embarrassed enough as it was.
‘Stand back!’ Her manner was brisk.
‘Pardon?’ asked Daniel politely while glancing around to see if the wolf had returned.
‘I said, stand back!’
He obliged and had to move sharply again as she swung her axe and hacked at the branch that has caused him all the trouble in the first place. She made a present of it to him. He took it from her in awkward silence, though he very much wanted to tell her that he had seen her children and also he wanted to ask what on earth she was doing here in the forest. Furthermore, he wanted to warn her to stay out of sight of the camp. But there was no time for any of that.
They heard his name being called from afar.
‘It’s my brother!’ Daniel explained.
He was ashamed of the anxiety he knew she could see in his eyes and tried to hide his feelings. ‘He … Robert looks after me, you see, because he’s older than me.’
She nodded and said, ‘You’d better get going.’
He offered a fragile smile of apology and turned to go.
She could have told him not to worry, that she understood enough to hang back in the shadows. Instead, she said, ‘Just remember never to turn your back on a wolf.’
Daniel was in a rush now and only said, ‘Goodnight, Mrs Watson, and thanks again … for everything.’
Chapter Thirteen
The Day before the Battle, July 1690
O n a sunny Monday morning, William sat in his carriage and watched the lush, green fields of Ireland slowly roll by his window. Curious about this little island that sat next door to his adopted country, he had asked his wife and James’s daughter, Mary, about it. ‘There must be something special about the place since your ancestors sought to colonise it as soon as they could?’
She was of little help, only saying that she thought it was to do with the fertile land. ‘One hears that anything can be grown in it.’
Well, William was pleasantly struck by the place. It was rather quaint compared to London and The Hague, but when he looked upon such scenes of mottled greenery,with its jagged coastline and miles upon miles of forest, he felt awed. Perhaps I will return after this is all over . He had been told that the forests were full of deer and the most gigantic of stags. There had once been a dangerous population of snakes too, but a saint, who had herded goats, had managed to rid the island of them, which was, William thought, quite an achievement for any man.
The travelling was taking its toll on the king, though he did his best to hide it from his men. Long hours on horseback had him struggling to breathe properly – his lungs ever his weakness. He had promised Mary not to be foolish, but he knew well that his popularity depended on his being the fearless leader that rode out in front. In any case, once the battle commenced, he would forego his promise to his wife and be damned.
Only the previous evening, he had decided to start a diary, imagining that it would make a keepsake for his as yet unborn son. It struck him that his diary would be a sort of instruction book on how to be a king.
Amongst the massive throng following his carriage were the artists who bore the responsibility of painting the battle scenes, thus capturing the events forever in paint and making all who took part immortal.
Amidst the jostling of the coach, William, being careful not to spill ink on his cloak, wrote:
As King and acclaimed saviour of the Protestant Church I have to be seen fighting in every painting. How I perform in battle will undoubtedly affect how I am viewed in London and throughout England. As I see it, my bravery will win over my critics because who does not like a hero?
William read over what he had written and smiled. Something shifted within him and he truly believed that he was embarking on something tremendous. Between the covers of his diary he was free to explore his feelings and explain himself properly in his own language.
He continued writing:
I go to make war with my
‘Stand back!’ Her manner was brisk.
‘Pardon?’ asked Daniel politely while glancing around to see if the wolf had returned.
‘I said, stand back!’
He obliged and had to move sharply again as she swung her axe and hacked at the branch that has caused him all the trouble in the first place. She made a present of it to him. He took it from her in awkward silence, though he very much wanted to tell her that he had seen her children and also he wanted to ask what on earth she was doing here in the forest. Furthermore, he wanted to warn her to stay out of sight of the camp. But there was no time for any of that.
They heard his name being called from afar.
‘It’s my brother!’ Daniel explained.
He was ashamed of the anxiety he knew she could see in his eyes and tried to hide his feelings. ‘He … Robert looks after me, you see, because he’s older than me.’
She nodded and said, ‘You’d better get going.’
He offered a fragile smile of apology and turned to go.
She could have told him not to worry, that she understood enough to hang back in the shadows. Instead, she said, ‘Just remember never to turn your back on a wolf.’
Daniel was in a rush now and only said, ‘Goodnight, Mrs Watson, and thanks again … for everything.’
Chapter Thirteen
The Day before the Battle, July 1690
O n a sunny Monday morning, William sat in his carriage and watched the lush, green fields of Ireland slowly roll by his window. Curious about this little island that sat next door to his adopted country, he had asked his wife and James’s daughter, Mary, about it. ‘There must be something special about the place since your ancestors sought to colonise it as soon as they could?’
She was of little help, only saying that she thought it was to do with the fertile land. ‘One hears that anything can be grown in it.’
Well, William was pleasantly struck by the place. It was rather quaint compared to London and The Hague, but when he looked upon such scenes of mottled greenery,with its jagged coastline and miles upon miles of forest, he felt awed. Perhaps I will return after this is all over . He had been told that the forests were full of deer and the most gigantic of stags. There had once been a dangerous population of snakes too, but a saint, who had herded goats, had managed to rid the island of them, which was, William thought, quite an achievement for any man.
The travelling was taking its toll on the king, though he did his best to hide it from his men. Long hours on horseback had him struggling to breathe properly – his lungs ever his weakness. He had promised Mary not to be foolish, but he knew well that his popularity depended on his being the fearless leader that rode out in front. In any case, once the battle commenced, he would forego his promise to his wife and be damned.
Only the previous evening, he had decided to start a diary, imagining that it would make a keepsake for his as yet unborn son. It struck him that his diary would be a sort of instruction book on how to be a king.
Amongst the massive throng following his carriage were the artists who bore the responsibility of painting the battle scenes, thus capturing the events forever in paint and making all who took part immortal.
Amidst the jostling of the coach, William, being careful not to spill ink on his cloak, wrote:
As King and acclaimed saviour of the Protestant Church I have to be seen fighting in every painting. How I perform in battle will undoubtedly affect how I am viewed in London and throughout England. As I see it, my bravery will win over my critics because who does not like a hero?
William read over what he had written and smiled. Something shifted within him and he truly believed that he was embarking on something tremendous. Between the covers of his diary he was free to explore his feelings and explain himself properly in his own language.
He continued writing:
I go to make war with my
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