CHAPTER XV.
I LEAVE JOAN AND RIDE TO THE WARS.
You may guess how I felt at being thus properly fooled. And the worstwas I could see no way to mend it; for against the barricade between usI might have beat myself for hours, yet only hurt my fists: and the wallwas so smooth and high, that even by standing on Molly's back I couldnot--by a foot or more--reach the top to pull myself over.
There was nothing for it but to turn homewards, down the hill: which Idid, chewing the cud of my folly, and finding it bitter as gall. Whatconsoled me somewhat was the reflection that his threats were, likelyenough, mere vaporing: for of any breach of the late compact betweenthe parties I had heard nothing, and never seem'd a country more whollygiven up to peace than that through which I had ridden in the morning.So recalling Master Tingcomb's late face of terror, and the confessionin my pocket, I felt more cheerful. "England has grown a strange place,if I cannot get justice on this villain," thought I; and rode forward,planning a return-match and a sweet revenge.
There is no more soothing game, I believe, in the world than this ofholding imaginary triumphant discourse with your enemy. Yet (oddly) itbrought me but cold comfort on this occasion, my wound being too recentand galling. The sky, so long clouded, was bright'ning now, and growingserener every minute: the hills were thick with fox-gloves, the valeswhite with hawthorn, smelling very sweetly in the cool of the day: butI, with the bridle flung on Molly's neck, pass'd them by, thinking onlyof my discomfiture, and barely rousing myself to give back a "Good-day"to those that met me on the road. Nor, till we were on the downs andJoan's cottage came in sight, did I shake the brooding off.
Joan was not in the kitchen when I arrived, nor about the buildings; noryet could I spy her anywhere moving on the hills. So, after calling toher once or twice, I stabled the mare, and set off up the tor side toseek her.
Now I must tell you that since the day of my coming I had made manyattempts to find the place where Joan had then hidden me, and alwaysfruitlessly: though I knew well whereabouts it must be. Indeed, I hadthought at first I had only to walk straight to the hole: yet foundafter repeated trials but solid earth and boulders for my pains.
But to-day as I climb'd past the spot, something very bright flashed inmy eyes and dazzled me, and rubbing them and looking, I saw a great holein the hill--facing to the sou'-west--in the very place I had search'dfor it; and out of this a beam of light glancing.
Creeping near on tiptoe, I found one huge block of granite that beforehad seemed bedded, among a dozen fellow-boulders, against the turf--thebase resting on another well-nigh as big--was now rolled back; havingbeen fixed to work smoothly on a pivot, yet so like nature that no eye,but by chance, could detect it. Now, who in the beginning designed thishiding place I leave you to consider; and whether it was the Jews orPhoenicians--nations, I am told, that once work'd the hills around fortin. But inside 'twas curiously paved and lined with slabs of granite,the specks of ore in which, I noted, were the points of light that hadonce puzzled me. And here was Joan's bower, and Joan herself inside it.
She was sitting with her back to me, in her left hand holding up themirror, that caught the rays of the now sinking sun (and thus haddazzled me), while with her right she tried to twist into some form ofknot her tresses--black, and coarse as a horse's mane--that already shehad roughly braided. A pail of water stood beside her; and around layscatter'd a score or more of long thorns, cut to the shape of hair pins.
'Tis probable that after a minute's watching I let some laughter escapeme. At any rate Joan turned, spied me, and scrambled up, with an angryred on her cheek. Then I saw that her bodice was neater lac'd thanusual, and a bow of yellow ribbon (fish'd up heaven knows whence) stuckin the bosom. But the strangest thing was to note the effect of this newtidiness upon her: for she took a step forward as if to cuff me by theear (as, a day agone, she would have done), and then stopp'd, very shyand hesitating.
"Why, Joan," said I, "don't be anger'd. It suits you choicely--it doesindeed."
"Art scoffing, I doubt." She stood looking heavily and askance at me.
"On my faith, no: and what a rare tiring-bower the Jew's Kitchen makes!Come, Joan, be debonair and talk to me, for I am out of luck to-day."
"Forgit it, then" (and she pointed to the sun), "whiles yet some o't isleft. Tell me a tale, an thou'rt minded."
"Of what?"
"O' the bloodiest battle thou'st ever heard tell on."
So, sitting by the mouth of the Jew's Kitchen, I told her as much as Icould remember out of Homer's Iliad, wondering the while what my tutor,Mr. Josias How, of Trinity College, would think to hear me so use histeaching. By-and-bye, as I warm'd to the tale, Joan forgot her newsmartness; and at length, when Hector was running from Achilles roundthe walls, clapp'd her hands for excitement, crying, "Church an' King,lad! Oh, brave work!"
"Why, no," answered I, "'twas not for that they were fighting;" andlooking at her, broke off with, "Joan, art certainly a handsome girl:give me a kiss for the mirror."
Instead of flying out, as I look'd for, she fac'd round, and answered megravely---
"That I will not: not to any but my master."
"And who is that?"
"No man yet; nor shall be till one has beat me sore: him will I love,an' follow like a dog--if so be he whack me often enow'."
"A strange way to love," laughed I.
She look'd at me straight, albeit with an odd gloomy light in her eyes.
"Think so, Jack? then I give thee leave to try."
I think there is always a brutality lurking in a man to leap outunawares. Yet why do I seek excuses, that have never yet found one? Tobe plain, I sprang fiercely up and after Joan, who had already started,and was racing along the slope.
Twice around the tor she led me: and though I strain'd my best, nota yard could I gain upon her, for her bare feet carried her light andfree. Indeed, I was losing ground, when coming to the Jew's Kitchen asecond time, she tried to slip inside and shut the stone in my face.
Then should I have been prettily bemock'd, had I not, with a greateffort, contrived to thrust my boot against the door just as it wasclosing. Wrenching it open, I laid hand on her shoulder; and in a momentshe had gripp'd me, and was wrestling like a wild-cat.
Now being Cumberland-bred I knew only the wrestling of my own county,and nothing of the Cornish style. For in the north they stand wellapart, and try to wear down one another's strength: whereas the Cornishis a brisker lighter play--and (as I must confess) prettier to watch.So when Joan rush'd in and closed with me, I was within an ace of beingthrown, pat.
But recovering, I got her at arm's length, and held her so, while myheart ach'd to see my fingers gripping her shoulders and sinking intothe flesh. I begg'd off; but she only fought and panted, and struggledto lock me by the ankles again. I could not have dream'd to find suchfierce strength in a girl. Once or twice she nearly overmastered me: butat length my stubborn play wore her out. Her breath came short and fast,then fainter: and in the end, still holding her off, I turned her by theshoulders, and let her drop quietly on the turf. No thought had I anylonger of kissing her; but stood back, heartily sick and ashamed ofmyself.
For awhile she lay, turn'd over on her side, with hands guarding herhead, as if expecting me to strike her. Then gathering herself up, shecame and put her hand in mine, very meekly.
"Had lik'd it better had'st thou stamped the life out o' me, a'most. Butthere, lad--am thine forever!"
'Twas like a buffet in the face to me. "What!" I cried.
She look'd up in my face--dear Heaven, that I should have to writeit!--with eyes brimful, sick with love; tried to speak, but could onlynod: and broke into a wild fit of tears.
I was standing there with her hand in mine, and a burning remorse in myheart, when I heard the clear notes of a bugle blown, away on the roadto Launceston.
Looking that way, I saw a great company of horse coming down over thecrest, the sun shining level on their arms and a green standard thatthey bore in their mid
st.
Joan spied them the same instant, and check'd her sobs. Without a wordwe flung ourselves down full length on the turf to watch.
They were more than a thousand, as I guess'd, and came winding down theroad very orderly, till, being full of them, it seem'd a long serpentwrithing with shiny scales. The tramp of hoofs and jingling of bits werepretty to hear.
"Rebels!" whisper'd I.
Joan nodded.
There were three regiments in all, whereof the first (and biggest) wasof dragoons. So clear was the air, I could almost read the legend ontheir standard, and the calls of their captains were borne up to usextremely distinct.
As they rode leisurely past, I thought of Master Tingcomb's threat, andwonder'd what this array could intend. Nor, turning it over, could Ifind any explanation: for the Earl of Stamford's gathering, he had said,was in the northeast, and I knew such troops as the Cornish generals hadto be quarter'd at Launceston. Yet here, on the near side of Launceston,was a large body of rebel horse marching quietly to the sou'-west. Wherewas the head or tail to it?
Turning my head as the last rider disappear'd on the way to Bodmin, Ispied a squat oddly shap'd man striding down the hill very briskly: yethe look'd about him often and kept to the hollows of the ground; and wascrossing below us, as it appeared, straight for Joan's cottage.
Cried I: "There is but one man in the world with such a gait--and that'sBilly Pottery!"
And jumping to my feet (for he was come directly beneath us) I caught upa great stone and sent it bowling down the slope.
Bounce it went past him, missing his legs by a foot or less. The manturn'd, and catching sight of me as I stood waving, made his way upthe hill. 'Twas indeed Captain Bilty: and coming up, the honest fellowalmost hugg'd me for joy.
"Was seeking thee, Jack," he bawled: "learn'd from Sir Bevill wherebelike I might find thee. Left his lodging at Launceston this mornin',and trudged ivery foot o' the way. A thirsty land, Jack--neither horse'smeat nor man's meat therein, nor a chair to sit down on: an' three womenonly have I kiss'd this day!" He broke off and look'd at Joan. "Beggin'the lady's pardon for sea manners and way o' speech."
"Joan," said I, "this is Billy Pottery, a good mariner and friend ofmine: and as deaf as a haddock."
Billy made a leg; and as I pointed to the road where the cavalry hadjust disappeared, went on with a nod---
"That's so: old Sir G'arge Chudleigh's troop o' horse sent off to Bodminto seize the High Sheriff and his _posse_ there. Two hour agone I spied'em, and ha' been ever since playin' spy."
"Then where be the King's forces?" I made shift to enquire by signs.
"March'd out o' Launceston to-day, lad--an' but a biscuit a man between'em, poor dears--for Stratton Heath, i' the nor'-east, where the rebelsbe encamp'd. Heard by scouts o' these gentry bein' sent to Bodmin, andwere minded to fight th' Earl o' Stamford whiles his dragooners wasaway. An' here's the long an' short o't: thou'rt wanted, lad, to bear ahand wi' us up yonder--an the good lady here can spare thee."
And here we both look'd at Joan--I shamefacedly enough, and Billy with apuzzled air, which he tried very delicately to hide.
She put her hand in mine.
"To fight, lad?"
I nodded my head.
"Then go," she said without a shade in her voice; and as I made noanswer, went on--"Shall a woman hinder when there's fightin' toward?Only come back when thy wars be over, for I shall miss thee, Jack."
And dropping my hand she led the way down to the cottage.
Now Billy, of course, had not heard a word of this: but perhaps hegathered some import. Any way, he pull'd up short midway on the slope,scratched his head, and thunder'd---
"What a good lass!"
Joan, some paces ahead, turn'd at this and smil'd: whereat, having noidea he'd spoken above a whisper, Billy blush'd red as any peony.
'Twas but a short half hour when, the mare being saddled and Billy fed,we took our leave of Joan. Billy walked beside one stirrup, and thegirl on the other side, to see us a few yards on our way. At length shehalted---
"No leave-takin's, Jack, but 'Church and King!' Only do thy best and notdisgrace me."
And "Church and King!" she call'd thrice after us, standing in the road.For me, as I rode up out of that valley, the drums seem'd beating andthe bugles calling to a new life ahead. The last light of day was on thetors, the air blowing fresher as we mounted: and with Molly's every stepthe past five months appear'd to dissolve and fall away from me as adream.
On the crest, I turn'd in the saddle. Joan was yet standing there, ablack speck on the road. She waved her hand once.
Billy had turn'd too, and, uncovering, shouted so that the hilltopsechoed.
"A good lass--a good lass! But what's become o' t'other one?"
The Splendid Spur Page 17
