wishes your immediate attendance upon him in order to expedite the same purpose. I therefore desire that you will see fit to attend upon His Majesty and myself at your earliest convenience.
I am, Captain Quinton, your most humble and respectful servant,
S. Pepys
Clerk of the Acts to the Honourable Principal Officers and Commissioners of His Majesty's Navy
So I was to have my wish. True, I had mismanaged my interview with my mother. But now I would be able to see the King himself and have an opportunity to ask him why he wished to force this preposterous marriage onto my brother. That one thought drove all else before it, including the one question I should have asked; the one question that was hidden there, festering in the depths of Pepys' letter.
What purpose relating to the 'state and occasions' of the navy could possibly tear Charles Stuart away from the horse races and mistresses that took up all his time at Newmarket, and compel him to summon one of his lowliest captains to expedite it?
Four
The next morning was sunny, and despite the excesses of the previous night I rose very early, kissed my snoring Cornelia, and rode off for Newmarket; somewhat thick-headed and unsteadily at first, then with more confidence. It was a brisk, easy ride across the flat lands to the east, upon the firm roads of late summer. The harvest was being gathered in, and village folk were everywhere in the fields, singing hymns in the more devout communities and bellowing foolish songs about rude lads and wenches in the more profane. My steed was Zephyr, an old favourite who had once carried me uncomplainingly from Ravensden to Portsmouth in two days, a pace that would have done for many a lesser horse. Our passage was impeded only twice. Just before we reached Cambridge a football match between two villages degenerated into a great brawl; one player seemed to have been accused of feigning injury to gain an advantage, and was rightly kicked senseless by his opponents. And though Cambridge itself was quiet, for the university term would not begin for another month, beyond it the road gradually filled with more and more of the ruder sort of people, all bound for Newmarket to see the King and the great ones of the court. I spurred Zephyr on and bustled my way through, for unlike them, I had a summons to attend upon our sovereign lord himself.
The sovereign lord had a special enclosure on a knoll in the midst of the Newmarket heaths. This gave the best possible view of the circuit on which the horses raced; it was fenced off and guarded by soldiers in sharp red uniforms, half with pikes, the rest with muskets. It also gave the best possible view of the land all around, a flat land of green fields, windmills and church steeples, with the great octagon tower of Ely Cathedral just visible on the far horizon. Several large tents sheltered those who elected to ignore the view and the racing, or who simply preferred shade to sunshine. They contained tables that groaned with delicacies. I dismounted at the fence, showed my letter of summons to one of the guards, and was directed towards the largest tent. There I found a throng of flunkeys, several gaudily painted whores and a familiar, small, round man with a long face, perhaps thirty years old or thereabouts, sweating under an unfeasibly large wig (this being then the newest and highest of fashions; indeed, almost the only fashion of those times that has survived until this, and will doubtless remain the fashion for all eternity). The round man was looking keenly around him, and at first missed my approach.
'Mister Pepys,' I said.
'Ah, Captain Quinton,' said the Clerk of the Acts to the Navy Board. 'Welcome, sir, welcome. A most prompt response to the King's summons, if I may say so. You'll take a little refreshment after your ride?'
'I thank you, Mister Pepys. Yes, a little beer, I think.'
I had known Samuel Pepys for two years now. As Clerk of the Acts, a kind of secretary, he was the
I am, Captain Quinton, your most humble and respectful servant,
S. Pepys
Clerk of the Acts to the Honourable Principal Officers and Commissioners of His Majesty's Navy
So I was to have my wish. True, I had mismanaged my interview with my mother. But now I would be able to see the King himself and have an opportunity to ask him why he wished to force this preposterous marriage onto my brother. That one thought drove all else before it, including the one question I should have asked; the one question that was hidden there, festering in the depths of Pepys' letter.
What purpose relating to the 'state and occasions' of the navy could possibly tear Charles Stuart away from the horse races and mistresses that took up all his time at Newmarket, and compel him to summon one of his lowliest captains to expedite it?
Four
The next morning was sunny, and despite the excesses of the previous night I rose very early, kissed my snoring Cornelia, and rode off for Newmarket; somewhat thick-headed and unsteadily at first, then with more confidence. It was a brisk, easy ride across the flat lands to the east, upon the firm roads of late summer. The harvest was being gathered in, and village folk were everywhere in the fields, singing hymns in the more devout communities and bellowing foolish songs about rude lads and wenches in the more profane. My steed was Zephyr, an old favourite who had once carried me uncomplainingly from Ravensden to Portsmouth in two days, a pace that would have done for many a lesser horse. Our passage was impeded only twice. Just before we reached Cambridge a football match between two villages degenerated into a great brawl; one player seemed to have been accused of feigning injury to gain an advantage, and was rightly kicked senseless by his opponents. And though Cambridge itself was quiet, for the university term would not begin for another month, beyond it the road gradually filled with more and more of the ruder sort of people, all bound for Newmarket to see the King and the great ones of the court. I spurred Zephyr on and bustled my way through, for unlike them, I had a summons to attend upon our sovereign lord himself.
The sovereign lord had a special enclosure on a knoll in the midst of the Newmarket heaths. This gave the best possible view of the circuit on which the horses raced; it was fenced off and guarded by soldiers in sharp red uniforms, half with pikes, the rest with muskets. It also gave the best possible view of the land all around, a flat land of green fields, windmills and church steeples, with the great octagon tower of Ely Cathedral just visible on the far horizon. Several large tents sheltered those who elected to ignore the view and the racing, or who simply preferred shade to sunshine. They contained tables that groaned with delicacies. I dismounted at the fence, showed my letter of summons to one of the guards, and was directed towards the largest tent. There I found a throng of flunkeys, several gaudily painted whores and a familiar, small, round man with a long face, perhaps thirty years old or thereabouts, sweating under an unfeasibly large wig (this being then the newest and highest of fashions; indeed, almost the only fashion of those times that has survived until this, and will doubtless remain the fashion for all eternity). The round man was looking keenly around him, and at first missed my approach.
'Mister Pepys,' I said.
'Ah, Captain Quinton,' said the Clerk of the Acts to the Navy Board. 'Welcome, sir, welcome. A most prompt response to the King's summons, if I may say so. You'll take a little refreshment after your ride?'
'I thank you, Mister Pepys. Yes, a little beer, I think.'
I had known Samuel Pepys for two years now. As Clerk of the Acts, a kind of secretary, he was the
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