Chapter 4

"He sends me here," the Puritan answered, "to haul down your flag."

"That you shall never do," Brilliana answered, steadily, "while there is a living soul in Harby."

The Puritan protested with appealing hands.

"You are in the last straits for lack of food, for lack of fuel, for lack of powder."

Brilliana made a passionate gesture of denial.

"You are as ignorant as insolent," she asserted. "Loyalty House lacks neither provisions nor munitions of war."

There was a kind of respectful pity in the stranger's face as he watched the wild, bright girl and hearkened to the vain, brave words.

"Nay, now--" he began, out of the consciousness of his own truer knowledge, but what he would have said was furiously interrupted by a volume of strange sounds from the adjoining banqueting-hall. There was a rattle and clink as of many pewter mugs banged lustily upon an oaken table; there was a shrill explosion of laughter, the work of many merry voices; there was the grinding noise of heavy chairs pushed back across the floor for the greater ease of their occupants; there was a tapping as of pipe-bowls on the board, and then over all the mingled din rose a voice, which Brilliana knew for the voice of Halfman, ringing out a resonant appeal.

"The King's health, friends, to begin with."

All the noises that had died down to allow Halfman a hearing began again with fresh vigor. It was obvious to the most unsophisticated listener that here was the fag end of a feast and the moment for the genial giving of toasts. Many voices swelled a loyal chorus of "The King, the King!" and had the great doors of the banqueting-hall been no other than bright glass it would have been scarce easier for the man and woman in the great hall to realize what was happening, the revellers rising to their feet, the drinking-vessels lifted high in air with loyal vociferations, and then the silence, eloquent of tilted mugs and the running of welcome liquor down the channels of thirsty throats. This silence was broken by some one calling for a song, to which call he who had proposed the King's health answered instantly and with evident satisfaction. His rich if somewhat rough voice came booming through the partitions, carolling a ballad to which the Puritan listened with a perfectly unmoved countenance, while the Lady Brilliana's eager face expressed every signal of the liveliest delight.

This was the song that came across the threshold:

"What creature's this with his short hairs, His little band and huge long ears, That this new faith hath founded? The Puritans were never such, The saints themselves had ne'er so much, Oh, such a knave's a Roundhead."

A yell of pleasure followed this verse, and a tuneless chorus thundered the refrain, "Oh, such a knave's a Roundhead," with the most evident relish for the sentiments of the song. Brilliana looked with some impatience at the unruffled face of her adversary, and when the immediate clamor dwindled she addressed him, sarcastically:

"These revellers," she said, "would not seem to be at the last extremity. But their festival must not deafen our conference."

She advanced to the door of the banqueting-room and struck against it with her hand. On the instant silence she opened the door a little way and spoke through softly, as if gently chiding those within.

"Be merry more gently, friends. Sure, I cannot hear the gentleman speak. Though," she added, reflectively, as she closed the door and returned again to the table she had quitted--"though God knows he talks big enough."

The Puritan clapped his palms together as if in applause, an action that somewhat amazed her in him, while a kindly humor kindled in his eyes.

"Bravely staged, bravely played," he admitted, while he shook his head. "But it will not serve your turn, for it may not deceive me. I had a message this morning from my Lord Essex. There has been hot fighting; Heaven has given us the victory; the King's cause is wellnigh lost at the first push."

Brilliana felt her heart drumming against her stays, but she turned a defiant face on the news-monger.

"I do not believe you," she answered. "The King's cause will always win."

The soldier took no notice of her denial; he felt too sure of his fact to hold other than pity for the leaguered lady. He quietly added:

"My Lord Essex advises me further that reinforcements are marching to me well equipped with artillery against which even these gallant walls are worthless. Be warned, be wise. You cannot hope to hold out longer. For pity's sake, yield to the Parliament."

Brilliana waved his pleas away with a dainty, impatient flourish.

"You chatter republican vainly. I have store of powder. I will blow this old hall heaven high when I can no longer hold it for the King."

Her visitor looked at her sadly, made as if to speak, paused, and then appeared to force himself to reluctant utterance.

"Lady," he said, slowly, "though we be opponents, we share the same blood. Let a kinsman entreat you to reason."

If the civil-spoken stranger had struck her in the face with his glove Brilliana could not have been more astonished or angered. She moved a little nearer to him, interrogation in her shining eyes and on her angry cheeks.

"Are you mad?" she gasped. "How could such a thing as you be my kinsman?"

She had taunted him again and again during their brief interview and he had shown no sign of displeasure. He showed no sign of displeasure now, answering her with simple dignity.

"Very simply. A lady of your race, your grandsire's sister, married a poor gentleman of my name and was my father's mother."

Brilliana drew back a little as if she had indeed received a blow. Involuntarily, she put up her hand to her eyes as if to shut out the sight of this importunate fellow.

"I have heard something of that tale," she whispered, "but dimly, for we in Harby do not care to speak of it. When my grandsire's sister shamed her family by wedding with a Puritan her people blotted her from their memory. You will not find her picture on the walls of Harby."

"The loss is Harby's," the soldier answered, "for I believe she was as fair as she was good. She married an honest gentleman named Cloud, whose honesty compelled him to profess the faith he believed in. My name is Evander Cloud."

He waited for a moment as if he expected her to speak, but she uttered no word, only faced him rigidly with hatred in her gaze.

Seeing her silent, he resumed:

"It was this sad kinship pushed me to a parley wherein, perhaps, I have something strained my strict duty. But the voice of our common blood cried out in me to urge you to reason. You have done all that woman, all that man could do. Yield now, while I can still offer you terms, and your garrison shall march out with all the honors of war, drums beating, matches burning, colors flying."

He was very earnest in his appeal, and Brilliana heard him to the end in silence, with her clinched hands pressed against her bosom. Then she turned fiercely upon him and her voice was bitter.

"Sir," she cried, "if I hated you before for a detested rebel, think how I hate you now, if you be, even in so base a way, my kinsman."

She turned away from him, lifting her clasped hands as if in supplication.

"Oh, Heaven, to think that a disloyal, hypocritical, canting Puritan could brag to my face that he carries one drop of our loyal blood in his false heart."

She turned to him again with new fury.

"You are doubly a traitor now, and if you are wise you will keep out of my power, for my heart aches with its hate of you. Go! Five minutes left of your truce gives you just time to return to your rebels. If you overlinger in our lines but one minute you are no longer an envoy: you are an enemy and a spy and shall swing for it."

She reached out her hand to strike the bell upon the table, while Evander Cloud, still impassive, paid a salutation to his unwilling hostess and made a motion to depart. But on the instant both were chilled into immobility by an amazing interruption. Brilliana's hand never touched the bell; Evander's hand never found the handle of the door. For between the beginning and the end of their action came a sudden rattle of musketry, distant but deafening, followed on the instant by a whirlwind of furious cries and noise.

IX

HOW THE SIEGE WAS RAISED

The man and the woman glared at each other, each in swift suspicion of treason. The Lady of Harby was the quickest to act upon impulse. She snatched up the pistol that lay upon the table and levelled it with a steady hand at Evander.

"Do you use your trust to betray us?" she shrilled. "It shall not save you."

Even a less-experienced soldier could have seen from the sure way in which Brilliana handled her weapon that his life was in real peril, but he paid no more heed to her menace than if she was threatening him with her glove or her fan.

"Fighting outside!" he cried. Turning to the woman he asked, with a fierceness that contrasted with his previous calm, "Who is the traitor here?"

His sword was naked in his hand as he spoke and he made a rush for the door. But before he could reach it it was flung open in his face and Halfman rushed in, waving his drawn sword, and followed by Thoroughgood carrying a gun and Garlinge and Clupp armed with pikes.

Inevitably bewildered by the sudden turn in the tide of events, Evander Cloud gave ground for a moment before the onrush, while Halfman, staggering like a drunken man, reeled forward towards Brilliana, shrieking:

"There is fighting in the rebel lines. Help has come at last."

Whatever joy the tidings gave to Brilliana, she wasted no words from the needs of the moment. Pointing to Evander where he stood, irresolute in surprise, she commanded, "Secure that man!"

Evander's resolution returned to him with the sound of her voice, but he was one against too many. While he tried to engage the blade of Halfman, a swinging blow from the pike of Garlinge knocked his weapon out of his hand, and in another moment he was gripped in the grasp of the two young country giants, while Thoroughgood covered him with his musketoon.

"This is treachery," he gasped; but no one paid any attention to his protest. Halfman, convinced that the Puritan was a sure prisoner, swaggered up to Brilliana with all the arrogance of a stage herald.

"Dear lord," he shouted, "dear lady, a company of Cavaliers are galloping up the avenue, a-shouting like devils for the King."

He was flushed and drunk with exhilaration; he could speak no more; the timely episode tickled his tired brain like wine; he caught at the table for support and muttered inarticulately. Thoroughgood, who had secured Evander's fallen sword, interpolated a word of explanation.

"It is Sir Rufus, my lady--Sir Rufus and his friends."

The interruption had been so sudden, the things that had chanced had passed so swiftly, that Brilliana still stood as she had stood when she gave the command to secure Evander. But now all her being seemed alive with a new life.

"I hear them; I hear them!" she cried, exultantly. And, indeed, the sounds came very clearly now of fierce young voices shouting for the King.

"The King! The King!" Brilliana cried, in an ecstasy, and as the loyal syllables died on her lips there came a trampling of near feet, and then through the yawning doorway rushed a covey of young gentlemen waving their drawn swords and yelling their cry, "The King! The King!" As they flooded into the room, bright foam on the wave of victorious loyalty, Brilliana knew them all. Sir Rufus Quaryll, her neighbor and hot lover; the Lord Fawley, who had vainly wooed her for wife; Sir John Radlett, who had the sense to love her and the sense to hold his tongue; Captain Bardon, the bold and bluff; and young Lord Richard Ingrow, with the delicate, girlish face that masked the amazing rake. She seemed to see them as in some golden dream, seemed to hear a-down the vistas of dreams the echoes of their gallant cries of "God save the King!" Then as the new-comers knelt before her she knew that all was true.

"God bless you, gentlemen!" she cried, from a full heart. "You are very well come."

Rufus Quaryll, neighbor and wooer, was the first to speak, looking up at her with rapture in his eyes of reddish brown.

"Imperial lady, the siege of Harby is raised."

Brilliana flung out her hands to him, and as he caught and kissed them she raised him to his feet.

"Your news is music," she said, and her voice was as blithe as a song.

"We are heralds of victory," Rufus said, as he stood and looked into her eyes.

My Lord Fawley rose from his knees with a whoop.

"We have pelted the rebels from Edgehill," he shouted. Sir John Radlett caught him up. "We banged them finely," he trumpeted. Young Ingrow, with a flush on his fine cheeks, sang out a shrill "Hurrah for Prince Rupert!" and bluff Bardon rubbed his hands as he chuckled, "He brushed them into dust."

All the Cavaliers spoke rapidly and eagerly, flinging their phrases each on top of the other. Rufus summed up all in a single splendid sentence.

"The road lies plain to London."

"Heaven be praised," Brilliana ejaculated, and then, wonder treading on the heels of thankfulness, she questioned, "How came you here so timely?"

My Lord Fawley broke into a boisterous laugh which seemed to rattle among the rafters.

"Oh, Lord, the best jest in the world," he bellowed. Bardon clapped a hand on lad Ingrow's shoulder.

"Our Ingrow writes a clerky hand," he asserted. Ingrow, stabbing at Bardon's stout ribs with slender fingers, riposted:

"And our Bardon has a merry invention."

Brilliana looked commands and entreaties at the row of jolly, laughing faces.

"Do not play the sphinx with me," she pleaded. Rufus immediately made himself interpreter of the mirth.

"Why, between us we forged a letter from my lord high damnable traitor Essex to your enemy here, advising him of reinforcements, assuring him of the King's defeat."

"Yes," chirruped the Lord Fawley, "and the gull-gaby swallowed the bait."

"When we rode up but now," Radlett interposed, "his rascals received us with open arms."

Rufus smiled sardonically as he completed the story of the entrapment.

"They took us for Essex men because of our orange-tawny scarves, but they found out when too late that we were right-tight Cavalier lads and no crop-eared curmudgeons. Why, we were in the thick of them with sword and pistol before they had stayed from snuffling their psalms of welcome."

Brilliana held out her hand again for her cousin's hand and clasped it manfully.

"How rich is the ring of victory in your loyal voice," she sighed. "My last public news was of the King's stay at Shrewsbury. Then these curmudgeons raced hot-foot from Cambridge to pull down my flag. But 'This is Loyalty House,' says I, and 'Go to the devil,' says I--forgive me, sirs, if I raged unmaidenly--and I slammed the door in their sour faces. Then came such a tintamar, rebels firing on us, we firing on rebels, and so in such noise and thunder we have been eclipsed out of the world these weary days."

"Never were such days better lived through since the world began," said Rufus. "You do well to call this Loyalty House which has held out so well against the King's enemies."

Brilliana now turned to where Halfman stood apart, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, and the shadow of a frown on his forehead as he eyed the babbling gallants.

"That Loyalty House should hold out so long as it could was from the first my purpose," she said. "But that it was able to hold out so long as it did was greatly due to the courage and the counsels of this brave gentleman."

As she spoke she pointed to Halfman, whose dark face flushed with pleasure as he gave back the stares of the astonished Cavaliers who up to now had left him unnoticed.

"Gentles," she went on, "this is Captain Halfman, who warned me of my danger, who helped me in my peril with his soldier's knowledge and his soldier's sword, and who was of my own mind rather to die than to surrender Harby."

Halfman strode forward with a studied grace. He felt like Faulconbridge; he felt like Harry at Agincourt; he felt like Coriolanus; he felt exceedingly happy.

"Gallants," he said, with a magnificent salutation, "to have served this lady makes a man know how it had seemed to serve Alexander or Caesar. Wherefore, a soldier of good-fortune salutes you."

Rufus, who had watched him with something of a sullen eye from the moment of Brilliana's introduction, now answered him with a clearer countenance.

"We greet you, sir," he said, gravely, "with great gratitude and great envy, for, indeed, there is none among us who would not have given his life to be lieutenant to this lady." He accorded the beaming Halfman a military salute, and then, turning to Brilliana, continued:

"Bright Brilliana, your servants and swains yearned to ride to your help when we heard of your peril, but we could not leave the King in the beginning of his enterprise. He gave us glad leave after the victory. 'Tell the brave lady,' he said, 'she shall be our viceroy in Oxfordshire.'"

Brilliana's cheeks blazed with pleasure. "Oh, the dear man," she cried, with clasped hands of rapture. But there was more to come.

"I think," continued Rufus, "it is more than likely that his Majesty will visit Harby--I should say Loyalty House--ere he rides to London."

Brilliana thrilled with pride--with pleasure. The air about her seemed to swoon with music, to be sweet as roses, to be spangled with golden motes.

X

PRISONER OF WAR

"I rejoice," she answered, in a voice unsteady with happiness--such might have been the voice of Semele at the coming of her god--"I rejoice that Loyalty House boasts a roof to shelter his Majesty. For I was minded to blow the place to pieces rather than yield it to this gentleman who would so speciously persuade me to surrender."

As she spoke she glanced disdainfully in the direction of Evander Cloud, who now for the first time since the irruption of the Cavaliers became in any sense an object of public interest. None of the new-comers had paid any heed to the sombre-habited prisoner; Halfman had forgotten his captive in his jealous study of the men who had raised the siege; Thoroughgood, with the Puritan's sword resting idly on his left arm, was as absorbed in the converse of Sir Rufus and his comrades as were his subordinates Garlinge and Clupp, who, though they gripped their prisoner tightly, were as indifferent to his existence as if he had been the turbaned dummy of a quintain. But now on the instant every glance was turned on Evander, and Sir Rufus, eying him with much disfavor, asked of Brilliana, "Who is your prisoner?"

Evander made a step forward unrestrained by his guards, and answered for himself composedly.

"I am Captain Cloud, of the parliamentary army, snared under a flag of truce."

He was so well restrained in his speech and carriage, so quiet a contrast to the heated gentlemen who glared at him, that to an uninformed observer he might very well have seemed the judge rather than the one on trial. Rufus snapped at him like an angry dog.

"Well, you tub-thumper, you see that the gentlemen of England are more than a match for pestilent pennyweight rebels."

Evander surveyed his truculent opponent with a tranquil contempt which had its effect in increasing the irritation of the Cavalier.

"You play the valiant braggart to a captive," he commented, quietly. Then he turned to Brilliana as one who had no further desire for treaty with a fellow of this kind.

"Let me remind you, lady, that I came here under a flag of truce."

Brilliana had forgotten Evander in the exhilaration of her relief. But now that he had come into her mind again, so with his image had flooded in again all the prejudices he provoked, the scorn, the hatred.

"That plea cannot release you," she answered, hotly. "Your time was up, your sword was drawn; I am very sure you would have joined your men."

Evander, whose arms were now released from bondage by Garlinge and Clupp, made a gesture of absolute acquiescence.

"I am very sure I should have joined my men," he answered, calmly. Brilliana rounded on him triumphant.

"Then you are a prisoner of war, fairly taken. Let me have no more words."

As indifferent to her words as to the angry carriage of the Cavaliers, Evander stepped tranquilly back to his place between his warders.

"I have no more words to waste," he said, with a scorn in his voice that stung Brilliana's cheeks to crimson. She turned hurriedly to the little knot of Cavaliers, who chafed at having to witness what they held to be the presumption of a Puritan in daring to bandy words with a lady of quality.

"Gallants," she said, "this merry meeting calls for its baptism of wine." As she spoke she struck upon the bell, shrewdly confident that her wishes would be met. "Wine," she added, "the more precious that it is wellnigh the last in our cellars."

As the Cavaliers came about her applauding with word and look, the doors of the banqueting-room parted and Mrs. Satchell entered, full of pomp and apple-red with pleasure, followed by Shard bearing a tray of glasses, and by pretty, dimpling Tiffany bearing a goodly flagon of wine and observing with demure approbation the covey of King's gentlemen.

Mistress Satchell swam like a gall on towards the Cavaliers, her great, red, spoon-shaped face damp with satisfaction. Playing at heroine behind bombarded walls was all very well, but greeting of timely gentry who had set heroines free was infinitely better.

"Heaven bless you, merry gentlemen," she chirruped. "Here is a cup of comfort for you."

"Heaven bless you, merry matron," Bardon answered, as soberly as he could, for indeed the sight of Mistress Satchell in her Sunday best and in her most coming-on humor was not of a nature to strengthen sobriety. Lord Fawley gasped as the virago swaggered towards his companions, and young Ingrow popped his handkerchief into his mouth and bit at it while he stared with eyes of nursery wonder at the dame. Radlett winked as if dazzled by the whimsical apparition, and Sir Rufus, familiar with Mrs. Satchell and her vagaries, was the only member of his party who kept his countenance unchanged on her entrance.

Brilliana was sympathetically swift to explain her astonishing handwoman.

"Gentles," she said, "this is Mistress Satchell, who queens it in times of peace over my kitchen, but who has proved herself my very valiant adjutant during the siege."

The dame bridled with pride.

"I can handle a pike, my lords, I promise ye," she asserted; and then, turning to Halfman for confirmation, "Can I not, Master Halfman?"

Halfman slapped his thigh approvingly and answered to the Cavalier with grave voice and smiling eyes.

"Never was pike so handled before, I promise ye."

The tone of his voice mimicked Mrs. Satchell's manner even as the words of it aped her matter, but the dame was too pleased with herself and the world to heed what it was that set the gentlemen laughing.

"So, so," Radlett hummed approval. "Mrs. Satchell, will you ride with me to the King?"

Mrs. Satchell dipped him a swimming reverence, but she shook her head decisively.

"Your honor means well, but I cannot leave my lady. The Roundheads might come again."

The Lord Fawley had by this seen his glass filled by Tiffany and was staring boldly into her pretty face, much to the exasperation of honest Thoroughgood, chafing in the background.

"Do you handle a pike, prettikins?" Fawley asked. Prettikins dropped him a courtesy and shook her curls.

"No, my lord," she whispered, "I am not very soldierly."

It was now Ingrow's turn to have his glass filled and to stare admiration at the pretty serving-woman.

"If you have a mind to enlist," he said, temptingly, "you shall be ensign in my troop and we'll carry your kirtle for a flag."