The King's General Part 19

He stared at me as though I had lost my senses.

"Let him go back to that b.i.t.c.h-faced hag," he said, astounded, "and become more of a little reptile than he is already? I would sooner send him this moment to Robartes and let him hang."

"He loves her," I said; "she is his mother."

"So does a pup snuggle to the cur that suckled him," he answered, "but soon forgets her smell once he is weaned. I have but one son, Honor, and if he can't be a credit to me and become the man I want, I have no use for him."

He changed the subject abruptly, and I was reminded once again how I had chosen to be friend, not wife, companion and not mistress, and to meddle with his child was not my business. So d.i.c.k rode to Radford to bid me good-bye and put his arms about me and said he loved me well.

"If only," he said, "you could come with me into Normandy."

"Perhaps," I said, "you will not remain there long. And anyway, it will be fresh and new to you, and you will make friends there and be happy."

"My father does not wish me to make friends," he said. "I heard him say as much to Mr. Ashley. He said that in Caen there were few English, therefore it would be better to go there than to Rouen, and that I was to speak to no one and go nowhere without Mr. Ashley's knowledge and permission. I know what it is. He is afraid that I might fall in with some person who should be friendly to my mother."

I had no answer to this argument, for I felt it to be true.

"I shall not know you," I said, summoning a smile, "the next time that I lay eyes on you. I know how boys grow once they are turned fifteen. I saw it with my brother Percy. You will be a young man with lovelocks on your shoulder and a turn for poetry n six months' time."

'Fine poetry I shall write," he sulked, "conversing in French day by day with Mr. Ashley."

If I were in truth his stepmother, I thought, I could prevent this; and if I were in truth his stepmother, he would have hated me. So whichever way I looked upon the jflatter there was no solution to d.i.c.k's problem. He had to face the future, like his lather. And so d.i.c.k and the timid, unconvincing Herbert Ashley set sail for Normandy the last day of December, taking with them a bill of exchange for twenty pounds, which was all that the General in the West could spare them, d.i.c.k taking, besides, my ^ve and blessing, which would not help at all. And while they rocked upon the mouth which this time, so he promised, would not fail. I can see him now, in his room in that north block at Radford, poring over his map of the Plymouth defences, and when I asked to look at it he tossed it over to me with a laugh, saying no woman could make head or tail of his marks and crosses.

And he was right, for never had I seen a chart more scribbled upon with dots and scratches. But even my unpracticed eye could note that the network of defences was formidable indeed, for before the town and garrison could be attacked a chain of outer forts or "works," as he termed them, had firstly to be breached. He came and stood beside me and with his pen pointed to the scarlet crosses on the map.

"There are four works here to the north, in line abreast," he said, "the Pennycome quick, the Maudlyn, the Holiwell, and the Lipson forts. I propose to seize them all.

Once established there, we shall turn the guns against the garrison itself. My main strength will fall upon the Maudlyn works, the others being more in the nature of a feint to draw their fire."

He was in tearing spirits, as always before a big engagement, and suddenly, folding his map, he said to me: "You have never seen my fellows, have you, in their full war paint prior to a battle?

Would you like to do so?"

I smiled.

"Do you propose to make me your aide-de-camp?"

"No. I am going to take you round the posts."

It was three o'clock, a cold, fine afternoon in January. One of the wagons was; fitted as a litter for my person, and with Richard riding at my side we set forth to view; his army. It was a sight that even now, when all is over and done with and the siege of Plymouth a forgotten thing except for the official records in the archives of the town, I. j can call before me with wonder and with pride. The main body of his army was drawn I up in the fields behind the little parish of Egg Buckland (not to be confused with thel Buckland Monachorum where Richard had his headquarters) and there being nol warning of our coming, the men were not summoned to parade but were going abcutff their business in preparation for the attack ahead.

The first signal that the general had come in person was a springing to attention of the guards before the camp, and straightway there came a roll upon the drums fromf within, followed by a second more distant, and then a third, and then a fourth, so that! in the s.p.a.ce of a few moments, so it seemed to me, the air around me rung with ai tattoo as the drums of every company sounded the alert. And swiftly, unfolding in crisp cold air, the scarlet pennant broke from the pole head, with the three golden rest staring from the centre.

Two officers approached and, saluting with their swords, stood before us. Thisl Richard acknowledged with a half gesture of his hand, and then my chair was lifted I from the wagon, and with a stalwart young corporal to propel me we proceeded roundj the camp.

I can smell now the wood smoke from the fires as the blue rings rose into the air, and I can see the men bending over their washtubs or kneeling before the cooking! pots, straightening themselves with a jerk as we approached and standing to attention! like steel rods. The foot were quartered separate from the horse, and these we! inspected first, great brawny fellows of five feet ten or more, for Richard had disdain^ for little men and would not recruit them. They had a bronzed clean look about them, the result, so Richard said, of living in the open.

"No billeting in cottages amongst the village folk for Grenvile troops," he said. "The result is always the same, slackness and loss of discipline."

I had fresh in my mind a picture of the rebel regiment who had taken Menabilly> and although they had worn a formidable air upon first sight, with their close helmet! and uniform jerkins, they had soon lost their sheen after a few days or so, and as I' weeks wore on became dirty-looking and rough, and with the threat of defeat had oc and all reverted to a London mob in panic.

Richard's men had another stamp upon them, and though drawn mostly from the farms and moors of Cornwall and Devon, rustic in speech and origin, they had become knit, in the few months of his command, into a professional body of soldiers, quick of thought and swift of limb, with an admiration for their leader that showed at once in the upward tilt of their heads as he addressed them and the flash of pride in their eyes. A strange review. Me in my chair, a hooded cloak about my shoulders, and Richard walking by my side; the campfires burning, the white frost gleaming on the clipped turf, the drums beating their tattoo as we approached each different company.

The horse were drawn up on the farther field, and we watched them groomed and watered for the night, fine sleek animals--many of them seized from rebel estates, I was fully aware--and they stamped on the hard ground, the harness jingling, their breath rising in the cold air like the smoke did from the fires.

The sun was setting, fiery red, beyond the Tamar into Cornwall, and as it sank beyond the hills it threw a last dull, sullen glow upon the forts of Plymouth to the south of us.

We could see the tiny figures of the rebel sentries, like black dots, upon the outer defences, and I wondered how many of the Grenvile men about me would make themselves a sacrifice to the spitting thunder of the rebel guns. Lastly, as evening fell, we visited the forward posts, and here there was no more cleaning of equipment, no grooming of horses, but men stripped bare for battle, silent, motionless, and we talked in whispers, for we were scarce two hundred yards from the enemy defences.

The silence was grim, uncanny. The a.s.sault force seemed dim figures in the gathering darkness, for they had blacked their faces to make themselves less visible, and I could make nothing of them but white eyes gleaming and the show of teeth when they smiled.

Their breastplates were discarded for a night attack, and in their hands they carried pikes, steely sharp. I felt the edge of one of them and shuddered.

At the last post we visited the men were not so prompt to challenge us as. .h.i.therto, and I heard Richard administer a sharp reproof to the young officer in charge. The colonel of the regiment of foot, in command of the post, came forth to excuse himself, and I saw that it was my old suitor of the past, Jo's brother-in-law, Edward Champernowne. He bowed to me somewhat stiffly, and then, turning to Richard, he stammered several attempts at explanation, and the two withdrew to a little distance.

On his return Richard was silent, and we straightway turned back towards my wagon and the escort, and I knew that the review was finished.

"You must return alone to Radford," he said. "I will send the escort with you.

There will be no danger."

"And the coming battle?" I asked. "Are you confident and pleased?"

He paused a moment before replying.

"Yes," he answered, "yes, I am hopeful. The plan is sound, and there is nothing wanting in the men. If only my seconds were more dependable."

He jerked his head towards the post from which we had just lately come.

"Your old lover, Edward Champernowne," he said, "I sometimes think he would do better to command a squad of ducks. He has a flickering of reason when his long nose is glued upon a map ten miles from the enemy, but give him a piece of work to do u Pon the field a hundred yards away and he is lost."

''Can you not replace him with some other?" I questioned.

"Not at this juncture," he said. "I have to risk him now."

He kissed my hand and smiled, and it was not until he had turned his back on me and vanished that I remembered I had never asked him whether the reason for not Burning with me to Radford was because he proposed to lead the a.s.sault in person.

I jogged back in the wagon to my brother's house, my spirits sinking. Shortly efore daybreak next morning the attack began. The first we heard of it at Radford ^as the echo of the guns across the Catt.w.a.ter, whether from within the garrison or rrn the outer defences we could not tell, but by midday we had the news that three of the works had been seized and held by the royalist troops, and the most formidable of the forts, the Maudlyn, had been stormed by the eommanding general in person.

The guns were turned, and the men of Plymouth felt for the first time their own fire fall upon the walls of the city. I could see nothing from my window but a pall of smoke hanging like a curtain in the sky, and now and again, the wind being northerly, I thought to hear the sound of distant shouting from the besieged within the garrison.

At three o'clock, with barely three hours of daylight left, the news was not so good.

The rebels had counterattacked, and two of the forts had been recaptured. The fate of ', Plymouth now depended upon the rebels gaining back the ground they had lost and driving the royalists from their foothold all along the line, and most specially from the I Maudlyn works. I watched the setting sun, as I had done the day before, and I thought of all those, both rebel men and royalist, whose lives had been held forfeit withinI, these past four and twenty hours.

We dined in the hall at half-past five, with my brother Jo seated at the head of his table as was his custom, and Phillippa at his right hand, and his little motherless son, I young John, upon his left. We ate in silence, none of us having much heart forf conversation, while the battle only a few miles away hung in the balance. We were! nearly finished when my brother Percy, who had ridden down to Plymstock to getj news, came bursting in upon us.

"The rebels have gained the day," he said grimly, "and driven off Grenvile with the! loss of three hundred men. They stormed the fort on all sides and finally recaptured it! barely an hour ago. It seems that Grenvile's covering troops, who should have cornel to his support and turned the scale to success, failed to reach him. A tremendousj blunder on the part of someone."

"No doubt the fault of the general himself," said Jo drily, "in having too much confidence."

"They say down in Plymstock that the officer responsible has been shot by Grenvile for contravention of orders," said Percy, "and is lying now in his tent with a bulle through his head. Who it is they would not tell me, but we shall hear anon."

I could think of nothing but those three hundred men who were lying now upo B their faces under the stars, and I was filled with a great war-sickness, a loathing fo guns and pikes and blood and battle cries. The brave fellows who had smiled at me t" night before, so strong, so young and confident, were now carrion for the sea gullii that swooped and dived in Plymouth Sound, and it was Richard, my Richard, wh< p="">

As I turned away to call a servant for my chair, a young secretary employed by mj! eldest brother on the Devon Commission came into the room, much agitated, with J request to speak to him.

"What is the matter?" said Jo tersely. "There is no one but my family present.

"Colonel Champernowne lies at Egg Buckland mortally wounded," said th secretary. "He was not hurt in battle but pistolled by the general himself on returning to headquarters."

There was a moment of great silence. Jo rose slowly from his chair, very white < tense,="" and="" i="" saw="" him="" turn="" round="" and="" look="" at="" me,="" as="" did="" my="" brother="" percy.="" in="" a="" momen="" of="" perception="" i="" knew="" what="" they="" were="" thinking.="" jo's="" brother-in-law,="" edward="" champer="" j="" nowne,="" had="" been="" my="" suitor="" seventeen="" years="" before,="" and="" they="" both="" saw,="" in="" this="" sudde="" terrible="" dispute="" after="" the="" heat="" of="" battle,="" no="" military="" cause="" but="" some="" private="" jealous^="" wrangle,="" the="" settling="" of="" a="">

"This," said my eldest brother slowly, "is the beginning of the end for Richa Grenvile."

His words fell upon my ear cold as steel, and calling softly to the servant, I bad him take me to my room.

The next day I left for Maddercombe, to my sister Cecilia, for to remain under ffl brother's roof one moment longer would have been impossible. The vendetta ha begun....

My eldest brother, with the vast family of Champernowne behind him, and supported by the leading families in the county of Devon, most of them members of the commission, pressed for the removal of Sir Richard Grenvile from his position as sheriff and commander of the King's forces in the West. Richard retaliated by turning my brother out of Radford and using the house and estate as a jumping ground to a fresh a.s.sault upon Plymouth.

Snowed up in Maddercombe with the Pollexefens, I knew little of what was happening, and Cecilia, with consummate tact and delicacy, avoided the subject. I myself had had no word from Richard since the night I had bidden him goodbye before the battle, and now that he was engaged in a struggle with foe and former friends as well, I thought it best to keep silent. He knew my whereabouts, for I had sent word of it, and should he want me he would come to me.

The thaw burst at the end of March, and we had the first tidings of the outside world for many weeks.

The peace moves between King and Parliament had come to nothing, the Treaty of Uxbridge having failed, and the war, it seemed, was to be carried on more ruthlessly than ever.

The Parliament, so we heard, was forming a new model army, likely to sweep all before it, in the opinion of the judges, while His Majesty had sent forth an edict to his enemies, saying that unless the rebels repented, their end must be d.a.m.nation, ruin, and infamy. The young Prince of Wales, it seemed, was now to bear the t.i.tle of supreme commander of all the forces in the West and was gone to Bristol, but being a lad of only fifteen years or so, the real authority would be vested in his advisory council, at the head of which was Hyde, the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

I remember John Pollexefen shaking his head as he heard the news.

"There will be nothing but wrangles now between the prince's council and the generals," he said. "Each will countermand the orders of the other. Lawyers and soldiers never agree. And while they wrangle the King's cause will suffer. I do not like it."

I thought of Richard and how he had once vouchsafed the same opinion.

"What is happening at Plymouth?" asked my sister.

"Stalemate," said her husband. "A token force of less than a thousand men left to blockade the garrison, and Grenvile with the remainder gone to join Goring in Somerset and lay siege to Taunton. The spring campaign has started."

Soon a year would have come and gone since I left Lanrest for Menabilly.... The snow melted down in the Devon valley where Cecilia had her home, and the crocus and the daffodil appeared. I made no plans. I sat and waited. Someone brought a rumour that there was great disaffection in the high command and that Grenvile, Goring, and Berkeley were all at loggerheads.

March turned to April; the golden gorse was in full bloom. And on Easter Day a horseman came riding down the valley, wearing the Grenvile badge. He asked at once for Mistress Harris and, saluting gravely, handed me a letter.

"What is it?" I asked before I broke the seal. "Something has happened?"

My throat felt dry and strange, and my hands trembled.

"The general has been gravely wounded," replied the soldier, "in a battle before Wellington House, at Taunton. They fear for his life."

I tore open the letter and read Richard's shaky scrawl: Dear heart, this is the very devil. I am like to lose my leg, if not my life, with a great gaping hole in my thigh below the groin. I know now what you suffer. Come teach me patience. I love you.

I folded the letter and, turning to the messenger, asked him where the general lay. i( "They were bringing him from Taunton down to Exeter when I left," he answered.

His Majesty had despatched his own chirurgeon to attend upon Sir Richard. He was Very weak and bade me ride without delay to bring you this."

I looked at Cecilia, who was standing by the window.

"Would you summon Matty to pack my clothes," I said, "and ask John if he would arrange for a litter and for horses? I am going to Exeter."

23.

We took the southern route to Exeter, and at every halt upon the journey I thought to hear the news of Richard's death.

Totnes, Newton Abbot, Ashburton; each delay seemed longer than the last, and when at length after six days I reached the capital of Devon and saw the great cathedral rising high above the city and the river it seemed to me I had been weeks upon the road.

Richard still lived. This was my first enquiry and the only thing that mattered. He was lodging at the hostelry in the cathedral square, to where I immediately repaired.

He had taken the whole building to his personal use and had a sentry before the door.

On giving my name a young officer immediately appeared from within, and something ruddy about his colouring and familiar in his bearing made me pause a moment before addressing him correctly.

Then his courteous smile gave me the clue.

"You are Jack Grenvile, Bevil's boy," I said, and he reminded me of how he had come once with his father to Lanrest in the days before the war. I remembered, too, how I had washed him as a baby on that memorable visit to Stowe in '28, but this I did not tell him.

"My uncle will be most heartily glad to see you," he said as I was lifted from my litter. "He has talked of little else since writing to you. He has sent at least ten women flying from his side since coming here, swearing they were rough and did not know their business, nor how to dress his wound. 'Matty shall do it,' he said, 'while Honor talks to me.'"

I saw Matty colour up with pleasure at these words and a.s.sume at once an air of ' authority before the corporal who shouldered our trunks.

"And how is he?" I asked as I was set down within the great inn parlour, which had been, judging by the long table in the centre, turned into a messroom for the general's staff.

"Better these last three days than hitherto," replied his nephew. "But at first we thought to lose him. Directly he was wounded I applied to the Prince of Wales to wait on him and I attended him here from Taunton. Now he declares he will not send me back. Nor have I any wish to go."

"Your uncle," I said, "likes to have a Grenvile by his side."

"I know one thing," said the young man; "he finds fellows of my age better company than his contemporaries, which I take as a great compliment."

At this moment Richard's servant came down the stairs, saying the general wished to see Mistress Harris upon this instant. I went first to my room, where Matty washed me and changed my gown, and then with Jack Grenvile to escort me I went along the corridor in my wheeled chair to Richard's room.

It looked out upon the cobbled square, and as we entered the great bell from the cathedral chimed four o'clock.

"G.o.d confound that blasted bell," said a familiar voice, sounding stronger than I had dared hope, from the dark curtained bed in the far corner. "A dozen times I have asked the mayor of this d.a.m.ned city to have it silenced, and nothing has been done.