who owned vast estates where their ancestors had built huge homes, far enough from London to think itself the centre of the world. It was an area of expensive horse-breeding, and horse-racing, which even then in its infancy was a royal sport. Pontefract was famous for its deep, soft loam, where for miles around sweet liquorice root grew and was made into medicinal cakes, good remedies for coughs and stomach diseases. Doncaster, where Rainborough made his temporary headquarters, had been loyal to the King; the King had honoured the town and the inhabitants were not to be trusted.
The military situation was deplorable. The enemy ranged at will over a ten-mile area, merrily flouting Cholmeley's siege of Pontefract Castle. Cavaliers plundered the countryside; they took prisoners, whom they held to ransom, rounded up oxen and other booty, then rode back into the castle, happy as freebooters. At Scarborough on the coast, the Royalists captured a pinnace, a small two-masted ship used as an inshore tender, which provided quantities of supplies for them. Meanwhile, Cholmeley's Parliamentarians were levying demands on the reluctant local population, causing great hardship. Equally repressive were the cavaliers, whose vicious extortion reputedly brought in thirty thousand pounds a month.
After reconnaissance — Gideon rode around as one of the scouts — Rainborough wrote to Fairfax, dwelling lightly on his personal strife with Sir Henry Cholmeley, but asking to be excused this command. He offered to carry on only if he was provided with proper reinforcements and supplies. While he waited for an answer, he remained at Doncaster. He kept two companies with him in the town, billeting the rest, as was customary, in outside districts to spread the burden for the locals.
The cavaliers from the castle boldly continued their habit of raiding, or 'beating up' enemy quarters. At a village six miles from Pontefract they killed a Captain Layton and two others from Rainborough's regiment, with more men wounded or taken prisoner. Next day, Cholmeley's militia met the enemy at a horse-fair, drank with them, and gravely exchanged toasts: 'Here's to thee, Brother Roundhead!'
'I thank you, Brother Cavalier!'
On Captain Layton's death, Rainborough bumped up Gideon Jukes to officer level. It was a long jump to captain, but not without precedent. When he gave Gideon his commission, the colonel drew comparisons with the Leveller Edward Sexby. He had resigned from army service, but somehow turned up at the battle of Preston; he was still so trusted by Cromwell that he was employed as the official messenger to take news of the victory to Parliament — for which he received a hundred pounds' reward. Subsequently he was commissioned as a captain, then even made governor of Portland in Dorset.
Gideon's new troop was one of those quartered in outlying villages. He wondered afterwards whether, had he remained a scout, he might have spotted what was happening and things might have turned out differently. But on the night of the 28th of October, a Saturday, a terrible event occurred. Gideon was in Doncaster, conducting routine business with the regimental major. Major Wilkes was in gloomy mood, frustrated by Sir Henry Cholmeley's lackadaisical maintenance of the leaguer.
He confirmed that Rainborough was still waiting for orders from Fairfax or Cromwell, so the regiment would continue to keep its distance here, which was about ten miles from Pontefract.
Gideon nearly went back to his troop that night, but Wilkes had grumbled on at length and darkness fell early at the end of October in the north. He stayed at the house where Wilkes was quartered, though he went out by himself to obtain supper at an inn. He chose one called the Hinde, which he found in French Gate, not as gracious inside as it looked from the street, though he stuck with it rather than turn back out into the cold. A few of the regiment's soldiers were drinking there, fellows with whom he had never felt great affinity. His meal was indifferent; he had a feeling he was being watched; a woman kept trying to meet his eye in a way he did not like. Since Lacy, Gideon distrusted all women and of course he believed that for officers to deal with whores was reprehensible — it undermined discipline and failed to set a good moral standard (Gideon knew this was pompous but he had not been a field officer long enough to relax). When he was asked at the Hinde if he wanted a bedchamber, he thought he knew what that meant. He was glad to say he had lodgings elsewhere.
Back in the streets he met one of the files of men on guard duty, at that point patrolling without an officer. They said the town guard that night was commanded by Captain-Lieutenant John Smith, the senior captain, who led Rainborough's own company; Rainborough had inherited Smith from his predecessor, one of the officers who had been shot dead at Colchester with suspected poisoned bullets. Gideon knew little enough about Smith, though he seemed too ready to complain about others. He was a Maidstone man, which did not impress a Londoner.
Conscious of his responsibilities, Captain Jukes ordered the unsupervised soldiers to be careful in their watch. Still unsure of himself in command, it continued to surprise him that they stiffened up obediently. 'Captain Smith will be around to see all is well.'
'Oh he will!' the men assured Gideon, in the sardonic voices soldiers use to decry unpopular superiors. He had no reason to assume they meant Smith was dilatory. He assumed they just needed taking in hand. That was Smith's job.
The soldiers moved on. Gideon strode in the other direction, trying to walk like a man who knew where he was going. Of course he got lost. Mistakenly he found himself near St Sepulchre's Gate in the south of the town, where a man who was carrying a Bible rather ostentatiously told him his way back. 'Major Wilkes is at a house near Colonel Rainborough, who lodges opposite the Cross and the Shambles,' the man added knowingly.
'I believe he does.' Gideon played it down for security reasons. He said his thanks, walked back up St Sepulchre's to Barter Gate, crossed over, found the major's house, and stretched out on a settle in the warm kitchen. The household were asleep, Major Wilkes long since snoring in his chamber upstairs, which was a senior officer's entitlement. Gideon had a hard bed, but better than open country; he stewed happily in the close room with his boots off until morning.
Everything changed when Captain Smith arrived.
The first Gideon knew was waking to angry voices. He heard a rumpus upstairs. There must be an alarm.
He pulled on his boots and grabbed his weapons. As he ran to the upper floor, he detected real horror in the major's voice. Smith, whose whine Gideon recognised, was making self-righteous excuses. As Gideon tumbled into the room, Major Wilkes stormed accusingly, 'You are an accessory to it!' He was pulling on a boot, in his haste tangling his toes in mismanaged boot-hose. Seeing Gideon, he cried out despairingly, 'Colonel Rainborough is murdered! He lies dead in the street, basely betrayed by Cholmeley and this man!'
Captain Smith turned and told Gideon defensively, 'I was taken ill during the guard. I carried on as long as possible, but was urged by Master Watts and Corporal Flexney to seek a house with a fire — '
'At the Hinde? It's a damned whorehouse!' muttered Wilkes, struggling desperately into his coat.
Smith carried on justifying himself. 'Truly I knew it only as a travellers' rest. I saw nothing of any trouble until I heard a great noise of horses, the enemy leaving — at once I put the men on guard and came to you, sir — '
'Out of my way! Come with me, Jukes — '
It was just after sunrise. They tasted mist on the sharp autumn air. They ran to Rainborough's lodging. He lay out of doors, on the cobbles some yards from the house, with blood trails all along the street. They recognised his body instantly, that big, powerful man: unmistakable. A small crowd had gathered, standing not too close. Their shocked murmurs stopped as Wilkes and Jukes approached. Beyond, a saddled horse stood, trembling, also covered in blood.
A second body lay somewhat apart. Major Wilkes walked over and turned the corpse, discovering their lieutenant. Neither Wilkes nor Gideon wanted to touch the colonel. The soldier who had been on guard as the colonel's sentinel was sitting on the kerb, badly shocked and woozy from a battering, saying over and over again, 'I had no match! I had been issued with no match!'
Rainborough had terrible sword thrusts through his torso, with defensive wounds on his arms. Gideon counted up: he had been slashed at least eight times. Under his jaw, his throat was cut.
The only witness to everything was a maid from the house.
'Get her story!' Major Wilkes ordered Gideon in an undertone. He was a hardened soldier, normally matter- of-fact but now badly shaken. Gideon saw the man's eyes darting as he assessed how much danger, if any, still threatened. Wilkes set about ordering a search of the town and drumming up the rest of the soldiers.
Gideon led the weeping woman back indoors where he seated her on a rush-bottomed chair. His heart pounded. He had witnessed terrible sights in the war, but Colonel Rainborough's savaged corpse would haunt his dreams for ever. He wanted to yell, but forced himself to address the maid reassuringly. 'Just say what happened.'
