The Young Castellan: A Tale of the English Civil War

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  BUT ALL'S WELL.

  Lady Royland was surrounded by the trembling women of the household,who, scared by the firing, had sought her to find comfort and relief.

  "What! the ten men safely brought in!" she cried, as her son hastened totell his tidings. "And no one hurt?"

  "No one on our side, mother," said Roy, meaningly; "I cannot answer forthose across the moat."

  "Our ten poor fellows here in safety," cried Lady Royland, once again."Oh, Roy, my boy, this is good news indeed! But you must be faint andexhausted. Come in the dining-room. I have something ready for you.--There, you have nothing to fear now," she said, addressing the women;"but one of you had better go and tell Master Pawson that we are readyto sup."

  The women went out, some of them still trembling and hysterical, and allwhite and scared of aspect.

  As soon as the door was closed, Lady Royland caught her son's hand.

  "Eight of us women," she said, with a forced laugh: "eight, and of nouse whatever; only ready to huddle together like so many sheep scared bysome little dog; when, if we were men, we could be of so much help.There, come along; you look quite white. You are doing too much. Formy sake, take care."

  Roy nodded and smiled, and followed his mother into the dining-room,where with loving care she had prepared everything for him, and made itattractive and tempting, so that it should be a relief to the harshrealities of the warlike preparations with which the boy was now mixedup.

  "You must eat a good supper, Roy, and then go and have a long night'srest."

  "Impossible, mother," he said, faintly; "must go and visit the men'sposts from time to time."

  "No," said Lady Royland, firmly, as she unbuckled her son's sword-belt,and laid it and the heavy weapon upon a couch.

  There was a tap at the door directly after, and one of the maids cameback.

  "If you please, my lady, I've been knocking ever so long at MasterPawson's door, and he doesn't answer. We think he has gone to bed."

  "Surely not. He must be in the upper chamber arranging about the thingsbeing removed."

  "No, my lady; that was all done a long time ago. It was finished beforethe fighting began, for he wouldn't have nothing but his bed andwashstand brought down. The men had to take most of the other thingsright down in the black cellar place underneath, so as to clear thechamber."

  "But did you ask the men on guard if they had seen him?"

  "Yes, my lady; they say he shut himself up in his room."

  "That will do. Never mind," said Lady Royland, dismissing themaid.--"Now, Roy, I am going to keep you company, and--oh, my boy! whatis it? Ah! You are hurt!"

  She flew to his side, and with trembling hands began to tear open hisdoublet, but he checked her.

  "No, no, mother, I am not--indeed!"

  "Then what is it? You are white and trembling, and your forehead is allwet."

  "Yes, it has come over like this," he faltered, "all since the fight andgetting the men in through the sally-port."

  "But you must have been hurt without knowing it."

  "No, no," he moaned, as he sank back in the chair, and covered his facewith his hands.

  "Roy, my boy, speak out. Tell me. What is the matter?"

  "I didn't mean to speak a word, mother," he groaned; "but I can't keepit back."

  "Yes; speak, speak," she said, tenderly, as she sank upon her knees byhis side, and drew his head to her breast.

  "Ah!" he sighed, restfully, as he flung his arms about her neck. "I canspeak now. I should have fought it all back; but when I came in here,and saw all those frightened women, and you spoke as you did about beingso helpless, it was too much for me."

  "Oh, nonsense!" she cried, soothingly. "Why should their--our--foolishweakness affect you, my own brave boy?"

  "No, no, mother," he cried; "don't--don't speak like that. You hurt memore."

  "Hurt you?" she said, in surprise.

  "Yes, yes," he cried, excitedly. "You don't know; but you must know--you shall know. I'm not brave. I'm a miserable coward."

  "Roy! Shame upon you!" cried Lady Royland, reproachfully.

  "Yes, shame upon me," said the lad, bitterly; "but I can't help it. Ihave tried so hard; but I feel such a poor weak boy--a mere impostor,trying to lord it over all these men."

  "Indeed!" said Lady Royland, gravely. "Yes? Go on."

  "I know they must see through me, from Ben down to the youngest farmhand. They're very good and kind and obedient because I'm your son; butthey, big strong fellows as they are, must laugh at me in theirsleeves."

  "Ah! you feel that?" said Lady Royland.

  "Yes, I feel what a poor, girlish, weak thing I am, and that all this istoo much for me. Mother, if it were not for you and for very shame, Ibelieve I should run away."

  "Go on, Roy," sand Lady Royland; and her sweet, deep voice seemed todraw the most hidden thoughts of his breast to his lips.

  "Yes, I must go on," he cried, excitedly. "I hid it all when I went toface that officer, who saw through me in spite of my bragging words, andlaughed; and in the wild excitement of listening to-night to thetroopers closing us in and trying to capture those poor fellows, I didnot feel anything like fear; but now it is all over and they are safe, Iam--I am--oh, mother! it is madness--it is absurd for me, such a mereboy, to go on pretending to command here, with all this awfulresponsibility of the fighting that must come soon. I know that I can'tbear it--that I must break down--that I have broken down. I can't go onwith it; I'm far too young. Only a boy, you see, and I feel now morelike a girl, for I believe I could lie down and cry at the thought ofthe wounds and death and horrors to come. Oh, mother, mother! I'm onlya poor pitiful coward after all."

  "God send our poor distressed country a hundred thousand of such poorpitiful cowards to uphold the right," said Lady Royland, softly, as shedrew her son more tightly to her swelling breast. "Hush, hush, my boy!it is your mother speaks. There, rest here as you used to rest when youwere the tiny little fellow whose newly opened eyes began to know me,whose pink hands felt upward to touch my face. You a coward! Why, mydarling, can you not understand?"

  "Yes, I understand," he groaned, as he clung to her, "that it is my owndear mother trying to speak comfort to me in my degradation and shame.Mother, mother! I would not have believed I was such a pitiful cur asthis."

  "No," she said, softly; "I am speaking truth. You do not understandthat after the work and care of all this terrible time of preparation,ending in the great demands made upon you to-day, the strain has beengreater than your young nature can bear. Bend the finest sword too far,Roy, and it will break. You are overdone--worn-out. It is not as youthink."

  "Ah! it is you who do not know, mother," he said, bitterly. "I am notfit to lead."

  "Indeed! you think so?" she said, pressing her lips to his wet, coldbrow. "You say this because you look forward with horror to thebloodshed to come."

  "Yes; it is dreadful. I was so helpless to-night, and I shall be losingmen through my ignorance."

  "Helpless to-night? But you beat the enemy off."

  "No, no--Ben Martlet's doing from beginning to end."

  "Perhaps. The work of an old trained man of war, who has ridden to thefight a score of times with your father, and now your brave father'sson's right-hand--a man who worships you, and who told me only to-day,with the tears in his eyes, how proud he was of that gallant boy--ofyou."

  "Ben said that--of me?"

  "Yes, my boy; and do you think with all his experience he cannot readyou through and through?"

  "No, mother, he can't--he can't," said the lad, despondently; "no onecan know me as I do."

  "Poor child!" she said, fondly, as she caressed him; "what a piece ofvanity is this! A boy of seventeen thinking he knows himself by heart.Out upon you, Roy, for a conceited coxcomb! Why, we all know you betterthan you know yourself; and surely I ought to be the best judge of whatyou are."

  "No," said Roy, angrily; "y
ou only spoil me."

  "Indeed! then I shall go on, and still spoil you in this same way, andkeep you the coward that you are."

  "Mother!" he cried, reproachfully; "and with all this terribleresponsibility rising like a dense black cloud before my eyes."

  "Yes, Roy, because it is night now, and black night too, in your wearybrain. Ah! my boy, and to how many in this world is it the same blacknight. But the hours glide on, the day dawns, and the glorious sunrises again to pierce the thick cloud of darkness, and brighten thegloomy places of the earth. Just as hope and youth and your naturalvigour will chase away your black cloud, after the brain has been fallowfor a few hours, and you have had your rest."

  "No, no, no," he groaned; "you cannot tell."

  "I can tell you, Roy," she said, softly; "and I can tell you, too, thatyour father is just such another coward as his son."

  "My father!" cried Roy, springing to his feet, flushed and excited. "Myfather is the bravest, truest man who ever served the king."

  "Amen to that, my boy!" said Lady Royland, proudly; "but do you think,Roy, that our bravest soldiers, our greatest warriors, have been menmade of iron--cruel, heartless beings, without a thought of the terribleresponsibilities of their positions, without a care for the sufferingsof the men they lead? I believe it never has been so, and never will.Come, my darling," she continued, clinging to his hands, and drawingherself to her feet--"come here for a little while. There," she said,softly, taking the sword from the couch; "your blade is resting for awhile; why should not you? Yes: I wish it; lie right down--for a littlewhile--before we sup. Ah, that is better!"

  Utterly exhausted now, Roy yielded to her loving hands, and sank backupon the soft couch with a weary sigh; while, as he stretched himselfout, she knelt by his side, and tenderly wiped his brow before passingher hands over his face, laying his long hair back over the pillow, andat every touch seeming to bring calm to the weary throbbing brain.

  After a few minutes he began to mutter incoherently, and Lady Roylandleaned back to reach a feather-fan from a side-table, and then softlywafted the air to and fro till the words began to grow more broken, andat last ceased, as the boy uttered a low, weary sigh, his breath grewmore regular, and he sank into the deep heavy sleep of exhausted nature.

  Then the fan dropped from Lady Royland's hand, and she rose to cross theroom softly, and with a line draw up the casement of the narrow slit ofa window which looked down upon the moat, for the night wind camefresher there than from the main windows looking upon the garden court.

  Softly returning, she bent down, and with the lightest of fingers untiedthe collar of her son's doublet and linen shirt, before bending lower,with her long curls drooping round his face, till she could kiss hisbrow, no longer dank and chilly, but softly, naturally warm.

  This before sinking upon her knees to watch by his side for theremainder of the night; and as she knelt her lips parted to murmur--

  "God save the king--my husband--and our own brave boy!"

  A moment later, as if it were an answer to her prayer, a voice, softenedby the distance, was heard from the ramparts somewhere above utteringthe familiar reply to a challenge--

  "All's well!"