CHAPTER XXXIX.
NEWBURY.
Early the next morning, after Richard had left the cottage for Raglancastle, mistress Rees was awaked by the sound of a heavy blow againsther door. When with difficulty she had opened it, Richard or his deadbody, she knew not which, fell across her threshold. Like poor Marquis,he had come to her for help and healing.
When he got out of the quarry, he made for the highroad, but missing theway the dog had brought him, had some hard work in reaching it; and longbefore he arrived--at the cottage, what with his wound, his loss ofblood, his double wetting, his sleeplessness after mistress Watson'spotion, want of food, disappointment and fatigue, he was in a highfever. The last mile or two he had walked in delirium, but happily withthe one dominant idea of getting help from mother Rees. The poor womanwas greatly shocked to find that the teeth of the trap had closed uponher favourite and mangled him so terribly. A drop or two of one of herrestoratives, however, soon brought him round so far that he was able tocrawl to the chair on which he had sat the night before, now ages agoneas it seemed, where he now sat shivering and glowing alternately, untilwith trembling hands the good woman had prepared her own bed for him.
'Thou hast left thy doublet behind thee,' she said, 'and I warrant methe cake I gave thee in the pouch thereof! Hadst thou eaten of that,thou hadst not come to this pass.'
But Richard scarcely heard her voice. His one mental consciousness wasthe longing desire to lay his aching head on the pillow, and end alleffort.
Finding his wound appeared very tolerably dressed, Mrs. Rees would notdisturb the bandages. She gave him a cooling draught, and watched by himtill he fell asleep. Then she tidied her house, dressed herself, and goteverything in order for nursing him. She would have sent at once toRedware to let his father know where and in what condition he was, butnot a single person came near the cottage the whole day, and she darednot leave him before the fever had subsided. He raved a good deal,generally in the delusion that he was talking to Dorothy--who sought tokill him, and to whom he kept giving directions, at one time how toguide the knife to reach his heart, at another how to mingle her poisonso that it should act with speed and certainty.
At length one fine evening in early autumn, when the red sun shone levelthrough the window of the little room where he lay, and made a red gloryon the wall, he came to himself a little.
'Is it blood?' he murmured. 'Did Dorothy do it?--How foolish I am! It isbut a blot the sun has left behind him!--Ah! I see! I am dead and lyingon the top of my tomb. I am only marble. This is Redware church. Oh,mother Rees, is it you! I am very glad! Cover me over a little. The pallthere.'
His eyes closed, and for a few hours he lay in a deep sleep, from whichhe awoke very weak, but clear-headed. He remembered nothing, however,since leaving the quarry, except what appeared a confused dream ofwandering through an interminable night of darkness, weariness, andpain. His first words were,--
'I must get up, mother Rees: my father will be anxious about me.Besides, I promised to set out for Gloucester to-day.'
She sought to quiet him, but in vain, and was at last compelled toinform him that his father, finding he did not return, had armedhimself, mounted Oliver, and himself led his little company to join theearl of Essex--who was now on his way, at the head of an army consistingchiefly of the trained bands of London, to raise the siege ofGloucester.
Richard started up, and would have leaped from the bed, but fell backhelpless and unconscious. When at length his nurse had succeeded inrestoring him, she had much ado to convince him that the best thing inall respects was to lie still and submit to be nursed--so to get well assoon as possible, and join his father.
'Alas, mother, I have no horse,' said Richard, and hid his face on thepillow.
'The Lord will provide what thee wants, my son,' said the old woman withemotion, neither asking nor caring whether the Lord was on the side ofthe king or of the parliament, but as little doubting that he must be onthe side of Richard.
He soon began to eat hopefully, and after a day or two she found prettynearly employment enough in cooking for him.
At last, weak as he still was, he would be restrained no longer. ToGloucester he must go, and relieve his father. Expostulation wasunavailing: go he must, he said, or his soul would tear itself out ofhis body, and go without it.
'Besides, mother, I shall be getting better all the way,' he continued.'--I must go home at once and see whether there is anything left to goupon.'
He rose the same instant, and, regardless of the good woman'sentreaties, crawled out to go to Redware. She followed him at a littledistance, and, before he had walked a quarter of a mile, he was ready toaccept her offered arm to help him back. But his recovery was now veryrapid, and after a few days he felt able for the journey.
At home he found a note from his father, telling him where to findmoney, and informing him that he was ready to yield him Oliver themoment he should appear to claim him. Richard put on his armour, andwent to the stable. The weather had been fine, and the harvest waswearing gradually to a close; but the few horses that were left wereoverworked, for the necessities of the war had been severe, and thatpart of the country had responded liberally on both sides. Besides, Mr.Heywood had scarce left an animal judged at all fit to carry a man andkeep up with the troop.
When Richard reached the stable, there were in it but three, two ofwhich, having brought loads to the barn, were now having their mid-daymeal and rest. The first one was ancient in bones, with pits profoundabove his eyes, and grey hairs all about a face which had once beenblack.
'Thou art but fit for old Father Time to lay his scythe across when heis aweary,' said Richard, and turned to the next.
She was a huge-bodied, short-legged punch, as fat as butter, with lopears and sleepy eyes. Having finished her corn, she was churning away ata mangerful of grass.
'Thou wouldst burst thy belly at the first charge,' said Richard, andwas approaching the third, one he did not recognise, when a vicious,straight-out kick informed him that here was temper at least, probablythen spirit. But when he came near enough to see into the stall, therestood the ugliest brute he thought that ever ate barley. He was verylong-bodied and rather short-legged, with great tufts at his fetlocks,and the general look of a huge rat, in part doubtless from having nohair on his long undocked tail. He was biting vigorously at his manger,and Richard could see the white of one eye glaring at him askance in thegloom.
'Dunnot go nigh him, sir,' cried Jacob Fortune, who had come up behind.'Thou knows not his tricks. His name be his nature, and we call himBeelzebub when master Stopchase be not by. I be right glad to see yourhonour up again.'
Jacob was too old to go to the wars, and too indifferent to regret it;but he was faithful, and had authority over the few men left.
'I thank you, Jacob,' said Richard. 'What brute is this? I know himnot.'
'We all knows him too well, master Richard, though verily Stopchasebought him but the day before he rode, thinking belike he might carry anear or two of wheat. If he be not very good he was not parlous dear; hepaid for him but an old song. He was warranted to have work in him if aman but knew how to get it out.'
'He is ugly.'
'He is the ugliest horse, cart-horse, nag, or courser, on thiscreation-side,' said the old man, '--ugly enough to fright to deathwhere he doth fail in his endeavour to kill. The men are all mortalfeared on him, for he do kick and he do bite like the living Satan. Hewonnot go in no cart, but there he do stand eating on his head off asfast as he can. An' the brute were mine, I would slay him; I would, ingood sooth.'
'An' I had but time to cure him of his evil kicking! I fear I must everride the last in the troop,' said Richard.
'Why for sure, master, thee never will ride such a devil-pig as he tothe wars! Will Farrier say he do believe he take his strain from theswine the devils go into in the miracle. All the children would make amock of thee as thou did ride through the villages. Look at his legs:they do be like stile-posts; and do but look at
his tail!'
'Lead him out, Jacob, and let me see his head.'
'I dare not go nigh him, sir. I be not nimble enough to get out of theway of his hoof. 'I be too old, master.'
Richard pulled on his thick buff glove and went straight into his stall.The brute made a grab at him with his teeth, met by a smart blow fromRichard's fist, which he did not like, and, rearing, would have struckat him with his near fore-foot; but Richard caught it by the pastern,and with his left hand again struck him on the side of the mouth. Thebrute then submitted to be led out by the halter. And verily he was uglyto behold. His neck stuck straight out, and so did his tail, but thelatter went off in a point, and the former in a hideous knob.
'Here is Jack!' cried the old man. 'He lets Jack ride him to the water.Here, Jack! Get thee upon the hog-back of Beelzebub, and mind thebristles do not flay thee, and let master Richard see what paces hehath.'
The animal tried to take the lad down with his hind foot as he mounted,but scarcely was he seated when he set off at a swinging trot, in whichhe plied his posts in manner astonishing. Spirit indeed he must havehad, and plenty, to wield such clubs in such a fashion. His joints wereso loose that the bones seemed to fly about, yet they always came downright.
'He is guilty of "hypocrisy against the devil,"' said Richard: 'he isbetter than he looks. Anyhow, if he but carry me thither, he will aswell "fill a pit" as a handsomer horse. I'll take him. Have you got asaddle for him?'
'An' he had not brought a saddle with him, thou would not find one inGwent to fit him,' said the old man.
Yet another day Richard found himself compelled to tarry--which he spentin caparisoning Beelzebub to the best of his ability, with the result ofmaking him, if possible, appear still uglier than before.
The eve of the day of his departure, Marquis paid mistress Rees a secondvisit. He wanted no healing or help this time, seeming to have come onlyto offer his respects. But the knowledge that here was a messenger, dumband discreet, ready to go between and make no sign, set Richard longingto use him: what message he did send by him I have already recorded.Although, however, the dog left them that night, he did not reach Raglantill the second morning after, and must have been roaming the country orpaying other visits all that night and the next day as well, with theletter about him, which he had allowed no one to touch.
At last Richard was on his way to Gloucester, mounted on Beelzebub, andmuch stared at by the inhabitants of every village he passed through.Apparently, however, there was something about the centaur-compoundwhich prevented their rudeness from going farther. Beelzebub bore himwell, and, though not a comfortable horse to ride, threw the road behindhim at a wonderful rate, as often and as long as Richard was able tobear it. But he found himself stronger after every rest, and by the timehe began to draw nigh to Gloucester, he was nearly as well as ever, andin excellent spirits; one painful thought only haunting him--the fearthat he might, mounted on Beelzebub, have to encounter some one on hisbeloved mare. He was consoled, however, to think that the brute was lessdangerous to one before than one behind him, heels being worse thanteeth.
He soon became aware that something decisive had taken place: eitherGloucester had fallen, or Essex had raised the siege, for army there wasnone, though the signs of a lately upbroken encampment were visible onall sides. Presently, inquiring at the gate, he learned that, on thenear approach of Essex, the besieging army had retired, and that, aftera few days' rest, the general had turned again in the direction ofLondon. Richard, therefore, having fed Beelzebub and eaten his owndinner, which in his present condition was more necessary than usual tohis being of service, mounted his hideous charger once more, and pushedon to get up with the army.
Essex had not taken the direct road to London, but kept to thesouthward. That same day he followed him as far as Swindon, and found hewas coming up with him rapidly. Having rested a short night, he reachedHungerford the next morning, which he found in great commotion becauseof the intelligence that at Newbury, some seven miles distant only,Essex had found his way stopped by the king, and that a battle had beenraging ever since the early morning.
Having given his horse a good feed of oats and a draught of ale, Richardmounted again and rode hard for Newbury. Nor had he rode long before heheard the straggling reports of carbines, looked to the priming of hispistols, and loosened his sword in its sheath. When he got under thewall of Craven park, the sounds of conflict grew suddenly plainer. Hecould distinguish the noise of horses' hoofs, and now and then theconfused cries and shouts of hand-to-hand conflict. At Spain he was allbut in it, for there he met wounded men, retiring slowly or carried bytheir comrades. These were of his own part, but he did not stop to askany questions. Beelzebub snuffed at the fumes of the gunpowder, andseemed therefrom to derive fresh vigour.
The lanes and hedges between Spein and Newbury had been the scenes ofmany a sanguinary tussle that morning, for nowhere had either army foundroom to deploy. Some of them had been fought over more than once ortwice. But just before Richard came up, the tide had ebbed from thatpart of the way, for Essex's men had had some advantage, and had driventhe king's men through the town and over the bridge, so that he foundthe road clear, save of wounded men and a few horses. As he reachedSpinhamland, and turned sharp to the right into the main street ofNewbury, a bullet from the pistol of a royalist officer who lay woundedstruck Beelzebub on the crest--what of a crest he had--and withoutinjuring made him so furious that his rider had much ado to keep himfrom mischief. For, at the very moment, they were met by a rush ofparliament pikemen, retreating, as he could see, over their heads, froma few of the kings cavalry, who came at a sharp trot down the mainstreet. The pikemen had got into disorder pursuing some of the enemy whohad divided and gone to the right and left up the two diverging streets,and when the cavalry appeared at the top of the main street, both parts,seeing themselves in danger of being surrounded, had retreated. Theywere now putting the Kennet with its narrow bridge between them and thelong-feathered cavaliers, in the hope of gaining time and fit ground forforming and presenting a bristled front. In the midst of this confusedmass of friends Richard found himself, the maddened Beelzebub everymoment lashing out behind him when not rearing or biting.
Before him the bridge rose steep to its crown, contracting as it rose.At its foot, where it widened to the street, stood a single horseman,shouting impatiently to the last of the pikemen, and spurring his horsewhile holding him. As the last man cleared the bridge, he gave him rein,and with a bound and a scramble reached the apex, and stood--within halfa neck of the foremost of the cavalier troop. A fierce combat instantlybegan between them. The bridge was wide enough for two to have foughtside by side, but the roundhead contrived so to work his antagonist, whowas a younger but less capable and less powerful man, that no comradecould get up beside him for the to-and-fro shifting of his horse.
Meantime Richard had been making his slow way through the swarm ofhurrying pikemen, doing what he could to keep them off Beelzebub. Themoment he was clear, he made a great bolt for the bridge, and the samemoment perceived who the brave man was.
'Hold on, sir,' he shouted. 'Hold your own, father! Here I am! Here isRichard!'
And as he shouted he sent Beelzebub, like low-flying bolt fromcross-bow, up the steep crown of the bridge, and wedged him in betweenOliver and the parapet, just as a second cavalier made a dart for theplace. At his horse Beelzebub sprang like a fury, rearing, biting, andstriking out with his fore-feet in such manner as quite to make up tohis rider for the disadvantage of his low stature. The cavalier's horserecoiled in terror, rearing also, but snorting and backing and wavering,so that, in his endeavours to avoid the fury of Beelzebub, which wasfrightful to see, for with ears laid back and gleaming teeth he lookedmore like a beast of prey, he would but for the crowd behind him havefallen backward down the slope. A bullet from one of Richard's pistolssent his rider over his tail, the horse fell sideways against that ofMr. Heywood's antagonist, and the path was for a moment barricaded.
'Well done,
good Beelzebub!' cried Richard, as he reined him back on tothe crest of the bridge.
'Boy!' said his father sternly, at the same instant dealing hisencumbered opponent a blow on the head-piece which tumbled him also fromhis horse, 'is the sacred hour of victory a time to sully with profaneand foolish jests? I little thought to hear such words at my side--notto say from the mouth of my own son!'
'Pardon me, father; I praised my horse,' said Richard. 'I think not heever had praise before, but it cannot corrupt him, for he is such anill-conditioned brute that they that named him did name him Beelzebub:Now that he hath once done well, who knoweth but it may cease to fithim!'
'I am glad thy foolish words were so harmless,' returned Mr. Heywood,smiling. 'In my ears they sounded so evil that I could ill accept theirtestimony.--Verily the animal is marvellous ill-favoured, but, as thousayest, he hath done well, and the first return we make him shall be togive him another name. The less man or horse hath to do with Satan thebetter, for what is he but the arch-foe of the truth?'
While they spoke, they kept a keen watch on the enemy--who could not getnear to attack them, save with a few pistol-bullets, mostlywide-shot--for both horses were down, and their riders helpless if notslain.
'What shall we call him then, father?' asked Richard.
'He is amazing like a huge rat!' said his father. 'Let us henceforthcall him Bishop.'
'Wherefore Bishop and not Beelzebub, sir?' inquired Richard.
Mr. Heywood laughed, but ere he could reply, a large troop of horsemenappeared at the top of the street. Glancing then behind in some anxiety,they saw to their relief that the pikemen had now formed themselves intoa hollow square at the foot of the bridge, prepared to receive cavalry.They turned therefore, and, passing through them, rode to find theirregiment.
From that day Bishop, notwithstanding his faults many and grievous, wasregarded with respect by both father and son, Richard vowing never tomount another, let laugh who would, so long as the brute lived and hehad not recovered Lady.
But they had to give him room for two on the march, and the place behindhim was always left vacant, which they said gave no more space than hewanted, seeing he kicked out his leg to twice its walking length. Beforelong, however, they had got so used to his ways that they almost ceasedto regard them as faults, and he began to grow a favourite in theregiment.
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