CHAPTER XX.

_IN SUSPENSE._

With a lamentable cry I flung myself from Blackbird's back, and knelt beside my lord's prostrate figure; and almost at once there was a crowd about us, and presently I heard a voice speaking in tones of authority, "Make way, men, make way! Here is the surgeon!"

The next moment somebody else was kneeling beside me, and I saw the grave, clever face of Mr. Oliver, one of the Duke's surgeons.

"Is he dead? is he dead?" I moaned; for I felt all the courage and life taken out of me at sight of that white still face.

"Killed! not a bit of it, boy. It is but a swoon from loss of blood. Here, let me get to him to stanch the bleeding, else he may bleed to death!" and the surgeon's busy hands moved to and fro, whilst the flow of life-blood was quickly checked. But over and above the deep gash in the shoulder from which the crimson stream flowed, the bone of the sword-arm had been shattered by a musket-ball; and Mr. Oliver, as he drew forth the bullet and proceeded to swathe up the injured limb, shook his head with the remark,--

"This will be the last of your fighting for some time to come, my good sir. The cause will be lost or won without your aid before you can cross saddle or wield weapon again."

The Viscount heard not a word, being still sunk in deep unconsciousness; but a voice above us said in sorrowful accents,--

"And so I lose another of those very few who know the art of war. Soon I shall have not a soldier left!"

Raising my eyes, I saw our Duke looking down upon my lord's white face with eyes full of compassion and regret.

"To lose such a soldier in so small an affray! and he one of the very few who had the art to command his men!" said the Duke again. And I loved him the more for his words and his look, seeing that he, too, loved my lord right well.

"It is greatly to be regretted, sire," answered the surgeon, who was now adjusting the torn doublet, and looking about as though to know what next was to be done with the patient. "Lord Vere is a heavy loss to us; but he must be well tended and have care and nursing, or it may go hard with him after such a hurt. He has not that iron frame which a soldier needs. He is an instrument something too finely tempered for such rough and ready warfare.--Boy," he said, looking straight at me, "art thou his servant? I have seen thee ofttimes beside him. Where can we carry him, so that he shall be well tended whilst he lies helpless and sick?"

"His father's house would surely be his best asylum," said the Duke; but I shook my head doubtfully.

"I misdoubt me if my lord would go there. His father has cast him off for joining your Majesty. But if I could get him taken back as far as Bridgewater, I could there get him all he needs, and he would be well cared for and tended."

"He will need that," said the surgeon, with his hand upon the wrist of my lord. "He will probably fall into a fever from his wounds. But, boy, let not any leech take more blood from him on that account. He has lost more already than he can spare. See that further loss is spared him, if thou be with him. A little more, and they would drain the life from him altogether--as has been done before now!"

"I will see to it," I answered eagerly, vowing in my heart that nobody should do a thing for my lord that I could do myself. He seemed all at once to have become my charge. My heart swelled with happiness in feeling this, and yet sank at the thought of the many perils and difficulties which lay before me. How was I to get him all those long miles back to Bridgewater? and if I could not get him there, how could I tend him and care for him in a strange place, from which all stores had been taken to feed the army, and amidst strangers who would pay little heed to my prayers, and to whom my lord's life would be of no moment?

"I pray you, sir, stay with him but a brief time, and I will see where I can take him," I petitioned of the doctor; and he nodded, being in fact still busy over his patient, striving to restore him to consciousness after his long swoon. We had carried him beneath a group of fir trees, where the ground was soft and dry; and his cloak had been rolled up for a pillow beneath his head.

Leaving him there in good hands, I made my way to the rear of the army, where the baggage-waggons and guns were, and where I was sure I had seen a familiar face not long since--the face of a farmer from the neighbourhood of Bridgewater with whom I was acquainted, and who was, as I well knew, a kindly man, and a person of substance and importance. I had seen him in Bridgewater, too, and he had told me there that he was bringing six of his men to join the Duke, as well as two loads of provisions for the army. He had shown me one of his waggons--and waggons were not then so common as they are becoming now--and he was mighty proud of it. It was laden with provender for man and beast, and was to follow the army till the corn was all gone. It came into my head that if that waggon were to be returning empty now, I might get my lord conveyed as far as Bridgewater therein; and once at Bridgewater I should be amongst his friends and mine, and could get him tendance and comfort without fear of rebuff.

And not to make too long a story of it, I found the farmer, and the empty waggon too; and not only did he enter into my plans for my lord, but he said he would come back himself with us, which was a mighty comfort to me. He had seen enough of fighting--for there had been skirmishes all along the road these past days--to see that he was not made for a soldier. He had been somewhat scurvily treated by some of the officers, and though still loyal to the cause, he was weary of the long wet marches. He wanted to be at home again, to see how matters were going there. His ardour for a personal share in the campaign had considerably dwindled, and the whisper which was going round that it would not be long before the King's army was upon them four thousand strong, in which case a real engagement would become inevitable, added very much to his desire to find himself amongst more peaceable surroundings.

So he threw himself with great zeal into my plans for the Viscount. Together we collected moss in great quantities, and made a deep bed of it on the floor of the waggon; nor were we content till we had piled it up two feet high, so that it made the softest of beds for a wounded man. It was rather damp, to be sure; but the farmer's sacks were spread in great numbers upon the top, and we were both proud of our handiwork before it was done. There was some trouble in getting the two strong horses which had drawn the waggon; for horses were greatly needed by the army, and it was easier to bring them in than to take them away again. But by using the Duke's name, and by my making over my lord's charger, which I knew he would not want for many a week to come, and which was of real use in battle, we succeeded at last in getting our horses and yoking them to the waggon. The farmer had kept victuals enough for the journey, and we were resolved to start at once, and take a little-trodden route, so as to avoid the bands of soldiers hanging about the rear of the Duke's army, and perhaps by the morning to be clear of them.

Whilst thus bustling about in the camp, I heard news that I thought augured ill for the success of the Duke's arms. Since the capture of a few troopers of the enemy, with whom we had engaged not long since, in the engagement which had cost the Viscount so dear, it had been decided not to march on Bristol to-night. The Duke had heard that there was an army of four thousand men close at hand, and he was afraid that he should be attacked before and behind if he pursued his intention, and be discomfited altogether. He spoke now of turning aside to Bath, and trying to obtain possession of that place. For my part, I grieved to think that he should not seize upon the more important city, and one which was so well disposed towards him and so full of stores and all things that he needed. But I was no soldier, and moreover I had other matters to think of; and by the time we had reached the Viscount once more with our waggon, I had almost ceased to think of the Duke or the army, or indeed of anything in the world except my lord.

His eyes were half open now, and he gave me a feeble smile as I approached; but his voice was so weak that I was frightened, and had much ado to keep back my tears. I began to wonder whether we should ever get him to Bridgewater alive; but both the surgeon and the farmer were inclined to laugh at my fears, and to tell me I should make but a sorry soldier if I were so disconcerted at the sight of a little blood.

They both approved the plan of carrying him to Bridgewater, out of the immediate tide of battle. As for himself, he was so spent with pain and loss of blood that he could scarce take note of our words, and let us do with him what we would. He had lost much blood in the morning before this second wound laid him low; and I never saw living man look more like death than he did when at last he lay upon the couch we had made for him, wrapped up in his cloak and mine against the sharpness of the night air.

The surgeon looked at him thoughtfully.

"Take him gently, take him gently, and give him frequently to drink of this cordial. Get him away out of this harassed country, where nothing can be had save the bare necessaries of life. Get him to some quiet place where he can be tended and watched. He should do well then; but he lacks the toughness of fibre which a soldier needs. He is all fire and force, but the body is not seasoned. He has the soul of a soldier, but the frame of a girl."

I was rather indignant at the last words, albeit there was some truth in them; for my lord looked almost like some fair young maiden with his white face and golden hair, as he lay with closed eyes upon his couch. It was too much like the marble face of some sculptured monument not to awaken a sense of pain within me; but I fiercely held back my fears, and declared that I would save him yet--for Mistress Mary.

As we journeyed slowly through the summer night--and the night was fair and starlight, though the ground was heavy with the recent rain--I mused much of Mistress Mary, wondering how matters were going with her, and whether I should be able to see and speak with her when I was as near as Bridgewater, and whether perchance I might so contrive that she should have sight and speech of my lord.

I rode Blackbird close behind the waggon for the most part, and when we halted I strove to give the cordial to my lord, and to get him to take food; but this he could not be persuaded to do, and sometimes seemed so sunk in mists of weakness as to know neither me nor what was happening to him.

That long journey, which we accomplished safely in two days and three nights, seems always like a dream to me. We met with no mishap. We saw no soldiers or foes. The country people were kind, and brought us milk for my lord whenever we passed a village or farmstead, and listened with wondering eyes to our tale. I was just absorbed in striving to keep my lord alive till we could get him proper help and tendance. He lay almost like one dead, save when the pain of his wound would rouse him, if the road were more rough and bad than usual. Then he would strive to raise himself and ease his pain, and would sometimes speak my name in a tone of gentle fondness when I sought to do aught for his comfort. But the fever was ofttimes upon him too, and he would lie back with his lips moving and his eyes seeing things invisible to us; and at such times he would seem to be in converse with Mistress Mary or with the Duke, or commanding his men in some sudden attack of the enemy. It was often hard to keep him from rising and hurting himself; and night and day I had to watch him, afraid to close my eyes lest he should be wanting something or doing himself a mischief.

Right glad was I when at last, upon the evening of the second day, the sight of the familiar walls and chimneys of Bridgewater rose up before my weary eyes. My lord was lying like one dead in the cart, sunk in a deep unconsciousness, and I verily began to fear that he would die ere ever we could reach the town.

I took him straight to my uncle Robert's house--the Cross Keys Inn, as it was called--and there we met such a welcome as cheered my heart and took a load of anxiety from my mind.

All Bridgewater was agog for news of the army, and any follower of the Duke's was welcomed with the greatest love and kindliness. There was something in the beauty of my lord that appealed to all hearts at first sight of him; moreover, in Bridgewater he was well known and well loved for his own sake, and the people were ready to make an idol of him forthwith when they understood that he had given up everything to join the Duke, and that he had met his grievous wound in the good cause.

He was carried forthwith to the best bed-chamber in my uncle's house, and before long all the leeches in the town had gathered round him, and I was in the greatest fear lest they should want to use their lancets upon him--for such was the custom for almost every malady--and I had to repeat the words of Mr. Oliver many times over; but having done so, I saw that they would prevail.

The doctors looked at each other and nodded and shook their heads: one said that there might be something in the argument, whilst another said that an army surgeon ought to know what he was talking of. A third, the eldest, remarked that perhaps a sound sleep would be the best thing for the patient, and that he had a potion which would probably induce a long and sweet sleep, and he said he would at least try that before resorting to any other methods. All having agreed to this, the potion was given, and soon the furrows of pain smoothed themselves from my lord's brow, and he sank into a sleep very different from the trance-like condition in which he had lain often for half a day together in the waggon, and which seemed to me like a harbinger of coming life.

As soon as this was so I stretched myself on a couch at the foot of the bed and slept also; and I think never was sleep so sound or sweet as mine that Saturday night.

During the week which I spent in Bridgewater many things happened, and I scarce know in what order to tell them, nor which will seem of most moment to the reader. Perhaps that which at that time seemed of most moment to me--namely, that I succeeded in getting Mistress Mary Mead to ride out with me one day from Taunton, and spend a few hours beside my lord. Such a thing might not have been so easy to compass but for the excitement and stir prevailing at this time in both towns. It was a period of intense suspense. We knew not from day to day what news would be brought in. We heard all manner of rumours of which no man knew the origin. Sometimes we heard that the Duke's army had been cut to pieces and was in full flight; at others, that he had obtained a mighty victory over the King's forces, and was in full march for London, which was ready to receive him with open arms. One flying scout declared that there had been a fight at Philip's Norton, that at the first experience of real warfare the Duke's army had begun to melt, and that thousands had departed to their own homes. Another report said that Mr. Adlam from Wiltshire, with a great body of horse, was on his way to effect a junction with the Duke; whilst the club-men, ten thousand strong, had gathered somewhere upon Pedwell Plain, and had sent a message to the Duke promising to join him.

Perhaps some may not know what manner of men these club-men were; and indeed their proffer of assistance came to almost nothing in the end. I have heard that the club-men had their origin in the days of the civil war, when the people, finding themselves robbed and plundered by two rival armies without hope of redress or compensation, resolved to defend themselves from such attacks, and refuse to allow their property to be taken from them by either party. The men thus banded together were armed with clubs, and went by the name of club-men. Whether they were ever much of a power I know not, but from my boyhood I had heard them spoken of in the country; and now it was said that they were up and in arms, and ready to join the Duke in considerable numbers.

Another and a very disquieting rumour also reached us during this week, which was that the King had issued a manifesto to those engaged in the service of the Duke, to say that if within certain dates they should quit the Duke's army and join that of the King, they should be pardoned their rebellion, and be safe from all punishment. This promise, it was said, had had the effect of inducing many to quit the Duke's army; and so disheartened had our young uncrowned monarch become (so the voice of rumour said) with these desertions, and the failure of the Bristol project, and the slackness of the gentry to join him, that he had seriously spoken of flying with his officers to some neighbouring seaport and taking ship for Holland, leaving his army to avail themselves of the King's promise of clemency, and be safe from further harm.

You may guess what a ferment was stirred up in men's minds by all these contrary and disquieting rumours. Bridgewater and Taunton were all in a tumult from morning till night, waiting for fresh news, discussing what had last been brought, and sending messengers to and fro to seek tidings and ask their neighbours what they had heard. It was thus easier than it would have been at any other time to ride unnoticed from place to place. By the time Thursday came my lord began to show real traces of amendment. He was as weak as a sick child, and could scarce lift his head from the pillow, and at present he asked nothing of the news of the day, seeming too weak to wish to be disturbed. But the fever had left him, and the good soup and possets which my aunt made for him were bringing back his strength little by little; and so I felt that I might safely leave him for a day, and go to Taunton to seek tidings of my relations there, and, if possible, to gain speech of Mistress Mary and tell her of her lover.

All Taunton was in a fever of excitement when I arrived; and I heard that news had been brought thither that the Duke's army was actually in retreat, that no help had come from Wiltshire, that Argyll had been defeated in Scotland, that the army was deserting fast on all sides, and that the Duke, in great depression of spirits, was falling back upon those cities which had welcomed him at first. Also a messenger had come in with the notice of the King's promise to deserters from the cause, and a great tumult had been thereby stirred up, none knowing what effect such a manifesto might have upon the soldiers.

But what I chiefly noted was the change in the feelings of the Taunton citizens. They who had been so forward to welcome him at first were now talking together at street corners, and the words that I heard were such as these:--

"Let him not come back hither! Let him not return to Taunton! We gave him all we had last time. We plundered ourselves to furnish him. We have no more to offer. We shall be undone by a second visitation! Let him not come hither again. Let us send word whilst there is yet time that we want no second visit!"

What a change from the Taunton of a fortnight ago! I could scarce believe my ears. Well indeed has it been written that there is no confidence to be placed in any child of man! When I reached my uncle's house, I found the tone of his talk quite altered. Without openly asserting enmity to the Duke, he spoke in a way which made me certain that his heart had turned against him in the hour of adversity. Since no capture of Bristol had been made, and no rising amongst the gentry had followed the proclamation of the Duke's title to the throne, doubt and despondency had fallen upon Taunton; and my uncle, ever prone to sail with the wind, was amongst the first to listen with respect to Mr. Axe's persuasions and the arguments of the Mayor and magistrates, and avow himself on the side of law and order. He was sincerely relieved to find that I had been so little with the army, and that I was now at Bridgewater in quite a humble capacity as body servant to my lord. He advised me to dissuade my lord from mixing himself up any more in what he now termed a rebellion; and I was able to answer that I thought this would be an impossibility in the future, for my lord was like to be a long while healing of his wounds; whilst, if things did not take a turn, the Duke would scarce be here in arms more than a short time longer.

But I was very sad to find Taunton so changed: for I loved the Duke, and still cherished bright dreams of what England would be like living under the righteous sway of such a King. I thought I would go to Miss Blake's without delay, and give my account of my lord to her and Mistress Mary. I had scarce put into form my hope that she would come back with me and see him, and yet such was the case; for scarce had she fully comprehended that he lay in Bridgewater sick and wounded--wounded in the righteous cause--than she went up to Miss Blake, who was listening with tears of sympathy in her eyes, and said,--

"Prithee, dear madam, take me to him! I must see him, my gallant love, who has gotten this hurt in the good cause which, for love of me, he embraced. Ah! dear lady, the days be long and the way is short! Dicon will find us horses to take us. Prithee, take me there, dear madam, and I will bless thee to the last hour of my life!"

I know not what heart could have resisted Mistress Mary's sweet pleading; certainly not that of Miss Blake, who was as full of romance and enthusiasm as any girl, and whose loyalty towards the Duke had never failed nor faltered through good report or evil report. That is the way, I think, with women. Love is with them an instinct, and it is far more faithful and lasting than with men, who reason and think and weigh matters again and again in the balance. It mattered not to them that the cause was beginning to look gloomy, that some even went so far as to say it was lost. They loved and trusted just the same, and believed that right would be done at last; and since the Viscount had got his grievous wound in the righteous cause, and Mistress Mary must needs see him, her good friend rode forth willingly with her that day, and we reached Bridgewater before the sun had begun to get low in the sky.

As I have said, there was too much astir just then, too much coming and going, and talking and discussing, for the doings of quiet people to excite much comment. We rode forth without meeting any questions, and at Bridgewater, where the ladies were not known, no one paid any heed to us. The town was full of excitement because it was said that both the army of the Duke and the army of the King were drawing near, and some thought there would be a battle nigh against the town; whilst others averred that only the Duke was coming, and that he had already routed his foes. Any way, there was so much stir in the streets that none paused to look at us; and soon we alighted at my uncle's inn, whilst my aunt came forth to welcome the strangers, and listened in smiling amaze as I whispered my story in her ear.

"Nay, but thou hast brought him the best medicine of all, Dicon!" she exclaimed at the close; and when she had taken the visitors to the parlour, and had seen Mistress Mary without her riding-hood, her heart was more than won, and nothing was good enough for her. She bustled about to get the table set, whilst I went to my lord's room, and found him lately wakened from a sweet sleep, and looking more like himself than he had done since he was first laid low.

I did not tell him that Mistress Mary had come; I only told him that I had been to Taunton, and that I had seen and spoken with her. Even that word brought a flush of colour to the wan cheek--the first I had seen; and as he lay looking at me whilst I told of her, and tried to remember some of her words, the door behind us opened softly, and a light footstep crossed the floor.

The next moment I saw such a light leap into my lord's face that I knew in a moment who had come in.

"Mary--my Mary!" he cried, and would have lifted himself but that she came swiftly forward and laid her hand upon him to restrain him.

"Reginald," she said softly, "you have gotten your wound for my sake. I must needs come to help to heal it."

"It is healed already at sight of thee, sweetheart!" he said; and then I rose and stole forth from the chamber, for I felt that it was no longer any place for me.