*CHAPTER XIX.*
*WILSTROP WOOD.*
At four of the next morning Lady Ingilby's vigil was ended. There camea Parliament man to the gate of Ripley, asking urgently for GeneralCromwell. When he was admitted to the dining-chamber, he saw Cromwellwith his head still prone upon the table--saw, too, the grim figure of alady, who turned to level a pistol at his head.
"Your errand?" asked Lady Ingilby.
"With General Cromwell. He is needed at Long Marston."
"They are welcome to him. He's not needed here."
Cromwell shook himself out of sleep. "Who asks for me?" he said,getting to his feet.
For the moment he thought he was tenting in the open, with only one eyeand ear closed in sleep before the next day's march began. Then heglanced round the parlour, saw Lady Ingilby's grim, contemptuous face.When the Parliament man had whispered his message, word for word,Cromwell, with grim irony, thanked his hostess for the night'shospitality, and asked if he were free to take the road.
"None more free. On the road, sir, you will meet the democracy whom youbefriend--will meet your equals."
Humour had some hiding place in Cromwell's soul, after all. As theypassed out, the messenger and he, he laughed quietly. "She's ofRupert's breed. They'd make good Parliament men, the two of them, if wecould persuade them to our side of the battle."
Lady Ingilby opened the parlour window, listened till Cromwell's sharpcommand had brought his troopers into line, and heard them go on wearyhorses down the street. Then she went to the hall, in search of cloakand hood, and encountered Christopher.
"Good morrow, Mr. Metcalf," she said, after the first start of surprise."One of your clan always comes when I'm most in need of you. Myhusband--does he lie dead on Marston Moor?"
"He was alive when we broke Cromwell's Ironsides, for I heard his cheeryshout. After that Leslie routed us, and--I do not know."
"He may be alive, you think?"
"Why not? I shared the trouble with him, and I'm here."
Impetuous, strong for the deed, and strong for yielding to emotionafterwards, she came and touched him on the shoulder. "My thanks--oh,indeed, my thanks. Only to fancy him alive is peace to me. I needyou," she added briskly. "You will take charge of my women-folk here,until I return from--from an errand of mercy."
"Let me take the errand."
"Ah, but you could not. Only I can do it. Sir, is it no welcome changefor you to tend helpless women? You have had your holiday at Marston."
"It was a queer merry-making."
"But your wounds show to the public eye--wounds of honour. You carrythe red badge of knighthood, sir, while I have only a few more greyhairs to show for all these months of waiting."
"You cannot go alone," he protested. "The roads will be full of raffishmen."
"The roads must be as they will. For my part, I have to take a journey.Come, saddle me a horse, sir, by your leave. My grooms were all outwith the King's party yesterday."
When they crossed to the stables, a shrill cry of welcome greeted them;and, for all the gravity of what was past, Kit could not check a suddenlaugh. "Why, 'tis Elizabeth, the good ass that helped Michael intoYork! We thought to have lost her somewhere between this and LathomHouse."
Elizabeth came and licked Kit's face; even if he were not Michael, themaster well-beloved, he was at least near the rose. And then Kit pushedher aside; it was no time for blandishment.
There were two horses only, left behind because unfit for battle. Theylooked oddly lonesome, with the six empty stalls beside them stretchingout into the lights and shadows thrown by the lantern.
"A man's saddle," said Lady Ingilby briskly. "You'll find it in theharness chamber yonder."
Kit, when the livelier of the two horses was ready, understood why shehad chosen a man's saddle. It carried a holster; and into this, afterlooking at the priming and uncocking it with masculine precision, sheslipped the pistol that had over-watched Cromwell's slumbers not longago. And his wonder grew; for, during months of intimacy with Ripley'shousehold, he had learned that Lady Ingilby, at usual times, wasmotherly, unwarlike, afraid of powder and the touch of sharpened steel.
As he led her horse to the mounting-steps at the far side of thestable-yard, the lilt of tired hoofs came up the roadway. Young dawnwas busy up the hills, and into the grey and rosy light rode Michael.He was not dressed for a banquet. His clothes were yellow with the clayof Marston Moor, his face disordered by wounds lately dried by thenight's east wind. But the soul of him was Michael's--wayward andunalterable.
"At your service, Lady Ingilby," he said. "I heard a donkey bray justnow, and fancied it was Elizabeth, crying over milk spilled at Marston."
"It was no white milk, Mr. Metcalf, by the look of you."
"The thunder-rain was red in the ditches. It was a good fight, and it'sended. So, baby Kit, we're first to the tryst, we two. I've beenwondering, all from Marston hitherto, whether you were dead or living."
Christopher found one heartache stanched. The sense that Michael washere, instead of on the wet ground of the Moor out yonder, was vividhappiness. "Elizabeth will be glad," he said indifferently. "She wascrying for you not long ago."
Then he was urgent that Michael should be left here on guard, and he hadhis way. He borrowed the other's horse; and, after all, Lady Ingilbywas glad to have an escort through the roads.
"You have news of my husband?" she asked Michael, without hope of anyanswer that sufficed.
"None," said Michael, "save that we were in the thick of it--Kit, andhe, and I--and I heard a man near me say that Ingilby was fighting as ifthree men's strength were in his body."
"That is no news," said the other drily. "He was ever that sort ofman."
When they had ridden out, she and Kit, and had come to the hollow wheredog-roses and honeysuckle were blooming spendthrift to the warmer air ofdawn; she turned in saddle. "Your brother spoke of coming to a tryst.What tryst?"
"It was this way. Before the relief of York, it was agreed among theRiding Metcalfs that, if the battle sped, Ripley could look to its ownneeds. If the fight was lost, we were to come soon or syne--those leftof us--to guard you."
Lady Ingilby reined in--an easy matter with the pensioner that carriedher. "In these evil modern times, are there still so many of the elderbreed? One here and there I could understand, but not six-score ofyou."
"There are fewer now. We lost a few at Bolton, and Marston Moor wasworse. Those who are left will come in. Their word is pledged."
The spaciousness of summer on the hills returned to Lady Ingilby.Siege, and hardship, and the red fight at Marston went by. Here was aman who had fought, lost blood and kindred to the cause--a man simple,exact to the promise made.
"I am glad of your escort, after all," she said. "You were breeked inthe olden time, I think."
"What is our route?" asked Christopher by and by.
"To Marston. If my husband is abroad, well. If he's dead or dying, hemay need me."
It seemed to Kit, through all the perils of the road, through theinstant dangers that beset them from the thievish folk who hang upon theskirts of war, that a little, silver light went on ahead, guarding theirpassage. But he was country-born and fanciful. At Ripley, Michael thecareless went indoors and found the old man-servant fidgeting about thehall.
"Well, Waddilove," he said, throwing himself on the long-settle, andholding his hands to the fire-blaze, "it seems long since I knew you asbody-servant to Sir Peter Grant in Yoredale. I've fought and marched,and had my moments--ay, Ben, moments of sheer rapture when wecharged--and now I come from Marston, and all's ended, save a thirstthat will drink your cellars dry before I slake it."
Waddilove did not know "Maister Michael" in this mood of weariness. "Yeused to be allus so light-hearted, come shine or storm," he muttered.
"That is the worst of a high reputation. One falls to earth, oldsinner. I've no jest, no hope,
nothing but this amazing thirst. Ifthere's wine left in the Castle, bring it."
Ben was literal in interpretation of an order. When he returned, hebrought two bottles of Madeira and a rummer-glass.
"Oh, good!" said Michael, with something of his old laugh. "Fire andwine--I need them." He kicked the logs into a blaze. "It seems odd toneed warmth, with midsummer scarce past, but I've brought a greatcoldness from the Moor. Gentlemen of the King's--men who should beliving for him--are lying where they fell. There was no room for ahorse's hoofs; one had to trample the loyal dead. Wine, Ben! Pour me abrimmer for forgetfulness."
And now Waddilove understood that this gay wastrel of the Metcalfs wason the edge of sickness--not of the body only, or the mind, but of thetwo. In his eyes there was a fever and a dread. Not knowing what todo--whether wine were friend or adversary--he obeyed the order. Michaeldrained the glass in one long, satisfying gulp. "One can buy peace soeasily--at a price," he said. "Fill again for me, Daniel, and we'lldrink confusion to Noll Cromwell."
While the wine was between the bottle and the glass, a little lady cameinto the hall. She had a carrot in her hand, and trouble was lurking inher young, patrician face.
"Who is this, Ben?" she asked, withdrawing a step or two, as she saw thepatched and mud-stained figure on the settle.
"Michael Metcalf, at your service. No need to ask your servant vouchfor me."
He had risen. From his great height, shivering and unsteady, he lookeddown at her.
"But, sir, you are unlike yourself. Your eyes are wild."
"So would your pretty eyes be, Mistress Joan, if you'd shared MarstonFight with me. I've seen a King lose his cause--his head may follow."
Joan was aware of some new strength behind the man's present disarray."Does your love for the King go so deep, then? We thought you light ofheart."
"Always the same gibe. I have talked with the King, and I know. Ourlives were slight in the losing, if we had given him the battle. But welost it. What matters now, Joan?"
"This, sir--that the King still needs his gentlemen."
Michael stood to attention. She had always bettered his outlook onlife, even in his careless days. Now, with every nerve at strain, sheshowed him a glad, narrow track that went upward, climbing by the ladderof adversity.
"As for that," he said, with an odd smile, "I thank you for a word inseason. It will keep Sir William's cellars from a period of drought."
Waddilove, watching the man, could only wonder at his sharp return toself-control. He did not know that, so far as Michael was concerned,Joan Grant brought always the gift of healing.
"Heartsease, that's for remembrance," said Michael, after a troubledsilence, "and carrots, they're for Elizabeth the well-beloved."
She caught the sudden hope, the challenge in his glance. Clearly as ifhe had put the thought into speech, she knew that he clung to the oldlove, told more than once in Yoredale. He hoped--so wild a lover'sfancy can be--that, because she fed his ass with dainties, she did itfor the master's sake.
"Ah, no," she said sharply. "It is not good to play at make-believe.There is trouble at our doors--the King's cause drowning, and men lyingdead out yonder. I go to feed Elizabeth, and you, sir, will stay hereto guard the house."
Michael kicked the logs into a blaze, and watched the flames go up witha steady, thrifty roar. He turned presently, to find Waddilove askingwhether he did not need a second brimmer of Madeira.
"To-morrow, you old fool! For to-night, I've the house to guard.Meanwhile, I've lit a lively fire--all my hopes, Ben, and most of myprayers, have gone scummering up the chimney-stack. I trust they findgood weather out o' doors."
Christopher and Lady Ingilby, about this time, were nearing MarstonMoor. As they reached Tockwith village, and were passing the farmsteadwhere Cromwell had dressed the wound in his neck not long ago, five menrode out at them through the rosy light of dawn. Christopher, withbattle still in his blood, shot the first at close quarters--a red andmessy business. Then he reined about, with the instinct taught him byRupert's cavalry, turned again, and charged the four remaining.
He found himself in the stour of it; for they were thick-set rogues, andhad little to lose in this world or the next. It seemed that they mustbear him down, after he had accounted for another of their number withhis sword. Then a second pistol-shot rang out, and the man nearest Kitdropped from saddle as a fat, red plum falls from an autumn branch. Hishorse stampeded, and the two riders left galloped headlong for thewoods.
Kit returned to find Lady Ingilby with a smoking pistol in her hand.Her voice was tremulous.
"Sir, if this is to feel as men do--ah, thank the good God I was born awoman. I aimed truly, and--and I have no pride in it."
Through the sunrise and the hot, moist scent of flowering hedgerows theymade their way down the narrow farm-track which was henceforth to beknown as Rupert's Lane. At the ditch and the battered hedgerow whereCromwell's horse had been driven back, a man on foot asked sharply whowent there.
"Lady Ingilby, come to see whether her husband lives or is dead for theKing."
"'Lady Ingilby, come to see whether her husband lives oris dead for the King.'"]
"I cannot tell you, madam. There are so many dead, on both sides of thebattle."
"But I must know. Give us free conduct through the lines, my friendhere and myself; it is a little thing to ask."
The Parliament man was muffled in a great-coat, an unwieldy hat drawnover his eyes. But Christopher knew him, though Ingilby's wife, herheart set on one errand only, saw beyond and through him, scarce knowinghe was there save as an obstacle to progress down the lane.
"It is granted," said the Roundhead, "if you permit me to bandage youreyes until we come to the place where Sir William fought. I know theplace, because our men brought in high tales of his strength andcourage."
"But why the bandage?" she asked peremptorily.
"Because, between here and where he fought, there are sights not goodfor any woman's eyes."
"Ah, tut! I've nursed men at Ripley who were not good to see. Theirwounds were taken for the King, and so were pleasant."
They went through what had been the centre of the King's army--wentthrough all that was left of the Whitecoats, thick-huddled with theirfaces to the sky. For a moment even Ingilby's wife was dizzy andappalled. There was no scent of summer hedgerows now. Then she tookhold again of her unalterable courage.
"Oh, they died well. Lead on."
They came to the place where Sir William's company had fought; and thesun, gaining strength already to drive through the mists of last night'sthunderstorm, showed her the faces of many folk remembered, but not herhusband's.
"I thank God," she said simply. Then, as she turned to retrace hersteps, the inbred courtesy of the woman surmounted the pain that hadgone before, the passionate thanksgiving that followed. "I thank you,too, for conduct through the lines. What is your name, that I mayremember it in my prayers?"
"At Ripley they would name me Noll Cromwell. I ask no thanks, and neednone."
It was all muddled and astounding, as the battle of last night had been.The man she had scolded not long ago at Ripley--the man whose soul shehad whipped raw, though she did not guess it--had offered courtesy. Forthis hour, at any rate, Cromwell was a mystic, seeing with the clearervision and knowing the kind lash of penance. Since this wild campaignbegan, drawing him from his quiet estate in Rutland, he had known nohappiness till now. This woman had flouted him; yet he was glad, withan amazing gladness, to succour her in need.
A man came running, and said that General Cromwell was needed inTockwith village, where some trouble had broken out among his men. Themystic disappeared. The Cromwell of sheer flesh and blood showedhimself. "Trouble, is there?" he snapped. "I've a short way withtrouble of that sort. As for you, Lady Ingilby, the password is_Endeavour_, and I would recommend you to secure your retreat at once."
With a half-defiant salute he was gone, and, as th
ey came again to theplace where the Whitecoats lay, a party of Roundhead horsemen, ridingby, halted suddenly.
"You are on the King's side," said the leader, with a sharp glance atChristopher. "I am Captain Murray, at your service, of Leslie's horse.I know you because you all but killed me in that last rally Rupert made.What, in the de'il's name, are you doing here--and with a lady?"
"We are under safe-conduct through the lines. Cromwell gave us the word_Endeavour_ not five minutes since."
"Well, I need you, as it happens. There are many of your dead inWilstrop Wood, and General Leslie has a soft heart--after the fight isdone--like most Scotsmen. He sends me to find a King's man who can namethe dead. 'They have wives and bairns, nae doot,' said Leslie in hisdry way, 'and ill news is better than no news at a', for those who bideat hame.'"
Lady Ingilby was not sorry when her request to go with Kit was refused.After all, she had breakfasted on horrors and could take no further mealas yet.
"If he is there, Christopher," she whispered, "you will take me. If youdo not find him, well. Either way, there is the God above us."
When they came to Wilstrop Wood--Lady Ingilby staying on the outskirtswith three dour Scotsmen as a guard of honour--the wind was rustlingthrough the trees. And from the ground there was a harsher rustle--thestir and unrest of men who could not die just yet, however they longedfor the prison-gate of flesh to open.
The red-gold sunlight filtered through the cobwebs spun from tree totree of Wilstrop Wood. And even Murray, who counted himselfhard-bitten, stood aghast at what he saw. The underwood was white withbodies of the slain.
A great wrath and pity brought Kit's temper to a sudden heat. "CaptainMurray," he said, "these dead have been robbed of all that hides theirnakedness. I say it is a foul deed. Better have lost the fightthan--than this."
"You will tell it to the world?" stammered Murray.
"Yes, if I win free of this. It shall be blazoned through the North,till there's none but knows of it."
Murray halted irresolute. If the Scotsman had been of grosser make, Kitwould have joined the company of King's men who slept in Wilstrop Wood.It was easy, with the men he had at call, to silence this hot-headedyoungster.
"That is your resolve?" he asked slowly.
"D'ye doubt it? Captain Murray, it is a loathsome business enough topick the pockets of the dead, but to take clothes and all----"
"The Scots had no hand in it, I tell ye. Our lads hae over-muckle carefor the dead of either side. But I aye mistrusted those Psalm-singingrogues. Will ye take it at that?"
"There's a sickness in the middle of me," said Christopher, with tiredsimplicity. "What is your business with me here in Wilstrop Wood?"
Murray conquered his first impulse to put Kit's tongue out of harm's wayonce for all. "As I told you, sir, General Leslie's heart is tender asa maudlin woman's--now the battle is won, and his own wounds patchedup--and needs must that you identify the dead."
Christopher, who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, was a trueDalesman. By letting the world see the froth and bubble of the upperwaters, he hid the deeper pools. As they went through the wood, thesunlight filtering through on ground for ever to be haunted, he knew, bythe whiteness of their skins, that the greater part of the fallen weregentry of the King's. Instinct, quick to help a man, told him it wasunwise to admit the loss of so many officers to the cause, though heknew many faces there--faces of men who had shared fight or bivouac withhim somewhere between this and Oxford.
"They must rest where they lie, for all the help I can give you," hesaid impassively, "and may God have mercy on their souls."
"Sir, I wonder at your calm," snapped Murray; "but now I understand.All you Papists have that quiet air of ease."
"Up in Yoredale we heard nothing of the Pope, but much of prayers forthose who crossed the fighting-line ahead of us."
Murray thought he made nothing of this lad; yet at heart he knew that,through all the moil and stench of Marston, he, too, was going backalong the years--going back to the knees of his mother, whose prayersfor him he thought forgotten long since.
As they were making their way through the wood again, a slim youngster,stark naked, lifted himself on an elbow and babbled in his weakness."Have we won, friend?" he asked, looking at Kit and Murray with starry,fevered eyes.
"Aye," said Murray, Scottish pity warring with regard for truth. "We'vewon, my laddie."
"Then unfasten this bracelet from my wrist. Oh, quick, you fools--thetime's short! Take it to Miss Bingham, out at Knaresborough yonder, andtell her I died as well as might be. Tell her Marston Moor is won forthe King."
And with that there came a rattle in his throat. And he crossed himselfwith a feeble forefinger.
"Dear God," said Murray, "the light about his face! You simple gallantshave the laugh of us when it comes to the high affair of dying."
Christopher said nothing, after closing the eyes of a gentleman the Kingcould ill afford to lose. And so they came out of Wilstrop Wood, andfound Lady Ingilby again.
"Does he lie there?" she asked sharply.
"I did not see him," answered Kit.
"I am almost--almost happy. You did not find him? Come; they'll beneeding us at Ripley."
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