CHAPTER VII.

THE TAVERN-KEEPER AND THE SKIPPER.

In the good old times supper was generally served at an hour which would not now be deemed particularly late for dinner, and after he had finished his attendance at the evening meal, Pope, who had obtained leave from his master to go to Bristol, set out with the king.

Charles had no opportunity of bidding Jane farewell, but she sent him a message by the butler, expressing her heartfelt wishes for his success. Though it was nearly dark at the time that he and Pope started on their expedition, and the gloom was greatly increased by the thickness of the woods into which they had plunged, the butler was well acquainted with the road, so that they were in no danger of taking a wrong course.

However, it was a relief when they emerged from the thicket, and gained the open ground, known as Stokeleigh Camp. As they reached the verge of the steep upland, the valley, deeply ploughed by the Avon, lay before them, while the lights of the city were distinguishable in the distance. Descending from this eminence, they pursued their course along the bank of the river, and met with no interruption.

"The tide is flowing," observed Pope. "Two hours hence the channel will be full. The moon will have risen by that time, and then there will be light enough for your majesty's business."

"It is quite light enough now, methinks," said Charles.

"It is pitch dark at this moment in the gorge of the Avon," rejoined Pope.

Presently, they drew near St. Mary Redcliffe's pile, the outline of which noble fabric could only be discerned through the gloom.

They then entered a narrow street skirted on either side by old timber houses, and leading towards one of the city gates, which took its name from the church they had just passed. Pope readily satisfied the guard at Redcliffe-gate, and entering the city they proceeded towards the bridge.

At that hour there were few people in the streets, which were almost dark owing to the overhanging stories of the old houses. Just after they had crossed the bridge and entered High-street, they encountered the city watch, which had begun to make its rounds, and were challenged by the captain, but allowed to pass on.

Shortly after this encounter, Pope turned into a narrow street on the left, and descending it, they had nearly reached the quay, when Pope stopped, and pointed to a tavern on the right, above the open door of which hung a lamp that cast a feeble glimmer on the footway.

"That is the Dolphin, my liege," he said.

Charles looked at the house for a few moments, as if debating within himself what he should do, and then said:

"Go in first. I will follow."

Pope obeyed, and went into the tavern, Charles keeping close behind him. On crossing the threshold they found themselves in a large, low-roofed, old fashioned room, in which a number of seafaring men were seated at small tables drinking and smoking. The room was so dimly lighted, besides being filled with tobacco-smoke, that the whole of the guests could not be clearly distinguished, but amongst them were three or four individuals, whose puritanical garb and tall steeple-crowned hats showed that they were sectaries.

Besides these there were a couple of troopers.

On making this discovery, Charles felt inclined to beat a hasty retreat, and would have done so, if the tavern-keeper, David Price, who had been watching them, had not come forward, and beckoning them to follow him, ushered them into a small inner room, where they found Careless and a stout-built personage, whose appearance answered to the description Charles had received of Captain Rooker.

Tall glasses and a big bowl of sack and sugar, or "Bristol Milk" as it was termed, were set on the table, and light was afforded by a lamp. Careless saluted the new-comers on their entrance, and begged them to be seated, but nothing passed till David Price had quitted the room.

"This is Captain Rooker," said Careless. "He has engaged to give us a passage to Swansea."

"Ay, it's all right," cried the captain, in rough but cheery accents. "My lugger has already gone down the river, and we shall follow her as soon as the tide suits, and that will be in about two hours. The current will then be running down quickly. If so be you don't like to embark on the quay, I can take you up somewhere lower down--say at the Gorge of the Avon."

"That's a long way off," observed Charles. "What's your reason for wishing us to embark at that place, captain?"

"Because it's the safest spot I know of," returned Rooker. "You need have no fear of anyone lying in wait for you there."

"No, we'll make sure of that," observed the king, glancing significantly at Careless.

"Hark ye, captain," said the latter, "you and I must not part company till we reach Swansea."

"Why, you don't doubt me?" cried the skipper, gruffly.

"No, I don't doubt you, but I won't let you out of my sight. We will arrange it in this way. You and I will start from the quay, and we will take up the others as proposed."

"Well, I'm agreeable," said the skipper. "But I understood that a young lady was going with you. Is she to be left behind?"

"No," replied Careless. "My friend will bring her with him. You will find her near the high cross on St. Augustine's Green," he added to Charles. "I would go there myself, but----"

"You don't want to leave me," supplied the skipper, with a laugh.

"Ay, that's just it," said Careless. "It won't make much difference to you," he continued, again addressing the king. "You need not come back. You can embark on the right bank of the river."

"Just as easily as on the left," remarked Captain Rooker, "if you can only get down the cliffs without breaking your neck."

"I will guide him," said Pope. "I know the path down the rocks."

"Well, the place will suit me," said Charles. "So you may look out for us at the entrance of the gorge, captain." Then, bending towards Careless, he added, in a low tone, "Don't lose sight of this man."

"Depend on me," replied Careless, in the same tone.

No one but Captain Rooker was aware that all that had passed had been overheard by David Price, who, on going forth, had left the door slightly ajar. The cunning rascal had now heard quite enough, and, fearful of being detected, crept cautiously away.

He was only just in time, for almost immediately afterwards Charles and Pope quitted the room. David Price attended them to the door, and after watching them for a moment or two, as they proceeded towards the quay, he beckoned to the troopers, whom we have mentioned as being among the guests. They were expecting the summons, and instantly joined him.

Meanwhile, the king and Pope had crossed the quay, and calling for a boat, were taken to the other side of the Frome.

As soon as the boat returned from this job, the two troopers, each of whom was armed with a carabine, and had a brace of pistols in his belt, jumped into it, and ordered the waterman to take them across.

The man prepared to obey, but by some accident got foul of another boat, causing a slight delay, which exasperated the troopers. They rated him soundly, but their anger did not mend matters, for he moved with the greatest deliberation.