CHAPTER XVIII

THE CALL OUT OF KINGSFORD

Just inside the door of the inn was a steep flight of steps; Hugh tripped over the first, but, almost ere his outstretched hand touched the floor, was on his feet again and rushing up the stairway. As he ran he pulled his sword clear from the scabbard; if matters were so ill Dick wished him thence, he would have need of it. But in the corridor above-stairs all was quiet, he noted in the instant in which he paused, holding his breath, and gazed at the closed doors along the gallery. “Dick!” he called again, so there came a little echo from the end of the corridor. Then he ran headlong for the nearest door, and, dashing it open with his foot, flung himself well into the centre of the chamber. By his very impetus he thrust out of his way a man in a blue livery coat, and, clearing free passage thus, pushed up to the wall and set his back against it. There were three blue-coated serving men in the room, he perceived now, and a gross, short-necked man in a fine riding-suit, who was deliberately bolting the entrance door. Then his eyes rested on Dick, who, seated well away from the window, was leaning back indolently in his chair and tugging at his mustache; only Dick’s white face was tense, Hugh saw, and he noted, too, that his friend wore no sword.

It was the short-necked man who broke the instant’s expectant hush: “Master Hugh Gwyeth, the tall swordsman? On my soul, I be rejoiced to meet with you. Put down that sword. You are my prisoner.”

“What knaves are these, Dick?” cried Hugh, with his sword-hand alert on the hilt.

“Of the old Bellasis breed,” Strangwayes answered, and let his hand fall from his mustache with the merest gesture toward the open window, and just a look which bade Hugh take his chance.

“Ay, we apprehend you for the foul murder of my kinsman, Philip Bellasis,” spoke the man by the door.

“Is that all?” Hugh asked, with a sudden nervous laugh of relief. He clapped his sword back into the sheath and tore open his coat.

“Seize his arms!” cried the short-necked man.

One of the serving fellows had sprung at him, when Hugh, striving to throw him off, saw Dick come to his feet at a jump and hit out. Somebody bellowed with pain; he found his arm free, and Dick’s shoulder pressing against his as they stood to the wall. “Have done, have done!” Hugh cried. “Read you there, Dick.”

He thrust the parchment into his friend’s hands, and Dick, with a smothered exclamation, broke the seals. An instant of silence came upon the room, as if all had half guessed; only the rustle of the parchment and the heavy movement of the fallen serving man dragging himself to his feet broke the quiet, till Strangwayes spoke with ominous civility, “Will you deign, Master Bellasis, to bestow one glance upon his Majesty’s seal and signature?”

“You’ll not deceive me—” said the gross man with much bluster, yet he came hastily, and, gazing upon the paper, read with dropping jaw.

“Now have you any farther business with me, Master Bellasis?” Strangwayes asked easily. “Speak quickly, ere I go across the corridor to sup with Master Gwyeth.”

The other said something that was choked with inarticulateness in his short throat.

“I am ordering my supper now,” Strangwayes finished, as he went with much dignity to the door; “and hark you, sir, I want my sword brought back to me ere supper be on the table. For I’ll be wishing to fetch it along with me when next I come to seek you.”

Then he made Master Bellasis a very low bow, and, catching Hugh by the arm, brought him out into the corridor. Right across the way was a vacant chamber, but almost before they were inside the door Hugh’s arms were about Dick, and Strangwayes, with his voice half smothered in the roughness of the embrace, was jerking out: “Heaven forgive Bellasis his other sins for the good turn he did in bringing us together. But ’twould have been a sorry companionship, had you not come so furnished.” Thereat he got Hugh by the scruff of the neck and set him down hard on the nearest stool. “Now, you thick-witted rogue,” he ordered, “why in the name of reason did you not call out to me from the inn yard and say you had that piece of parchment inside your coat? Here I sat a good half-hour and schooled myself into seeing you laid by the heels along with me. Faith, I’ll look to find white hairs in my head to-morrow.”

Hugh laughed, because the world was so good now he could do nothing else, then poured out his story thick and fast,—Prince Rupert at the “Bear and Ragged Staff,” and behind that Newick, and Woodstead, and Ashcroft, all huddled together. “Lord save us! We must have food to help down such a lump,” cried Dick, and, summoning the host thereupon, ordered supper to be ready in quick time.

A drawer came speedily to fetch them candles, and barely had he gone when one of the bluecoats, bowing his way in, handed over to Strangwayes his sword. Dick gave him money, and bade him and his fellows go drink. “A pleasant company I’ve been keeping, eh, Hugh?” he asked, with a dry smile, as the man backed out. “How came I by it? Alas, a man cannot always choose. I was about my business at The Hague, like a decent gentleman. And that fat calf, Herbert Bellasis,—’tis a cousin to the whole scurvy connection,—he was there on some mischief, and recognized me.”

Just there came supper, but across the table Strangwayes drawled on: “My friend Bellasis feared a young man like myself might come to harm in foreign parts. So he fetched me home.”

“Fetched you, Dick?”

“Very simply. He and his bluecoats met me of a dark night in a byway. He was urgent, but I refused his invitations. Then they picked me up and conveyed me aboard an English ship.”

“I don’t believe they could,” Hugh said bluntly.

“To be sure, they had knocked the senses out of me, else I had not come so meekly. ’Twas there I got this souse in the head; ’tis near healed now. But there were four bluecoats once; one of them is still at The Hague, cherishing a punctured lung; I gave it to him. We had a merry passage over, Hugh; Bellasis and I must share the cabin and eat together. He used to tell me over the wine—’twas ship’s beer and flat at that—how I ought to be hanged, and he hoped to live to see it done. And I used to compliment him on his mad dare-devil courage. For if at five and thirty he durst attack a single man when he had only four to back him, no doubt at seventy he would dare come on with only two to aid. Nay, if he lived long enough, he might yet arrive at fighting man to man. Methinks the length of years he had to wait discouraged him, by the vile temper that put him in. Every pleasure has an end, so at last we made the Welsh coast and posted hither, in the very nick of time, it seems. For, Hugh, after this last exploit of yours, I’d be loath to leave you fending for yourself. Man alive, where do you think you’d be lying now, if you hadn’t chanced to take the Prince’s fancy?”

Hugh answered submissively that he didn’t know.

“Neither do I,” Strangwayes retorted grimly. “Nay, nay, don’t look conscience-stricken now, for you found the one good chance in a hundred, and it has all come well. But ’tis a blessing for us that his Highness delights to fly about noisily in disguise, instead of plodding soberly about his business. It has been more of a blessing to us, perhaps, than to the kingdom.”

“You shall not speak slurringly of Prince Rupert in my presence!” Hugh flared up.

Strangwayes said, with a laugh, that he would make honorable amends by drinking his Highness’s health, on his knees, if Hugh desired; so they ended amicably by drinking the health together as they stood by their chairs, then religiously smashed their glasses, and went away to bed.

The early sunrise roused them up to repeat and re-repeat all that had befallen in the months of their separation, a subject which lasted them through breakfast till they quitted the table and went down to the inn yard. “Why, Herbert Bellasis has taken himself and his people hence,” Hugh cried, after one glance into the vacant stable.

“I respect wisdom in any man,” Strangwayes commented, as he loitered at Hugh’s side in among the stalls. “You say the Prince said something to you about not fighting any more? Tut, tut! ’Tis a pity.” There he broke off suddenly, “Why, lad, how came old Bayard back to you?”

“Why should you ask?” Hugh replied wisely. “If you don’t know, I don’t.”

“I’d take it kindly if you’d talk reason,” Strangwayes said pathetically. “What have I to do with your horse? I don’t know even who bought the beast, or whither he was taken from Oxford.”

Hugh whistled a stave. “It must ha’ been the same who sent me the two sovereign from Tamworth. Maybe ’twas Sir William, or perhaps Captain Turner.”

“Or perhaps Captain Gwyeth,” Dick said, after an instant.

Hugh stared blankly a moment, then stamped his foot down on the stable floor. “I won’t believe it,” he cried fiercely. “I tell you, I’d fling away the money and turn the horse loose, if I believed it.”

“Captain Gwyeth had a hand in that first movement to gain your pardon,” Strangwayes spoke impartially.

“He was only Sir William’s instrument,” Hugh insisted, and, without staying to caress the horse, strode out of the stable.

Strangwayes followed in silence; indeed, that instant’s jar ended conversation between them till they were back in their chamber, and Dick was busied in writing the news of his whereabouts and the outcome of the Bellasis affair to Sir William. “What use?” urged Hugh, wearied of gazing out of the window with no one to talk to. “We’ll be at Tamworth soon.”

“Not for a little time,” Strangwayes answered, with his eyes intent on the sheet; “I’ve business here at Oxford.”

He did not tell his companion what the business might be, but to all appearances it was furthered by taking a room in Oxford, by dining with various gentlemen and officers, and by devoting some days to a happy and care-free time of which Hugh enjoyed every moment. Not till the morning succeeding the day on which the king left the city to take possession of Bristol did Strangwayes make mention of the northward journey; then he routed Hugh early from his bed with the announcement that they would set out at once. “But first we must eat a meal at the ‘Sceptre,’” he concluded. “Fit yourself for the road, Hugh, and gallop thither to order dinner. If I’m not with you ere noon I’ll have been called north by the other way, so do you post after as fast as you can. Remember.”

An hour later Hugh was gayly riding out by the western road, which he had last travelled with such different feelings, and, coming in the mid-morning to the “Sceptre,” ordered dinner grandly. Afterward he loitered down to the bowling green, now all short velvety grass, where he had inveigled Martin, the friendly drawer, into giving him a lesson in bowls, when Strangwayes hailed him noisily from the doorway. “My business is despatched,” he said smilingly, as Hugh came to meet him. “After all, we’d best bribe Martin here to eat the dinner for us. We must be off.”

They went out from the “Sceptre” at a rattling pace, but the first hill slackened their speed so conversation was possible. Then Strangwayes drawled pleasantly, “I’ve no wish to deceive you into any danger, Hugh, so you should know I have just fought with Herbert Bellasis.”

“Dick!” Hugh cried.

“I was most circumspect,” Strangwayes apologized. “I waited till the king was well away, so I might not do it in the very teeth of him. And I did not hurt the fat lump, though I’d fain have done so. I only knocked the sword out of his fist, and then the poor knave was very ready to kneel down and crave my pardon, and swear never so to abuse a gentleman again. Don’t put on your Puritan face, Hughie. The fellow had so treated me I could do nothing else.”

“Why did you not let me come to the field with you?” Hugh protested. “I take it most unkindly of you.”

“I was not going to let my folly spoil your new fortunes,” Strangwayes answered. “I think ’twas done so quietly ’twill all blow over, since we have got away to Tamworth. But if not, no charge can come against you.”

“Why will you always be sparing me as if I were a child?” Hugh cried, with an angry break in his voice.

“Because some ways you are still just a long-legged, innocent bairn,” Dick replied, with a chuckle, whereat Hugh tried to sulk, but that was impossible with Dick talking fast of their comrades at Tamworth. In the end he must talk, too, and laugh with Dick, till he forgot the hurt to his dignity.

By hard riding they contrived before moonrise to reach Ashcroft and rouse up the Widow Flemyng. She fair hugged Hugh, and said of course she knew he’d get his pardon; then fell to cooking their supper, while she talked loudly and contentedly to either of them or both. Next morning they set out in dubious weather, and, going a short stage out of their direct road, passed that night with Butler and his officers, who made much of Strangwayes, though they looked askance at Hugh, and were half loath to forgive him for not getting hanged as they had prophesied. Next evening brought them to Sir William Pleydall’s great house in Worcestershire, where his widowed daughter, Mistress Cresswell, gave them a hearty welcome, and, riding thence at sunrise, they came at last unto Tamworth.

It was about four of the afternoon, hot and moist with slow rain, when they rode across the King’s Dyke down the narrow High Street of the town. At the door of a tavern Hugh caught sight of a trooper loitering, a shiftless fellow of Turner’s company, but he longed to jump down and have speech with the rascal. “Let us push on briskly, Dick,” he begged, and so they went at a swinging pace down the street and across the river, where on its height Tamworth Castle towered black against the gray sky. There was a shout of greeting to the petty officer of the watch, a scurrying of grooms in the paved south court of the castle, and then the word of their coming must have travelled at high speed, for barely had they crossed to the main door of the keep when a young officer ran out to meet them, and fell on Strangwayes. “Have you forgot me, Lieutenant?” he cried.

“Sure, no, Cornet Griffith,” Dick answered heartily. “Your leg’s recovered?”

“A matter of a limp; it does well enough in the saddle. I have back my commission under Captain Turner now, so we’ll serve in the same troop. Ay, your lieutenancy is waiting for you.”

Talking boisterously, they crossed the great hall that was now a guardroom, and, passing into one of the lesser rooms that served the officers, came upon Michael Turner. It pleased Hugh more than he could show that the captain did not scoff at him, but gave him a half-embrace, saying kindly: “Faith, we’re glad to have you back, Gwyeth.” Though next moment he had turned away to talk with Strangwayes: “You’ve come in time for work, Lieutenant. They’re drawing all the men they can find westward unto Gloucester, where they say there will be brisk doings. Leveson’s and my troops are here in the castle; Gwyeth’s has gone a-raiding into Warwickshire; the others are all prancing into the west. We’re a scant hundred to defend the whole town, so we’ll gladly give you the pleasure of keeping the watch to-night.”

Strangwayes came away laughing, and under Griffith’s guidance they went down a corridor to a snug parlor, where they had the good fortune to find Sir William, idle for the moment, and unattended save by a single hound. The dog made a dash to meet Dick, barking hilariously the while, so Hugh could only see that the baronet embraced his nephew warmly, and he stepped back a little to leave them to themselves. But Dick haled him forward, and Sir William spoke to him with a gracious sort of welcome that made Hugh stammer, when he tried to thank him for the effort to secure his pardon. “Nonsense, nonsense,” spoke Sir William; “we had no need to seek it, sir. You have the wit or the good fortune to be able to maintain yourself without our help. Your father ought to be proud of you.” He stopped there, then, as he turned again to Strangwayes, added with a certain diffidence: “I pray you, Master Gwyeth, do not forget to go speak to Francis; he has been in a fit of the sullens since yesternight.”

Hugh left the room in some wonderment, and, seizing upon a serving man, was speedily conducted by a passageway, up a flight of stairs, and along a gallery to a closed door. Hugh knocked, and, getting no reply, knocked again, then tried the door and found it bolted within. “Frank,” he called, and began shaking the door. “Open to me. ’Tis Hugh Gwyeth.”

There was an instant’s pause, then a slow step across the floor, and the grate of the bolt in the socket. “Come in, hang you!” Frank’s voice reached him.

It was a big cheerless tower chamber, Hugh saw, with heavy scant furniture and windows high from the floor that now gave little light. He stood a moment, half expecting Frank to speak or bid him be seated, but the boy slouched back to the bed that stood in the farther corner, and, without looking at him, flung himself down upon it. “Why, what’s amiss?” Hugh broke out, and went to him; now he came nearer he saw Frank had been crying much.

“Nothing,” the boy answered, and kept his face bent down as if he were ashamed.

“Tell me,” Hugh urged, “you’ll feel the better for it. Is it anything because of Griffith?”

“Yes, it’s that,” Frank cried, raising his head defiantly. “They have taken away my cornetcy, Hugh. ’Tis all along of Michael Turner. And I never harmed him; I had done my best. But he comes to my father; he says he must have a man for his troop. So my father turns his anger on me; he said I was a selfish, heedless child, where ’twas time I bore me as a young man. And then Ned Griffith comes back all cured, and they stripped me of my cornetcy to give it to him.” Frank dropped down with his face buried in the pillow. “I pray you, go away,” he choked; and, in the next breath, “Nay, come back, Hugh; you’ve always been my friend.”

Hugh sat down obediently by the bed, scarcely knowing what to say, when Frank with his face still hidden suddenly broke out, “Hugh, did you look to have that cornetcy last winter?”

Hugh hesitated: “Yes, I did hope. But I had no reason, ’twas no fault of yours.”

“My faith, I had not taken it of you, had I known. I’d not have used a man as Ned has used me, as they all have used me. I have been playing the fool, and they all have been scoffing at me, and I did not know it.”

“Sure, you must not take it so grievously, Frank,” Hugh urged. “Get up and wash your face and show you care not. You’ll have another commission soon, when they see you are in earnest.”

Between coaxing and encouraging he got Frank to his feet at last, and even persuaded him to eat supper, which he ventured to order sent to the chamber. Throughout Hugh did his best to talk to the boy of any and all matters that had befallen him, till he roused him to a certain dull interest. “So you’ve had back your horse all safe?” Frank asked listlessly. “’Twas I procured Captain Gwyeth the name of the place where you were hiding. He bought the horse when ’twas sold at Oxford, and he wished you to have it, that time when he was working for your pardon. Yes, I know your father well; he is always kind to me, and does not mock me as the others have been doing. I used to tell him all about you, and then he asked me find where you were lodging. I had influence with my father then, so I could learn it,” he added bitterly.

All thought of comforting Frank had left Hugh; he tried to listen with sympathy to his piteous complaints, but it was useless; so he rose, and, bidding him as cheery a good night as possible, and promising to come back in the morning, went out from the chamber. At the end of the gallery was a deep window-seat, where he sat down and stared out at the roofs of the town that huddled gray in the twilight, so intent on his own thoughts that he started when Dick touched his shoulder. “How did you leave the poor popinjay?” Strangwayes asked, with a trace of a laugh in his voice.

“Better, I think,” Hugh replied.

“Poor lad! Sir William might remember there is a mean betwixt over-indulgence and severity. But Frank has brought it on himself. When he forgot to do his duty in the troop he would be trying to cajole Captain Turner into good humor, just as he has always cajoled Sir William. And Michael Turner is not the man to coax that way. He has influence with Sir William, too, and so—Well, ’twill be for Frank’s good in the end,” Dick concluded philosophically, as he settled himself on the window-bench.

Hugh made room for him, then went on staring at the gray sky. Suddenly he broke out, “Dick, it was Captain Gwyeth sent me Bayard.”

“Ay?” the other answered, without surprise. “And I have it of Sir William, he was main urger, and drew him on to what seemed a hopeless attempt to gain our pardon.”

Hugh scowled at his boots. “I take it I must wait on him and tell him ‘thank you,’ when he comes back out of Warwickshire. I wish he had let me alone!” he cried.

“You _are_ like your father,” Strangwayes said judicially, leaning back on the window-bench. “See to it, Hugh, you do not make the resemblance too complete.”

“How that?” Hugh asked guiltily.

“By giving way to your ugly pride, so you do what it may take months of repentance to undo.”

Hugh made no answer, and the silence between them lasted till the gallery was quite dark, when, slipping off the window-seat, they tramped away to their comrades below.

Next day Hugh gave himself up to Frank, who, truth to tell, in his present half-subdued state was pleasanter company than he had been at Oxford. He persuaded Master Pleydall to come out and view the town, which took them till mid-afternoon; and then they loitered back to the castle, with discreet turnings to avoid meeting any of the other officers. Frank dodged into a tavern to keep out of sight of Griffith, but he dragged Hugh half a mile down a blind lane to avoid a suspected encounter with Captain Turner. “Mayhap I was impudent and forward, so he got at last to ask my advice about conducting the troop, when others of the men were by. And I thought he meant it all in sober earnest.” Frank made a brave attempt at nonchalance, but his lips quivered so Hugh had an improper desire to chastise Michael Turner; for all his swagger and affectation, Frank had been too innocent and childish a lad to be scathed with the captain’s pitiless sarcasms.

Luckily they had no more encounters with men from the garrison till they were nearly at the gate of the castle, and then it was only Strangwayes, riding forth in full armor, with some twenty men behind him, to post the watch about the town for the evening hours. Hugh made him a formal salute, which Dick returned gayly before he rode on.

“Dick is right fond of you,” Frank said, with a shade of envy; and after that they sauntered in a moody silence, till, the sight of the stables cheering Frank a bit, he prayed Hugh come in and look at The Jade. “I’ve not seen the old lass since day before yesterday,” he explained.

They were still lingering to admire the mare, when two grooms came hurrying a lathered horse into the stable. “Who’s been riding so hard?” Hugh asked carelessly.

“Messenger from the troop to the south, sir.”

“To the south?” Hugh repeated. “Come quickly, Frank, I must see—”

He walked rapidly across the courtyard to the door of the guardroom. About it men were crowded, and more were pressing into the room itself; but at Hugh’s jostling they made him a way into the thick of them. Over on a bench in the corner he had sight of a man with the sleeve cut from his coat, who sat leaning heavily against a comrade. Another, whom Hugh recognized as the surgeon of the regiment, was washing a wound in his arm, and as he moved, Hugh got a glimpse of the face of the injured man. “Cowper!” he cried, and ran forward, for he knew the fellow for one of Captain Gwyeth’s old independent troop.

Men gave him place; he heard a mutter amongst them, “The captain’s son,” but he did not heed; just pushed his way to the wounded man, and bent over him: “Cowper, what has happened? Is anything wrong with my father? Tell me.”

“They closed in on us, sir,” the man roused up to speak. “Captain Oldesworth’s horse, and a company of foot beside. They took our horses and they slew Cornet Foster. I came through for help. They have the colonel blocked up in Kingsford church.”