CHAPTER II. ARCADES AMBO
Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. Itwas close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streetsthe sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign againin Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious--for to be cautious andmistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him.
"Master Stewart," said he, "it grows late, and I doubt me you would beabed. Give you good night!"
The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then--
"To-morrow, Sir Crispin--" he began. But Crispin cut him short.
"Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take oneof those noisome tapers with you, and go."
In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles andpassed out through the door leading to the stairs.
For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that momentthe expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret of histreatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a milksop,but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness forhim in spite of all. He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide heleaned out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed therefrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners.
For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasionto let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for theleast movement among the shadows of the street. Reassured at last thatthe house was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed thelattice.
Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed,awaiting him.
"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer beingafraid in my life."
Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of whathad passed.
"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly. "The landlord of TheAngel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn--who ownsa pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in. Shehath, moreover, a taste for dalliance, and my brave looks and martialtrappings did for her what her bold eyes had done for me. We werebecoming the sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, thatloutish clown, her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousythan wit, struck me--struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body, think ofit, Cris!" And he grew red with anger at the recollection. "I tookhim by the collar of his mean smock and flung him into the kennel--thefittest bed he ever lay in. Had he remained there it had been wellfor him; but the fool, accounting himself affronted, came up to demandsatisfaction. I gave it him, and plague on it--he's dead!"
"An ugly tale," was Crispin's sour comment.
"Ugly, maybe," returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, "but what choicehad I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I was forced to draw.'
"But not to slay, Hogan!"
"Twas an accident. Sink me, it was! I sought his sword-arm; but thelight was bad, and my point went through his chest instead."
For a moment Crispin stood frowning, then his brow cleared, as though hehad put the matter from him.
"Well, well--since he's dead, there's an end to it."
"Heaven rest his soul!" muttered the Irishman, crossing himself piously.And with that he dismissed the subject of the great wrong that throughfolly he had wrought--the wanton destruction of a man's life, and thepoisoning of a woman's with a remorse that might be everlasting.
"It will tax our wits to get you out of Penrith," said Crispin. Then,turning and looking into the Irishman's great, good-humoured face--"I amsorry you leave us, Hogan," he added.
"Not so am I," quoth Hogan with a shrug. "Such a march as this is littleto my taste. Bah! Charles Stuart or Oliver Cromwell, 'tis all one to me.What care I whether King or Commonwealth prevail? Shall Harry Hogan bethe better or the richer under one than under the other? Oddslife, Cris,I have trailed a pike or handled a sword in well-nigh every army inEurope. I know more of the great art of war than all the King's generalsrolled into one. Think you, then, I can rest content with a miserablecompany of horse when plunder is forbidden, and even our beggarly paydoubtful? Whilst, should things go ill--as well they may, faith, withan army ruled by parsons--the wage will be a swift death on field orgallows, or a lingering one in the plantations, as fell to the lot ofthose poor wretches Noll drove into England after Dunbar. Soul of mybody, it is not thus that I had looked to fare when I took service atPerth. I had looked for plunder, rich and plentiful plunder, accordingto the usages of warfare, as a fitting reward for a toilsome march andthe perils gone through.
"Thus I know war, and for this have I followed the trade these twentyyears. Instead, we have thirty thousand men, marching to battle as primand orderly as a parcel of acolytes in a Corpus-Christi procession.'Twas not so bad in Scotland haply because the country holds naughta man may profitably plunder--but since we have crossed the Border,'slife, they'll hang you if you steal so much as a kiss from a wench inpassing."
"Why, true," laughed Crispin, "the Second Charles hath an over-tenderstomach. He will not allow that we are marching through an enemy'scountry; he insists that England is his kingdom, forgetting that he hasyet to conquer it, and--"
"Was it not also his father's kingdom?" broke in the impetuous Hogan."Yet times are sorely changed since we followed the fortunes of theMartyr. In those days you might help yourself to a capon, a horse,a wench, or any other trifle of the enemy's, without ever a word ofcensure or a question asked. Why, man, it is but two days since HisMajesty had a poor devil hanged at Kendal for laying violent hands upona pullet. Pox on it, Cris, my gorge rises at the thought! When Isaw that wretch strung up, I swore to fall behind at the earliestopportunity, and to-night's affair makes this imperative."
"And what may your plans be?" asked Crispin.
"War is my trade, not a diversion, as it is with Wilmot and Buckinghamand the other pretty gentlemen of our train. And since the King's armyis like to yield me no profit, faith, I'll turn me to the Parliament's.If I get out of Penrith with my life, I'll shave my beard and cut myhair to a comely and godly length; don a cuckoldy steeple hat and ablack coat, and carry my sword to Cromwell with a line of text."
Sir Crispin fell to pondering. Noting this, and imagining that heguessed aright the reason:
"I take it, Cris," he put in, keenly glancing at the other, "that youare much of my mind?"
"Maybe I am," replied Crispin carelessly.
"Why, then," cried Hogan, "need we part company?"
There was a sudden eagerness in his tone, born of the admiration inwhich this rough soldier of fortune held one whom he accounted hisbetter in that same harsh trade. But Galliard answered coldly:
"You forget, Harry."
"Not so! Surely on Cromwell's side your object--"
"T'sh! I have well considered. My fortunes are bound up with the King's.In his victory alone lies profit for me; not the profit of pillage,Hogan, but the profit of those broad lands that for nigh upon twentyyears have been in usurping hands. The profit I look for, Hogan, is myrestoration to Castle Marleigh, and of this my only hope lies in therestoration of King Charles. If the King doth not prevail--which Godforfend!--why, then, I can but die. I shall have naught left to hope forfrom life. So you see, good Hogan," he ended with a regretful smile, "mygoing with you is not to be dreamed of."
Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he devote to it,but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of his endeavours, he sighedand moved uneasily in his chair, whilst the broad, tanned face wasclouded with regret. Crispin saw this, and approaching him, he laid ahand upon his shoulder.
"I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle Marleighand to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. But if you go--"
"Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?" Then of a sudden there creptinto the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note of soft concern."Think you there be danger to yourself in remaining?" he inquired.
"Danger? To me?" echoed Crispin.
"Aye--for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's Foot suspectsyou."
"Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of suspicion?"
"There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart."
"Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is thereforesilence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. Come, Harry," he added,briskly, changing his manner, "the night wears on, and we have yoursafety to think of."
Hogan rose with a sigh.
"Give me a horse," said he, "and by God's grace tomorrow shall find mein Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, Cris."
"We must find you clothes more fitting than these--a coat more staid andbetter attuned to the Puritan part you are to play."
"Where have you such a coat?"
"My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit taken inthat Presbyterian Scotland of his."
"But I am twice his bulk!"
"Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your neck, Harry.Wait."
Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with the coatthat Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had abstracted from thesleeping lad's chamber.
"Off with your doublet," he commanded, and as he spoke he set himself toempty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a handkerchief and a few papershe found in them, and these he tossed carelessly on the bed. Next heassisted the Irishman to struggle into the stolen coat.
"May the Lord forgive my sins," groaned Hogan, as he felt the clothstraining upon his back and cramping his limbs. "May He forgive me, andsee me safely out of Penrith and into Cromwell's camp, and never againwill I resent the resentment of a clown whose sweetheart I have made toofree with."
"Pluck that feather from your hat," said Crispin.
Hogan obeyed him with a sigh.
"Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays many parts.Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing the Puritan?"
"Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are not like toplay it long," laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. "There, man, you'lldo well enough. Your coat is somewhat tight in the back, somewhat shortin the skirt; but neither so tight nor so short but that it may bepreferred to a winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry."
Hogan replied by roundly cursing the coat and his own lucklessness. Thatdone--and in no measured terms--he pronounced himself ready to set out,whereupon Crispin led the way below once more, and out into a hut thatdid service as a stable.
By the light of a lanthorn he saddled one of the two nags that stoodthere, and led it into the yard. Opening the door that abutted on toa field beyond, he bade Hogan mount. He held his stirrup for him, andcutting short the Irishman's voluble expressions of gratitude, he gavehim "God speed," and urged him to use all dispatch in setting as great adistance as possible betwixt himself and Penrith before the dawn.
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