Life is Butt a Dream
1660, Week 17
All this week, news continued to arrive onship confirming the growth of pro-king sentiments back on land. Churches were beginning to display the king’s coats of arms, apparently much to the chagrin of antiroyal congregants – but it’s a clear sign that God Himself is on our side.
Some of the most prominent of Cromwell’s old supporters have clearly recognised this too. News arrived of Lambert’s capture, somewhere near Northampton, without any resistance whatsoever. Given the intricacies of his recently successful designs to flee the Tower of London, it seems strange he should surrender so easily.
It is possible, though, that some of Cromwell’s old supporters are now manoeuvring themselves into positions where they can continue to function as part of ongoing society, but bring about annoyance and aggravation for the rest of us.
I speak, of course, of Mr Pickering.
Once, Pickering was chamberlain to Cromwell himself – indeed, I believe he was working in that capacity when he became my Lord’s brother-in-law. He has since accepted a job as my Lord’s servant, no doubt to put himself on the right side of history.
But since he joined us aboard the Swiftsure two Saturdays ago, he has also put himself on the wrong side of me.
Generally it had been a good week aboard ship, filled with merriment because of all the positive reports from the coast. In fact, “aboard ships” could be a more correct phrase, as I was invited to join the Vice Admiral and Rear Admiral for sumptuous meals on a few of the other ships in our fleet during the first half of the week. Ah, the oysters and the wine butts!
Back at ‘home’ (and I have indeed come to think of the Swiftsure as home), Will Howe and I dipped below deck to play on our viols. The music, the encouraging news, and no doubt also the close proximity of the larger wine butts all combined to make our hearts light. We soon found ourselves full of giddy and giggly awe at the realisation that we were technically making music underwater.
But then Pickering came along, and played such a ghastly tune on my viol that it completely turned my spirit. I fear it may have been his Parliamentary fingering – every note seemed at odds with all the others, but he played all at full volume.
I am convinced he did it on purpose, to spite our mirth.
Another source of joy this week was regular games of ninepins – though I did not miss the irony of being on our way to restore the king whilst aiming to strike down a kingpin. To further strengthen the irony, I turned out to discover myself particularly skilful at the game.
But alas, one of my adversaries was…? Pickering. And though he gaily accepted a bet of a crown against my victory, he then claimed to be without coin aboard ship – no doubt expecting me to forget his debt by the time we are returned to shore.
Well, Mr Defamed Chamberlain, I shan’t forget your debt. You can be ‘shore’ of that…