CHAPTER IV
THE SACK OF SHOREBY
There was not a foe left within striking distance; and Dick, as helooked ruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, beganto count the cost of victory. He was himself, now that the danger wasended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all,so utterly exhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in thefight, that he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion.
But this was not yet the hour for repose. Shoreby had been taken byassault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be chargedwith the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be notless rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part ofwar would fall to be enacted. Richard of Gloucester was not the captainto protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and, even if hehad the will, it might be questioned if he had the power.
It was, therefore, Dick's business to find and to protect Joanna; andwith that end he looked about him at the faces of his men. The three orfour who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drewaside; and promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation tothe duke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, andinto the streets upon the farther side.
Every here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still ragedupon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, thedefenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants.The snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partialcombats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open,and some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to giveout smoke.
Dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followersbriskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came thelength of the main street a cry of horror broke from his lips. SirDaniel's great house had been carried by assault. The gates hung insplinters from the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and outthrough the entrance, seeking and carrying booty. Meanwhile, in theupper stories, some resistance was still being offered to the pillagers;for just as Dick came within eye-shot of the building, a casement wasburst open from within, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screamingand resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed into thestreet below.
The most sickening apprehension fell upon Dick. He ran forward like onepossessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mountedwithout pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last partedfrom Joanna. It was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, thecupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arraslay smouldering on the embers of the fire.
Dick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, andthen stood bewildered. Sir Daniel, Sir Oliver, Joanna, all were gone;but whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from Shoreby, whoshould say?
He caught a passing archer by the tabard.
"Fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?"
"Let be," said the archer. "A murrain! let be, or I strike."
"Hark ye," returned Richard, "two can play at that. Stand and be plain."
But the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck Dick upon theshoulder with one hand, while with the other he twitched away hisgarment. Thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from hiscontrol. He seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him onthe plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him atarm's-length, he bid him speak as he valued life.
"I pray you mercy!" gasped the archer. "An I had thought ye were soangry I would 'a' been charier of crossing you. I was here indeed."
"Know ye Sir Daniel?" pursued Dick.
"Well do I know him," returned the man.
"Was he in the mansion?"
"Ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by theyard gate he rode forth by the garden."
"Alone?" cried Dick.
"He may 'a' had a score of lances with him," said the man.
"Lances! No women, then?" asked Shelton.
"Troth, I saw not," said the archer. "But there were none in the house,if that be your quest."
"I thank you," said Dick. "Here is a piece for your pains." But gropingin his wallet, Dick found nothing. "Inquire for me to-morrow," headded--"Richard Shel----Sir Richard Shelton," he corrected, "and I willsee you handsomely rewarded."
And then an idea struck Dick. He hastily descended to the courtyard, ranwith all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of thechurch. It stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement wascrowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families, and ladenwith the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar,priests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of God. Even as Dickentered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs.
He hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of thestair that led into the steeple. And here a tall churchman steppedbefore him and arrested his advance.
"Whither, my son?" he asked severely.
"My father," answered Dick, "I am here upon an errand of expedition.Stay me not. I command here for my Lord of Gloucester."
"For my Lord of Gloucester?" repeated the priest. "Hath, then, thebattle gone so sore?"
"The battle, father, is at an end, Lancaster clean sped, my Lord ofRisingham--Heaven rest him!--left upon the field. And now, with yourgood leave, I follow mine affairs." And thrusting on one side thepriest, who seemed stupefied at the news, Dick pushed open the door andrattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble,till he stepped upon the open platform at the top.
Shoreby Church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, butlooked far, on both sides, over sea and land. It was now near upon noon;the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling. And as Dick looked aroundhim he could measure the consequences of the battle.
A confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now andthen, but very rarely, the clash of steel. Not a ship, not so much as askiff, remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails androw-boats laden with fugitives. On shore, too, the surface of the snowymeadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their waytowards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of theYorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town.Over all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen menand horses, clearly defined upon the snow.
To complete the picture, those of the foot-soldiers as had not foundplace upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of theport, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns. In that quarter,also, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high inthe frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds.
Already close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line ofHolywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attentionof the young watcher on the tower. It was fairly numerous; in no otherquarter of the field did so many Lancastrians still hold together; thusthey had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and Dick was ableto trace them step by step from where they had left the town.
While Dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the firstfringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from theirdirection, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it wasrelieved against the dusky wood.
"Murrey and blue!" cried Dick. "I swear it--murrey and blue!"
The next moment he was descending the stairway.
It was now his business to seek out the Duke of Gloucester, who alone,in the disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with asufficiency of men. The fighting in the main town was now practically atan end; and as Dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, thestreets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more bootythan they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk. None of them,when questioned, had the least notion of the duke's whereabouts; and, atlast, it was by sheer good fortune that Dick found him, where he sat i
nthe saddle, directing operations to dislodge the archers from theharbour side.
"Sir Richard Shelton, ye are well found," he said. "I owe you one thingthat I value little, my life; and one that I can never pay you for, thisvictory.--Catesby, if I had ten such captains as Sir Richard, I wouldmarch forthright on London.--But now, sir, claim your reward."
"Freely, my lord," said Dick, "freely and loudly. One hath escaped towhom I owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom I owe love andservice. Give me, then, fifty lances, that I may pursue; and for anyobligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be cleandischarged."
"How call ye him?" inquired the duke.
"Sir Daniel Brackley," answered Richard.
"Out upon him, double-face!" cried Gloucester. "Here is no reward, SirRichard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his headto me, a fresh debt upon my conscience.--Catesby, get him these lances;and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, orprofit it shall be mine to give you."
Just then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns,swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking itsdefenders. Crookback Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and, pushinghis horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners.
There were four or five of them--two men of my Lord Shoreby's and one ofLord Risingham's among the number, and last, but in Dick's eyes notleast, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober,and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels.
The young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review.
"Good," he said. "Hang them."
And he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight.
"My lord," said Dick, "so please you, I have found my reward. Grant methe life and liberty of yon old shipman."
Gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face.
"Sir Richard," he said, "I make not war with peacock's feathers, butsteel shafts. Those that are mine enemies I slay, and that withoutexcuse or favour. For, bethink ye, in this realm of England, that is sotorn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or afriend upon the other party. If, then, I did begin to grant thesepardons, I might sheathe my sword."
"It may be so, my lord; and yet I will be overbold, and, at the risk ofyour disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied Dick.
Richard of Gloucester flushed.
"Mark it right well," he said harshly. "I love not mercy, nor yetmercymongers. Ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune. Ifye oppose to me my word, which I have plighted, I will yield. But, bythe glory of heaven, there your favour dies!"
"Mine is the loss," said Dick.
"Give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turnedhis back upon young Shelton.
Dick was nor glad nor sorry. He had seen too much of the young duke toset great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his ownfavour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. Onething alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offerof the lances. But here he did justice neither to Gloucester's honour(such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision. If he had once judgedDick to be the right man to pursue Sir Daniel, he was not one to change;and he soon proved it by shouting after Catesby to be speedy, for thepaladin was waiting.
In the meanwhile Dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equallyindifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release.
"Arblaster," said Dick, "I have done you ill; but now, by the rood, Ithink I have cleared the score."
But the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace.
"Come," continued Dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is morethan ships or liquor. Say ye forgive me; for if your life is worthnothing to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune. Come, Ihave paid for it dearly; be not so churlish."
"An I had had my ship," said Arblaster, "I would 'a' been forth and safeon the high seas--I and my man Tom. But ye took my ship, gossip, and I'ma beggar; and for my man Tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down.'Murrain!' quoth he, and spake never again. 'Murrain' was the last ofhis words, and the poor spirit of him passed. 'A will never sail no morewill my Tom."
Dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to takethe skipper's hand, but Arblaster avoided his touch.
"Nay," said he, "let be. Y' have played the devil with me, and let thatcontent you."
The words died in Richard's throat. He saw, through tears, the poor oldman, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head,across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels; and forthe first time began to understand the desperate game that we play inlife, and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied by anypenitence.
But there was no time left to him for vain regret. Catesby had nowcollected the horsemen, and riding up to Dick he dismounted, and offeredhim his own horse.
"This morning," he said, "I was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hathnot been of a long growth; and now, Sir Richard, it is with a very goodheart that I offer you this horse--to ride away with."
"Suffer me yet a moment," replied Dick. "This favour of mine--whereuponwas it founded?"
"Upon your name," answered Catesby. "It is my lord's chief superstition.Were my name Richard I should be an earl to-morrow."
"Well, sir, I thank you," returned Dick; "and, since I am little likelyto follow these great fortunes, I will even say farewell. I will notpretend I was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but Iwill not pretend, neither, that I am over-sorry to be done with it.Command and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word inyour ear--yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad."
Catesby laughed.
"Nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with Crooked Dick will ridedeep. Well, God keep us all from evil! Speed ye well."
Thereupon Dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the wordof command, rode off.
He made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be theroute of Sir Daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decideif he were right.
The streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, inthe bitter frost, was far the more pitiable. Gangs of the victors wentfrom house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singingtogether as they went.
From different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence andoutrage came to young Shelton's ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammeron some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women.
Dick's heart had just been awakened. He had just seen the cruelconsequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of miserythat was now acting in the whole of Shoreby filled him with despair.
At length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he sawstraight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that hehad marked from the summit of the church. Here, then, he went the fasteron; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men andhorses that lay beside the track. Many of these, he was relieved to see,wore Sir Daniel's colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon theirback, he even recognised.
About half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he wasfollowing had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses laypretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow. And here Dick spiedamong the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehowhauntingly familiar to him.
He halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad's head. As he didso, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolleditself. At the same time the eyes opened.
"Ah! lion-driver!" said a feeble voice. "She is farther on. Ride--ridefast!"
And then the poor young lady fainted once again.
One of Dick's men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with thisDick succeeded in reviving consciousness. Then he took Joanna's friendupon his saddle-bow, and once more pushed toward the forest.
&n
bsp; "Why do ye take me?" said the girl. "Ye but delay your speed."
"Nay, Mistress Risingham," replied Dick. "Shoreby is full of blood anddrunkenness and riot. Here ye are safe; content ye."
"I will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set medown."
"Madam, ye know not what ye say," returned Dick. "Y' are hurt----"
"I am not," she said. "It was my horse was slain."
"It matters not one jot," replied Richard. "Ye are here in the midst ofopen snow, and compassed about with enemies. Whether ye will or not, Icarry you with me. Glad am I to have the occasion; for thus shall Irepay some portion of our debt."
For a little while she was silent. Then, very suddenly, she asked:
"My uncle?"
"My Lord Risingham?" returned Dick. "I would I had good news to giveyou, madam, but I have none. I saw him once in the battle, and onceonly. Let us hope the best."
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 8 Page 31