by H. C. Bailey
As the shadows lengthened in the first of the afternoon, Mr. Stow, astride a full-barreled cob, rode back from his barley. Out of the diamond eye of the sun a miller's wain was coming to meet him. In front thereof marched a lean man and a girl in no part lean. They were plainly at violent argument, being further exhorted by a man on horseback behind them. Mr. Stow, with more surprise than pleasure, beheld them turn by his yew hedge and away to the yard. He arrived to find the lean man unloading bundles from the wain, while the lady assisted him with affection.
"What a pox!" said Mr. Stow, not without excuse. "Hey, you are the Frenchman who kissed my cook."
"Never!" cried Matthieu-Marc, while Molly wailed the faithlessness of men. "I am the brother of all good cooks. But yours—no, she has no soul."
"Then why do you come here, my friend?"
"In few words, sir, hear a sad tale. I am the servant of your son. I can declare that I live only for him. Last night my colonel was cast into prison by the King. Why? I do not know. He swiftly escaped and fled from Oxford. Remained his property. Lest that should be seized I removed it by strategy. Sir, it is here in your guard."
Mr. Stow said something to himself. "And where will Colonel Stow be gone then, my lad?"
"Helas, monsieur," said Matthieu-Marc, turning up his eyes.
"Well, who knows?" said Mr. Stow to himself, and drew a long breath. He has not a hasty mind. Keen and kindly he looked at Molly. "She will not be my son's property?"
Matthieu-Marc coughed. "The lady informs me, sir, that she is my wife."
"And you?"
"It would be ungraceful to deny it," said Matthieu-Marc.
Molly made a courtesy in his direction and a more serious one for Mr. Stow.
"Come in, come in," said he, "you will be fasting." He shepherded Molly and the miller's man before him, but Matthieu-Marc lingered. When they turned by the kitchen door Matthieu-Marc on his master's horse was already some way down the road. He waved his hand through the sunshine.
Mr. Stow stood still, gazing at him till he became a black speck against the glare. Then he wiped his eyes. "Sure, he is a dear," said Molly beside him, "and I could wish he were not."
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Chapter Forty-Nine
Colonel Royston Delivers his Soul
IN a long, low room of dark beam and wainscot Sir Thomas Fairfax had gathered his officers. The sunlight breaking through the hundred diamond panes of the casements, woke the scarlet and steel, made the shadows gloom black, played quaintly about the stern jaws of holiness. Fairfax had the head of the table, his pleasant dark face resolute and something self-satisfied. To the right Cromwell leaned his head on his hand and fidgeted and muttered scraps of Scripture to himself. Ireton was beside him, frowning and scribbling over much paper. Upon the other side old Skippon sat and yawned. There was Lambert, the square-headed Yorkshireman, and Fleetwood's lean fervor, and Desborough of the honest yokel's face, and Ludlow and Whalley and the ruddy, comely Harrison—every officer of note in the army. By Ireton—no comfortable neighbor—sat Colonel Royston, heavy and still, his full face set in hard lines.
"Gentlemen, there is no need of much words," said Fairfax in his loud frank voice. "Myself was at council with the lieutenant general and the commissary and the sergeant major at Holton last night when a company of bullies set about us and butchered the good fellows that were with us and came so near ourselves that but for a troop of Colonel Harrison's we had been sped. It was at the same time that the King's horse fell upon our lines in a hot attack, wherein we have, under God, to thank Colonel Royston's dispositions of his dragooners. Sirs, it is plain this is all a horrid plot. They would murder your generals and assault a masterless army. One of the fellows that beset us hath been taken. We have him here and I doubt not you will be short with him."
There was a mutter of assent. Ireton looked up from the paper whereon he had been drawing something not unlike Colonel Stow. "And with your leave, sir, we may learn of him who was behind this plot; whether the knowledge of a thing so damnable touches any in high places."
That hint at the King was relished. There was muttering and Harrison cried out: "Verily, verily, he is drunken with the blood of the saints."
"This thing is a low villainy," said Fairfax, with some disdain. Respect for royal persons was bred in him. "Bring the man in."
Colonel Stow came in between two pikemen and saluted the court, looked calmly round upon eyes of contemptuous hate.
"Your name," said Rushworth, the secretary.
"Jeremiah Stow, lately Colonel of Horse in the King's army."
"Sir," says Fairfax, "I think you were of a party that made a murderous attack on myself and other gentlemen last night?"
"It is within the knowledge of many, sir."
"And this was no fair act of war, but patently murder?"
"I do not deny it."
Fairfax sat back in his chair. "Do we need more, gentlemen?" he said, with contempt.
"Nay, for it is written, 'smite Amalek and utterly destroy,'" said Fleetwood with unction.
"It is also written that sinners make haste to shed blood," said Ireton sourly. "And by your leave, sir, I need some little more." Fairfax waved his hand. "Sir, 'tis within your knowledge that none of us bore pistols, having left the same in our holsters." Fairfax nodded. "Yet, of the fellows who were slain last night two have bullet wounds, the which I remarked to the sergeant major."
Skippon rolled in his seat. "And so it is. But there never was a fight without strange happenings."
"So that plainly there were shots fired by another hand than ours. And these were not let off at us in a venture. No man who sought to do a secret murder would do it by pistol fire. These shots were meant. I think Colonel Harrison will tell the court it was the sound of the firing roused him to send his troop to Holton."
"You speak the truth," said Harrison.
"Therefore, I present to the court that the man which fired those shots had another design than our murder."
"He stands there," said Cromwell, pointing with big, red, bony hand across the table to Colonel Stow.
Colonel Stow saluted. "I thank you, sir."
"This is something fine weaving, methinks," said Fleetwood with a sneer.
"The commissary goes back to his old trade," quoth Lambert. "This is a lawyer's tale. Another lawyer would answer it all in a moment. The man was taken with red hands in a murder. What's all the rest? Whoever knew a fight where no bullet went awry? This man was fool enough to fire and fool enough to shoot amiss, as he hath been fool enough to be taken alive. His folly hath spoiled their villainy. But I protest I have no more mercy for a fool than another."
"That surprises me in Colonel Lambert," said Ireton blandly.
"Nay, but there was never a fight without strange happenings in it," said Skippon, "and I can not tell why they should save a rogue."
There was a loud murmur of assent. They were not looking for innocence. Lambert's heavy, blunt arguments crushed the lawyer's subtleties; indeed, no soldier was likely to need more than the plain tale. One of the murderers lost his head—fired—was captured. It was more like truth than any refinement. It carried them away. Ireton, glancing round the table, reckoned the verdict with keen eyes and shrugged. He looked curiously at Colonel Stow, who surprised him by a smile.
Colonel Stow saluted Fairfax. "Sir, I, too, have something to say."
"Why, how now?" cried Cromwell with a start, and Ireton began to caress his chin.
"It is your right," said Fairfax.
Royston moved heavily and, turning at the sound, Colonel Stow saw his face and its agony. It hardly inclined him to mercy. But for the sake of old years, for his own pride, for a hundred mingled memories and desires, he could not give Royston to death. There was another whose shame must be covered. Gilbert Bourne had taken him from prison to save the King's honor and for the King's honor died. His own faith was pledged to the dead. The King's part could not be told. For the rest he was free and would fi
ght. He began to speak and Royston's eyes were set on him in a grim stare of pain.
"Sir, I thank you. I bear a name of some honor among you and, though I be your foe, I have never brought shame upon it. I would call to witness your officers who have had passages with me that I have ever observed the right rules of war."
Then Fairfax cried out: "Faith, I remember you! You were in that affair by Towcester."
"I think, sir, I lost no honor by it?"
"Sir, I am sorry to see you here."
Colonel Stow bowed. "Well, sir, you recall that. In this present I thank the commissary general for his honorable testimony. I will make a plain tale short. Yesternight in Oxford an officer of the King's guard, Captain Bourne, came to me with the news that an Italian bravo, Strozzi, had ridden out on this venture of murder. It was plain to Captain Bourne and myself that such a plot must bring shame on the King's cause, the which we had in high regard. But the fellow was gone and we could not stay him by orders, nay, it was but a chance, of riding at the best of our speed, we could reach you in time to balk him. I do not pretend, sir, that we had any peculiar kindness for you. We sought to preserve our cause from the infamy of this foul deed. Riding ventre à terre, we came something rashly upon the Italian's troop and in the affray Captain Bourne was slain. He lies by the roadside on Shotover. Before he died he bade me ride on for the honor of the King. Sir, I did my possible. I caught up Strozzi's company as they were running in upon Holton House. It was over late to warn you. I fought for you. I did what, under the providence of God, sir, was your salvation. I would have you remark there were shots fired before Strozzi came within the house. They were mine. I had four pistols, my own and my friend's, and they were all shot off before I was beaten down. Pray, remark again, it was not Colonel Harrison's troop, nor your swords, but Strozzi's own men, that smote me. That is all, sir. Let me say, whatever befall me, I did my part. I saved you."
"With a very pretty tale," Lambert sneered.
"Let's have less of worldly honor and more of God's righteousness," said Fleetwood.
"Wherein lies the one way of thriving," said Harrison, with unction. "O, sir, let's not be beguiled with the glories of man's seeking, which are a fleeting show."
"Let's abide by our business," said Ireton sharply. "Come, sir, this was well said and I tell you plainly it suits well with what I have seen. But we must have more. You heard of the plot in Oxford. Did you hear who made the plot?"
"Captain Bourne told me of none but Strozzi. We knew him for a fellow of no scruple."
"Ah, Strozzi," said Ireton, with a curious intonation, "and who stood behind Strozzi?"
"How can I tell?" said Colonel Stow, with a shrug. "He is a fellow that works in the dark."
"Do you know who devised the plan?"
"On my honor, sir," said Colonel Stow, with some relief, "no. It is like Strozzi himself."
"Do you know any but Strozzi who knew his design?"
Colonel Stow hesitated a long while, staring at the ground. This was the very thing he feared, but he had not looked for such damnable directness. Well! He was pledged. He would guard the honor of those who themselves would not guard it. It ill became him to blab. "Sir, I am here to answer for my own part, not others," he said slowly.
Ireton made an impatient sound. "I ask you again," he cried. "Do you know of any but Strozzi who knew the plot?" Colonel Royston moved noisily in his chair.
"I have answered that," said Colonel Stow.
"I warn you, sir," cried Ireton angrily, "you do yourself wrong. Deceit is your worst enemy. Subtlety shall ruin you. Integrity never will. Will you speak?"
"I will speak anything of myself," said Colonel Stow.
"I ask you a last time. I do solemnly profess to you, you have no hope but in telling all. Who was in this beside Strozzi?"
"I have answered."
"And I have done!" Ireton cried petulantly, and flung himself back and with a wave of his hand gave up the affair. But Royston was swaying to and fro in his seat.
"It was time," quoth Lambert. "The rogue is but playing with us."
"Make short, make short!" cried Harrison. "Let him be turned back for a reward of his shame."
Fairfax leaned forward again. "Do you say more, sir?" he asked gravely.
"I have done," said Colonel Stow. "It is not here I am judged."
"I give you little hope," said Fairfax and signed to the sergeant of the guard. But Cromwell was muttering and trying to speak.
They were leading Colonel Stow out when Royston sprang to his feet. His chair went crashing down. He stood erect, the biggest man by far, crimson, with flashing eyes. "No, by God, no!" he roared. "I'll deliver myself." He strode heavily down the room, spurs and sword clanking, and halted in Colonel Stow's place. "I'll give you light, sirs. Why is he silent? Why is he choosing death? To keep safe a villain that once he called friend. He would die for me. By the blood of God, I am bigger than that! Hark ye!" There was little need of that, for he held them like men in a trance. "Colonel Stow and I, we were true friends for a dozen years till I betrayed him. We were both with the King. I forsook him for my own profit and for my own profit sought to ruin him. The lieutenant general will recall how I bought honor of him with news of a King's convoy. It was my friend's command. I came with a treachery, and with a treachery I go. I did not rise fast enough in your army. Ay, gentlemen, I am a better soldier than any man of you, save one, though you have not the wit to know it. Well. I wanted a higher place. Ods heart, I was worth it. There came to me this devil Strozzi with a few thousand pounds if I would put him in the way to kill off the generals so that Rupert could have us at advantage. I took him. It was I gave him news of your Holton council. It was I prescribed him a way through the outposts. And yet, by God, you shall do me reason! It was not the money I needed. I would have given him no victory. You know who beat off Rupert last night. With the generals down who would have been master of the army today? Ask yourselves that, gentlemen!" He hurled at their amazement a rough laugh of defiance. "But for Colonel Stow I had done it. Those damned shots of his saved you, as they spoiled my plan. Faith, you may thank your God for him. Do you think there is another Quixote in the two armies mad enough to spend himself to save his foes? By Heaven, I had bubbled you all but for him!" He turned on Colonel Stow with reckless eyes. He had put off shame now. He was his own master. Colonel Stow saw him smile. "Ay, he has thrown me. I am beat. And now, so please you, he'd take my shame.… Curse me, I have some soul, too." He plucked at his belt and loosening it, flung sword and all clashing down. "There's what no man of you is man enough to take against my will!" And he laughed at them again.
It was his hour. He mastered them. The grim, saintly Puritans, who knew no fear of less than God, whom no reward would have suborned to his treachery, they shrank before him. His stark, rough strength mocked at them in wanton delight of itself. In that storm of wild vigor their virtue was abashed. Some one muttered of that old serpent Satan and Royston stood there, towering above them heavy and tall, the mellow sunlight falling quaintly on his drawn brow and the full dark face gave them the contempt of a mocking god. They dared nothing. He was far above them all. Even Colonel Stow at his side, watching him with a great love, was little matter. He proved himself upon them. Their wills were bound. Life was worth living for that.…
Ireton was first to break himself free. "You profess yourself traitor?" he said sharply.
"Little words, little man," said Royston with a smile.
"You shall find no little doom, sirrah," Ireton sneered.
"What you can do, will it make me fear?" Royston sneered.
Then Fairfax started up. "Away! Away!" he cried, flushing. "Nay, keep Colonel Stow apart. Let not the honest man be defiled."
Colonel Royston made them a salute of mockery ere he turned.
Colonel Stow hung back and lingered in the doorway. While the sergeant strove to keep them apart, he held out his hand to his friend. Again they looked in each other's eyes, and so were parted. No
t in sorrow or any shame. The last hour had worn all that away. The tide of happiness came upon them swift resurgent. Past treasons were no matter. The last trial found each man true. Their souls were free. They stood together invincible of the powers of death and glad.… Glad.…
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Chapter Fifty
The Lieutenant General Speaks
IT WAS Fleetwood who began devoutly whining: "Why dost thou show me iniquity and cause me to behold grievance, O Lord? Verily, though they dig into hell, thence shall Thy hand take them."
"The which is a sweet and savory comfort to Israel," said Harrison with unction.
"Nay, but the Lord hath sent serpents and cockatrices among us and we are black," Fleetwood complained.
"O, sirs," said Desborough, with simple fervor, "'tis sure a great honor unto us that the Lord hath taken thought to preserve us from such a devil."
At this Cromwell made strange noises, but when they looked for him to speak there came nothing. His face was near purple and he bit his lip till the blood lay upon his chin.
Fleetwood began again: "It is written in the book of the Prophet Hosea—"
Ireton made an exclamation and turned noisily to Fairfax: "Well, sir, and what say you to Colonel Stow's part now?"
"Why, by my faith, I have done him much wrong. I would hold it honor to call him friend. I—"
"Honor! Honor!" cried Fleetwood. "O, sir, what a tinkling cymbal is the honor of men. Let us ask if he be a savory member and you shall find—"
"A weaver of webs, a thing of subtleties," quoth Lambert. "Hear me, sirs. This corruption of manifold designs likes me not. It is written: 'He that is not with us, is against us.' That suffices."
"It is written in the same book," said Ireton sweetly, "'he that is not against us is with us.'"
"Sir, let plain men be the judges of villainy."
"And folly pass sentence on crime."