Colonel Greatheart

by H. C. Bailey

  "This is unworthy," said Fairfax sharply, and Lambert muttered. "Why, gentlemen, it's surely clear this Colonel Stow hath done us great service at peril of life and that in the clean impulse of honor. We have been hardly preserved from doing a horrid wrong. But as for the other, for Colonel Royston, I do profess—"

  "Pray, sir, shall we not have done with Colonel Stow first?" said Ireton with the advocate's instinct.

  "Why shall we find two mouths? Sure all will pronounce him guiltless."

  "Nay, sir, my conscience will not have it so," groaned Fleetwood. "I suspicion him an Amalekite in grain."

  "O, your conscience," Fairfax muttered. "Will you wait your turn, sir?" He turned to Cromwell. "How say you?" Cromwell started as if he had heard nothing. "How say you, sir, of Colonel Stow?"

  "He shall not fail or be discouraged," said Cromwell in a strange voice of dreams.

  It took Fairfax a moment to apprehend that. Then he turned to old Skippon. "If I understand him," growled Skippon, "which I do not, he hath served us. Acquit."

  "It is my mind that he hath done us more service than we can well pay," said Ireton.

  That was enough. Desborough and Whalley followed their leaders faithfully. Harrison had enough fire in his own wild soul to honor a knight errant. They carried it. Fleetwood and Lambert snarled in vain.

  Colonel Stow was brought in. "Sir," said Fairfax, "we have done you wrong and you much service to us. I thank you. You are free to go where you will. I pray you rest in this town a while. I would know more of you."

  Colonel Stow saluted. "Sir, if you count yourself to owe me anything, I would it might serve my friend."

  Fairfax shook his head and when Colonel Stow would have spoken held up his hand for silence. "You can do no good, sir," he said gravely.

  Colonel Stow saluted again. Indeed, he had no hope. The law of war could not permit less punishment than death.

  When he was gone Fairfax broke out in a hurry: "Here's ill work to do, gentlemen. Let us make short." But the righteous gentlemen drew together with relish. Now there was no occasion for mercy. They were free to be the executioners of Jehovah. And their own moment of weakness fired them to revenge. "Few words," said Fairfax. "When I spoke first of treachery I had little thought the blackest traitor was of ourselves. 'Tis the vilest thing I have known. A manifold devilish falseness. How dare we accuse the enemy, when they find one of our commission double their villainy? This Colonel Royston. Bah! Let's have done. Are we of one mind?" He turned to Cromwell. But Cromwell waved his hand and the question went to Skippon.

  "Give him a halter," growled Skippon.

  Ireton nodded.

  Fleetwood had no notion of so brief a verdict. The occasion was altogether delectable. "O, sirs," says he, licking his lips, "this is a great villain and hath deceived us by those deeds which he had power to do in the might of the beast. Yea, he hath the mark of the beast upon his right hand and upon his forehead. But worthy, worthy is the Lamb, and lo, we are preserved even out of the hand of his wickedness. For his sins have reached unto Heaven, and God hath remembrance of his iniquities. He shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone; yea, the smoke of his torment shall ascend for ever and ever, and he shall have no rest day nor night."

  "Colonel Harrison?" cried Fairfax, snatching at the first pause.

  "Of a truth, sir, he stinks and is corrupt. He hath troubled us. The Lord shall trouble him. Let him die the death of Achan."

  "I would all treason were as clearly known as this shall be swiftly punished," said Lambert.

  No man gainsaid.

  "There is one voice, then," said Fairfax in a hurry, loathing the task. "Have him in!"

  But Cromwell clashed his clenched hand down on the table. "I'm absolute for life!" It came upon them like a cannon shot from the unknown. They were held stupefied at gaze. "What, shall we be more righteous than God? Will you condemn the penitent thief? Why, sirs, this man is in a higher way. He hath not waited for the cross and the hour of death. We held him of the saints; we had never known his sin, but that he humbled himself unto us and made confession. We cry out upon him. I wish none of us may be so deep in sin. And now are we to use his repentance to his death? I profess I will go to the limit of my strength against it. Nay, this is to assail the majesty of God. Unto Him the man hath committed his case. O happy choice! Surely he hath liberated his soul. But he is not penitent? But he boasts of his sin? O, sirs, who gave you eyes that see men's hearts? I tell you, I have seen weak men endued with strength, strong men like to sucklings in an agony of spirit. Man, man, is it for you to order how the grace of God shall work within a man? He hath a brazen forehead, you say? Let him have what he will before men so he wear nothing but meekness and truth before God. And what if this very bold boasting be but an armor to hold men off from his private passages with his Lord? I would know who dares hold him wrong. Look to it that you judge not in a private anger. He will not humble himself unto you, and you are chafed. Go, tell that upon your knees."

  "All which may be very well," said Lambert stubbornly. "But I know well the man is a traitor at heart. Ask Ireton there if he did not ever mistrust him; and so have I. This is but a trick to save the fellow he calls friend and himself, too, if he can."

  "Of a truth I have ever seen guile in him, and now am well confirmed," said Fleetwood.

  "Are you so? Have you never gone amiss in reading the hearts of men? O, sirs, I beseech you by the bowels of God, conceive that you may be mistaken! Believe a man may not be of your temper and yet acceptable to God. Believe he may traverse strange ways and bring forth fruits meet for repentance at the last. He hath sinned; O, ay, he hath sinned deeply, and there must be punishment. Sir, I declare as I hope mine own salvation, if we commit him to death I would rather be himself than one of us. If God had determined his death would He have moved the man to repentance? Of a surety he was granted repentance that he might have time to work the works of repentance. He is overgood a soldier of God to send to death. Do I say then he shall have no punishment? Nay, truly. He hath not sinned unto God alone, but unto men and unto men he must atone.… He may not command in the army of the Lord till he hath purged his offense. This is my sentence then: He shall be taken from his office and made a common soldier; ay, and upon hard service. Let him be sent to Colonel Monck to the Welsh war. There by the grace of God he shall approve himself. It's an easy sentence? It's a light punishment? Nay, speak not so foolishly. What's death to him? He hath made his peace with God and in death finds all his hope. Life is the doom, life wherein he must serve God in warring with sin, where temptations crowd upon him all day, and that old serpent lies waiting for his weakest hours, life that is the trial wherewith he shall be tried anew. I sentence him to life. So may God do His will. That's best."

  The good Desborough was forward to second him, and Harrison cried out: "This is the naked simplicity of Christ."

  "I will not deny it," quoth Fleetwood. "Let the Lord be judge."

  Lambert shrugged. "It is your way, not mine. I'll take it for your account."

  "O, John Lambert, John Lambert," cried Cromwell, "it's not I that shall answer for your sentence."

  "So be it!" said Lambert in a moment.

  The others followed, though you would not guess Ireton well pleased. "I am out of all this," grunted Skippon. "I am a soldier."

  Fairfax turned to Cromwell. "You have gone something beyond me, sir, but I'll not deny you. Let him live and God help him. Do you choose to charge him? I do not see my part in it."

  "Nay, sir, nay," said Cromwell hastily; "this is your office."

  "Well. Have him in."

  Royston came erect, unashamed. Fairfax met eyes as fearless as his own. "Colonel Royston, you have convicted yourself of a vile treason. It is the sentence of the court that you shall be stripped of your rank and all your honor and serve as a common soldier. You will go under guard to Colonel Monck and be at his orders."

  Royston was plainly amazed
. Then all his strength was shaken. He fought hard to command himself. "I—I do not know that I should thank you," he said hoarsely. "But I thank you." So with his head fallen on his breast, he went out to make his life anew.

  When the Puritan fervor had burned itself out, when Monck felt the time come to change sides and strike for Charles II, there was chief among his aides a Colonel Royston. You can trace him very active and adroit in the underground work of the Restoration. In the rotten government that came, in that foul court, you hear of a Sir George Royston very prosperous. And if ever you come upon Lely's portrait of him you see a strong man, sated and weary, who rated life low.

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  Chapter Fifty-One

  The Last Inspiration of Lucinda

  LUCINDA sat in the twilight. There was not a nerve of her at rest. Her bosom beat a broken melody. Her hands were at work with her rings and her chain. She changed her cushions and her posture each moment. Royston tarried too long. She had no fear for him. Though he failed her, she had never doubted of the final victory of his brutal strength and adroitness. She feared him too much. But she was hungry for certain tidings of the other's fate. To be sure of his death—that was the best thing life could give. So she might quench her hopeless yearning, win freedom again, be again the mistress of her own body and mind and use their old delights. She hated him as a prisoner his bonds. He dared impose himself upon her passion and chain her with regrets. His death must be no mere revenge, though that were sweet, but release, full freedom of all herself. She could not dream of love reaching beyond the grave.

  While she fretted there, sudden, silent, a man stood before her. Colonel Strozzi saluted with a grin.

  She lay back on her cushions still and quite calm. "You are bold," she said. "I think you do not know Colonel Royston." And she laughed. "Good sir, he will get you hanged as lightly as I breathe."

  Colonel Strozzi continued to smile. "There was some little matter of a contract, madame," he suggested. "And for hanging, why not he as well as I?"

  Lucinda shrugged daintily. "Faith, I know not, nor care."

  Strozzi came a step nearer. "Be sure, madame, that you will not laugh at me."

  "You are more amusing than you suppose, my poor friend."

  "Yes, you have cheated me neatly. It is admitted. And now the last act begins. Last night your bel ami, George Royston, sustained the attack of the Palatine. I hear his dispositions were most soldierly. In fine, he shone resplendent. But there was a contract, Madame l'Amoureuse, and this is not what he was paid for."

  "Blame yourself for your own folly," cried Lucinda. "You were given your chance at the generals and you blundered it."

  "That is another hare, my dear," said Strozzi pleasantly. "I choose to run down the first. There were certain moneys paid. I am not used to pay for nothing and I do not like it. The position, sweetheart, is this: George Royston has played double with me and it is a liberty I do not permit. He will convey back the money he had or I will convey the whole story to the generals."

  "And so get yourself hanged!" Lucinda laughed. "Yes, sir, I believe that."

  Strozzi smiled at her. "You do not understand me, my dear. I resent being cheated. It is true that I may get myself in some danger. I shall not care, if I cry quits with that dear Royston. Believe me, my love, I shall. If he will surrender, the better for him. If not," Strozzi's amiable smile broadened, "the more pleasure for me. Shall we hang together, dear? Zip! La, la, la, la!" He made the sound of the jerking rope and danced a grotesque parody of the writhing body.

  Lucinda watched, very still. "Why are you so bitter against him?" she said. "It was not he, it was Colonel Stow that spoiled your plan."

  Strozzi's smile was swiftly gone. His eyes gleamed hate. "Another of your damned lovers!" he said. "Your desires are too general, mistress." Then he laughed again. "Well, he is paid. Fat Tom broke his skull in before the lobsters came."

  "You fool," said Lucinda quietly; "they have him here alive."

  Strozzi spat a hissing Italian oath. "But you lie!" he cried. He gripped her neck and turned her face roughly to what light there was. "Do you not lie, strumpet?"

  While their eyes fought there was the sound of footsteps in the flagged passage below and a voice: "Mistress Royston! Mistress Royston! Is she within?"

  Lucinda started up. "It is Ireton!" she said in a swift whisper, and flung open the door of her bedroom. "Go in, go in!"

  "Into the holy of holies?" Strozzi sneered as he went.

  Then she threw herself upon the cushions again and composed herself with much grace. But her bosom was wild and the heavy foot on the stair maddened her with its delay.

  It was Ireton. He bowed to her with a grave respect. "I come on a sad errand, madame. Pray, believe my regret."

  "Why, you talk riddles, sir!"

  "The answer is short enough, madame. Your husband has lately confessed to a horrible treason."

  "Confessed!"

  Ireton looked at her curiously. "Ay, madame; finding a friend of his, a Colonel Stow, of the King's army, in danger by his offense, he confessed all to the generals in council."

  There was silence a moment. Lucinda drew a long breath. "Sure, that is mighty noble in him," she said in a low voice. "But, pray, what had he to confess?"

  "Madame, you have heard that a wicked attack was made upon the generals last night. At noon a court was held to try a prisoner, this Colonel Stow, for his share in it. He told an honest tale, but because he would not say what he knew of the guilty, was much in danger, was like to suffer. Then, moved by his peril, Colonel Royston did confess all. That himself was a leader in this devilish design, having sold himself to one Strozzi, an Italian, to procure the generals' murder."

  "O, sir, what mighty villainy is this!" Ireton did not understand her tone.) "Yea, and in the very camp of the godly!"

  "I—I feel for your shame," said Ireton.

  "You are most gracious."

  "'Tis at least some pleasure to add that the court found room for mercy. It was held that Colonel Royston's honorable confession did absolve him from the common doom of traitors. Only his command is taken from him; he is to fight in the ranks."

  "This is mercy indeed," said Lucinda in a low voice.

  Ireton, peering at her through the gloom, could see that she sat at her ease, still and unshaken by any sorrow. "I would say only this beside: If I can serve you in your present need, madame, I would desire it."

  He waited a while. She answered nothing. He made his bow and left her. She was much of a puzzle to him, but since his own taste was for a daughter of Cromwell, she occupied him little.

  In what torment he left her you may guess. If pain in another be the due of pain, Colonel Stow's griefs were well avenged. This last blow smote most bitterly. It was enough that he should bring to nothing her scheme of grandeur. To win back the friend she had stolen from him—he could have dealt no crueler wound. She knew shame. Each hour that she made herself the plaything of Royston's desires came back to sting her pride. He cared no more than she. She had given her all and at the first chance he turned back from her to his friend. They made of her a wanton of the camp. The sweat was on her brow and she trembled. Truly he had his revenge. He kept his own honor, he kept his friend's love. Ay, she had won that friend to her husband, but he made the very victory pain. She was left to a common soldier that loathed her. She moaned under the lash.

  It was not of her nature to try the past again, to seek how she had been in fault or hold herself to blame. She was a creature of passion and unconquerable will. Now the pain lashed her into sharper hate. She gathered herself together and crouched upon the cushions like a wild beast waiting to spring.…

  So Strozzi found her. He tapped her shoulder before she saw him.

  "You heard?" she said hoarsely.

  "It seems the bel ami has cheated me again."

  "He! What does he matter? He is but a fool. 'Tis the other has beaten you—this cursed Colonel Stow. Do you not see?"

 
"I see," said Strozzi.

  "Well! 'Tis he is our ruin. He spoils all and gains by it. They acquit him; they honor him; these fools. Are you a man? Do you dare?"

  "Do not be afraid," said Strozzi.

  She started up. "Do you need anything? Are you equipped?"

  Strozzi laughed.

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  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Lucinda Goes Out to the Night

  LUCINDA stole out. Night lay heavy and dark and the broad street was still. The New Model army suffered no roysterers nor loungers. But it was early yet and many a window shone with homely light.

  She had her plan. Ireton had been amiable. A pathetic tale to Ireton would doubtless find out where Colonel Stow might be. But she had no need of it. In an upper room, his face sharp outlined between her and the light, she saw the face that haunted her. She shrank back into the shadow, gazing with greedy eyes. Ay, it was he. The clear peal of his laughter came through the open casement and she shuddered. That was his brother at the foot of the table and by his right hand, smiling, demure—you may fancy the words Lucinda found for her—Joan Normandy. Hate spurred her shamed heart anew. She heard the pleasant, happy nothings of intimate talk and sped away like a ghost frightened of human things. He dared—he dared be happy!

  To that dark chamber where Strozzi waited she came breathless. Only a plump gentleman strolling with a contemplative evening pipe had marked her flitting. "I have found him. He is with his brother. Close by the Grammar School. I saw him through the lighted window."

  "So." Strozzi gathered his cloak. "That suffices."

  "What will you do?"

  "Quien sabe? I shall not lose him. Good-by, my dear." He took her by the shoulders. "You ought to have been mine, you know. I'll try a taste of you." He caught her to him and kissed her at his will, laughing at the struggle of instinct. "Yes, you have all the tricks. So now, sweetheart, you had best know no more of me. My love to the next man." And he was gone, but Lucinda followed.

  He had hardly found the shadow of a dark entry when she was beside him. He muttered a foul Italian proverb in her ear and translated with a chuckle. But she hardly heard. Her mind was set on those happy people in the light. All that had gone before was easy to bear against that… Envy and covetousness of sex and fierce mad hate, made hell of her heart.…