Colonel Greatheart

by H. C. Bailey

  "Look you," Colonel Stow grew more earnest. "What is his errand? Why should he come here? Why seek you out?"

  "Sir," says Cornet Tompkins, melancholy again, "'tis plain the devil would put me to shame."

  "I doubt the devil wears a King's coat when he is at home," quoth Colonel Stow. "Sir, I see malignancy here. Take heed that he does no work of treason, ay, that he bears no missive from malignants."

  Cornet Tompkins was uplifted. "Sir, you say well!" he cried. "You are of a godly understanding. I will take guard. Yea, I will search him out."

  "You will do well, sir," said Colonel Stow with a grave enthusiasm. "Search everywhere that he hath been. I wish you well in it." So, well content, they parted. But when Cornet Tompkins meditated upon his search, he could not think the barebacked gentleman had been anywhere save at a window and up a tree.

  Away from the house, behind the hedge of roses, Colonel Stow found Lucinda. She gave him her hand with a smile. "Pray, how much are you in this?"

  "Nay," said Colonel Stow, "I only felt the gentleman of no coat was made for Jehoiada. At least I see no other use in him. Oh, 'tis so. Jehoiada dislikes him à merveille. I think him most wholesome for Jehoiada. But he is to me no more than a convenience. Madame, will you ride tonight?"

  "Tonight?" Her eyes glowed. "Oh, you are quick. How, then? What of the Puritans?"

  "I rely upon Jehoiada to abolish himself. 'Tis the best deed the poor man could do. Make no parade of going, madame. Have only your jewels and such small things to hand. We can take but your mother and you. And here must be no more words. We are foes before the world."

  Lucinda laughed deliciously. "I like to play with the world," she said.

  Meanwhile Cornet Tompkins had found upon the window ledge a letter that gave his heart delight. He was consoled for the lost sermon and all the triumph of the barebacked gentleman. But his sudden swift desire to catch this last was foiled, for the barebacked gentleman, who had been for some while speaking with tongues not his own, with no more warning hurled himself out of the tree and rushed wildly away, screaming that he was hunting Sathanas. In which dangerous chase none then followed him, so much alarm had he made. But presently after, he came again, and for half a generation there was in Stoke and Weston Turberville (you may read of it in the pamphlets) a sect which prophesied by the name of the Angel Uriel, and for his greater glory were scant of clothes, till Major General Fleetwood, a person of orderly mind, laid hands on them and compelled them into prison or coats. For the which, despite threats, the angel showed no indignation.

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  Chapter Ten

  Cornet Tompkins Snaps at a Shadow

  COLONEL STOW came out from his father something grave. His father had omitted to wish him joy; had also behaved with levity.

  "Ay, ay; a man will go when the woman calls. And I should like you less if you did not hear her.… Ay, a lad ought to be amusing.…And so you'll be for the King. With as fair reason as most, indeed.… Oons, there is wisdom in this war.…"

  It seemed to Colonel Stow that some emotion would have been in better taste. He went with solemn zeal to inspect the work of Alcibiade and Matthieu-Marc, who had business concerning horses and saddles that was of importance, but needed darkness rather than light.

  The pervading mystery of it completed the alarm of Joan Normandy, suspicious already of the iniquity of Colonel Royston and of Colonel Stow's visit to the ministrations of Cornet Tompkins. When Colonel Stow, desiring to contemplate peace, came to sit beside her in the porch, she received him with eyes of war.

  "You are required to love your enemies," Colonel Stow admonished her, "and for mere dignity you should smile at them," which he duly did.

  She was no better pleased. "I could like you better if you were an open enemy," she cried.

  "But it would be less amusing for me," Colonel Stow protested mildly.

  "At least I should not have to despise you and myself."

  "I can not conceive that we are so much alike. Pray, despise me alone; you will find it less an effort. More just, also. For what, after all, have you to do with me?"

  Her cheeks were suddenly scarlet. "Ah!" it was like a cry of pain. "Ah, I, would that I had never seen you!"

  "It flatters me that I should thus deeply affect you. But all is well. Tomorrow you can believe that I have never lived."

  "You are going, then!" she cried angrily.

  "Your manner scarce invites me to stay," Colonel Stow remarked.

  She flung out her hand to him in hot impatience. "Oh, is all life a jeer and a cheat with you? Can you not be true to yourself?"

  "I do not understand the occasion of this homily," said Colonel Stow with dignity.

  Joan Normandy gave something of a sneering laugh. "Oh, you are very noble! And you sham a friendship with our officer to tell him lies and cheat him again. I thought even malignants kept their honor. But you—"

  "Perhaps I may be some judge of a soldier's honor, too," said Colonel Stow coldly. "But if you have such a kindness for Jehoiada, child, go tell him I am cheating him."

  She turned upon him, gray eyes flaming fierce. "You know that I can not! And I ought! And I hate you!" she cried. "Oh, it is mean in you!" and she started up and sped to the house.

  Colonel Stow made figures in the ground with his heel and contemplated them gravely. To him thus engaged came Colonel Royston. "Do you meditate upon your own virtues, Jerry?"

  Colonel Stow looked up. "On the contrary," said he.

  As that day waned to sunset, Lucinda felt strange forces working about her. The troopers were busy with horses and arms. Cornet Tompkins, whom she was at some pains to observe, went with exultation in his gait and mysterious scripture upon his lips, as thus: "Troop major, of new powder to each man a flask full. Nay, I will put a hook in their mouths. See to it that the carbine locks be spanned. Verily, I will eat fat. Verily, the Lord is against thee, oh Gog." Lucinda was puzzled. It was hard in such spiritual emotions to find the practical hand of Colonel Stow. And all the day long Cornet Tompkins, bent upon a map of the shire, muttered more mysteries. "Moab shall be my wash-pot. Over Edom shall I cast out my shoe. Alack, Gog. Why tarry the wheels of his chariots, quo' she. Unto every man a damsel or two. 'Ha, ha,' said I to my soul, 'ha, ha.' I behold a wailing in Babylon."

  Not till the twilight, not till the troopers were mounting, he sought out Lucinda for her punishment. She was in her mother's withdrawing-room. He ground his heels into the white Bagdad carpet. "Woman," says he, his nose shining with emotion, "thou hast kicked against the pricks, and art full of wickedness even to the brim. I, Jehoiada, am appointed to cast thee down. Go to. Humble thyself. Learn not to mock at the children of light. I have thy naughty paramour his letter, and this night he shall taste the bread of affliction."

  Lucinda was white in alarm. This was no sign of deliverance, but a new danger. "I have had no letter!" she cried.

  Cornet Tompkins allowed himself to laugh. "Ha, the peril of the Amalekite hurts thee in a tender part. Nay, woman, thou hast no letter, for I have it—I, Jehoiada, the cornet of the Lord. Would that I had the vile fellow that brought it. But it suffices. Thy portion of woe is assured. Harken—" and he read with mouthing sarcasm these surpriseful words:

  I must see you once yet before I go. Ride out tonight to the Monk's pool at Saunderton. Slip away from the Roundhead villains at sundown and I will await you. Once with me, have no more fear of the Roundheads. I have half a troop of Goring's horse to my back. They will watch over us, and we shall laugh at your sausage-nosed Puritan—

  Here Cornet Tompkins stopped to ejaculate: "Oh, Gog, Gog, verily, I will leave but the sixth part of thee!" and he snorted at Lucinda and went on:

  Nay, come with me, my life, and you shall be free of him and his kind for ever.

  Thy true lover,

  From the Bird in Hand G. B.

  At Chinnor.

  (This last, in the warmer style, being Colonel Royston's private effort to add probability to the chilly
swain of Colonel Stow's design.)

  Cornet Tompkins grinned triumphant, and his face shone like a ruddy moon. Lucinda was troubled. The letter was truly mad enough to be Gilbert Bourne's own. She was mightily angry with him. That he should confuse the plans of Colonel Stow and keep her still a prisoner to this maddening Puritan soldier was an infamous folly. She flamed at Cornet Tompkins in an unlovely fierceness, like a trapped beast, and he grinned the more. "Verily, verily, the iron enters into thee and saws thy soul asunder. This it is to wanton with Amalekites." He flaunted the letter before her, and Lucinda was suddenly white and bit her lip on a cry. For she saw the writing, and it was not by Mr. Bourne. Cornet Tompkins mistook her emotion. "Oh, thou naughty member!" he cried. "Shameless art thou in thy affections for this Assyrian! Oh, Aholah and Aholibah!"

  Lucinda snatched her fan from the table and with it slashed at his eyes. "That is the woman's answer, fellow!" she cried. "Go, get the man's!"

  Cornet Tompkins, half blind with undesired tears, stepped back unsteadily. "Wanton, wanton, I go!" he cried, "and thou shalt see thy lover in chains, yea, in fetters of iron, till I hang him high as Haman before thy threshold for an abomination and a spy!" Cornet Tompkins loved a rounded sentence. He wiped away his tears and strode with dignity to the door.

  Lucinda turned to see her mother crying gently, and made an impatient ejaculation at such folly. "You—you never valued him, Lucinda," said my Lady Weston, sobbing the more. "But—but I would I were his mother." She referred to Mr. Bourne. Lucinda was not concerned in such fruitless emotions. While she was hurrying to the window to know what meant the noise of the troopers' parade, two stalked in and without a word sat themselves down on either side the door. Lucinda had hardly turned upon them before a word of command rang without, and she saw the mounted company wheel and swing away through the dusk. Cornet Tompkins took due strength to deal with that half troop of Goring's horse. Then Lucinda made to run out, but one of her guards rose up against her. "Woman, we are bidden guard you in our presence, and though you be an evil sight to a man of faith, yet will we do it."

  Lucinda recoiled all quivering with impatience. The other trooper looked at her and groaned, and shook his head and groaned. "It were well to comfort our souls with a savory exercise," said he, and in a gloomy nasal tone began to recite the mystic parts of Jeremiah. You conceive how he soothed the straining nerves of Lucinda.

  But the dull sound of Cornet Tompkins' horsemen had hardly died away when there was a swift scurry over the turf, and even as the recitation of Jeremiah was cut off and its giver moved swiftly to the window, Colonel Stow came in, flushed with ingenuous agitation. "Good sir, give me word! Is Cornet Tompkins within?" says he breathless to the first trooper, who shook a solemn head. "Oh, luckless day!" cried Colonel Stow. "His troop major, then, or a sergeant?"

  "Brother, they be gone out to capture an Amalekite, and we only are left. Is it a matter of war?"

  "Alack," said Colonel Stow, who was swaying a little upon his toes, "I fear you may think it so," and as he spoke let drive at the man's chin, and, whirling round, met his comrade's rush with another shoulder blow. The first was hardly fallen before Colonel Royston was upon him and had a noose round his arms and a kerchief in his mouth. Swift and neat likewise Colonel Stow dealt with the other. My Lady Weston screamed her fright, and Lucinda chid her angrily to silence. Fitly trussed and gagged, those two hapless troopers were propped up against the door-posts to contemplate each other.

  Colonel Stow, flushed still, but now purely calm, made his bow to my Lady Weston. "Such affairs must always give pain to persons of sensibility, my lady; but I trust we have not been indelicate. Pray, will you ride? Time is short." Then Lucinda whirled her mother away to cloak, and as she passed Colonel Stow she held out her hand. His lips caressed it, and one of the hapless troopers was heard to groan.

  With him Colonel Royston remonstrated. "Believe me, you are less hurt than you suppose, and you should be more grateful than you look. I have never seen a neater surprise. It should be an education to you in tactics—which most men only learn by death—an expensive method I would not urge upon you, unless you would die for pure philanthropy."

  "Come away, George," said Colonel Stow gruffly, watching the two helpless men. His friend's manners displeased him at whiles.

  Out in the gathering dark Alcibiade and Matthieu-Marc waited with four good horses beside their own. Colonel Stow swept a swift glance over the sky. It was clear enough to find the stars if need were. He laughed. "Night and a ride through the enemy's quarters. What more should a man want?"

  "I want less," Colonel Royston admitted. "A woman or so less."

  Wherewith the women came, cloaked heavily, each with a large and weighty casket. Colonel Stow took Lucinda. My Lady Weston was crying still, which Colonel Royston observing, "Nay, my lady, 'tis hard enough to quit home," says he gently enough. Anything of the mother would always mellow him. "But you should count on coming again when these rascals are beaten."

  "I do not care where I go," said she feebly. "It is Mr. Bourne."

  "Oh! Mr. Bourne is more safe than yourself. That matter of the letter was a ruse of ours to get the Roundheads away."

  She stared at him, endeavoring to grasp this. She was not quick of wit. Then she gave it up with a sigh. Turning to her horse, she saw Lucinda in Colonel Stow's arms as he swung her to the saddle. "I wish it were Mr. Bourne," she murmured to herself, and was more lachrymose.

  Colonel Royston was not sure that he differed.

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  Chapter Eleven

  Colonel Royston Deserts a Lady

  THE sky was darkly gray, set with rare stars. They rode through murmurous gloom. Warm wind of the passion of spring moved about them. Close to the strength of that square shoulder, breathing the strange throbbing scents of the night, Lucinda smiled and her bosom was quick.… Life was good. Life was good. She had conquered, she and the man. He had broken all her chains, he made all bow to her. She felt in her the wild force of the world beat free.… It surged in Colonel Stow, too. Every nerve in him was aware and glad of her eager womanhood. He had won the best of life.… He never knew of the white face behind a window of his home that yearned after him through the dark, through tears.

  From the heavy gloom of the lane they came suddenly to blither air, to the wide freedom of the vale. All about them the dewy, flower-studded meadows bore a strange ethereal light. Lucinda gave a little glad cry, like a happy child. Then, as Colonel Stow turned to her, she saw the flash of his eyes and was breathless. "Oh, it is life, it is life with you," she murmured.

  "I live to make your life," he said.

  "I—I did not know I could feel this.… I am glad, glad! It is to have all the power of the world in me."

  "I am no man without you. And you without me no woman. Now—now we are lords of life."

  She laughed a little. "You and I," and laughed again gladly. They were riding close as troopers in the charge. Her shoulder touched his lightly, and again. "Oh, the night and the joy of the night!" she cried. He could see the surge of her bosom, the silvery cloud of her breath, and her lips dark in the white comeliness beneath her hood.

  "Sure, this is our birth night."

  "All's new indeed. Yes, and all life is for us. Ah, what does a maid know?"

  "Nay, not even what she hath to give."

  "And you," she turned upon him in a quick impulse, then gave a queer, scornful laugh. "Do you know naught of yourself? 'Tis you make my heart wild—you! You! You are strong; you are sure. You force things to your will—lightly, lightly, and laugh." Swiftly she flung her hand to him, and as he gripped it and crushed it against his lips: "Oh, ay," she said in a voice of miserable mirth. "Oh, ay, 'tis yours."

  "If I take I give," he said.

  She looked at him while they rode far. Then she caught his hand and kissed it fiercely. "So. It is so," she muttered. Then with a wild laugh: "Oh, there is power in us—power!"

  "You are born for that." He gripped
her hand till she bit her lip for the pain. "Woman, woman of my need."

  "Yes! Ah, yes! All the world is yes to us now. There is naught denied. Oh, you master me, and I am master of all in you!"

  He leaned out of his saddle, he flung his arm about her, and she swayed lithe and glad in the hard strength of it. Her lips were parted in a strange smile.

  "There is match light on the right front," said Colonel Royston.

  Colonel Stow let her go easily. "Rein up," he said, and peered along Royston's pointing arm. Tiny specks of yellow played will-o'-the-wisp far off. "They fling pickets wide at Aylesbury," he said calmly, and looked up at the stars. It was grass country and studded with trees, but open on either hand. "Take the women, George. Bear away to the south. Alcibiade!" But while Royston, with a sharp, "By the left and with spur!" hurried my lady and Lucinda before him, and set their horses to a sharper pace, the specks of yellow were gathering, and there came the sound of steel.

  "Is there danger?" said Lucinda under her breath.

  Colonel Royston laughed. "With a lady, madame, there is always danger."

  "I have no fear, sir," she cried angrily.

  "That is why you are dangerous," said Colonel Royston.

  "Is Colonel Stow in danger?" she insisted, imperious.

  "If you had never thought of him, it might have been kind," said Colonel Royston sourly. "To think of him now is mere impediment." Lucinda looked at him long.

  It is likely that Colonel Royston, being a friend, would have borne hard on any woman who dared an affection for Colonel Stow, and this woman heated his blood all out of reason. With amused disgust he did his best for her, drove her on swift over the meadows, down hill toward Ford brook. There was need.

  Challenges rang out behind them. The yellow gleams of the musketeers' matches were multiplied. They heard the mingled din of a troop of horse. "I'gad," muttered Colonel Royston with a doleful chuckle, "we'll have turned out the whole command." And indeed the meadows were aflame far and wide. There was a storm of shouting, orders and oaths; then, amid all the stars of yellow light, the blue flash of powder and volley on volley of musketry. Colonel Royston made up his mind. "God be with you," says he, "for I shall not." And he reined up sharp and went back for his friend.