St. George and St. Michael

by George MacDonald

  CHAPTER L.

  A SALLY.

  Meantime Mr. Heywood had returned home to look after his affairs, andbrought Richard with him. In the hope that peace was come they had laiddown their commissions. Hardly had they reached Redware when they heardthe news of the active operations at Raglan, and Richard rode off to seehow things were going--not a little anxious concerning Dorothy, and fullof eagerness to protect her, but entirely without hope of favour eitherat her hand or her heart. He had no inclination to take part in thesiege, and had had enough of fighting for any satisfaction it hadbrought him. It might be the right thing to do, and so far the only pathtowards the sunrise, but had he ground for hope that the day of freedomhad in himself advanced beyond the dawn? His confidence in Milton andCromwell, with his father's, continued unshaken, but what could man doto satisfy the hunger for freedom which grew and gnawed within him?Neither political nor religious liberty could content him. He mighthimself be a slave in a universe of freedom. Still ready, even for thesake of mere outward freedom of action and liberty of worship, to drawthe sword, he yet had begun to think he had fought enough.

  As he approached Raglan he missed something from the landscape, but onlyupon reflection discovered that it was the church tower. Entering thevillage, he found it all but deserted, for the inhabitants had mostlygone, and it was too near the gates and too much exposed to the suddensallies of the besieged for the occupation of the enemy. That day,however, a large reinforcement, sent from Oxford by Fairfax tostrengthen colonel Morgan, having arrived at Llandenny, some of itsofficers, riding over to inspect captain Hooper's operations, had haltedat the White Horse, where they were having a glass of ale when Richardrode up. He found them old acquaintances, and sat down with them. Almostevening when he arrived, it was quite dusk when they rose and called fortheir horses.

  They had placed a man to keep watch towards Raglan, while the rest oftheir attendants, who were but few, leaving their horses in the yard,were drinking their ale in the kitchen; but seeing no signs of peril,and growing weary of his own position and envious of that of hisneighbours, the fellow had ventured, discipline being neither active norsevere, to rejoin his companions.

  The host, being a tenant of the marquis, had decided royalistpredilections, but whether what followed was of his contriving I cannottell; news reached the castle somehow that a few parliamentary officerswith their men were drinking at the White Horse.

  Rowland was in the chapel, listening to the organ, having in his illnessgrown fond of hearing Delaware play. The brisker the cannonade, theblind youth always praised the louder, and had the main stops now infull blast; but through it all, Scudamore heard the sound of horses'feet on the stones, and running along the minstrels' gallery and out onthe top of the porch, saw over fifty horsemen in the court, all butready to start. He flew to his chamber, caught up his sword and pistols,and without waiting to put on any armour, hurried to the stables, laidhold of the first horse he came to, which was fortunately saddled andbridled, and was in time to follow the last man out of the court beforethe gate was closed behind the issuing troop.

  The parliamentary officers were just mounting, when their sentinel, whohad run again into the road to listen, for it was now too dark to seefurther than a few yards, came running back with the alarm that he heardthe feet of a considerable body of horse in the direction of the castle.Richard, whose mare stood unfastened at the door, was on her back in amoment. Being unarmed, save a brace of pistols in his holsters, hethought he could best serve them by galloping to captain Hooper andbringing help, for the castle party would doubtless outnumber them.Scarcely was he gone, however, and half the troopers were not yet intheir saddles, when the place was surrounded by three times theirnumber. Those who were already mounted, escaped and rode after Heywood,a few got into a field, where they hid themselves in the tall corn, andthe rest barricaded the inn door and manned the windows. There they heldout for some time, frequent pistol-shots being interchanged without muchinjury to either side. At length, however, the marquis's men had all butsucceeded in forcing the door, when they were attacked in the rear byRichard with some thirty horse from the trenches, and the runaways ofcolonel Morgan's men, who had met them and turned with them. A smartcombat ensued, lasting half an hour, in which the parliament men had theadvantage. Those who had lost their horses recovered them, and aroyalist was taken prisoner. From him Richard took his sword, and rodeafter the retreating cavaliers.

  One of their number, a little in the rear, supposing Richard to be oneof themselves, allowed him to get ahead of him, and, facing about, cuthim off from his companions. It was the second time he had headedScudamore, and again he did not know him, this time because it was dark.Rowland, however, recognised his voice as he called him to surrender,and rushed fiercely at him. But scarcely had they met, when thecavalier, whose little strength had ere this all but given way to theunwonted fatigue, was suddenly overcome with faintness, and dropped fromhis horse. Richard got down, lifted him, laid him across Lady'sshoulders, mounted, raised him into a better position, and, leading theother horse, brought him back to the inn. There first he discovered thathe was his prisoner whom he feared he had killed at Naseby.

  When Rowland came to himself,

  'Are you able to ride a few miles, Mr Scudamore?' asked Richard.

  At first Rowland was too much chagrined, finding in whose power he was,to answer.

  'I am your prisoner,' he said at length. 'You are my evil genius, Ithink. I have no choice. Thy star is in the ascendant, and mine has beengoing down ever since first I met thee, Richard Heywood.'

  Richard attempted no reply, but got Rowland's horse, and assisted him tomount.

  'I want to do you a good turn, Mr Scudamore,' he said, after they hadridden a mile in silence.

  'I look for nothing good at thy hand,' said Scudamore.

  'When thou findest what it is, I trust thou wilt change thy thought ofme, Mr Scudamore.'

  'SIR ROWLAND, an' it please you,' said the prisoner, his boyish vanityroused by misfortune, and passing itself upon him for dignity.

  'Mere ignorance must be pardoned, sir Rowland,' returned Richard: 'I wasunaware of your dignity. But think you, sir Rowland, you do well to rideon such rough errands, while yet not recovered, as is but too plain tosee, from former wounds?'

  'It seems not, Mr. Heywood, for I had not else been your prize, I trust.The wound I caught at Naseby has cost the king a soldier, I fear.'

  'I hope it will cost no more than is already paid. Men must fight, itseems, but I for one would gladly repair, an' I might, what injuries Ihad been compelled to cause.'

  'I cannot say the like on my part,' returned sir Rowland. 'I would I hadslain thee!'

  'So would not I concerning thee--in proof whereof do I now lead thee tothe best leech I know--one who brought me back from death's door, whenthrough thee, if not by thy hand, I was sore wounded. With her, as myprisoner, I shall leave thee. Seek not to make thy escape, lest, being awitch, as they saw of her, she chain thee up in alabaster. When thou artrestored, go thy way whither thou pleasest. It is no longer as it waswith the cause of liberty: a soldier of hers may now afford to releasean enemy for whom he has a friendship.'

  'A friendship!' exclaimed sir Rowland. 'And wherefore, prithee, MrHeywood? On what ground?'

  But they had reached the cottage, and Richard made no reply. Havinghelped his prisoner to dismount, led him through the garden, and knockedat the door,

  'Here, mother!' he said as mistress Rees opened it, 'I have brought theea king's-man to cure this time.'

  'Praise God!' returned mistress Rees--not that a king's-man was wounded,but that she had him to cure: she was an enthusiast in her art. Just asshe had devoted herself to the puritan, she now gave all her care andministration to the royalist. She got her bed ready for him, asked him afew questions, looked at his shoulder, not even yet quite healed, saidit had not been well managed, and prepared a poultice, which smelt sovilely that Rowland turned from it with disgust. But the old woman had asingular
power of persuasion, and at length he yielded, and in a fewmoments was fast asleep.

  Calling the next morning, Richard found him very weak--partly from theunwonted fatigue of the previous day, and partly from the old woman'sremedies, which were causing the wound to threaten suppuration. Butsomehow he had become well satisfied that she knew what she was about,and showed no inclination to rebel.

  For a week or so he did not seem to improve. Richard came often, sat byhis bedside, and talked with him; but the moment he grew angry, calledhim names, or abused his party, would rise without a word, mount hismare, and ride home--to return the next morning as if nothing unpleasanthad occurred.

  After about a week, the patient began to feel the benefit of the wisewoman's treatment. The suppuration carried so much of an oldever-haunting pain with it, that he was now easier than he had ever beensince his return to Raglan. But his behaviour to Richard grew verystrange, and the roundhead failed to understand it. At one time it wasso friendly as to be almost affectionate; at another he seemed bent ondoing and saying everything he could to provoke a duel. For anotherwhole week, aware of the benefit he was deriving from the witch, as henever scrupled to call her, nor in the least offended her thereby,apparently also at times fascinated in some sort by the visits of hisenemy, as he persisted in calling Richard, he showed no anxiety to begone.

  'Heywood,' he said one morning suddenly, with quite a new familiarity,'dost thou consider I owe thee an apology for carrying off thy mare?Tell me what look the thing beareth to thee.'

  'Put thy case, Scudamore,' returned Richard.

  And sir Rowland did put his case, starting from the rebel state of theowner, advancing to the natural outlawry that resulted, going on to thenecessity of the king, &c., and ending thus:

  'Now I know thou regardest neither king nor right, therefore I ask theeonly to tell me how it seemeth to thee I ought on these grounds to judgemyself, since for thy judgment in thy own person and on thy own grounds,or rather no grounds, I care not at all.'

  'Come, then, let it be but a question of casuistry. Yet I fear me itwill be difficult to argue without breaking bounds. Would my lordmarquis now walk forth of his castle at the king's command as certainlyas he will at the voice of the nation, that is, the cannons of theparliament?'

  'The cannons of the cursed parliament are not the voice of the nation?Our side is the nation, not yours.'

  'How provest thou that?'

  'We are the better born, to begin with.'

  'Ye have the more titles, I grant ye, but we have the older families.Let it be, however, that I was or am a rebel--then I can only say thatin stealing--no, I will not say STEALING, for thou didst it with adifferent mind--all I will say is this, sir Rowland, that I should havescorned so to carry off thine or any man's horse.'

  'Ah, but thou wouldst have no right, being but a rebel!'

  'Bethink thee, thou must judge on my grounds when thou judgest me.'

  'True; then am I driven to say thou wast made of the better earth--cursethee! I am ashamed of having taken thy mare--only because it was in ahalf-friendly passage with thee I learned her worth. But, hang thee! itwas not through thee I learned to know my cousin, Dorothy Vaughan.'

  The recoiling blood stung Richard's heart like the blow of a whip, buthe manned himself to answer with coolness.

  'What then of her?' he said. 'Hast thou been wooing her favour, sirRowland? Thou owest me nothing there, I admit, even had she not sent mefrom her. Besides, I am scarce one to be content with a mistress whosefavour depended on the not coming between of some certain other, knownor unknown. This I say not in pride, but because in such case I were notthe right man for her, neither she the woman for me.'

  'Then thou bearest me no grudge in that I have sought the prize of mycousin's heart?'

  'None,' answered Richard, but could not bring himself to ask how he hadsped.

  'Then will I own to thee that I have gained as little. I will maddenmyself telling thee whom I hate, and to thy comfort, that she despisesme like any Virginia slave.'

  'Nay, that I am sure she doth not. She can despise nothing that ishonourable.'

  'Dost thou then count me honourable, Heywood?' said Scudamore, in avoice of surprise, putting forth a thin white hand, and placing it onRichard's where it lay huge and brown on the coverlid: 'Then honourableI will be.'

  'And, in that resolve, art, sir Rowland.'

  'I will be honourable,' repeated Scudamore, angrily, with flushingcheek, and hard yet flashing eye, 'because thou thinkest me such,although my hate would, an' it might, damn thee to lowest hell.'

  'Nay, but thou wilt be honourable for honour's sake,' said Richard.'Bethink thee, when first we met, we were but boys: now are we men, andmust put away boyish things.'

  'Dost call it a boyish thing to be madly in love with the fairest andnoblest and bravest mistress that ever trod the earth--though she behalf a puritan, alack?'

  'She half a puritan!' exclaimed Heywood. 'She hates the very wind of theword.'

  'She may hate the word, but she is the thing. She hath read me suchlessons as none but a puritan could.'

  'Were they not then good lessons, that thou joinest with them a namehateful to thee?'

  'Ay, truly--much too good for mortal like me--or thee either, Heywood.They are but hypocrites that pretend otherwise.'

  'Callest thou thy cousin a hypocrite?'

  'No, by heaven! she is not. She is a woman, and it is easy for women tosay prayers.'

  'I never rode into a fight but I said my prayer,' returned Richard.

  'None the less art thou a hypocrite. I should scorn to be for everbegging favours as thou. Dost think God heareth such prayers as thine?'

  'Not if He be such as thou, sir Rowland, and not if he who prays be suchas thou thinkest him. Prithee, what sort of prayer thinkest thou I prayere I ride into the battle?'

  'How should I know? My lord marquis would have had me say my prayers atsuch a time, but, good sooth! I always forgot. And if I had done it,where would have been the benefit thereof, so long as thou, who wastbetter used to the work, wast praying against me? I say it is a cowardlything to go praying into the battle, and not take thy fair chance asother men do.'

  'Then will I tell thee to what purpose I pray. But, first of all, I mustconfess to thee that I have had my doubts, not whether my side were morein the right than thine, but whether it were worth while to raise thesword even in such cause. Now, still when that doubt cometh, ever ittaketh from my arm the strength, and going down into the very legs of mymare causeth that she goeth dull, although willing, into the battle.Moreover, I am no saint, and therefore cannot pray like a saint, butonly like Richard Heywood, who hath got to do his duty, and is somethingpuzzled. Therefore pray I thus, or to this effect:

  '"O God of battles! who, thyself dwelling in peace, beholdest thestrife, and workest thy will thereby, what that good and perfect will ofthine is I know not clearly, but thou hast sent us to be doing, and thouhatest cowardice. Thou knowest I have sought to choose the best, so faras goeth my poor ken, and to this battle I am pledged. Give me grace tofight like a soldier of thine, without wrath and without fear. Give meto do my duty, but give the victory where thou pleasest. Let me live ifso thou wilt; let me die if so thou wilt--only let me die in honour withthee. Let the truth be victorious, if not now, yet when it shall pleasethee; and oh! I pray, let no deed of mine delay its coming. Let my workfail, if it be unto evil, but save my soul in truth."

  'And in truth, sir Rowland, it seemeth to me then as if the God of truthheard me. Then say I to my mare, "Come, Lady, all is well now. Let usgo. And good will come of it to thee also, for how should the Fatherthink of his sparrows and forget his mares? Doubtless there are of thykind in heaven, else how should the apostle have seen them there? And ifany, surely thou, my Lady!" So ride we to the battle, merry and strong,and calm, as if we were but riding to the rampart of the celestialcity.'

  Rowland lay gazing at Richard for a few moments, then said:

  'By heaven, but it were
a pity you should not come together! Surely thesame spirit dwelleth in you both! For me, I should show but as theshadow cast from her brightness. But I tell thee, roundhead, I love herbetter than ever roundhead could.'

  'I know not, Scudamore. Nor do I mean to judge thee when I say that noman who loves not the truth can love a woman in the grand way a womanought to be loved.'

  'Tell me not I do not love her, or I will rise and kill thee. I love hereven to doing what my soul hateth for her sake. Damned roundhead, sheloves THEE.'

  The last words came from him almost in a shriek, and he fell backpanting.

  Richard sat silent for a few moments, his heart surging and sinking.Then he said quietly:--

  'It may be so, sir Rowland. We were boy and girl together--fed rabbits,flew kites, planted weeds to make flowers of them, played at marbles;she may love me a little, roundhead as I am.'

  'By heaven, I will try her once more! Who knows the heart of a woman?'said Rowland through his teeth.

  'If thou should gain her, Scudamore, and afterward she should find theeunworthy?'

  'She would love me still.'

  'And break her heart for thee, and leave thee young to marryanother--while I--'

  He laughed a low, strangely musical laugh, and ceased--then resumed:--

  'But what if, instead of dying, she should learn to despise thee,finding thou hadst not only deceived her, but deceived thy better self,and should turn from thee with loathing, while thou didst love herstill--as well as thy nature could?--what then, sir Rowland?'

  'Then I should kill her.'

  'And thou lovest her better than any roundhead could! I will find theeman after man from amongst Ireton's or Cromwell's horse--I know not thefoot so well:--fanatic enough they are, God knows! and many of themfools enough to boot!--but I will find thee man after man who is fanaticor fool enough, which thou wilt, to love better than thou, thou pooratom of solitary selfishness!'

  Rowland half flung himself from the bed, seized Richard by the throat,and with all the strength he could summon did his best to strangle him.For a time Richard allowed him to spend his rage, then removed his graspas gently as he could, and holding both his wrists in his left hand,rose and stood over him.

  'Sir Rowland,' he said, 'I am not angry with thee that thou art weak andpassionate. But bethink thee--thou liest in God's hands a thousandfoldmore helpless than now thou liest in mine, and like Saul of Tarsus thouwilt find it hard to kick against the pricks. For the maiden, do as thouwilt, for thou canst not do other than the will of God. But I thank theefor what thou hast told me, though I doubt it meaneth little better forme than for thee. Thou hast a kind heart. I almost love thee, and willwhen I can.'

  He let go his hands, and walked from the room.

  'Canting hypocrite!' cried sir Rowland in the wrath of impotence, butknew while he said the words that they were false.

  And with the words the bitterness of life seized his heart, and hisdespair shrouded the world in the blackness of darkness. There wasnothing more to live for, and he turned his face to the wall.