Lochinvar: A Novel

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER X

  THE DESCENT OF AVERNUS

  Wat staggered a little as he walked down the street of Zaandpoort. Hefelt somewhat like a bullock that has been felled, yet which for themoment escapes with life. The air had grown suddenly thin and cold,as it had been difficult to breathe. He drew his cloak about him andshivered.

  "Well," he raged, "that at least is ended! They have done with me--madetheir choice. I that stood by them in many bad, old days am cast offfor a rogue and a scoundrel--because, forsooth, he is an earl and aprince's councillor. Were I but come to my rights, they would nottreat me thus! But, because I am only poor Wat Gordon of the DouglasRegiment, I must be grateful for any dog's treatment."

  As Wat grew to believe his own silly windy words, he held his heada little higher. And into the poor, angry, foolish boy's heart thedevil cast his baited hook. Pride took hold of Wat, and the thought ofrevenge.

  "But, after all, am I not Walter Gordon of Lochinvar," he said, as hestrode along, heeding none, "a gentleman at least, and now, in spite ofthem all, an officer also? If mine own folk and kin think nothing of mein the little lodgings of Zaandpoort Street, I can show them that thereare places more famous, where others will make Wat Gordon welcome forhis own sake."

  At that moment a shouting reveller ruffling it along the streetrecalled to his mind that he was in the neighborhood of the famousHostelry of the Coronation, where nightly during the stay of thearmy at Amersfort all the young bloods of the allied forces met, andwhere (it was reported) brightest eyes shone across the wine goblet,and daintiest feet danced upon the polished floors. The Inn of theCoronation was held by mine host Sheffell. A score of times it had beenclosed by the city fathers, but, nevertheless, always with more or lesscarefully concealed intent of winking hard at its immediate reopening.

  And all this was because the burgomeister and magnates of Amersfortlooked upon the Inn of the Coronation as a safety-valve for the riotousblades of the city and camp.

  "For," said the former to the more sapient of his corporation whenhe could be private with them, "if the young kerls go not to theCoronation and meet with their like--well, we are men and fathers. Likeis it that we may have matters on our hands that shall trouble us moredeeply. Worse were it if the rascals came rattling their spurs andtagging at the tails of our daughters and our wives."

  So the sleep of mine host Sheffell, of the Hostel of the Coronation,was not disturbed by the fear of the city council.

  Towards this famous (or, as it might be, infamous) house, therefore,Wat turned his steps. Often the men of his regiment had offered toconduct him thither, but till now Wat had steadfastly refused, with thelaugh which meant that he had to do with metal more attractive. For ina camp it does not do to obtain a repute for a too ostentatious virtue.

  But to-night Wat Gordon buckled his sword a little tighter, beltedhis silken orange sash closer about his new officer's coat, swung hiscloak back in a more becoming fashion, twirled his mustache, passed hisfingers lightly through his crisp, fair curls, and strode with jingleof huge cavalry spurs into the Hostel of the Coronation, through whoseportals (safe it is to say) no more proper or desirable young man hadpassed that night.

  Great Sheffell himself was on the watch, and greeted the young officerwith profoundest courtesy. Wat vouchsafed him hardly a nod, but marchedstraight into a great crowded room, which hummed about him, riant withgay noise and the spangle of silver and glass.

  The main guest-chamber of the Coronation was a long, fairly wide,white-panelled room, divided at the sides into more privatecompartments by curtains hung upon rows of pillars. The more favoredguests sat at small tables in the alcoves, and were waited on by girlsattired in scarlet blouse and short embroidered silk kirtle, whosedainty hose of orange and black twinkled underneath as they passeddeftly to and fro with glass and platter.

  As soon as Wat entered, and began to thread his way through thelaughing press, he found himself greeted from this table and that,and many were the invitations showered upon him to make one of somejocund company. But Wat only shook his head smilingly, and made his waysteadily to the head of the room as if he had some appointment to keepthere.

  Nevertheless, he sat down listlessly enough at an unoccupied table, anda pretty maid, in a dress daintier and fresher than that of the otherattendants, instantly stood beside him with her hands clasped modestlybefore her.

  "I wait my lord's commands," she said, in excellent French.

  Without giving the matter any consideration, Wat ordered a bottleof old Rhenish, and sat back to contemplate the scene at his ease.Officers of every regiment in the services of the States-General andof its allies were there, young attaches of the embassies, strayprincelings of the allied German duchies; while scattered among thesewere to be seen a parti-colored crowd of ladies with flower-deckedhair, lavish of shoulder, opulent of charm.

  Presently the pretty maid brought Wat his bottle of Rhenish, ancientand cobwebbed. She decanted it carefully, standing close by hisshoulder, so that a subtle suggestion of feminine proximity affectedthe young man strangely. She poured out a full measure of the scentedvintage into a huge green glass on which tritons gambolled andsea-nymphs writhed.

  "You have, perchance, no one to drink with you?" she said, giving him aglance out of her large and lustrous eyes.

  "Truly," replied Wat, "I am alone!"

  And the sadness of his life seemed to culminate in a kind of mimic anddesperate isolation as he spoke.

  "Then," said the girl, "may I not drink first to your beautiful eyes,my captain, and then, if you will, to our better acquaintance?"

  She lifted the glass to her lips, tasted it as a bird does, andpresented it to Walter with the daintiest gesture.

  "Your name?" he said, looking at her with a certain tolerant and almostpassive interest.

  "I am called 'the Little Marie!'" she smiled; "I have been wellnigh aweek in the Hostel of the Coronation, and not yet have I seen any tocompare with you, my lord captain of the fair locks."

  With a certain childish abandon, and a freedom still more than halfinnocent, Marie seated herself upon the arm of the great chair intowhich Wat had thrown himself upon his entrance. Her dainty foot dangledover the carven finial, almost touching the ribbons at Walter's kneewith its silver buckled slipper of the mode of Paris. Marie's handrested lightly on the small curls at the back of his neck, till Waltergrew vaguely restive under the caressing fingers. Yet because he was ina great and thronged room humming with company, where none took anynotice of him or his companion, each being intent on playing out hisown game, the uneasy feeling soon passed away.

  Only now and again, as the Rhenish sank in the bottle and the hand ofthe Little Marie took wider sweeps and paused more caressingly amonghis blonde hair, a thought awoke not unpleasantly in Wat's bosom.

  "They have cast me out of their home and friendship. They havepreferred a traitor. But I will let them see that there is pleasure inthe world yet."

  And his arm went of its own accord about the waist of the Little Marie.

  * * * * *

  It seemed to be but a moment after (though it might have been anhour) that Wat looked up. A hush had fallen suddenly upon the brisklystirring din of the Hostel of the Coronation. Walter's eyes instantlycaught those of a man attired in the uniform of the provost-marshal ofthe city. There was a cold smile of triumph on the face which met his.It was Barra, and he touched with his arm the man who stood beside him.Wat turned a little to look past the curtain which partly surroundedhis table and alcove, and there, over the wide gauzy sleeves of theLittle Marie, he encountered the grave and reproachful regard of hiscousin, William Gordon of Earlstoun.

  Wat started to his feet with a half-formed idea of going forward toexplain something, he knew not what. But ere he had disengaged himselffrom the great chair, on the arm of which perched the Little Marie,an angry thought, born of pride and fostered by the heady antiquityof the cobwebbed Rhenish, drew him back again into his place. A kindof desperat
e defiance chilled him into a blank and sudden calmness,which boded no good either to himself or to any who should opposehim. Besides which, the circumstances were certainly difficult ofexplanation.

  "They cast me out, and then immediately they follow after to spy uponme. Shall I utter a word of excuse only to be met with the sneer ofunbelief? Am I not an officer of dragoons? Also, am I not of age, andable to choose my company as well as they? As Wat Gordon never was aprayer-monger, so neither will he now be a hypocrite."

  He glanced not uncomplaisantly at the Little Marie, who hummed acareless tune and swung her pretty foot against his knee, happilyunconscious of his trouble. Perhaps the Rhenish had taken her backagain to the green slopes about her native village, and to her moreinnocent childhood.

  "Another bottle of wine," he cried, with a heady kind of half-boyishdefiance.

  "But you have not yet finished this," she answered. "Nor, indeed," sheadded, with a roguish smile, "even paid for it."

  Wat threw a pair of gold pieces on the table.

  "One for the wine and one to buy you a new pair of buckled shoes,Little Marie," he said.

  "Then for luck you must drink out of the one I wear," she said, andforthwith she poured a thimbleful of the wine into the shoe, which shedeftly slipped from the foot which had swung by his ribbon-knot ofblue-and-white.

  "Pledge me!" she cried, daring him to a match of folly, and she heldthe curious beaker close to his chin. Wat was conscious that his cousinstood grave and stern by the door, and that on Barra's face therehovered a strangely satisfied smile. But something angry and hot withinhim drove him recklessly deeper and deeper. He had no pleasure in thething. It was as apples of Sodom in his mouth, exceeding bitter fruit;but at least he knew that he was cutting every tie that bound him tothe street of Zaandpoort--to those who had despised and rejected him.

  He lifted the shoe of the Little Marie in the air.

  "To the owner of the prettiest foot in the world!" he cried, andpledged her.

  Four men who had come in after my Lord of Barra now sat themselvesdown at the table nearest to Wat. The Little Marie, having recoveredher slipper and wiped it coquettishly with the tassels of Wat's sash,somewhat reluctantly went away to bring the second bottle of Rhenish.

  During her absence Lochinvar remained behind, blowing with all hismight upon the dying coals of his anger, and telling himself thathe had done nothing worthy of reproach, when suddenly John Scarlettplumped himself down into the chair opposite him. He had been in theinn all the time, but only now he had come near Walter Gordon.

  "Lochinvar," he said, "'tis a sight for sore eyes to see you here! Whathas happened to the Covenant that you have left the prayer-meeting andcome to the Hostel of the Coronation?"

  "Jack," cried Wat, "you know me better than that. Never was WalterGordon a great lover of the Covenant all the days of his life."

  "You ran gayly enough with the hare, then, at any rate!" answered JohnScarlett, provokingly.

  "Nay," replied Wat, "I was hunted by the pack, it is true, but that wasbecause of the dead stroke I gave His Grace the Duke of Wellwood."

  "And the beginning of that--was it not some matter of doctrine or ofthe kirk?" asked Scarlett, though he knew the truth well enough.

  The Rhenish had been mounting to Wat's head, and his heart had growngay and boastful.

  "Nay," he cried; "very far indeed from that. 'Twas rather a matter ofthe favors of my lady the Duchess."

  One of the men at the next table looked quickly over at Wat'swords, and, indeed there seemed to be but little talk among them.Contrariwise, they sat silently drinking their wine, and as it hadbeen, listening to the talk of Wat Gordon and his companion.

  Presently the Little Marie came daintying and smiling back with thewine, deftly weaving her way among the revellers, and as she went bythe neighboring table one of the men at the side on which she tried topass made free to set his arm about her.

  "Change about, my lass," he said; "'tis the turn of this table tohave your pretty company. By my faith, they have given us a maid asplain-visaged as a Gouda cheese."

  The Little Marie gave a quick cry, and Wat half started to his feet andlaid his hand upon his sword; but Scarlett dropped a heavy palm uponhis shoulder and forced him back again into his seat. In a moment thegirl had adroitly twisted herself from the clutch of the man, and, inaddition, had left the marks of her nails on his cheek.

  "Take that, my rascal," she cried, "and learn that spies have nodealings with honest maids."

  "Good spirit, i' faith!" said Scarlett, nodding his head approvingly;but the Little Marie, coming to them with heightened color and angryeyes, did not again set herself on the arm of Wat Gordon's chair.Instead she drew a high stool to the side of the table, midway betweenWat and Scarlett. Then she placed her arm upon the table-cloth, andleaned her chin upon the palms of her hands.

  "Abide by us," said Walter, who could not bear that so fair and light athing should be left to the ill-guided mercies of such a mangy pack aswere drinking at the next table.

  The second supply of Rhenish, with the capable assistance of Scarlett,sank apace in its tall flask, and at each glass Wat's voice mountedhigher and higher. He could be heard all over the room declaiming uponthe merits of Scottish men, offering to defend with his life the virtueand beauty of Scottish maids, or in case none should be willing to callthese in question, then he was equally ready to draw sword on behalf ofthe dignity and incorruptibility of Scottish judges.

  The guest-room of the Coronation was for a while disposed to listenwith amused wonder. Presently the four men at the table near Watbecame five. The new-comer proved to be a short-necked, red-faced,deeply-scarred man, dressed in the uniform of the provost-marshal'sguards. The wine in Wat's brain prevented him for the time fromrecognizing his ancient enemy, Haxo the Bull; but Haxo the Bullnevertheless it was.

  Scarlett was now most anxious to get Wat away in safety. There was alsoa gleam of almost piteous appeal in the eyes of the Little Marie.

  "My captain," she said, bending over and laying her hand on his sleeve,"it is high time for you to go to your quarters; you can come and seeme again in the morning if you will."

  For Wat was now talking louder than ever, and beating for emphasis uponthe table with his hand.

  "And I repeat that whoever casts a slur upon the virtue and beauty of aScots maid has to settle accounts with Wat Gordon of Lochinvar--"

  The men at the nearest table had also begun talking loudly, and thevoice of Haxo pierced the din.

  "I tell you the girl is safely my master's meat, and she is a daintyfilly enough. Her name is Kate McGhie, and she is a land-owner'sdaughter somewhere in the barren land of Scots. My lord boughther good-will quickly enough with a gay present for herself and acommission for her gossip's loutish husband--trust Barra for that. Heis never laggard in his affairs with women."

  Wat Gordon was on his feet in an instant. The Little Marieinstinctively shrank aside from the white fierce face which sheencountered. It looked like the countenance of some one whom she hadnever seen. The young man fairly spurned the table at which he hadbeen sitting, and with a single spring he was over the next and at thebreast of Haxo the Bull.

  "Villain, you lie in your throat," he shouted, "and I will kill you foryour lie! 'Tis false as the lying tongue which I will presently tearout of your foul mouth!"

  The four men rose simultaneously and drew, some of them their swordsand the others their daggers. Wat would instantly have been stabbedamong them but that the Little Marie, dashing forward like a hawk,threw her arms about the nearest of his foes, for a minute pinioninghis hands to his side.

  Then Scarlett, with a sweep of his sword, leaped on the table in themidst of them, crying "Fair play! Stand back there, all of you who donot want to be spitted!"

  Presently, finding Wat's grasp relax on his throat as he reached forhis weapon, Haxo shook himself free and drew the hanger which, inhonor of his advancement, he wore instead of his butcher's knife. Wathad neither room nor yet time
to draw his long sword; but with quickbaresark fury he caught up by the leg the heavy oaken chair on whichHaxo had been sitting, and twirling it over his head like a staff,he struck the brawny butcher with the carved back of it fair on thetemple, almost crushing in his cheek. The Bull dropped to the floorwithout a groan.

  Then there ensued a battle fierce and fell in that upper corner ofthe great room of the Coronation. There Wat stood at bay with theoaken chair in his hand, while Scarlett's long sword turned everyway, and even the Little Marie, long unaccustomed to courtesy, showedher fidelity to the salt of kindness she had tasted. She crouched lowbehind the fighters, almost on her knees, and waited for a chance tostrike upward with the dagger she held in her hand. But the long roomswarmed black with their foes. The remaining four had already beenreinforced by half a dozen others, and the way to the door seemedcompletely blocked. Then it was that Scarlett raised the rallying cry,"Scots to me! Hither to me, blue bonnets all!"

  And through the press were thrust the burly shoulders of Sergeant DavieDunbar and two of his comrades. All might now have gone differentlybut for the madness working in the brain of Wat of Lochinvar. For theinsult to his sweetheart's good name, uttered by Haxo, had made himresolve to kill every man at the table who had heard the blasphemousslander.

  "Arrest him!" the provost-marshal's men cried. "He has murdered Haxo!"

  "Die, rogues and liars all!" shouted Wat, rushing at them in yetfiercer wrath.

  And without further parley he brought his chair down upon the shoulderof the nearest, who sank on his face stunned with the mighty blow.

  "Good Scots to the rescue!" cried Scarlett, as was his custom engagingtwo men at a time with his point and easily keeping them in play.

  So in this fashion, Wat leading and striking all down in his way with akind of desperate fury, Scarlett and Davie Dunbar, with the other twoScots, pressing as closely after him as they could, the small compactband made its way steadily and slowly towards the outgate of the Hostelof the Coronation.

  "Lord help us all!" cried the more terrified of their opponents; "letus get out of the way of these praying blue bonnets when they areangered."

  For the floor began to be sprinkled with groaning men who had droppedfrom the blades of the outlanders, and with stunned and maimed menstricken down by the fierce vigor of Wat's barbaric onslaught.

  Yet, in spite of all, it was a long time before the steadfast fivecould force their way to the street.

  By this time Wat held his chair by its only surviving leg, and theblades of the small Scots phalanx dripped blood into their own baskethilts. The street without was packed with townspeople, and even thewatch could not make way to apprehend them. When the Scots finally cameforth into the night it might, indeed, have gone very ill with themhad it not been that a patrol of Frisian horse chanced to pass at thatmoment in front of the Hostel of the Coronation.

  To them Scarlett cried out in their own country speech (with which hewas somewhat acquainted), "Help, there, for certain true soldiers ofthe prince cruelly beset by townsfolk!"

  Now this was the very wisest word he could have spoken. For whateverprivate discontents they might cherish, all the soldiers of the campwere of the faction of their general when it came to choosing betweenthe Prince of Orange and the turbulent and rebellious municipality ofAmersfort. The patrol swiftly opened out, and presently enclosed thefive Scots between their files. Thus they were able to pass safelythrough the howling mob, which, however, made ugly rushes at them asthey went.

  Presently they came to the headquarters of the portion of the forcedomiciled in the city.

  Wat, who for a time had been entirely sobered by the fierce excitementof battle, now again felt his head reel with the sudden, sharp chill ofthe night air.

  Yet when the prisoners were confronted with the officer of the night,he at once stepped forward and, without hesitation, assumed the soleresponsibility for the affair.

  "I fear I have slain a man--or, mayhap, more than one," he said; "butthese, my friends, have had no part in the quarrel. They but assistedme to fight my way out."

  "Your name and regiment, sir?" said the officer in charge, civillyenough.

  "I am Walter Gordon, captain in Douglas's regiment of Dragoons,"replied Walter, readily enough.

  "Let Captain Gordon be taken to the military prison and there kept inthe safest cell," interrupted the clear, high voice of Barra. He hadentered unobserved, having followed the patrol along the street. Theofficer of the night saluted the high councillor of the prince andpresent provost-marshal of the camp and city of Amersfort.

  Walter was therefore promptly delivered to the officer and file who hadbeen sent to escort him, and in a moment he went out with them into thenight.

  "Were they souljers or civilians ye murthered, for sure?" asked theofficer, as they marched along the street. He spoke the pleasant tongueof Ireland in a soft, far-reaching whisper.

  "Townsfolk," returned Wat; "all except one hulking scoundrel of aprovost-marshal's man!"

  "More power to ye," said the Irishman, promptly. "Give me the grip ofyour hand--and, by my sowl, I'll give ye a chance to run for it at thenext corner."

  But Wat declined the obliging offer of the good-hearted Irishman.

  "I thank you with all my heart," he said. "It is kindly meant. But Iprefer to stand my trial. Things can't be worse with me than they are!"

  "Faith, it's you that knows, my son," said the Irishman; "but toPatrick Ryan's thinking a long hempen necktie, swung elegantly over abeam, might make things a deal worse for ye!"

  And in a minute more the iron gate of the military prison of Amersforthad shut-to upon Wat Gordon.