No Quarter!

“Then it shall be taken from you, sirrah?”

“If so, sirrah, ’twill be under protest.”

“Under protest be it. As you like about that; devil care I. Ha-ha-ha!” and Lunsford laughed again. Then turning to the troop, he called out to his first sergeant, —

“Dismount, Robins, and follow me with a couple of files?”

Saying which, he flung himself out of the saddle, and made to ascend the steps of the porch.

“You don’t enter my house by an open door,” cried the Master of Hollymead, stepping backward. “You’ll have to break it in first,” he added, gliding into the hallway, dashing the door to behind him, and double-bolting it inside.

Almost immediately after strong oaken shutters, moved by invisible hands, were seen to close upon all the windows of the lower story, till Hollymead House looked as though its inmates had suddenly and mysteriously abandoned it.

Chapter Eighteen

“Resist!”

In his defiant refusal the Master of Hollymead, as already said, had received encouragement by a word spoken from the withdrawing-room. It was after the ladies had passed out of it; Sir Richard, who had followed them to the door, simply saying, “Resist!” It was said in a significant tone though, and loud enough to be heard by him who stood in the porch. For the knight had now made up his mind to some sort of action, as yet known only to himself; and but returned to the window to get further informed of the chances in favour of it.

Judging by the sparkle of his eyes, they seemed satisfactory, each moment becoming more so. He had already taken stock of the soldier troop, counted its files – less than twenty – saw that half of them were but “Johnny Raws” in uniform; while the crowd beyond them numbered nigh two hundred. Not all men; but such women as were among them had the look of being able to do man’s work, even in the way of fighting. Nor were they all unarmed, though no warlike weapons were conspicuously displayed. Here and there could be seen hands holding hedge forks, or grasping hatchets, bill-hooks, and hay-knives; others carrying long-shafted hammers and mattocks – tools of the mining industry peculiar to the Forest. All implements denoting peace; but readily convertible into weapons with which could be dealt deadly blows.

Sir Richard had taken all this in, as the soldiers came to a halt at the haw-haw gate. And now that they were inside it, looking over their heads from the high window, he saw something else, for which he had been anxiously watching – another crowd on its way up the avenue, smaller than that already arrived, but more compact, and apparently under discipline. All men these, with one at their head, taller by inches than any of those behind him, easily recognisable as Rob Wilde.

The deer-stealer had been true to his promise, and done his work well; for not only was the Ruardean contingent a large one, but carried real war weapons – here and there a matchlock and snap-hans, with pikes and halberds held high above their heads – a bristling array of them.

It was just then, on catching sight of these, that Ambrose Powell retreated from the porch, and in, dashing to his door. For Sir Richard’s doings in the days past were all known to him, and why he had gone out of his way, and lingered behind the hawking party at Ruardean.

At the same moment the knight made a hasty movement away from the window, as he did so saying, —

“Now, Master Trevor! Time’s come for action. I’m not going to let our good host be plundered without an effort to prevent it. Of course you can do as you like – remain neutral if it so please you.”

“But it don’t so please me,” promptly responded the ex-gentleman-usher. “If there’s to be fighting, I draw swords too.”

“On which side?”

“Oh, Sir Richard! Why do you ask that? After what I’ve just seen and heard, you might know. Never was I aware that the King sanctioned such doings as these, nor will I be the one to abet them. Besides, you seem to forget my debt to yourself – my life; and I’ve been longing for an opportunity to pay it. My sword is at your service, as my heart, ever since you conquered both.”

“Eustace Trevor!” exclaimed the knight, with more than ordinary warmth, “I now know that you are not only my friend, but the friend of our cause, which is that of country and humanity. Your generous offer of alliance delights me, and I am grateful for it. But all the more reluctant you should compromise yourself with your father – your people. Reflect before drawing you sword! Among those we are to fight with – if it come to that – is your own kinsman, your cousin, and you may have to cross blades with him.”

“Be it so. I have reflected, and well, before espousing your cause. ’Tis now more to me than cousin – a matter of conscience. Reginald’s on the wrong side – I the right one; and if we must cross swords, let him take the consequences as will I.”

Not often in man’s face might be seen such expression as came over that of Sir Richard Walwyn while listening to these determined words. The handsome youth he had made chance acquaintance with on the road, liking him at first sight; continuing to like him notwithstanding their adverse political faith; reluctant to quarrel with him; refusing it till there was no alternative with honour – this youth, now no more enemy either to him or his cause, but friend of both, professed and sure of proving true – at thought of all this the eyes of the soldier knight sparkled with an ecstatic joy which they alone can feel who fight for country, not king.

“Enough!” he said, grasping the youth’s hand and warmly pressing it. “Glad am I to think you will be with us. Swords such as yours were an accession to any cause; and ere long, even now, there may be fine opportunity for you to prove it – baptise your new faith in the blood of Freedom’s foes. Come with me!”

Their dialogue had occupied but a brief interval of time; and as the knight brought it to an end, he strode hastily out into the hall, spurs still on and clanking. There to encounter their host, also hurrying about, and shouting to his domestics to shutter the windows. The door he had already made secure.

In the hallway the three came together, but only for a few moments to remain so. The occasion called for quick, instant action, allowing scant time for speech. Nor was there much said; Sir Richard hurriedly saying to their host, —

“Tell the ladies not to be alarmed. Say that Mr Trevor and I have gone out to reason with those rude visitors of yours, and see what terms we can make with them. If they won’t listen to – ”

Whatever the alternative meant he left it unspoken, for chancing to turn his eyes up the stairway, he there saw that he was being listened to already. On its lowest landing were the sisters, who had overheard all.

They were coming down, and now came on; Sabrina gliding forward to the knight, and laying her hand on his shoulder. He had stepped a little apart to receive her, with anticipation of something she might have to say confidential, and with her, he, too, wanted a word of that kind.

“Oh, Richard!” she tremblingly exclaimed, “what are you going to do? Nothing rash, I hope?”

“Certainly not, dearest. Have you ever known me to act rashly?”

“No; but now – ”

“Well, now. I’m not likely to change my ways. In what I intend there may be no danger after all. A little risk true, but for a big stake. No less than three thousand pounds these royal miscreants demand from your father, and will have it if we don’t do something. But we will, and they won’t get it – not this day, unless I’m mistaken about the men who are gathering outside. Ah! we’ll match them, never fear.”

He then spoke some words in a whisper, not to be overheard by the servants still rushing to and fro, which seemed further to reassure her.

“Now, love! let me go,” he said, in conclusion. “There isn’t a second to spare. Mr Trevor and I must out.”

She neither questioned nor tried to detain him longer. Whatever he meant doing, she could confide in him; if to fight, believed him capable of conquering the whole world, and wisely ruling it after. For the woman who loves there is no fancy too wild, no feat seeming impossible to him who has her heart.

More constrained was the speech passing neat at hand, for there were three taking part in it. Yet not less anxious than her sister seemed Vaga, – if anything in greater distress about the danger apprehended. Possibly but for her father being beside her, she would have addressed Eustace Trevor in a strain similar to that of Sabrina appealing to Sir Richard. As it was her looks were eloquent of fear for him, mingled with a confidence in his power to hold his own, whatever was to happen.

The scene was short – of not more than a minute’s duration – and ended by the two gentlemen guests of Hollymead House making all haste out of it – not by the front door, but one at back, which opened into the stable-yard.

Soon as on its stoop, Sir Richard called out, – “Horses, Hubert! Quick!” And quick they came. In an instant after, Hubert was seen leading two out of their stalls, another pair being led behind by the servant of Eustace Trevor. Saddled and bridled all; for word had been sent out before, and everything was ready – even to the varlet having been warned by the veteran and gained over to the good cause, now his master’s.

In twenty seconds’ time all four were in the saddle, men as masters setting themselves firm in the stirrups, taking tight hold of the reins, with a look to their swords to see there was no entanglement against unsheathing them.

Then, at a word from Sir Richard, the yard gate, hitherto shut, was thrown open, and out they all burst, spurring to a brisk canter as they rode round for the front of the house.

Chapter Nineteen

In the Midst of a Mob

The people who had followed the soldiers were still outside the haw-haw; a file of troopers having been stationed by its gate to prevent their passing through. They could easily have sprung over out of the fosse, but for some reason seemed not to care for it.

Lunsford, after dismounting, had rushed up into the porch, but too late to hinder the shutting of the door; at which he was now thundering and threatening to adopt the alternative he had been dared to.

“We shall certainly break it in,” he cried out in a loud voice, “if not opened instantly.”

This elicitating no response from inside, he added, —

“Burst it in, men! Knock it to pieces!”

At which the sergeant and a file of troopers, now also in the porch, commenced hammering away with the butts of their dragon-muzzled muskets. But they might as well have attempted to batter down the walls themselves. Not the slightest impression could they make on the strong oaken panels. They were about to desist, when something besides that caused them suddenly to suspend their strokes, Lunsford himself commanding it. He at the same time sprang down from the porch and back to his saddle, calling on them to do likewise.

Odd as might seem his abrupt abandonment of the door-breaking design, there was no mystery in it. A cry sent up by the crowd of people had given him notice of something new; and that something he now saw in the shape of four horsemen sweeping round from the rear of the house. These were also outside the haw-haw, having crossed it by another causeway at back. A second shout greeted them as they got round to the front, and drew bridle in the midst of the crowd – a cheer in which new voices joined; those of the Ruardean men, just arrived upon the ground.

“Foresters?” cried Sir Richard, as they gathered in a ring around him, “will you allow Ambrose Powell to be plundered – your best friend? And by Sir John Wintour – your worst enemy?”

“No – never! That we won’t?” answered a score of voices.

“Well, the soldiers you see there are Sir John’s, from Lydney, though wearing the King’s uniform?”

“We know ’em – too well!”

“Have seen their ugly faces afore.”

“Curse Sir John, an’ the King too?” were some of the responses showered back. Then one, delivering himself in less disjointed but equally ungrammatical phrase, took up the part of spokesman, saying, —

“We’ve niver had a hour o’ peace since Sir John Wintour ha’ been head man o’ the Forest. He’ve robbed us o’ our rights that be old as the Forest itself, keeps on robbin’ us; claims the mines, an’ the timber, an’ the grazin’ as all his own. An’ the deer, too! Yes, the deer; the wild anymals as should belong to everybody free-born o’ the Manor o’ Saint Briavel’s. I’m that myself, an’ stan’ up here afore ye all to make protest agaynst his usurpins.”

That the speaker was Rob Wilde might be deduced from allusion to the deer, pronounced with special emphasis. And he it was.

“We join you in your protest, Rob; an’ll stan’ by you!” cried one.

“Yes! All of us!” exclaimed another.

“An’ we’ll help enforce it,” came from a third. “If need be, now on the spot. We only want some ’un as’ll show us the way – tell us what to do.”

At this all eyes turned on Sir Richard. Though personally a stranger to most of them, all knew him by name, and something more – knew how he had declared for Parliament and people, against King and Court, and that it was no mere private quarrel between him and Sir John Wintour which had caused him to speak as he had done.

“Theer be the gentleman who’ll do all that,” said Rob, pointing to the knight. “The man to help us in gettin’ back our rights an’ redressin’ our wrong. If he can’t, nobody else can. But he can and will. He ha’ told some o’ us, as much.”

Another huzza hailed this declaration, for they knew Rob spoke with authority. And their excitement rose to a still higher pitch, when the knight, responding, said, —

“My brave Foresters! Thanks for the confidence you give me. I know all your grievances, and am ready to do what I can to help you in righting them. And it had best begin now, on the spot, as some one has just said. Are you ready to back me in teaching these usurpers a lesson?”

“Ready! That we be, every man o’ us.”

“Try us, an’ see!”

“Only let’s ha’ the word from you, sir, an’ well fall on ’em at once!”

“We’re Foresters; we an’t afeerd o’ no soldiers – not sich raws as them, anyhow.”

“Enough!” cried the knight, his eyes aglow as with triumph already achieved; for he now felt assured of it. Over two hundred of the Foresters against less than a sixth of that number of Lunsford’s hirelings, he had no fear for the result, if fight they must. So, when he placed himself at their head, with Eustace Trevor by his side, their two armed attendants behind, and rode up to the gate guarded by the two troopers, he made no request for these to open it and let them pass in, but a demand, with sword unsheathed, and at back a forest of pikes to enforce it.

The guards at once gave way. Had they not, in another instant they would have been hoisted out of their saddles on the blades of weapons with shafts ten feet long. Alive to this danger, they briskly abandoned their post, giving the Foresters free passage through the gate.

During all this time the ex-Lieutenant of the Tower had scarce moved an inch from the spot where he remounted his horse. When he saw the four horsemen coming around the house, heard the enthusiastic shout hailing them, at the same time caught sight of the pikes and barbed halberds, whose blades of steel gleamed above the heads of the huzzaing crowd, his heart sank within him. For this brutal monster, “Bloody Lunsford” as he afterwards came to be called, was craven as cruel. He had swaggered at the front door as inside the Parliament House by the King’s command; but there was no King at his back now, and his swaggering forsook him on the instant. He knew something of the character of the Foresters – his raw recruits knew them better – at a glance saw his troop overmatched, and, if it came to fighting, would be overpowered. But there was no fight, either in himself or his following; and all sat in their saddles sullen and scowling, but cowed-like as wolves just taken in a trap.

Chapter Twenty

“No Quarter!”

Straight on to the soldiers rode Sir Richard Eustace Trevor by his side, their mounted servants behind; the men afoot following close after in a surging mass. These, soon as well through the gate, extended line to right and left, turning the troop until they had it hemmed in on every side. Nor was it altogether the movement of a mob, but evidently under direction, Rob Wilde appearing to guide it more by signs and signals than any spoken words. However managed, the troopers now saw themselves environed by pikes and other pointed things – a very chevaux de frise– held in the hands of men whose faces showed no fear of them. For the country had not yet been cursed by a standing army, and in the eyes of the citizen the soldier was not that formidable thing as since, and now. Rather was the fear on the side of Lunsford’s party, most of whom, Foresters themselves of the inferior sort, knew the men who stood confronting them.

Up to this moment no word had been spoken by their commanding officer, save some muttered speech he exchanged with Reginald Trevor. Nor did he now break the silence, leaving that to the intruders.

“Captain, or, as I understand you are now called, Colonel Lunsford,” said Sir Richard, drawing up in front of him, “by the way you’re behaving you appear to think yourself in the Low Countries, with rights of free forage and plunder. Let me tell you, sir, this is England, where such courses are not yet in vogue; and to be hoped never will be, even though a King authorise, ay, command them. But I command you, in the name of the people, to desist from them, or take the consequence.”

Under such smart of words it might be supposed that a professional soldier and King’s officer would have dared death itself, or any odds against him. It was of this the muttered speech had been passing between him and Reginald Trevor, the latter urging him to risk it and fall on. Whatever else, he was no dastard, and, though he had once given way on that same spot, it was not from cowardice, but ruled by a sentiment very different.

In vain his attempt to inspire his superior officer with courage equalling his own; no more would he have been successful with their followers, as he could see by looking along the line of faces, most of them showing dread of that threatening array of miscellaneous weapons, and a reluctance to engage them.

In fine, the ex-Lieutenant of the Tower made lip his mind to live a little longer, even at the risk of being stigmatised as a poltroon. But, not instantly declaring himself – too confused and humiliated for speech – Sir Richard went on, —

“No doubt, sir, your delicate sense of humanity will restrain you from a conflict in which your soldiers must be defeated and their blood spilled uselessly – innocent lambs as they appear to be.”

The irony elicited laughter from the Foresters; for a more forbidding set of faces than those of the troopers could not well have been seen anywhere.

“But,” continued the knight, “if you decline to withdraw without showing how skilfully you can yourself handle a sword, I’m willing to give you the opportunity. You’ve had it from me before, and refused. But you may be a braver man, and think yourself a better swordsman now; so I offer it again.”

The taunt was torture itself to the man in whose teeth it was flung. All the more from the cheering and jibes of the Foresters, who seemed thoroughly to enjoy seeing Sir John Wintour’s bullies thus brought to book. And still more that in the window above were two feminine faces, one of them that he had been so late admiring, the ladies evidently listening.

Notwithstanding all, Lunsford could not screw up courage for a combat he had once before declined, and now the second time shunned it, saying, —

“Sir Richard Walwyn, I am not here for the settlement of private quarrels. When the time fits for it I shall answer the challenge you say is repeated, but which I deny. My business at present is with Mr Ambrose Powell, as Deputy-Commissioner of Array, to collect the King’s dues from him. Since he’s refused to pay them, and I have no orders, nor wish, to use violence, so far as shedding blood, it but remains for me to take back his answer to my superiors.”

It was such a ludicrous breakdown of his late blustering, and withdrawal of demand, that the Foresters hailed it with a loud huzza, mingled with laughter and satirical speech.

When their cheering had ceased, so that he could be heard, Sir Richard rejoined, —

“Yes; that is the best thing you can do. And the sooner you set about it the better for both yourself and your men, as you may be aware without further warning.”

It was like giving the last kick to a cur, and as a cur Tom Lunsford took it, literally turning tail – that of his horse – upon Hollymead House.

Out through the haw-haw gate rode he, his troop behind, every man-jack of them looking cowed and crestfallen as himself.

Alone Reginald Trevor held high front, retiring with angry reluctance, as a lion driven from its quarry by hunters too numerous to be resisted. But he passed not away without holding speech with his cousin, on both sides bitterly recriminative.

“So you’ve turned your back upon the King!”

It was Reginald who said this, having spurred up alongside the other before parting.

“Rather say the King has turned his back upon the people,” was Eustace’s rejoinder. “After such behaviour as I’ve just been witness to, by his orders and authority, I think I am justified in turning my back upon him.”

“Oh! that’s your way of putting it. Well; it may justify you in the eyes of your new friends here – very warm friends all at once?” – this with a sneer – “but what will your father think? He won’t like it, I’m sure.”

“I daresay he won’t. If not, I can’t help it.”

“And don’t seem to care either! How indifferent you’ve grown to family feeling! and in such a short space of time. You used to pass for the most affectionate of sons – a very paragon of filial duty; and now – ”

“And now,” interrupted the ex-courtier, becoming impatient at being thus lectured, “whatever I may be, I’m old enough, and think myself wise enough, to manage my own affairs, without needing counsel from any one – even from my sage cousin, Reginald.”

“As you like, Eust. But you’ll repent what you’re doing, yet.”

“If I should, Rej, it won’t be with any blame to you. You can go your way, as I will mine.”

“Ah! Yours will bring you to ruin – like enough your neck upon the block or into a halter!”

“I’ll risk that. If there’s to be hanging and beheading – which I hope there will not – it needn’t be all on one side. So far, that you are on hasn’t had the advantage in the beheading line, and’s not likely. They who struck off Strafford’s head might some day do the same with the King’s own. And he would deserve it, going on in this way.”

“By Heaven?” cried Reginald, now becoming infuriated, “the King will wear his head, and crown too, long enough to punish every traitor – every base renegade as yourself.”

The angry bitterness of his speech was not all inspired by loyalty to King or throne. Those fair faces above had something to do with it; for the ladies were still there, listening, and he knew it.

Never was Eustace Trevor nearer to drawing sword, not to do it. But it was his kinsman – cousin; how could he shed his blood? That, too, late so freely, generously offered in his defence! Still, to be stigmatised as a “base renegade,” he could not leave such speech unanswered, nor the anger he felt unexpressed.

“If you were not my cousin, Rej, I would kill you!”

He spoke in a low tone, trembling with passion.

“You kill me! Ha-ha! Then try, if you like – if you dare!”

And the King’s officer made a movement as if to unsheath his sword.

“You know I dare. But I won’t. Not here – not now.”

It was with the utmost effort Eustace Trevor controlled himself. He only succeeded by thinking of what had been before. For it was no feeling of fear that hindered him crossing his sword with his cousin, but the sentiment hitherto restraining him.

“Oh, well!” rejoined Reginald. “We’ll meet again – may be on the field of battle. And if so, by G – ! I’ll make you rue this – show you no mercy!”

“You will when you’re asked for it.”

“You needn’t ask. When you see my sword out, you’ll hear the cry, ‘No Quarter!’”