Chipping-Campden, at the period of our story, was a great mart for wool; and it chanced that on this very day a large sheep fair was held in the vicinity of the town. Numerous flocks of sheep driven by shepherds and attended by farmers, mounted on horses as rough-looking as themselves, beset the road.
As Charles rode on, hoping to pass through the throng unmolested, the sheep-breeders pressed around him, each vaunting the excellence of his fleeces, and affirming that he had the best sheep on the Cotswolds. Jane took upon herself to answer, and explained that they were merely travellers, and did not desire to purchase wool. The explanation did not prove altogether satisfactory, and the churlish farmers began to eye the supposed groom suspiciously.
“Thee warn’t bred on the Wowlds,” remarked one of them. “Where dost come from?”
“Why, thou’rt as fierce as a Cotswold lion, and that’s a sheep,” rejoined Charles. “What be it to thee where I come from?”
“Thou look’st as sharp as if thou lived on Tewkesbury mustard,” cried the farmer.
“And I should take thee to be a man of Dursley,” responded Charles, who was acquainted with some of the local proverbs.
“Why, there he has hit thee, Guy Naunton,” cried another of the farmers. “I never knowed thee keep a promise.”
“I never broke my word to thee, Mat Mickleton, or to any one else,” rejoined Naunton, angrily.
“Did any of you ever join the sports on Dover’s Hill?” cried Charles.
“Why dost ask?” cried Mickleton.
“Because I would challenge one and all of you to run, leap, wrestle, or use the quarter-staff,” rejoined Charles.
“There be no more Cotswold Games now — more’s the pity!” cried Mickleton. “But I be ready and willing to try a bowt with thee at quarter-staff.”
“No, no, Will Jones,” interposed Jane. “Pass on thy way. Thou wilt get into a brawl with these men.”
“Thy groom be a saucy knave, and shall give an account of himself to the town bailiff,” said Naunton.
“Keep thy hands off my bridle, or I will lay my whip on thy shoulders,” cried Charles, sharply.
“Contain yourself, or we shall have a quarrel,” whispered Jane, beginning to feel alarmed at the menacing looks thrown at the king. “Let me go, I beg of you,” she added aloud to the others. “I have a pass for myself and my servant.”
“Show it to the bailiff,” rejoined Naunton. “We’ll take you to him.”
Chipping-Campden consisted of a single street of some length, in the centre of which stood the Court-house and the Market-house. Owing to the fair the little town was very full, and the concourse collected in the market-place stared hard at the strange cavalcade as it approached, the general impression being that a fugitive Cavalier had been captured.
Informed that an arrest had been made, the bailiff, as the chief magistrate of the place was styled, came forth from the Court-house, to ascertain particulars, and when an explanation had been given him, and Jane’s pass produced for his inspection, he directed that the lady should be allowed to proceed on her journey without further hindrance.
“As you have thought fit to stop her without authority,” he said to the farmers, “my order is that you make amends by conducting her to the further end of the town.”
This was done, and Charles and his fair companion got safely out of Chipping-Campden.
Skirting Northwick Park, and passing over the bleak downs beyond Blockley, they reached Bourton-on-the-Hill, where they halted for a short time. Being now among the wolds, they had nothing before them but a succession of low, rolling downs, which afforded excellent pasture for sheep, but were entirely uncultivated, and covered with great patches of furze. Not a village was to be seen for miles — only, here and there, a solitary farm-house or a shepherd’s cot.
On mounting the lofty hill on which Stow-on-the-Wold is situated, the travellers obtained an extensive view of the wild district they had just traversed. Stow-on-the-Wold is said to want three of the elements — fire, earth, and water. How this may be we know not, but air it can never lack, seeing that it is exposed to all the winds of heaven. Bleaker place cannot be found. What the old town might be like in winter, when the hill on the summit of which it was perched was covered with snow, and when the bitter north wind howled round the corners of the houses, and found its way through every window and door, Charles did not care to consider. It looked pleasant and cheerful now, with the sun shining brightly on the quaint old buildings, and upon the pinnacles of the lofty church tower.
Riding up to the hostel, which bore the sign of the Three Choughs, our travellers alighted, and while Charles took the horse to the stables, Jane put herself under the care of the landlady — a decent middle-aged dame — and was conducted by her to a private room, where refreshments were soon afterwards set before her.
As Charles was returning from the stable, another arrival took place, that brought forth host and hostess. A second groom, with a young dame seated behind him on a pillion, had ridden up to the inn door.
Great was the king’s astonishment on discovering that the new-comers were no other than Careless and Dame Gives, the latter having resumed the habits of her sex, while the former had put on a disguise similar to his own. On beholding the king, Dame Gives called out:
“Ah, Will Jones, I am glad to see thee. My man, Tom Elton, has ridden hard to overtake thee and thy young mistress, and at last he has succeeded.”
“I did not know you were following us, madam, or I would have stopped,” replied Charles. “My young lady is in the house.”
“She is partaking of a slight repast within, madam,” remarked the hostess. “Shall I take you to her?”
Dame Gives then alighted and entered the house, while Charles and Careless marched off together to the stable. As soon as he could find an opportunity Careless explained the cause of his unexpected appearance, as well as the object of his disguise.
“Those confounded troopers, Ezra and Madmannah, are following your majesty,” he said; “and I have adopted this disguise to baffle them. Evidently, the object of the rogues is to secure to themselves the whole of the reward offered for your apprehension, and they will not, therefore, let any of their comrades into their plan. Had they done so you must have been captured. That Worcester horse has been the main cause of their getting on your track. The blacksmith at the little village near Packington Park described the horse you had brought to his smithy, and Madmannah at once knew it to be his own. Having obtained this information, they came to Packington Hall, and owing to that piece of imprudence I discovered their plans, and immediately started after them. They went on to Henley-in-Arden, to Wootton, and Stratford-on-Avon, where they passed the night. At Stratford I was fortunate enough to meet with Dame Gives, and she suggested the plan to me, which, as you see, I have put into execution. Everything necessary to carry it out was procured at Stratford, the groom’s dress I now wear, and the pillion for Dame Gives, who readily agreed to accompany me. All that now remains to be done is that your majesty and myself should change horses, and then I will undertake to put the rogues on a false scent.”
“Oddsfish! ’tis an excellent plan!” cried Charles, laughing heartily. “No wit like a woman’s wit, and Dame Gives is as sharp-witted as any of her sex.”
Careless then proceeded to inform the king that he had left Stratford-on-Avon before sunrise, so that as far as he could judge they must be considerably in advance of the troopers.
“I give your majesty half an hour here — not longer,” said Careless.
“Half an hour will suffice,” said the king. “But let us in at once. I feel outrageously hungry.”
Entering the house, they called out lustily for something to eat, whereupon a cold meat pie and the remains of a ham were set before them. On these they set to work, and in less time than had been allowed by Careless had entirely demolished the pie and emptied a jug of ale. They had just finished their repast when the hostess informed them that the ladies were
ready to start, whereupon they proceeded to the stable and changed horses, as agreed upon.
Meanwhile, Dame Gives had fully explained matters to Jane, who quite approved of the plan. On coming forth she made no remark, but unhesitatingly took her seat behind the king, who was now mounted on the horse previously ridden by Careless. Dame Gives was equally expeditious in her movements, and the two grooms setting off at once, the change of steeds was unnoticed by the host and hostess.
Before descending the hill Careless surveyed the country round, but could descry nothing of the pursuers.
Leaving the old mansion of Maugersbury on the left, they entered a pleasant valley, watered by a clear trout-stream, and proceeded along the old Roman Foss Way. After crossing Stow Bridge, they passed a charming little village through the midst of which ran the trout-stream before mentioned, and shaped their course towards Bourton-on-the-Water.
Nothing could be pleasanter than this part of the ride, and enlivened by the cheerful companionship of Careless and Dame Gives, Charles for a time gave vent to his natural gaiety, and seemed quite to forget that the enemy was on his track.
Though apparently quite as unconcerned as his royal master, Careless kept a sharp look-out. Nothing, however, had occurred to cause them alarm. After passing through the pretty town of Bourton-on-the-Water, the houses of which are built on either side of the river Windrush, they returned to the Foss Way, which they had temporarily quitted.
* * *
CHAPTER II.
HOW CHARLES TOOK SHELTER DURING A STORM IN RATS ABBEY BARN; AND HOW HE DELIVERED CARELESS AND DAME GIVES FROM THE TROOPERS.
Once more they were in the midst of bleak and barren wolds, and were pressing on towards North leach, when they perceived a small detachment of cavalry coming along from that town.
As they were in sight of the enemy, to quit the road or turn back, would only be to invite pursuit, so they went boldly on, hoping they might not be stopped.
The officer in command of the troop ordered them to halt, and interrogated them very sharply. With Jane’s pass he was satisfied, and after a brief parley permitted her and her groom to proceed on their way. Reluctant to abandon his friends, Charles rode slowly on, but he soon found it necessary to accelerate his pace. The two troopers, Ezra and Madmannah, who were on his track, had now appeared in sight, and judging that nothing but instant flight could save him, he quitted the Foss Way, and rode off into the wolds.
Meantime, the officer in command of the detachment had come to the determination of arresting Dame Gives and her supposed servant, and he was about to send a guard with them to Northleach, when the two troopers came up. At once recognising the horse, they felt sure the disguised groom must be the king, and fearful of losing their prize they made no remark, but immediately offered to take charge of the prisoners and conduct them to Northleach. Greatly to the satisfaction of the cunning troopers, their proposal was accepted.
Committing the prisoners to their charge, the officer rode off with his men, while the two troopers, secretly exulting in their good fortune, and feeling now secure of their prize, placed the supposed royal captive between them, resolved to take him to Bristol, and there deliver him up to the commander of the garrison, and claim the rich reward.
Meanwhile Charles, finding he was not pursued, made his way across the wolds in the direction of Northleach, and passing on the right of that town, which was then an important mart for cloth and wool, returned to the Foss Way. Unable to ascertain what had become of Careless and Dame Gives, the king was greatly concerned that he could render them no assistance.
The morning, as we have already intimated, had been extremely fine, but within the last hour a change had taken place, and the blackness of the heavens portending a heavy thunder-storm, Charles looked about anxiously for a place of shelter.
They were again on the Foss Way, with nothing but the bare wolds spread out around them, like the billows of a tempestuous sea.
Jane pointed out a solitary barn about a quarter of a mile off on the left, and as soon as he could descend from the elevated road which he was tracking, Charles rode quickly in that direction.
Just as they reached the barn the storm came on with great violence. The flashes of lightning were almost incessant, the peals of thunder awfully loud, and the rain came down in torrents.
It was now so dark that except for the lightning they could not see many yards before them, and as Charles rode into the barn through the open door, he called out to ascertain whether anyone was within, but no answer being returned he dismounted, and after assisting Jane to alight, led his horse to a stall at the further end of the barn, and fastened him up. This done, he returned to Jane.
Almost deafened by the peals of thunder, they were looking out through the open door upon the wolds, and watching the progress of the storm, when a brighter flash than any that had gone before revealed a startling spectacle.
“Gracious heavens!” ejaculated Charles, “either my eyes deceived me, or I saw Careless and Dame Gives guarded by a couple of troopers.”
“You were not deceived, sire,” replied Jane. “I saw them distinctly. Their captors are evidently coming to seek shelter here.”
As she spoke, another brilliant flash revealed the party.
“You are right, they are about to take shelter in this barn,” said Charles. “The rogues must not find us. It shall go hard if I do not contrive to liberate the prisoners.”
In another minute the party arrived at the door of the barn. Ezra rode in first, and was followed by the captives, while Madmannah brought up the rear, and posted himself at the entrance to prevent any attempt at escape. However, he did not remain there long, but jumped from his horse, declaring that the lightning had well-nigh blinded him.
Meanwhile the others had dismounted, but Ezra kept strict guard over the prisoners.
“If thy life is of value to thee thou wilt keep quiet,” he said to Careless.
“Are we alone here?” cried Madmannah in a loud voice. “What ho! is there any one in the barn?”
“Ay,” replied a voice that sounded like that of a countryman, “I be here, Sam Cubberly, of Scrubditch Farm. Who may you be, and what are you doing in Rats Abbey Barn?”
Struck by the oddity of the response, Careless began to think that a friend was at hand.
“Methinks thou art mocking us, Sam Cubberly,” cried Ezra. “Come forth, and show thyself, or I will prick thee with my pike.”
A derisive laugh was the only response to this threat, and his choler being roused, he marched towards the back of the barn in search of the audacious rustic. But he had not got far, when an athletic young man suddenly sprang upon him, seized him by the throat, and disarmed him.
Hearing the disturbance, and at once comprehending what was taking place, Careless made an instant attack on Madmannah, and not only succeeded in depriving him of his weapons but forced him to the ground. Material assistance was given by Dame Gives, who prevented the trooper from using his carabine, and now held it at his head.
“Shall I shoot him?” she asked, in a tone that showed she was in earnest.
“Ay, shoot him through the head if he stirs,” rejoined Careless.
He then flew to the spot where the king was engaged with Ezra, and between them they dragged the trooper back to his comrade.
“Our safety demands that both these villains be instantly despatched,” said Careless. “They have justly forfeited their lives.”
“Truly, they deserve death, yet I am inclined to spare them,” said Charles. “Hark ye, rogues,” he continued; “will you swear to desist from this pursuit if your lives be given you?”
Both readily responded in the affirmative.
“Trust them not,” said Careless; “they have broken half a dozen oaths already.”
“But we will not break this,” said Ezra. “We will hold our peace as to all that we have seen and heard, and go back to Colonel James.”
By this time the fury of the storm had abated. The thu
nder had rolled off to a distance, and though the lightning still flashed, the rain had entirely ceased.
“The storm has cleared off,” observed Jane Lane, in a low tone to the king. “There is nothing to prevent our departure.”
“Then we will not remain here a moment longer,” he rejoined. “We must deprive these rascals of the means of following us,” he added to Careless; “we will take their horses.”
“Take their lives as well as their horses. You are dealing far too leniently with them,” said Careless.
Fancying all was over with them, the two wretches besought mercy in piteous terms.
“Stand back, then,” cried Charles, fiercely; “and do not stir till we are gone, or you will rush upon your death.”
The troopers moved back as enjoined, but Careless did not like their looks, and called out to them:
“Further back, or we will shoot you!”
The order was quickly obeyed.
At a sign from Charles, Jane Lane and Dame Gives then quitted the barn, and were immediately followed by the king and Careless, each leading a couple of horses.
As soon as the party had mounted, they returned to the old Roman road, crossed the Foss Bridge over the Coin, and then proceeding for a couple of miles further, turned the troopers’ horses loose on Barnsley Wold.
* * *
CHAPTER III.
WHAT PASSED IN THE BARBER’S SHOP AT CIRENCESTER.
The storm having now entirely passed away, the sun came forth again. Though the district through which they were travelling was exceedingly wild, it was solitary, and that gave it a special charm in the eyes of the fugitive monarch and his attendants. Occasionally a large flock of sheep could be seen among the wolds, with a shepherd tending them, but nothing more formidable.
As they approached Cirencester, which was to be the term of their day’s journey, the aspect of the country improved, and they passed two or three large mansions surrounded by parks.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 673
