk again, Master Jukes.’
    ‘What did that man want with you?’ Amyas whispered.
    ‘Whatever it was, Blakeby has
slipped up
with it,’ muttered Robert. Slipping up was when lines of type shifted in the form and went askew.
    The afternoon drew into evening, which came early as it was November. The men slowly realised there was unlikely to be an engagement. The Parliamentary regiments continued their stand, drums beating and colours flying. There were twenty-four thousand. It was a brave show, and the King had only half their numbers.
    The Royalists havered in anguish, but the odds against them were too great. This was the King’s one chance of taking London, and he had been out-faced. After hours of stand-off and hurried war councils, the Royalists accepted the situation. They withdrew, without a shot fired.
    Essex’s army and the Trained Bands heard the trumpeters’ recall and watched the King’s troops leaving. The Parliamentarians breathed and relaxed, but stayed fast. That night they remained at Turnham Green, where they spent their victory evening tucking into a great feast that the women of London sent out on carts for them. Holding a pie in one hand and bottled beer in the other, Gideon found himself reminiscing about that other feast he had once attended, after
The Triumph of Peace.
With a sense of rightness and victory, he was enjoying this far more.
    A young woman approached, carrying a basket of bread and a board on which she cut slices from a huge hard cheese. She had contrived to hold the board against her apron-clad hip so her skirt was caught up to reveal a slim ankle in a pale knitted stocking. Her eye lighted on Gideon and she smiled at him. Robert and Amyas watched them frankly; Gideon felt his fair skin blush. A big slice of cheese for you, brave boy?’
    ‘I’ll have one!’ Amyas reached for it annoyingly She glanced at him: big teeth, big ears, about fourteen. Almost without seeming to do so, she summed up Robert Allibone too, sensing the widower’s reticence with women, judging him to be beyond her reach. Her gaze returned to Gideon, who put down his beer carefully against a grass tussock, and quietly accepted her offering. The young woman looked willing to be detained for conversation.
    Unluckily for Gideon, that was when his brother reappeared. ‘Here’s to a bloodless victory — and to a beautiful maiden, bearing bounty!’ Cheese was immediately lavished upon Lambert, who received it as his birthright. He winked conspiratorially in