Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

by Rafael Sabatini

  The plot which with some pride he had hatched and the reward he looked to cull from it, were now to his soul as ashes to his lips. What could it profit him to destroy Monmouth so that Anthony Wilding lived? For whether she loved Wilding or not, she was Wilding’s wife. Wilding, nominally, at least, was master of that which Sir Rowland coveted; not her heart, indeed, but her ample fortune. Wilding had been a stumbling-block to him since he had come to Bridgwater; but for Wilding he might have run a smooth course; he was still fool enough to hug that dear illusion to his soul. Somewhere in England — if not dead already — this Wilding lurked, an outlaw, whom any might shoot down at sight. Sir Rowland swore he would not rest until he knew that Anthony Wilding cumbered the earth no more — leastways, not the surface of it.

  He went forth to seek Newlington. The merchant had sent his message to the rebel King, and had word in answer that His Majesty would be graciously pleased to sup at Mr. Newlington’s at nine o’clock on the following evening, attended by a few gentlemen of his immediate following. Sir Rowland received the news with satisfaction, and sighed to think that Mr. Wilding — still absent, Heaven knew where — would not be of the party. It was reported that on the Monday Monmouth was to march to Gloucester, hoping there to be joined by his Cheshire friends, so that it seemed Sir Rowland had not matured his plan a day too soon. He got to horse, and contriving to win out of Bridgwater, rode off to Somerton to concert with Lord Feversham concerning the men he would need for his undertaking.

  That night Richard made free talk of the undertaking to Diana and to Ruth, loving, as does the pusillanimous, to show himself engaged in daring enterprises. Emulating his friend Sir Rowland, he held forth with prolixity upon the great service he was to do the State, and Ruth, listening to him, was proud of his zeal, the sincerity of which it never entered her mind to doubt.

  Diana listened, too, but without illusions concerning Master Richard, and she kept her conclusions to herself.

  During the afternoon of the morrow, which was Sunday, Sir Rowland returned to Bridgwater, his mission to Feversham entirely successful, and all preparations made. He completed his arrangements, and towards eight o’clock that night the twenty men sent by Feversham — they had slipped singly into the town — began to muster in the orchard at the back of Mr. Newlington’s house.

  It was just about that same hour that Mr. Wilding, saddle-worn and dust-clogged in every pore, rode into Bridgwater, and made his way to the sign of The Ship in the High Street, overlooking the Cross where Trenchard was lodged. His friend was absent — possibly gone with his men to the sermon Ferguson was preaching to the army in the Castle Fields. Having put up his horse, Mr. Wilding, all dusty as he was, repaired straight to the Castle to report himself to Monmouth.

  He was informed that His Majesty was in council. Nevertheless, urging that his news was of importance, he begged to be instantly announced. After a pause, he was ushered into a lofty, roomy chamber where, in the fading daylight, King Monmouth sat in council with Grey and Wade, Matthews, Speke, Ferguson, and others. At the foot of the table stood a sturdy country-fellow, unknown to Wilding. It was Godfrey, the spy, who was to act as their guide across Sedgemoor that night; for the matter that was engaging them just then was the completion of their plans for the attack that was to be made that very night upon Feversham’s unprepared camp — a matter which had been resolved during the last few hours as an alternative preferable to the retreat towards Gloucester that had at first been intended.

  Wilding was shocked at the change that had been wrought in Monmouth’s appearance during the few weeks since last he had seen him. His face was thin, pale, and haggard, his eyes were more sombre, and beneath them there were heavy, dark stains of sleeplessness and care, his very voice, when presently he spoke, seemed to have lost the musical timbre that had earlier distinguished it; it was grown harsh and rasping. Disappointment after disappointment, set down to ill-luck, but in reality the fruit of incompetence, had served to sour him. The climax had been reached in the serious desertions after the Philips Norton fight, and the flight of Paymaster Goodenough with the funds for the campaign. The company sat about the long oak table on which a map was spread, and Colonel Wade was speaking when Wilding entered.

  On his appearance Wade ceased, and every eye was turned upon the messenger from London. Ferguson, fresh from his sermon, sat with elbows resting on the table, his long chin supported by his hands, his eyes gleaming sharply under the shadow of his wig which was pulled down in front to the level of his eyebrows.

  It was the Duke who addressed Mr. Wilding, and the latter’s keen ears were quick to catch the bitterness that underlay his words.

  “We are glad to see you, sir; we had not looked to do so again.”

  “Not looked to do so, Your Gr... Majesty!” he echoed, plainly not understanding, and it was observed that he stumbled over the Duke’s new title.

  “We had imagined that the pleasures of the town were claiming your entire attention.”

  Wilding looked from one to the other of the men before him, and on the face of all he saw a gravity that amounted to disapproval of him.

  “The pleasures of the town?” said he, frowning, and again— “the pleasures of the town? There is something in this that I fear I do not understand.”

  “Do you bring us news that London has risen?” asked Grey suddenly.

  “I would I could,” said Wilding, smiling wistfully.

  “Is it a laughing matter?” quoth Grey angrily.

  “A smiling matter, my lord,” answered Wilding, nettled. “Your lordship will observe that I did but smile.”

  “Mr. Wilding,” said Monmouth darkly, “we are not pleased with you.”

  “In that case,” returned Wilding, more and more irritated, “Your Majesty expected of me more than was possible to any man.”

  “You have wasted your time in London, sir,” the Duke explained. “We sent you thither counting upon your loyalty and devotion to ourselves. What have you done?”

  “As much as a man could...” Wilding began, when Grey again interrupted him.

  “As little as a man could,” he answered. “Were His Grace not the most foolishly clement prince in Christendom, a halter would be your reward for the fine things you have done in London.”

  Mr. Wilding stiffened visibly, his long white face grew set, and his slanting eyes looked wicked. He was not a man readily moved to anger, but to be greeted in such words as these by one who constituted himself the mouthpiece of him for whom Wilding had incurred ruin was more than he could bear with equanimity; that the risks to which he had exposed himself in London — where, indeed, he had been in almost hourly expectation of arrest and such short shrift as poor Disney had — should be acknowledged in such terms as these, was something that turned him almost sick with disgust. To what manner of men had he leagued himself? He looked Grey steadily between the eyes.

  “I mind me of an occasion on which such a charge of foolish clemency might, indeed — and with greater justice — have been levelled against His Majesty,” said he and his calm was almost terrible.

  His lordship grew pale at the obvious allusion to Monmouth’s mild treatment of him for his cowardice at Bridport, and his eyes were as baleful as Wilding’s own at that moment. But before he could speak, Monmouth had already answered Mr. Wilding.

  “You are wanting in respect to us, sir,” he admonished him.

  Mr. Wilding bowed to the rebuke in a submission that seemed ironical. The blood mounted slowly to Monmouth’s cheeks.

  “Perhaps,” put in Wade, who was anxious for peace, “Mr. Wilding has some explanation to offer us of his failure.”

  His failure! They took too much for granted. Stitched in the lining of his boot was the letter from the Secretary of State. To have achieved that was surely to have achieved something.

  “I thank you, sir, for supposing it,” answered Wilding, his voice hard with self-restraint; “I have indeed an explanation.”

  “We will hear it,” sai
d Monmouth condescendingly, and Grey sneered, thrusting out his bloated lips.

  “I have to offer the explanation that Your Majesty is served in London by cowards; self-sufficient and self-important cowards who have hindered me in my task instead of helping me. I refer particularly to Colonel Danvers.”

  Grey interrupted him. “You have a rare effrontery, sir — aye, by God! Do you dare call Danvers a coward?”

  “It is not I who so call him; but the facts. Colonel Danvers has run away.

  “Danvers gone?” cried Ferguson, voicing the consternation of all.

  Wilding shrugged and smiled; Grey’s eye was offensively upon him. He elected to answer the challenge of that glance. “He has followed the illustrious example set him by other of Your Majesty’s devoted followers,” said Wilding.

  Grey rose suddenly. This was too much. “I’ll not endure it from this knave!” he cried, appealing to Monmouth.

  Monmouth wearily waved him to a seat; but Grey disregarded the command.

  “What have I said that should touch your lordship?” asked Wilding, and, smiling sardonically, he looked into Grey’s eyes.

  “It is not what you have said. It is what you have inferred.”

  “And to call me knave!” said Wilding in a mocking horror.

  The repression of his anger lent him a rare bitterness, and an almost devilishly subtle manner of expressing wordlessly what was passing in his mind. There was not one present but gathered from his utterance of those five words that he did not hold Grey worthy the honour of being called to account for that offensive epithet. He made just an exclamatory protest, such as he might have made had a woman applied the term to him.

  Grey turned from him slowly to Monmouth. “It might be well,” said he, in his turn controlling himself at last, “to place Mr. Wilding under arrest.”

  Mr. Wilding’s manner quickened on the instant from passive to active anger.

  “Upon what charge, sir?” he demanded sharply. In truth it was the only thing wanting that, after all that he had undergone, he should be arrested. His eyes were upon the Duke’s melancholy face, and his anger was such that in that moment he vowed that if Monmouth acted upon this suggestion of Grey’s he should not have so much as the consolation of Sunderland’s letter.

  “You have been wanting in respect to us, sir,” the Duke answered him. He seemed able to do little more than repeat himself. “You return from London empty-handed, your task unaccomplished, and instead of a becoming contrition, you hector it here before us in this manner.” He shook his head. “We are not pleased with you, Mr. Wilding.”

  “But, Your Grace,” exclaimed Wilding, “is it my fault that your London agents had failed to organize the rising? That rising should have taken place, and it would have taken place had Your Majesty been more ably represented there.”

  “You were there, Mr. Wilding,” said Grey with heavy sarcasm.

  “Would it no’ be better to leave Mr. Wilding’s affair until afterwards?” suggested Ferguson at that moment. “It is already past eight, Your Majesty, and there be still some details of this attack to settle that your officers may prepare for it, whilst Mr. Newlington awaits Your Majesty to supper at nine.”

  “True,” said Monmouth, ever ready to take a solution offered by another. “We will confer with you again later, Mr. Wilding.”

  Wilding bowed, accepting his dismissal. “Before I go, Your Majesty, there are certain things I would report...” he began.

  “You have heard, sir,” Grey broke in. “Not now. This is not the time.”

  “Indeed, no. This is not the time, Mr. Wilding,” echoed the Duke.

  Wilding set his teeth in the intensity of his vexation.

  “What I have to tell Your Majesty is of importance,” he exclaimed, and Monmouth seemed to waver, whilst Grey looked disdainful unbelief of the importance of any communication Wilding might have to make.

  “We have little time, Your Majesty,” Ferguson reminded Monmouth.

  “Perhaps,” put in friendly Wade, “Your Majesty might see Mr. Wilding at Mr. Newlington’s.”

  “Is it really necessary?” quoth Grey.

  This treatment of him inspired Mr. Wilding with malice. The mere mention of Sunderland’s letter would have changed their tone. But he elected by no such word to urge the importance of his business. It should be entirely as Monmouth should elect or be constrained by these gentlemen about his council-table.

  “It would serve two purposes,” said Wade, whilst Monmouth still considered. “Your Majesty will be none too well attended, your officers having this other matter to prepare for. Mr. Wilding would form another to swell your escort of gentlemen.”

  “I think you are right, Colonel Wade,” said Monmouth. “We sup at Mr. Newlington’s at nine o’clock, Mr. Wilding. We shall expect you to attend us there. Lieutenant Cragg,” said His Grace to the young officer who had admitted Wilding, and who had remained at attention by the door, “you may reconduct Mr. Wilding.”

  Wilding bowed, his lips tight to keep in the anger that craved expression. Then, without another word spoken, he turned and departed.

  “An insolent, overbearing knave!” was Grey’s comment upon him after he had left the room.

  “Let us attend to this, your lordship,” said Speke, tapping the map. “Time presses,” and he invited Wade to continue the matter that Wilding’s advent had interrupted.

  CHAPTER XVIII. BETRAYAL

  Still smarting under the cavalier treatment he had received, Mr. Wilding came forth from the Castle to find Trenchard awaiting him among the crowd of officers and men that thronged the yard.

  Nick linked his arm through his friend’s and led him away. They quitted the place in silence, and in silence took their way south towards the High Street, Nick waiting for Mr. Wilding to speak, Mr. Wilding’s mind still in turmoil at the things he had endured. At last Nick halted suddenly and looked keenly at his friend in the failing light.

  “What a plague ails you, Tony?” said he sharply. “You are as silent as I am impatient for your news.”

  Wilding told him in brief, disdainful terms of the reception they had given him at the Castle, and of how they had blamed him for the circumstance that London had failed to proclaim itself for Monmouth.

  Trenchard snarled viciously. “’Tis that mongrel Grey,” said he. “Oh, Anthony, to what an affair have we set our hands? Naught can prosper with that fellow in it.” He laid his hand on Wilding’s arm and lowered his voice. “As I have hinted before, ’twould not surprise me if time proved him a traitor. Failure attends him everywhere, and so unfailingly that one wonders is not failure invited by him. And that fool Monmouth! Pshaw! See what it is to serve a weakling. With another in his place and the country disaffected as it is, we had been masters of England by now.”

  Two ladies passed them at that moment, cloaked and hooded, walking briskly. One of them turned to look at Trenchard, who, waving his arms in wild gesticulation, was a conspicuous object. She checked in her walk, arresting her companion.

  “Mr. Wilding!” she exclaimed. It was Lady Horton.

  “Mr. Wilding!” cried Diana, her companion.

  Wilding doffed his hat and bowed, Trenchard following his example.

  “We had scarce looked to see you in Bridgwater again,” said the mother, her mild, pleasant countenance reflecting the satisfaction it gave her to behold him safe and sound.

  “There have been moments,” answered Wilding, “when myself I scarce expected to return. Your ladyship’s greeting shows me what I had lost had I not done so.”

  “You are but newly arrived?” quoth Diana, scanning him in the gloaming.

  “From London, an hour since.”

  “An hour?” she echoed, and observed that he was still booted and dust-stained. “You will have been to Lupton House?”

  A shadow crossed his face, his glance seemed to grow clouded, all of which watchful Diana did not fail to observe. “Not yet,” said he.

  “You are a laggard,” she
laughed at him, and he felt the blood driven back upon his heart. What did she mean? Was it possible she suggested that he should be welcome, that his wife’s feelings towards him had undergone a change? His last parting from her on the road near Walford had been ever in his mind.

  “I have had weighty business to transact, he replied, and Trenchard snorted, his mind flying back to the council-room at the Castle, and what his friend had told him.

  “But now that you have disposed of that you will sup with us,” said Lady Horton, who was convinced that since Ruth had gone to the altar with him he was Ruth’s lover in spite of the odd things she had heard. Appearances with Lady Horton counted for everything, and all that glittered was gold to her.

  “I would,” he answered, “but that I am to sup at Mr. Newlington’s with His Majesty. My visit must wait until to-morrow.”

  “Let us hope,” said Trenchard, “that it waits no longer.” He was already instructed touching the night attack on Feversham’s camp on Sedgemoor, and thought it likely Wilding would accompany them.

  “You are going to Mr. Newlington’s?” said Diana, and Trenchard thought she had turned singularly pale. Her hand was over her heart, her eyes wide. She seemed about to add something, but checked herself. She took her mother’s arm. “We are detaining Mr. Wilding, mother,” said she, and her voice quivered as if her whole being were shaken by some gusty agitation. They spoke their farewells briefly, and moved on. A second later Diana was back at their side again.

  “Where are you lodged, Mr. Wilding?” she inquired.

  “With my friend Trenchard — at the sign of The Ship, by the Cross.”

  She briefly acknowledged the information, rejoined her mother, and hurried away with her.

  Trenchard stood staring after them a moment. “Odd!” said he; “did you mark that girl’s discomposure?”

  But Wilding’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Come, Nick! If I am to render myself fit to sit at table with Monmouth, we’ll need to hasten.”