CHAPTER XI
I RIDE DOWN INTO TEMPLE: AND AM WELL TREATED THERE.
And now I did indeed abandon myself to despair. Few would have given agroat for my life, with that crew at my heels; and I least of all, nowthat my dear comrade was lost. The wound in my shoulder was bleedingsore--I could feel the warm stream welling--yet not so sore as my heart.And I pressed my knees into the saddle flap, and wondered what the endwould be.
The sorrel mare was galloping, free and strong, her delicate ears laidback, and the network of veins under her soft skin working with theheave and fall of her withers: yet--by the mud and sweat about her--Iknew she must have travelled far before I mounted. I heard a shot or twofired, far up the road: tho' their bullets must have fallen short:at least, I heard none whiz past. But the rebels' shouting was clearenough, and the thud of their gallop behind.
I think that, for a mile or two, I must have ridden in a sort of swoon.'Tis certain, not an inch of the road comes back to me: nor did I onceturn my head to look back, but sat with my eyes fastened stupidly on themare's neck. And by-and-bye, as we galloped, the smart of my wound, theheartache, hurry, pounding of hoofs--all dropp'd to an enchanting lull.I rode, and that was all.
For, swoon or no, I was lifted off earth, as it seemed, and on easywings to an incredible height, where were no longer hedges, nor road,nor country round; but a great stillness, and only the mare and Irunning languidly through it.
"Ride!"
Now, at first, I thought 'twas someone speaking this in my ear, andturn'd my head. But 'twas really the last word I had heard from Delia,now after half an hour repeated in my brain. And as I grew aware ofthis, the dullness fell off me, and all became very distinct. And themuscles about my wound had stiffen'd--which was vilely painful: and thecountry, I saw, was a brown, barren moor, dotted with peat-ricks: and Icursed it.
This did me good: for it woke the fighting-man in me, and I set myteeth. Now for the first time looking back, I saw, with a great gulp ofjoy, I had gained on the troopers. A long dip of the road lay betweenme and the foremost, now topping the crest. The sun had broke through atlast, and sparkled on his cap and gorget. I whistled to Molly (I couldnot pat her), and spoke to her softly: the sweet thing prick'd upher ears, laid them back again, and mended her pace. Her stride wasbeautiful to feel.
I had yet no clear idea how to escape. In front the moors rosegradually, swelling to the horizon line, and there broken into steep,jagged heights. The road under me was sound white granite and stretch'daway till lost among these fastnesses--in all of it no sign of man'shabitation. Be sure I look'd along it, and to right and left, dreadingto spy more troopers. But for mile on mile, all was desolate.
Now and then I caught the cry of a pewit, or saw a snipe glance up fromhis bed; but mainly I was busied about the mare. "Let us but gain theridge ahead," thought I, "and there is a chance." So I rode as light asI could, husbanding her powers.
She was going her best, but the best was near spent. The sweat wasoozing, her satin coat losing the gloss, the spume flying back from hernostrils--"Soh!" I called to her: "Soh! my beauty; we ride to save anarmy!" The loose stones flew right and left, as she reach'd out herneck, and her breath came shorter and shorter.
A mile, and another mile, we passed in this trim, and by the end of itmust have spent three-quarters of an hour at the work. Glancing back, Isaw the troopers scattered; far behind, but following. The heights werestill a weary way ahead: but I could mark their steep sides ribb'dwith boulders. Till these were passed, there was no chance to hide. Theparties in this race could see each other all the way, and must ride itout.
And all the way the ground kept rising. I had no means to ease themare, even by pulling off my heavy jack-boots, with one arm (and that myright) dangling useless. Once she flung up her head and I caught sightof her nostril, red as fire, and her poor eyes starting. I felt herstrength ebbing between my knees. Here and there she blundered in herstride. And somewhere, over the ridge yonder, lay the Army of the West,and we alone could save it.
The road, for half a mile, now fetched a sudden loop, though the countryon either side was level enough. Had my head been cool, I must haveguessed a reason for this: but, you must remember, I had long been giddywith pain and loss of blood--so, thinking to save time, I turned Mollyoff the granite, and began to cut across.
The short grass and heath being still frozen, we went fairly for thefirst minute or so. But away behind us, I heard a shout--and it musthave been loud to reach me. I learn'd the meaning when, about twohundred yards before we came on the road again, the mare's forelegs wentdeep, and next minute we were plunging in a black peat-quag.
Heaven can tell how we won through. It must have been still partlyfrozen, and perhaps we were only on the edge of it. I only know that aswe scrambled up on solid ground, plastered and breathless, I looked atthe wintry sun, the waste, and the tall hill tow'ring to the right ofus, and thought it a strange place to die in.
For the struggle had burst open my wound again, and the blood wasrunning down my arm and off my fingers in a stream. And now I couldcount every gorsebush, every stone--and now I saw nothing at all. AndI heard the tinkling of bells: and then found a tune running in myhead--'twas "Tire me in tiffany," and I tried to think where last Iheard it.
But sweet gallant Molly must have held on: for the next thing I woke upto was a four-hol'd cross beside the road: and soon after we were overthe ridge and clattering down hill.
A rough tor had risen full in front, but the road swerved to the leftand took us down among the spurs of it. Now was my last lookout. I triedto sway less heavily in the saddle, and with my eyes searched the plainat our feet.
Alas! Beneath us the waste land was spread, mile upon mile: and Igroaned aloud. For just below I noted a clump of roofless cabins, andbeyond, upon the moors, the dotted walls of sheep-cotes, ruined also:but in all the sad-color'd leagues no living man, nor the sign of one.It was done with us. I reined up the mare--and then, in the same motion,wheeled her sharp to the right.
High above, on the hillside, a voice was calling.
I look'd up. Below the steeper ridge of the tor a patch of land had beencleared for tillage: and here a yoke of oxen was moving leisurely beforea plough ('twas their tinkling bells I had heard, just now); whilebehind followed the wildest shape--by the voice, a woman.
She was not calling to me, but to her team: and as I put Molly at theslope, her chant rose and fell in the mournfullest singsong.
"So-hoa! Oop Comely Vean! oop, then--o-oop!"
I rose in my stirrups and shouted.
At this and the sound of hoofs, she stay'd the plough and, hand on hip,looked down the slope. The oxen, softly rattling the chains on theiryoke, turn'd their necks and gazed. With sunk head Molly heaved herselfup the last few yards and came to a halt with a stagger. I slipp'd outof the saddle and stood, with a hand on it, swaying.
"What's thy need, young man--that comest down to Temple wi' sworda-danglin'?"
The girl was a half-naked savage, dress'd only in a strip of sackingthat barely reach'd her knees, and a scant bodice of the same, lac'd infront with pack thread, that left her bosom and brown arms free. Yet sheappear'd no whit abash'd, but lean'd on the plough-tail and regarded me,easy and frank, as a man would.
"Sell me a horse," I blurted out: "Twenty guineas will I give forone within five minutes, and more if he be good! I ride on the King'serrand."
"Then get thee back to thy master, an' say, no horse shall he have o'me--nor any man that uses horseflesh so." She pointed to Molly's knees,that were bow'd and shaking, and the bloody froth dripping from hermouth.
"Girl, for God's sake sell me a horse! They are after me, and I amhurt." I pointed up the road. "Better than I are concerned in this."
"God nor King know I, young man. But what's on thy saddle cloth, there?"
'Twas the smear where my blood had soak'd: and looking and seeingthe purple mess cak'd with mud and foam on the sorrel's flank, I feltsuddenly very sick. The girl made a step
to me.
"Sell thee a horse? Hire thee a bedman, more like. Nay, then, lad--"
But I saw her no longer: only called "oh-oh!" twice, like a littlechild, and slipping my hold of the saddle, dropp'd forward on herbreast.
* * * * * * *
Waking, I found myself in darkness--not like that of night, but of aroom where the lights have gone out: and felt that I was dying. Butthis hardly seem'd a thing to be minded. There was a smell of peat andbracken about. Presently I heard the tramp of feet somewhere overhead,and a dull sound of voices that appear'd to be cursing.
The footsteps went to and fro, the voices muttering most of the time.After a bit I caught a word--"Witchcraft": and then a voice speakingquite close--"There's blood 'pon her hands, an' there's blood yonderby the plough." Said another voice, higher and squeaky, "there's scentbehind a fox, but you don't dig it up an' take it home." The tramppassed on, and the voices died away.
By this I knew the troopers were close, and seeking me. A foolishthought came that I was buried, and they must be rummaging over mygrave: but indeed I had no wish to enquire into it; no wish to moveeven, but just to lie and enjoy the lightness of my limbs. The blood wasstill running. I felt the warmth of it against my back: and thought itvery pleasant. So I shut my eyes and dropp'd off again.
Then I heard the noise of shouting, far away: and a long while afterthat, was rous'd by the touch of a hand, thrust in against my nakedbreast, over my heart.
"Who is it?" I whispered.
"Joan," answered a voice, and the hand was withdrawn.
The darkness had lifted somewhat, and though something stood between meand the light, I mark'd a number of small specks, like points of golddotted around me--
"Joan--what besides?"
"Joan's enough, I reckon: lucky for thee 'tis none else. Joan o' the Torfolks call me, but may jet be Joan i' Good Time. So hold thy peace, lad,an' cry out so little as may be."
I felt a ripping of my jacket sleeve and shirt, now clotted and stuck tothe flesh. It pain'd cruelly, but I shut my teeth: and after that camethe smart and delicious ache of water, as she rinsed the wound.
"Clean through the flesh, lad:--in an' out, like country dancin'. Nobullet to probe nor bone to set. Heart up, soce! Thy mother shall kissthee yet. What's thy name?"
"Marvel, Joan--Jack Marvel."
"An' marvel 'tis thou'rt Marvel yet. Good blood there's in thee, butlittle enow."
She bandaged the sore with linen torn from my shirt, and tied it roundwith sackcloth from her own dress. 'Twas all most gently done: and thenI found her arms under me, and myself lifted as easy as a baby.
"Left arm round my neck, Jack: an' sing out if 'tis hurtin' thee."
It seemed but six steps and we were out on the bright hillside, notfifty paces from where the plough yet stood in the furrow. I caught aglimpse of a brown neck and a pair of firm red lips, of the grey torstretching above us and, further aloft, a flock of field fare hanging inthe pale sky; and then shut my eyes for the dazzle: but could stillfeel the beat of Joan's heart as she held me close, and the touch of herbreath on my forehead.
Down the hill she carried me, picking the softest turf, and movingwith an easeful swing that rather lull'd my hurt than jolted it. I wasdozing, even, when a strange noise awoke me.
'Twas a high protracted note, that seem'd at first to swell up towardus, and then broke off in half a dozen or more sharp yells. Joan took noheed of them, but seeing my eyes unclose, and hearing me moan, stoppedshort.
"Hurts thee, lad?"
"No." 'Twas not my pain but the sight of the sinking sun that wrung theexclamation from me--"I was thinking," I muttered.
"Don't: 'tis bad for health. But bide thee still a-while, and shalt lie'pon a soft bed."
By this time, we had come down to the road: and the yells were stillgoing on, louder than ever. We cross'd the road, descended anotherslope, and came all at once on a low pile of buildings that a momentbefore had been hid. 'Twas but three hovels of mud, stuck together inthe shape of a headless cross, the main arm pointing out toward themoor. Around the whole ran a battered wall, patched with furs; and fromthis dwelling the screams were issuing--
"Joan!" the voice began, "Joan--Jan Tergagle's a-clawin' mylegs--Gar-rout, thou hell cat--Blast thee, let me zog! Pull'n offJoan--Jo-an!"
The voice died away into a wail; then broke out in a racket of curses.Joan stepped to the door and flung it wide. As my eyes grew used to thegloom inside, they saw this:--
A rude kitchen--the furniture but two rickety chairs, now toss'd ontheir faces, an oak table, with legs sunk into the earth, a keg ofstrong waters, tilted over and draining upon the mud floor, a ladderleading up to a loft, and in two of the corners a few bundles of brackenstrewn for bedding. To the left, as one entered, was an open hearth;but the glowing peat-turves were now pitch'd to right and left over thehearthstone and about the floor, where they rested, filling the den withsmoke. Under one of the chairs a black cat spat and bristled: while inthe middle of the room, barefooted in the embers, crouched a man. He washalf naked, old and bent, with matted grey hair and beard hangingalmost to his waist. His chest and legs were bleeding from a score ofscratches; and he pointed at the cat, opening and shutting his mouthlike a dog, and barking out curse upon curse.
No way upset, Joan stepped across the kitchen, laid me on one of thebracken beds, and explain'd--
"That's feyther: he's drunk."
With which she turn'd, dealt the old man a cuff that stretch'd himsenseless, and gathering up the turves, piled them afresh on the hearth.This done, she took the keg and gave me a drink of it. The stuff scaldedme, but I thanked her. And then, when she had shifted my bed a bit, toease the pain of lying, she righted a chair, drew it up and sat besideme. The old man lay like a log where he had fallen, and was now snoring.Presently, the fumes of the liquor, or mere faintness, mastered me, andmy eyes closed. But the picture they closed upon was that of Joan, asshe lean'd forward, chin on hand, with the glow of the fire on her brownskin and in the depths of her dark eyes.
Joan]
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