And as the girl departed on the old man’s behest, Charles inquired, with some curiosity, if the little maid was his granddaughter.
“She belongs to the fourth generation,” replied the old shepherd. “Edith is my great-grandson’s daughter. But now that she is gone, I will speak to thee plainly. Thou hast intimated to me that thou art a fugitive Royalist. I cannot give thee shelter, but I can offer thee sympathy. I love not the present state of things. Night and day do I pray for the young king’s safety, and for his restoration to the throne of his ancestors. In all likelihood I am the oldest man in the land, and Heaven will listen to me.”
‘Say’st thou so, father?” cried Charles; “then the king might trust his life to thee?”
“Is the king on these hills?” demanded the old shepherd, trembling.
“He stands before thee!” exclaimed Charles. “Nay, he kneels to thee — implores thy blessing. Thou wilt not withhold it, father?”
Mastering his astonishment by a marvellous effort, with a dignity which nothing but extreme age could impart, and with an expression of countenance almost sublime, the patriarch spread his arms over the head of the kneeling monarch, and in a tone of the utmost solemnity and fervour pronounced a benediction upon him.
“I feel that this blessing from one who, like thyself, has outlived all earthly passions, will indeed profit me,” said Charles, rising. “I am compelled to fly from my kingdom, but I shall return to it ere long, and trust to find thee living.”
“Not so, sire,” replied old Oswald; “my sand is nearly run. You will reascend the throne — of that I am well assured — but ere that happy event occurs, the old shepherd of Cissbury Hill will be laid in the grave already digged for him in this hollow. But while life remains he will not cease to pray for your restoration. Yet take counsel from me, sire,” the old man continued, in a slightly troubled tone.
“I dream dreams, and behold visions. I have watched the stars on many a night from this hill-top, and have learnt strange lore from the heavenly bodies. To- day you are in safety, but be not found within this rebellious land to- morrow.”
“I design not to be so,” replied the king. “Fare thee well, father!” And he extended his hand to the patriarch, who pressed it reverently to his lips. “Give this to little Edith,” added Charles, placing a piece of gold in the old man’s palm. “Once more, farewell!”
He then ran quickly up the side of the little hollow, mounted his horse, and rode off, remaining silent and abstracted for some time, much to the disappointment of his escort, who were curious to learn what had passed between him and the old shepherd of Cissbury Hill.
CHAPTER VI.
What Happened At The “White Horse” At Steyning
LEAVING Findon to the left, the travellers next crossed the range of hills, of which the lofty headland known as Chanctonbury Ring is the termination on the north-west, and descended upon Steyning. It had been their intention to push on to Bramber, but on entering the town they accidentally learnt that a troop of horse had just ridden off in that direction, so they judged it best to make a brief halt lest they should overtake them. Riding into the yard of the White Horse, they dismounted, and ordered their horses to be taken to the stables. There were a good many persons in the yard at the time, and amongst them were two individuals, who, despite their threadbare apparel, gave themselves great airs, strutted about like well-clad gallants, pounding the earth with their heavy-heeled boots, and making their long rapiers clatter against the stones. These two personages, who were no other than the redoubted Captain Goldspur and his friend Jervoise Rumboldsdyke, had watched the arrival of the party with some curiosity, and as Charles was about to enter the house, the captain strode up to him, and said, in a low, significant tone, “Art thou a friend to Cæsar?” And then, without waiting for a reply, he exclaimed, “Why, zounds! can it be? — it is — it is Cæsar himself!”
“Be silent, sir ! — I charge you on your allegiance,” said Charles, authoritatively.
“I am dumb, sire,” replied Goldspur, respectfully. “But I pray your Majesty to believe that my sword, my life, are at your disposal.”
Rumboldsdyke coming up at the moment, his friend whispered a word to him, which instantly produced a magical effect upon the ruffling blade, whose demeanour became as respectful as that of Goldspur.
“This is Master Jervoise Rumboldsdyke, an it please your Majesty,” said Goldspur, in a low tone. “Like myself, he hath lost his fortune in your service. But what matters that? We would lose fifty fortunes — if we had them — in such a cause — and our lives into the bargain. Would we not, Rumboldsdyke?”
“Ay, that would we!” exclaimed the other ruffler.
Charles would have gladly dispensed both with the presence and professions of such suspicious adherents, but fearing some indiscretion on their part, he deemed it best to keep them in sight, and therefore invited them to enter the house, and drink a bottle of canary with him — an invitation which, as may be supposed, they gratefully accepted.
Charles found Colonel Gunter waiting for him just within the doorway, and the latter looked surprised and somewhat uneasy at perceiving his Majesty attended by the two threadbare Cavaliers. A glance from the king, however, reassured him, and on looking more narrowly at the persons with him, he remembered to have seen them amongst the guests at the Poynings’ Arms on the night when he was taken there by Stelfax, after his descent of the declivity near the Devil’s Dyke. Goldspur, however, sought to set him completely at ease by stepping up to him, and saying in his ear,
“It is all right, Colonel Gunter. We are both friends to Cæsar — both men of honesty and mettle. Do you not remember the night at the Poynings’ Arms, when that rascally Ironside captain brought you a prisoner there? Do you not recollect Captain Goldspur and his friend Jervoise Rumboldsdyke? I made an effort for your liberation. A shot was fired from Patcham Wood: ’twas I who sent the bullet at the accursed Stelfax!”
“Enough! enough! Captain Goldspur. I remember you perfectly,” replied Gunter, hastily. “But come into this private room. We shall be more at our ease there.”
So saying, he led the way into a parlour looking towards the back of the house. Charles had already preceded him, and having hastily apprised the others of the addition they might expect to their party, they were prepared for the appearance of the two rufflers. Glasses and a couple of flasks of canary had already been placed on the table, so there was no present occasion to summon the host; and Gunter, having closed the door in order to prevent intrusion, proceeded to introduce the new comers, whom he described as men who would not stick at a trifle to serve their friends.
The introduction over, Lord Wilmot, in a haughty tone, thus addressed them:
“Harkye, Captain Goldspur, and you, Master Rumboldsdyke — since such are the names you choose to go by—”
“‘Go by’ — was that the word?” interrupted Goldspur, indignantly. “They are as much our names, my lord, as Henry Wilmot, Baron Wilmot in England, and Viscount Wilmot in Ireland, is your own.”
“Oddsfish, my lord!” exclaimed Charles, laughing, “you are known to these gentlemen, it seems, as well as we ourselves appear to be.”
“It were needless to remind his lordship where we have had the honour of meeting him,” observed Goldspur. “But if he desires it, I will mention—”
“Nay, it is needless to enter into particulars,” cried Lord Wilmot. “I fancy I have seen your faces before, but not under very creditable circumstances.”
“Your lordship does not mean to cast any reflections upon our honour, I trust?” said Goldspur, frowning, and laying his hand upon the hilt of his blade.
“Oh, not in the least, captain,” said Lord Wilmot, calmly. “I have no doubt you are both men of honour, according to your own acceptation of the term. But I was about to observe, when you first interrupted me, that you have chosen to force your company upon us—”
“Force, my lord!” cried Goldspur, indignantly. “Neither Master Rumbol
dsdyke nor myself desire to force our company upon any man. We sought only to offer our swords and our lives to our gracious master. We yield to no man living — not even to yourself, Lord Wilmot — in devotion to the king, and we are ready to approve it. We may have tarnished cloaks and threadbare jerkins, but we have loyal hearts in our breasts.”
“I believe you, gentlemen — I believe you,” replied the king. “Wilmot, thou art wrong in doubting these good fellows.”
“I hope I am,” replied his lordship; “but I must be permitted to observe, that if I perceive the slightest indication of treachery on their part, I shall not hesitate to shoot both of them through the head.”
“If his Majesty is satisfied with our professions we are content,” said Goldspur.
“And so I am,” replied the king—” though it will be needful to keep a wary eye upon them,” he muttered to himself. “Sit down, gentlemen. Stand not upon ceremony with me, but fill your glasses to the brim.”
“Mine shall be emptied to a pledge that I drink daily,” quoth Goldspur. May the king enjoy his own again, and that right speedily!
“I echo the sentiment!” added Rumboldsdyke.
“I thank you both for this display of your loyalty and attachment,” said Charles; “but I must pray you to be prudent, and make no further demonstration of your zeal. We are bound to Bramber, and perhaps to Brightelmstone. Is there any danger on the way?”
“A troop of horse has just gone on to Shoreham, sire,” said Goldspur. “But they will have passed through Bramber before you get there.”
“Can you tell us aught of Stelfax, Captain Goldspur?” inquired Clavering.
“The detested dog is still at Lewes,” replied the other, “and is constantly occupied in scouring the country, and searching houses for fugitive Cavaliers. It is not for me to inquire into his Majesty’s plans, but if they are such as to require the service of scouts upon the motions of the enemy, so as to give timely notice of danger, I and Master Rumboldsdyke will be ready to perform the office, and we have companions who will lend us aid.”
“May it not be advisable to employ these men as scouts?” said Charles, in a low tone to Clavering.
“I think so, most undoubtedly,” the young man replied. “Hark ye, Captain Goldspur,” he continued aloud, “his Majesty thinks well of your proposal. You and your friend, I presume, are provided with horses. Ride to Lewes, or the neighbourhood, with all possible dispatch. Station your scouts about Southover, and about the western side of the town, and if any sudden movements are made this evening by Stelfax, or the Ironsides, give us immediate warning at my father’s residence, Ovingdean Grange. You know the way to it, I make no doubt, across the downs.”
“It will not be the first time that I and Master Rumboldsdyke have visited Ovingdean Grange,” replied Goldspur. “We have recently become acquainted with your worthy father, Colonel Maunsel.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Clavering in surprise
“And I may add,” pursued Goldspur, “we have served him in the capacity we are about to serve his Majesty; we have acted as his scouts upon the detested Stelfax. Nay, more, we have watched over Mock-Beggar Hall, where worthy Master Beard and his daughter, the lovely Mistress Dulcia, were lodged during their stay at Lewes, and we escorted them back to the Grange.”
“What you tell me, captain, satisfies me that you may indeed be trusted,” said Clavering.
“Why, it seems we have stumbled on the very men we needed,” observed Charles. “But who is this lovely Mistress Dulcia Beard they have guarded?”
“The daughter of my father’s chaplain. Your Majesty will behold her at Ovingdean Grange,” replied Clavering.
“And shall find her, no doubt, well worthy our regard,” replied the king, noticing the young man’s heightened colour.
“Have we your Majesty’s commands to set forward to Lewes on this service?” demanded Goldspur.
“You have, sir,” replied Charles. “And we pray you to lose no time by the way. If there should be danger, you will not fail to make it known to Colonel Maunsel, at Ovingdean Grange.”
“On that your Majesty may rely. We now humbly take our leave.” On this the twain made a profound obeisance and departed.
“And your Majesty is of opinion that these fellows may be trusted?” observed Lord Wilmot, as soon as they were gone.
“I am convinced of it,” replied Charles. “I have not the slightest misgiving as to their fidelity. Nay, I think it very lucky we encountered them.”
“I hope it may turn out as you anticipate,” said Lord Wilmot; “but I am not without fears to the contrary.”
“Thou art always full of apprehension, Wilmot,” said the king. “I never allow fears to disturb me. Give me another glass of canary. Here is to fair Mistress Dulcia Beard!” he added, with a smile at Clavering. “You must tell me more about her as we ride on.”
Charles and his companions remained for about a quarter of an hour longer in the parlour. They then summoned the host, paid their shot, and called for their horses. As the street near the inn seemed to be rather full of people, and some one amongst them might possibly recognize the royal fugitive, it was agreed that his Majesty’s horse should be led to the outskirts of the town, on the road to Bramber, where he could join them.
Accordingly, while the others were engaged with the ostler, Charles slipped away, and proceeding along the street in which stands the curious old gabled house called the Brotherhood Hall, even then used as a grammar school, soon reached the antique church, built on the site of the still older wooden fabric constructed by Saint Cuthman, of whom mention has been made in an earlier portion of our Tale.
Having lingered near this old pile for a few minutes, without bestowing many thoughts, we fear, upon good Saint Cuthman, Charles set off again, and marching at a quick pace was presently out of the town, and at the spot where his attendants were waiting for him. Here he mounted his horse, and the troop set off for Bramber, the woody mound upon which the ruins of the old Norman castle are situated rising majestically before them at the distance of less than a mile.
CHAPTER VII.
Ditchling Beacon
THE royal wanderer, now approaching the ancient stronghold of the Braoses, had neither leisure nor inclination to mount the woody side of the eminence and examine the shattered fragment of its keep, supposed to have been demolished by gunpowder, but was. fain to content himself with such view as the road afforded of the picturesque ruins of the castle, and the venerable church of Saint Nicholas nestling under its grey and crumbling walls. Charles, however, was much amused by the diminutive size and quaint architecture of the habitations composing the little village of Bramher, many of which were so low that a tall man could look in at their upper windows. Several of these curious old houses, which were built towards the latter end of the sixteenth century, are still left, and a very good notion of an English village in Shakespeare’s time may be formed by a visit to Bramber. The king’s advance-guard ascertained, greatly to their satisfaction, that the troop of Republican soldiers had gone on to Shoreham; and as Charles crossed the little bridge over the Adur, he could see the long line of red coats, distinguishable by their glittering casques and corslets, passing on the left bank of the river on their way thither. Under ordinary circumstances the royal party would have taken the same route; but even if they had intended it, the hostile force in advance would have deterred them from proceeding in that direction. They now proposed to continue their journey along a little-frequented road, leading from the defile of the Adur to Poynings, and running at the foot of the precipitous range of downs overlooking the Weald of Sussex.
Here it was that Colonel Gunter, and his kinsman the captain, took leave of the king for a while, and struck off along the uplands on the east bank of the Adur, in the direction of Shoreham, it being the colonel’s intention to seek an interview with Captain Tattersall, and ensure, at any cost, the skipper’s departure before daybreak. The colonel set out to his expedition, full of confidence
that he should be at Ovingdean Grange almost as soon as the king himself, and should bring his Majesty word that all had been satisfactorily settled. While, therefore, Charles and his now diminished escort rode in one direction, Colonel Gunter and his kinsman set off in another; the latter shaping their course towards Shoreham, but keeping on the acclivities, in order to avoid the soldiers.
Meanwhile, Charles and his party, who were now under the guidance of Clavering, crossed the spur of a down extending into the mighty fissure through which the Adur finds it way to the sea, and then look their way along the foot of the lofty escarpment to the picturesque village of Poynings, which we have visited on a former occasion. On the road to Poynings the king failed not to question Clavering as to the state of his feelings in respect to Dulcia Beard, and having ascertained, beyond a doubt, that the young man’s affections were irrevocably fixed upon the damsel, he promised to exert all his influence with Colonel Maunsel to induce him to assent to the match.
“And I will lose no time about it,” added the good-natured monarch. “I will attack the old gentleman on the subject immediately on my arrival at the Grange.”
At Poynings the king did not fail to admire the beautiful old church, and the ancient manor-house amidst its woods; neither did he neglect to take a deep draught of Simon Piddinghoe’s stout March ale, a black jack, filled to the brim with the excellent beverage, being brought to the door of the hostel by the officious landlord, at Clavering’s directions. Neither did his Majesty escape without a brief chat with the talkative schoolmaster, Cisbury Oldfirle, who came forth with his pipe in one hand and a jug of ale in the other, to have a word with the strangers, and who, thinking that the king looked the most good- humoured person of the party, took the liberty of addressing him. The record of their conversation, however, has not been preserved.
Quitting Poynings, the royal party rode off, and proceeded at a rapid trot along a pleasant shady lane bordered by trees, whose branches often overhung it, until they came to the foot of Wolstonbury Hill, one of the most beautiful of the South Downs, which rose smoothly and gently before them, as if inviting them to ascend to the encampment upon its brow. They did, indeed, mount so far upon the velvet sward of the hill as enabled them to survey the surrounding district. From the elevated point they had now reached they overlooked Danny Park, which then contained, and still boasts, many magnificent oaks, and other fine timber. Embosomed in the midst of these woods stood an ancient Elizabethan mansion — yet maintained in all its integrity. Further on, at the outskirts of the park, could be discerned the pretty little hamlet of Hurstpierrepoint, with its church, then a very secluded village indeed, but now, owing to the convenience of railways, the natural beauty of the spot, and the predilection of the inhabitants of Brighton for it, promising to become a considerable place. For a few minutes Charles suffered his gaze to wander over this fair sylvan scene, and then gave the word to his attendants to proceed.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 582
