The Whispering Swarm by Moorcock Michael

Author:Moorcock, Michael [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Folk Tales, Fiction, Fantasy, Sagas, Fairy Tales, Gothic, Legends & Mythology, Historical, Visionary & Metaphysical, Epic
ISBN: 0765324776
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2015-01-13T08:00:00+00:00

27

COUNTING LOSSES

Very few of our men were seriously wounded and not one, it seemed, was dead. Even poor Jemmy Cornwall was able to walk without support, that great gash no longer bleeding. I was amazed people had not expired from the ferocious thrusts they had received from pikes or bayonets. Indeed, bandages very soon hid the wounds and few seemed seriously hurt. When I mentioned this to Prince Rupert, he laughed and reminded me that we fought to preserve the world’s most ancient traditions, ‘as well as the sacred ground of this great, old abbey. This is where miracles are made.’

As the silence faded and we realised that we had actually fought and defeated a larger, better armed force, I heard Father Grammaticus’s voice behind me offering up a short unfamiliar prayer in what I guessed was Latin.

Beside me, suddenly, Friar Isidore materialised. ‘There is too much pain in the world. They seek to remedy that but, sadly, they only increase it. They see their salvation in simplicity and purification, but the world is not simple. Nor is it easily purified. God made it complex and mysterious. They want to obey man’s rules, not God’s.’

I acknowledged that he spoke even if I didn’t entirely understand him.

‘They sought their simplified salvation through our Treasure, which they planned to steal. We were prepared to hold our ground, in spite of the danger.’ I thought I heard an unseemly slightly spiteful note in his otherwise gentle tones. ‘But our prayers were answered. You fought a brave battle.’

I said I found it sad that Christian fought Christian. He agreed with me, vigorously shaking his head. ‘Isn’t that so! Sometimes I wonder why we threw in our lot with them.’

It seemed to me he excluded himself from his judgment. Surely a Christian monk had to feel empathy? Did he mean that the order was not actually Christian? He was decidedly melancholy, I thought, but in a way that set him apart from the rest of us.

Prince Rupert congratulated Duval on his tactics. ‘You always claimed it was common sense to keep mistress and steed separate from one’s quarters. The worst would have come if Nixer had not been so considerately overconfident. As is often the case, the battle was won not by the perspicacity of the conquerors, but by the errors of the conquered. We had to make sure he did not reload and fire his Old Thunder! His men were leaderless while he spoke. Show me a zealot who can resist making a speech and I’ll show you a dead one.’

Now I shook Captain Duval’s hand. In truth, he had saved lives on both sides. The Roundheads seemed grateful for Prince Rupert’s courtesies. I knew he was simply behaving according to his sense of honour. Only later would he come to understand that not all of these up-and-coming creeds fought by the same rules of chivalry. And so Jake Nixer and his bombast, his lickspittles and Old Thunder retreated down the ratholes they had

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