Here is an excerpt from my forthcoming follow on novel ‘Captain Blood’s Pirates’
For information purposes: ‘O’Carroll’ was an Irish master swordsman. William, the Prince of Orange had ordered Peter Blood, disguised as Doctor Tristan Smethwicke, to capture the Judge and take him to Ireland.
In reality, Jeffreys was pursued by the ‘mobs’ in London so he hid in The Tower. Then, whilst disguised as a sailor, he made his way to the docks and signed up aboard a trading vessel - he was recognised and captured. But, you don’t want to read that! You want bloodshed and adventure. The ‘trick’ that Jeffreys plays on Simon and Michael was one of my personal favourite story lines. I will update the site when the book is published during the summer.
Michael Fane is also in disguise as Captain Bennett.
O’Carroll conversed with the Officer of the Day who gave him directions to the famed Salt Tower where Lord Chief Justice George Jeffreys was in residence awaiting the visit of Doctor Tristan Smethwicke. He then pointed to where we could tether our mounts.
Simon, O’Carroll, Peter and I followed a Yeoman as he led us to Lord George Jeffrey’s chambers. With our footsteps echoing all around us, and our shadows leaping either fast forward, or suddenly behind us, we walked the ancient passageways illuminated by smelly, flickering oil lamps. The old door creaked open; the room smelt damp and musty with an overpowering stench of dank urine, excrement and alcohol.
There he lay, propped up by old filthy pillows, on his sick bed, his chaplain in attendance. He managed a weak smile as we entered. Most of his handsome looks had gone but he still wore a full Whig and his robes were in keeping with his office. He managed, with some assistance from his chaplain, to stand up. We instantly smelt the brandy fumes on his breath. The once ‘Scourge of the West’, the Hanging Judge Jeffreys, stood weakly before us. He had a sallow complexion almost as if candle wax had been rubbed into his parched skin, this coupled with the dark shadows under both eyes made him hardly the man that I had stood before in the Bloody Assize – he spoke, his voice both harsh and shrill.
“Get me out of this foul den, it is cursed and haunted. At night, a spectre rattles the doors and all the festering demons of Beelzebub scream their bellicose taunts at me. Even this lame brained, pathetic excuse for a member of the Church, runs and cringes in his cot. I cannot bear to sleep another night within these walls. I will meet Satan soon enough, I do not need him chasing me around here. I need air and somewhere to rest and sleep. And heed this, and heed it well, I will not tolerate another visit from the so-called Royal physicians, all they prattle on about is leeches and bleeding me. If that bastard Oliver Cromwell, now there is one neck I would have gladly placed the halter round, now, had that sorry misguided bastard and anti Royalist not destroyed the palatial buildings, I would have willingly stayed here. I need to return to Bristol where the air is clean. Oh curse this place, and curse Feversham! He insists that I should stay to take office once we have routed this upstart William of Orange. Can you aid me?”
Peter spoke “I have been summoned only to inspect your health my Lord, you look pale have you been bled?”
“I just said that - are you yet another blithering idiot?”
“Please my Lord, if I am to be your saviour, kindly answer the question.”
“Curses yes, time and time again, it makes me weaker, not better and they allow me just one bottle of claret a day, and brandy for my cough. How can I get well with such meagre rations?” He coughed and choked.
The good Doctor began his inspection “Is there blood in your stools Sire?”
“Aye, some, a little, it comes and goes.”
“And in your spittle my Lord, there too?”
“Aye, at night, mostly.”
“And in your piss Sir?”
“You mean those accursed bladder stones? Aye, I piss them regularly.”
“Tis the damp Sire,” he turned to me “Fetch the officer of the watch Captain Bennett, and step lively.”
I did as ordered, returning with a Yeoman of the Guard who stated that he was Warder of the Tower. “What is your name Sir?” asked the Doctor.
“Yeoman Thomas Fletcher, Major Fletcher of the Beefeaters and you are?”
“Doctor Tristan Smethwicke, my papers are here and have been shown to other Yeoman. This man needs to be moved and he needs moving now.”
“We are not Army Officers, we are purely Political Officers, you will need to see General Feversham or one of his senior officers on any matters relating to the Lord Chief Justice – would you have me summon him?”
“Verily, aye,” replied the Doctor.
My heart was in my mouth for the next two hours as we waited to see who would arrive. Jeffreys drank heavily from a French brandy bottle, pouring the dark liquid into a tumbler that had seen ‘cleaner days’.
I heard the loud, heavy noise of marching men approaching.
O’Carroll and Simon entered. Simon said “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to General George Feversham Commander in Chief of his Majesty’s Lifeguard Regiment.”
Feversham strode in as large as life, still with that full head of silver hair - he looked straight at George Jeffreys. “You may leave Sir, and if things get any bloody worse I will not be far behind you, word is that 20,000 Dutch troops are assembled and making their preparations for invasion. I have 10,000 troops and I am not staying here to be tortured,” he turned to me, “Your name Captain?”
“Richard Bennett 6th Kings Rifles my Lord.”
“Have we met before? Your face is somewhat familiar.”
“I have never had the pleasure of serving under you my Lord – I am new to the service, my rank is honorary, my mother Lady Bennett of Gloucester says I bear a strong family resemblance to my late father Sir Ralph – I believe my father had the honour to serve under you Sir?”
End
You can see from this portrait by William Wolfgang Claret why so many people were dumfounded by his features. Does he look like a drunken monster?
