Near Powick there was a woody island of some little extent, round which rushed the river — here, as elsewhere, too deep to be forded. The island was gained by a bridge from either bank, and the importance of the point was so obvious, that the king determined to place a battery upon it.
* * *
CHAPTER V.
HOW CHARLES RODE TO MADRESFIELD COURT; AND HOW MISTRESS JANE LANE AND HER BROTHER, WITH SIR CLEMENT FISHER, WERE PRESENTED TO HIS MAJESTY.
Next morning another council of war was held at the palace. No tidings as yet of Cromwell — no despatches from the Earl of Derby. After an hour’s deliberation the council broke up, and the king proceeded to the Castle Hill, which was being fortified under the superintendence of Lord Rothes and Sir William Hamilton.
The city walls, in the reparation of which hundreds of men had been employed since midnight, were next inspected by his majesty, who was well satisfied with the progress made. He then visited both camps, and while riding along the High-street with his escort, attended by Major Careless, was loudly cheered. Ever since the king’s arrival at Worcester the weather had been splendid — a circumstance that contributed in no slight degree to the gay and festive air that prevailed within the city. The taverns were full of roystering Cavaliers, smoking, drinking, dicing, and singing bacchanalian songs.
On his return from the camp at Pitchcroft, Charles paid a visit to the mayor at his private residence, and had a long conference with him. Having given all the instructions he deemed necessary, and feeling that his presence was no longer required, Charles, anxious to escape from the ceaseless applications by which he was beset, crossed the river, and, still attended by his escort and Careless, rode in the direction of the Malvern Hills, his destination being Madresfield Court, an old fortified mansion, buried in the midst of thick woods of oak, beech, elm, and other trees, stretching almost from Malvern to the banks of the Severn.
The day, as we have said, was splendid, though excessively hot, but shaded by the trees, which sheltered him with their mighty arms from the oppressive summer heat, Charles found the ride through the forest enchanting. He seemed to breathe more freely now that he was away from the crowded city and the bustling camps.
A lovely sylvan scene, such as he had not for some time contemplated, was offered to his gaze. Madresfield Chase, which formed part of the old forest of Malvern, boasted some trees of great age and vast size. Generally the chase was flat, but occasionally a knoll could be discerned, crowned with timber. A long and beautiful glade of some miles in extent led towards the ancient mansion, which could not, however, be distinguished. Rising in front, above the trees, appeared the lovely Malvern Hills, and their summits, bathed in sunshine, looked so exquisite that Charles wished he could be transported to one of them.
“I never look at a mountain top,” he remarked to Careless, “without desiring to ascend to it.”
“’Tis a natural wish I think, my liege,” replied the aide-de-camp. “At least, I have the same feeling. Those hills are not difficult of ascent, and command a magnificent view. The highest of them, and the nearest to Malvern, is the Worcestershire Beacon; the other is the Herefordshire Beacon. Both noble hills.”
“Can we ride to the top of the Worcestershire Beacon?”
“Easily, sire.”
“Have you ever made the ascent on horseback?”
“Never — either on horseback or on foot, sire.”
“Then you know nothing about it. However, the difficulties, if there are any, won’t deter me. I cannot resist the inclination to ride up to the beacon. We will make the ascent in the evening, when it grows cooler. ’Tis too sultry just now.”
“Very true, sire. I should be loth to quit these trees for the bare hill-side.”
They then rode on till they came in sight of the grey old structure, which was a very good specimen of a castellated mansion, being strongly built, embattled, flanked with towers, surrounded by a broad, deep moat, defended by a drawbridge, and approached by a grand embattled gateway.
During the Civil Wars, Madresfield Court had been alternately in the possession of the Royalists and the Roundheads. Strongly garrisoned by Charles I., taken by Colonel Fynes at the first siege of Worcester, retaken by the Royalists, and again captured in 1646, it had remained, until within the last few days, in the quiet possession of its owner, Colonel Lygon, who prudently acted with the Parliamentarians. On the arrival of Charles at Worcester, Colonel Lygon was driven forth, after an ineffectual attempt at resistance, and his mansion seized and garrisoned for the king. It was now in a condition to stand a siege, being already well victualled, and well provided with arms and ammunition. Falconets were placed on the gateway, and larger ordnance on the battlements.
Charles was well pleased to see the royal standard displayed from the roof of the old mansion, and to note the preparations for defence. Trumpets were sounded and drums beaten on his approach. The drawbridge was lowered, and the officers and men prepared to turn out and receive his majesty. Charles, however, halted beneath a spreading oak that grew on a wide lawn in front of the mansion, and was contemplating the ancient edifice with some pride in being once more its master, when Careless drew his attention to three persons on horseback, who had just issued from an avenue on the right. From their attire, and from their steeds, the equestrians looked like persons of distinction. One of the party, who specially attracted the king’s attention, was a young lady, slight in figure, and extremely graceful. Even beheld at that distance, it might be safely asserted that she was lovely, and when she drew near, she more than realised any notions the king had formed of her beauty. Her companions were Cavaliers undoubtedly — both fine-looking young men, distinguished by their military bearing.
“Know you whom they are?” inquired the king of Careless.
“Unless I mistake not, sire, he in the black velvet doublet, slashed with white, is Colonel Lane of Bentley Hall, in Staffordshire — —”
“The Lanes are staunch Royalists?” interrupted Charles.
“Staunchest of the staunch, sire. With the colonel is his sister, Mistress Jane Lane, one of the fairest damsels in the county, and devoted to your majesty. He on the roan horse, and in the green jerkin, laced with silver, is Sir Clement Fisher, of Packington Hall, in Warwickshire.”
JANE LANE PRESENTED TO CHARLES II.
“Jane Lane’s suitor, I’ll be sworn!” cried Charles.
“Your majesty has hit it,” replied Careless, with a smile.
While this brief colloquy took place, the party had stopped, as if awaiting permission to advance.
“Bring them to me, and present them,” said Charles.
Careless, who was a preux chevalier, executed his task with infinite grace. It was a charming sight to witness Jane Lane’s presentation to the young king. There was an ingenuousness in her manner that delighted Charles. She seemed to possess great spirit and force of character, and yet she had all the most agreeable feminine qualities. As to her beauty there could be no question. Brighter black eyes, features of greater delicacy and refinement, tresses more exquisite, Charles had never beheld. Though she coloured deeply when she first encountered the king’s gaze, she manifested no embarrassment.
There was a certain likeness between Colonel Lane and his sister, though the colonel had strongly-marked traits, a firm mouth, and a bold, determined look. But he had dark eyes like Jane, and in them resided the expression that constituted the likeness. Sir Clement Fisher was an admirable specimen of a Cavalier — handsome, brave, chivalrous, he seemed formed to win a fair lady’s heart. Whether he had won that of Jane Lane will be seen.
“How is it I have not yet seen you at Worcester, gentlemen?” inquired Charles.
“We are on our way thither, sire,” replied Colonel Lane. “You will see us at the Muster at Pitchcroft to-morrow. We have not been lukewarm in your majesty’s cause.”
“Even I have done something for you, sire,” said Jane. “This morning I have secured your majesty forty horse; and I ho
pe to render you still better service before the day is over.”
“My sister is zealous, you perceive, sire,” remarked Colonel Lane, with a smile.
“Were there a hundred like her I should soon have an army,” observed Charles, highly pleased. “But what is the great service you hope to render me?”
“Nay, sire,” she rejoined, playfully, “you must allow me to keep my secret. ‘Twill be a surprise to you to-morrow.”
“Then I will ask you no further questions, yet I would fain know why you came here. You could not have expected to find me at Madresfield.”
“Pardon me, your majesty, I did expect to find you here.”
“Oddsfish! you must be a witch,” cried Charles, laughing.
“There is no sorcery in the matter, sire. Have you not sent a messenger to Mr. Thomas Hornyold, of Blackmore Park, commanding him to attend upon you at Madresfield this afternoon?”
“And you have seen the messenger?”
“I have, sire. I have read the message, and I told Tom Hornyold I would come in his stead, and make his excuses. The blame of his disobedience of your majesty’s order must rest entirely with me. I have sent him to Sir Rowland Berkeley.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Charles.
“He will do more good with Sir Rowland than here. But that is not all. He has promised me to see Sir Walter Blount, Sir John Winford, and Mr. Ralph Sheldon of Beoly. Will you forgive now for my great presumption, sire?”
“Forgive you! I am beyond measure indebted to you.”
“Sire!” she cried, with a look that bespoke her conviction of the truth of what she uttered, “I believe that I am destined to render you a signal service. My brother will confirm what I am about to say. It was foretold of me when I was a child, by a famous astrologer, that I should save a prince’s life. The prophecy must refer to you.”
“It may be so,” said Charles, smiling at her enthusiasm. “At all events, I shall look upon you as my guardian angel.”
“My heart beats only with loyalty, sire. I have no other feeling in my breast.”
“No other feeling, fair mistress?” said the king, glancing towards Sir Clement.
“It is perfectly true, sire,” observed the young baronet, with a somewhat despondent look. “Mistress Jane Lane vows she will never wed till your majesty is seated on the throne.”
“And I will keep my vow,” cried Jane.
“Then I trust ere long Sir Clement may be in a position to claim you, and that I may be present at your nuptials,” said Charles. “But whither you go?” he added, seeing they were preparing to depart. “Will you not enter the house?”
“We must pray your majesty to excuse us,” said Colonel Lane, bowing. “We have much to do. We are going to cross the hills into Herefordshire.’”
“Nay, then you must stay till the heat of the day is abated, and I myself will bear you company for part of your journey, for I design to ascend the Worcestershire Beacon. ’Tis not fit your sister should be exposed to this fierce sun.”
“I am not one of those damsels that care for my complexion, sire,” observed Jane, laughing. “The sun will not melt me.”
“Nay, then I will not detain you,” rejoined Charles. “I shall see you to-morrow at the Muster at Pitchcroft. You must not be absent, fair mistress.”
“Be sure I will not, sire,” she replied.
Bending reverentially to the king, she rode off with the others.
“A noble girl!” exclaimed Charles, gazing after her with admiration. “She is the incarnation of loyalty.”
* * *
CHAPTER VI.
HOW CHARLES ASCENDED THE WORCESTERSHIRE BEACON; AND OF THE AMBUSCADE PREPARED FOR HIM AS HE CAME DOWN.
After examining the preparations made for the defence of the old mansion, Charles sat down with Careless and the officer in command of the garrison to a repast prepared for him in the great hall. When he had finished it he ordered his horses. The officer asked if his majesty required his escort.
“No,” replied Charles. “I am not about to return to Worcester. I am charmed with this place, and shall sleep here to-night. I mean to ride to Malvern. Major Careless will attend me.”
So his majesty set forth, accompanied only by his aide-de-camp. A pleasant ride through the woods brought them to the foot of the giant hill, on a ridge of which stood the little secluded village of Malvern. Yes, the little secluded village of Malvern. Where terraces of well-built houses now spring above each other on the hill-side — where countless white villas peer from out the trees, contrasting charmingly with the foliage, and helping to form one of the prettiest towns in England — a town as healthful as pretty — nothing was then to be seen but a few small habitations, in the midst of which rose the old priory church, and the beautiful gateway adjoining it. The priory was pulled down at the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and with it the glory of Malvern had departed. Devotees were still attracted by the Holy Well, and marvellous cures were said to be wrought by its waters, but such pilgrims were rare, and Malvern remained an obscure, unfrequented village, until its beauties and salubrity were discovered in the early part of the present century.
Charles and his attendant halted on the ridge on which this charming town is now built, and surveyed the extensive prospect it commands. They were not aware that they were watched from behind a tree by a tall, ill-favoured man, in the garb of a Puritan. This eavesdropper, who had followed them cautiously for some minutes, ascertained their purpose, and as soon as they began to ascend the hill, he hurried down to the little inn near the priory gate.
All difficulties in the ascent of the lofty hill, known as the Worcestershire Beacon, have now been removed, and well-made paths enable even invalids to reach its summit almost without fatigue. But at the time when Charles and his attendant mounted it, it had a stern, solitary air, and its silence was unbroken by any sound except that of the sheep-bell, or the cry of a bird of prey. Sheep-tracks alone led up its rugged sides, and conducted the pedestrian through the broad patches of furze, or past huge protruding rocks, to the smooth turf above. Charles being a daring horseman, took the nearest road, and not unfrequently came to places where it was too steep to proceed with safety, and had to retrace his course and seek a less dangerous ascent. The only person in sight was a shepherd tending his flock, and he was far off. At length the king and his attendant gained the rounded summit of the hill, which was covered by turf smooth as velvet, and fragrant with thyme.
Hitherto, both Charles and Careless had been too much occupied by the difficulties of the ascent to pay much attention to the vast panorama opening upon them as they mounted the hill. But as they now gazed upon it, they were lost in admiration, and quite forgot the trouble they had experienced.
It boots not to describe the thoughts that passed through the king’s breast, as his eye ranged over that astonishing prospect, which, comprehending as it does nine or ten counties, showed him a large portion of his kingdom, and that perhaps not the least beautiful portion. How many towns and villages — how many noble mansions — could he count in that wide-spread landscape! On the left, and almost as it seemed at his feet, lay the old and faithful city of Worcester, with his army encamped around it. Two other cathedral towns, with their church towers and steeples — Gloucester and Hereford — could likewise be distinguished. Charles sought the Severn for some time in vain. Owing to the height of its banks, it could only be here and there discerned.
He hung long upon this incomparable prospect, and then turned to the Herefordshire side of the hill, whence the view was almost equally fine, three distinct mountainous chains, of beautifully varied form, meeting his gaze.
On quitting the green sward the perils of the descent commenced, and they were obliged to proceed with caution, the ground being covered with loose stones and fragments of rock. They proceeded singly, Charles taking the lead, and were skirting a huge mass of granite that obstructed their course, when suddenly half a dozen men, armed with muskets, whose steel caps and buff coats
showed they were Parliamentary soldiers, and who had evidently been lying in ambush behind the rocks, sprang forward, one of them seizing the king’s bridle, and two others forcibly preventing him from using his arms. Careless was treated in precisely the same manner, and the capture was so quickly executed that it was perfectly successful.
At the same time two persons appeared on the top of the rock, which rose to some little height above them. In one of these Careless recognised Colonel James; the other, who kept back, was the spy we have previously mentioned.
“Release me, villains!” cried Charles, furiously, as he vainly attempted to free himself from the grasp of the soldiers who held him.
“Not so,” said the leader of the ambuscade from above. “The Lord hath delivered thee into my hand, as He delivered Jabin, King of Canaan, into the hands of the children of Israel. I will not put thee to death, but will take thee and thine officer as prisoners to the Lord General, to deal with ye as he may see fit. With thy capture the invasion of the men of Moab is at an end.”
Scarcely were the words uttered than a loud report was heard, and he dropped on the rock, apparently mortally wounded.
“The Amalekites are upon us!” shouted the spy. “Save yourselves!”
So saying, he jumped down on the other side of the rock and disappeared.
Supposing their commander killed, and not knowing what force might be upon them, the soldiers did not dare to carry off their prize, but sought safety in flight.
Next moment, from among the rocks beneath, issued Sir Clement Fisher, who had fired the shot, while close behind him appeared Colonel Lane and his sister.
“Heaven preserve your majesty!” shouted the two Cavaliers, raising their hats; while Jane, whose dark eyes flashed, and whose face was radiant with delight, echoed the loyal aspiration.
Charles heard them, and raised his hat in response.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 642