The King's General Part 23

"Have you not heard," I said softly, "of Cromwell and the new model army? Do you not realise that never, in England, until now, has there been raised an army like it?"

They stared at me, nonplussed, and Elizabeth, shrugging her shoulders, said I had greatly altered since the year before and was now become defeatist.

"If we all talked in that fas.h.i.+on," she said, "we would have been beaten long ago. I suppose you have caught it from Sir Richard .I do not wonder that he is unpopular."

Alice looked embarra.s.sed, and I saw Mary press Elizabeth with her foot.

"Don't worry," I said. "I know his faults far better than you all. But I think if the council of the prince would only listen to him this time, we might save Cornwall from invasion."

That evening, on going to my room, I looked out on the weather and saw that the night was clear and the stars were s.h.i.+ning. There would be no more snow, not yet awhile. I called Matty to me and told her my resolve. This was to follow Richard back to Werrington, if transport could be gotten for me at Tywardreath, and to set forth at; noon the following day, pa.s.sing the night at Bodmin, and so to Werrington the day after. By doing this I would disobey his last instructions, but I had, in my heart, a premonition that unless I saw him now I would never see him more. What I thought, what I feared, I cannot tell. But it came to me that he might fall in battle and that by; following him I would be with him at the last.

The next morning was fine, as I expected, and I rose early and went down to; breakfast and informed the Rashleigh family of my plan. They one and all begged me to remain, saying it was folly to travel the roads at such a season, but I was firm; and at length John Rashleigh, dear, faithful friend, arranged matters for me and accompanied me as far as Bodmin.

It was bitter cold upon the moors, and I had little stomach for my journey as, with, Matty at my side, I left the hostelry at Bodmin at daybreak. The long road toi Launceston stretched before us, bleak and dreary, with great snowdrifts on either side of us, and one false step of our horses would send the litter to destruction. Although; we were wrapped about with blankets, the nipping, nagging wind penetrated the! curtains, freezing our faces, and when we halted at Five Lanes for hot soup and winef to warm us, I had half a mind to go no farther, but find lodging for the night at Altarnun. The man at the inn, though, put an end to my hesitation. ^ "We have had soldiers here these past two days," he said, "deserters from the an^yl before Plymouth. Some of Sir John Digby's men. They were making for their horne S in west Cornwall. They were not going to stay on the Tamar banks to be butchered, ' " they told me."

"What news had they?" I asked, my heart heavy.

"Nothing good," he answered. "Confusion everywhere. Orders and counterorders.

Sir Richard Grenvile was down on Tamar-side, inspecting bridges, giving instructions to blow them when the need arose, and a colonel of foot refused to take the order, saying he would obey none other than Sir John Digby. What is to become of us if the generals start fighting amongst themselves?"

I felt sick and turned away. There would be no biding for me this night at Altarnun.

I must reach Werrington by nightfall.

On then, across the snow-covered moors, wind-swept and desolate, and every now and then we would pa.s.s straggling figures making for the west, their apparel proclaiming to the world that once they were King's men, but now deserters. They were blue from cold and hunger, and yet they wore a brazen, sullen look, as though they cared no longer what became of them, and some of them shouted as we pa.s.sed, "To h.e.l.l with the war, we're going home," and shook their fists at my litter, jeering, "You're driving to the devil."

The short winter afternoon closed in, and by the time we came to Launceston and turned out of the town to St. Stephens it was grown pitch-dark and snowing once again. An hour or so later I would have been s...o...b..und on the road, with nothing but waste moorland on either side of me. At last we came to Werrington, which I had not thought to see again, and when the startled sentry at the gates recognised me and let the horses pa.s.s through the park, I thought that even he, a Grenvile man, had lost his look of certainty and pride and would become, granted ill fortune, no better than the deserters on the road.

We drew up into the cobbled court, and an officer came forth whose face was new to me. His expression was blank when I gave him my name, and he told me that the general was in conference and could not be disturbed. I thought that Jack might help me and asked, therefore, if Sir John Grenvile or his brother Mr. Bernard could see Mistress Honor Harris on a matter of great urgency.

"Sir John is no longer with the general," answered the officer. "The Prince of Wales recalled him to his entourage yesterday. And Bernard Grenvile has returned to Stowe. I am the general's aide-de-camp at present."

This was not hopeful, for he did not know me, and as I watched the figures of the soldiers pa.s.sing backwards and forwards in the hall within the house and heard the tattoo of a drum in the far distance, I thought how ill-timed and crazy was my visit, for what could they do with me, a woman and a cripple, in this moment of great stress and urgency?

I heard a murmur of voices.

"They are coming out now," said the officer; "the conference is over."

And I caught sight of Colonel Roscarrick, whom I knew well, a loyal friend of Richard's, and in my desperation I leant from my litter and called to him. He came to my side at once, in great astonishment, but at once, with true courtesy, covered his consternation and gave orders for me to be carried into the house.

"Ask me no questions," I said. "I have come at a bad moment, I can guess that. Can I see him?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a minute.

"Why, of course," he said, "he will want to see you. But I must warn you, things are not going well for him. We are all concerned."

He broke off in confusion, looking most desperately embarra.s.sed and unhappy.

"Please," I said, avoiding his eyes, "please tell him I am here."

He went at once into the room that Richard used as his own and where we had sat together, night after night, for more than seven months. He stayed a moment, then came for me. My chair had been lifted from the litter, and he took me to the room, men closed the door. Richard was standing by the table. His face was hard, set in the "rm lines that I knew well. I could tell that of all things in the world I was, at that moment, farthest from his thoughts.

"What the devil," he said wearily, "are you doing here?"

It was not the welcome that I yearned for but was that which I deserved.

"I am sorry," I said. "I could not rest once you were gone. If anything is going to happen--which I know it must--I want to share it with you. The danger, I mean. And the aftermath."

He laughed shortly and tossed a paper onto my lap.

"There'll be no danger," he said, "not for you or me. Perhaps, after all, it is as well you came. We can travel west together."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"That letter, you can read it," he said. "It is a copy of a message I have just sent to the prince's council, resigning from His Majesty's Army. They will have it in an hour's time."

I did not answer for a moment. I sat quite cold and still.

"What do you mean?" I asked at length. "What has happened?"

He went to the fire and stood with his hands behind his back.

"I went to them," he said, "as soon as I returned from Menabilly. I told them that if they wished to save Cornwall and the prince they must appoint a supreme commander.

Men are deserting in hundreds, discipline is non-existent. This would be the only hope, the last and final chance. They thanked me. They said they would consider the matter. I went away. I rode next morning to Gunnislake and Callington; I inspected the defences. There I commanded a certain colonel of foot to blow a bridge when need arose. He disputed my authority, saying his orders were to the contrary. Would you like to know his name?"

I said nothing. Some inner sense had told me.

"It was your brother, Robin Harris," he said. "He even dared to bring your name into a military matter. 'I cannot take orders from a man,' he said, 'who has ruined the life and reputation of my sister. Sir John Digby is my commander, and Sir John has bidden me to leave this bridge intact.'"

Richard stared at me an instant and then began to pace up and down the strip of carpet by the fire.

"You would hardly credit it," he said, "such lunacy, such gross incompetence. It matters not that he is your brother, that he drags a private quarrel into the King's business. But to leave that bridge for Fairfax, to have the impertinence to tell me, a Grenvile, that John Digby knows his business best "

I could see Robin, very red about the neck, with beating heart and swelling anger, thinking, dear d.a.m.ned idiot, that by defying his commander he was somehow defending me and downing, in some bewildering hothead fas.h.i.+on, the seducer of his sister.

"What then?" I asked. "Did you see Digby?"

"No," he answered. "What would have been the use, if he defied me, as your brother did? I returned here to Launceston to take my commission from the council as supreme commander, and thus show my powers to the whole Army, and be d.a.m.ned to them." : "And have you the commission?"

He leant to the table and, seizing a small piece of parchment, held it before my eyes. '"The council of the prince,'" he read, '"appoints Lord Hopton in supreme command of His Majesty's forces in the West and desires that Sir Richard Grenvile-> should serve under him as lieutenant general of the foot.' "

He read slowly, with deadly emphasis and scorn, and then tore the doc.u.ment to I tiny shreds and threw the pieces in the fire.

"This is my answer to them," he said; "they may do as they please. Tomorrow you, and I will return to shoot duck at Menabilly." He pulled the bell beside the fire, and i his new aide-de-camp appeared. "Bid the servants bring some supper," he said. "Mistress Harris has travelled long and has not dined."

When the officer had gone I put out my hand to Richard.

"You can't do this," I said. "You must do as they tell you."

He turned round on me in anger.

"Must?" he said. "There is no must. Do you think that I shall truckle to that d.a.m.ned lawyer at this juncture? It is he who is at the bottom of this, he who is to blame. I can see him, with his bland attorney's manner, talking to the members of the council.

'This man is dangerous,' he says to them, 'this soldier, this Grenvile. If we give him the supreme command he will take precedence of us and send us about our business.

We will give Hopton the command; Hopton will not dare to disobey. And when the enemy cross the Tamar, Hopton will withstand them just long enough for us to slip across to Guernsey with the prince. ' That is how the lawyer talks; that is what he has in mind. The traitor, the d.a.m.ned disloyal coward."

He faced me, white with anger.

"But, Richard," I persisted, "don't you understand, my love, my dear, that it is you they will call disloyal at this moment? To refuse to serve under another man, with the enemy in Devon? It is you who will be pointed at, reviled? You, and not Hyde?"

He would not listen; he brushed me away with his hand.

"This is not a question of pride, but concerns my honour," he said. "They do not trust me. Therefore, I resign. Now for G.o.d's sake let us dine and say no more. Tell me, was it snowing still at Menabilly?"

I failed him that last evening. Failed him miserably. I made no effort to enter into his mood that switched now so suddenly from black anger to forced jollity. I wanted to talk about the future, about what he proposed to do, but he would have none of it. I asked what his officers thought, what Colonel Roscarrick had said, and Colonel Arundell, and Fortescue? Did they, too, uphold him in his grave, unorthodox decision? But he would not speak of it. He bade the servants open another bottle of wine, and with a smile he drained it all, as he had done seven months before at Ottery St. Mary. It was nearly midnight when the new aide-de-camp knocked upon the door, bearing a letter in his hand.

Richard took it and read the message, then with a laugh threw it in the fire.

"A summons from the council," he said, "to appear before them at ten tomorrow in the Castle Court at Launceston. Perchance they plan some simple ceremony and will dub me earl. That is the customary reward for soldiers who have failed."

"Will you go?" I asked.

"I shall go," he said, "and then proceed with you to Menabilly."

"You will not relent," I asked, "not swallow your pride--or honour, as you call it--and consent to do as they demand of you?"

He looked at me a moment and he did not smile.

"No," he said slowly, "I shall not relent."

I went to bed, to my old room next to his, and left the door open between our chambers, should he be restless and wish to come to me. But at past three in the morning I heard his footstep on the stair.

I slept one hour, perhaps, or two; I do not remember. It was still snowing when I woke, and dull and grey. I bade Matty dress me in great haste and sent word to Richard, asking if he would see me.

He came instead to my room and with great tenderness told me to stay abed, at any rate until he should return from Launceston.

"I will be gone an hour," he said, "two at the utmost. I shall but delay to tell the council what I think of them and then come back to breakfast with you. My anger is all spent. This morning I feel free and light of heart. It is an odd sensation, you know, to e, at long last, without responsibility."

He kissed my two hands and then went away. I heard the sound of his horse trotting across the park. There was a single drum and then a silence. Nothing but the footsteps f the sentry pacing up and down before the house .I went and sat in my chair beside the window, with a rug under my knees. It was snowing steadily. There would be a white carpet in the Castle Green at Launceston. Here at Werrington the wind was desolate. The deer stood huddled under the trees down by the river. At midday Matty brought me meat, but I did not fancy it. I went on sitting at the window, gazing out across the park, and presently the snow had covered all trace of the horses, where they had pa.s.sed, and the soft white flakes began to freeze upon the gla.s.s of the cas.e.m.e.nt, clouding my view.

It must have been past three when I heard the sentry standing to attention, and once again the m.u.f.fled tattoo of a drum. Some horses were coming to the house by the northern entrance, and because my window did not face that way I could not see them. I waited. Richard might not come at once; there would be many matters to see to in that room downstairs. At a quarter to four there came a knock upon my door, and a servant demanded in a hushed tone if Colonel Roscarrick could wait on Mistress Harris. I told him certainly, and sat there with my hands clasped on my lap, filled with that apprehension that I knew too well. He came and stood before the door, disaster written plainly on his face.

"Tell me," I said. "I would know the worst at once."

"They have arrested him," he said slowly, "on a charge of disloyalty to his prince and to His Majesty. They seized him there before us, his staff, and all his officers."

"Where have they imprisoned him?"

"There in Launceston Castle. The governor and an escort of men were waiting to take him. I rode to his side and begged him to give fight. His staff, his command, the whole Army, I told him, would stand by him if he would but give the word. But he refused. 'The prince,' he said, 'must be obeyed.' He smiled at us there on the Castle Green and bade us be of good cheer. Then he handed his sword to the governor, and they took him away."

"Nothing else?" I asked. "No other word, no message of farewell?"

"Nothing else," he said, "except he bade me take good care of you and see you safely to your sister."

I sat quite still, my heart numb, all feeling and all pa.s.sion spent.

"This is the end," said Colonel Roscarrick. "There is no other man in the Army fit to lead us but Richard Grenvile. When Fairfax chooses to strike he will find no opposition. This is the end."

Yes, I thought. This is the end. Many had fought and died, and all in vain. The bridges would not be blown now; the roads would not be guarded, nor the defences held. When Fairfax gave the word to march the word would be obeyed, and his troops would cross the Tamar, never to depart. The end of liberty in Cornwall, for many months, for many years, perhaps for generations. And Richard Grenvile, who might have saved his country, was now a prisoner of his own side in Launceston Castle.

"If we only had time," Colonel Roscarrick was saying, "we could have a pet.i.tion signed by every man in the duchy, seeking for his release. We could send messengers, in some way, to His Majesty himself, imploring pardon, insisting that the sentence of the council is unjust. If we only had time."

If we only had time, when the thaw broke, when the spring came... But it was that day, the nineteenth of January, and the snow was falling still.

27.

My first action was to leave Werrington, which I did that evening before Sir Charles Trevannion, on Lord Hopton's staff, came to take over for his commander. I no longer had any claim to be there and I had no wish to embarra.s.s Charles Trevannion, who had known my father well .I went, therefore, to the hostelry in Broad Street, Launceston, near to the castle; and Colonel Roscarrick, having installed me there, took a letter for me to the governor, requesting an interview with Richard for the following morning. He returned at nine o'clock with a courteous but firm refusal. No one, said the governor, was to be permitted to see Sir Richard Grenvile, by the strict order of the prince's council.

"We intend," said Colonel Roscarrick to me, "sending a deputation to the prince himself at Truro. Jack Grenvile, I know, will speak for his uncle, and many more besides. Already, since the news has gone abroad, the troops are murmuring and have been confined to their quarters for twenty-four hours, in consequence. I can tell by what the governor said that rioting is feared."

There was no more I could ask him to do that day--I had trespa.s.sed too greatly on his time already--so I bade him a good night and went to bed, to pa.s.s a wretched night, wondering all the while in what dungeon they had lodged Richard, or if he had been given lodging according to his rank.

The next day, the twentieth, driving sleet came to dispel the snow, and I think, because of this and because of my unhappiness, I have never hated any place so much as Launceston. The very name sounds like a jail. Just before noon Colonel Roscarrick called on me with the news that there were proclamations everywhere about the town that Sir Richard Grenvile had been cas.h.i.+ered from every regiment he had commanded and was dismissed from His Majesty's Army--and all without court-martial.

"It cannot be done," he said with vehemence; "it is against every military code and tradition. There will be a mutiny in all ranks at such gross injustice. We are to hold a meeting of protest today, and I will let you know, directly it is over, what is decided."

Meetings and conferences, somehow I had no faith in them. Yet how I cursed my impotence, sitting in my hired room above the cobbled street in Launceston.

Matty, too, fed me with tales of optimism.

"There is no other talk about the town," she said, "but Sir Richard's imprisonment.

Those who grumbled at his severity before are now clamouring for his release. This afternoon a thousand people went before the castle and shouted for the governor. He is bound to let him go, unless he wants the castle burnt about his ears."

"The governor is only acting under orders," I said. "He can do nothing. It is to Sir Edward Hyde and the council that they should direct their appeals."

"They say, in the town," she answered, "that the council have gone back to Truro, so fearful they are of mutiny."

That evening, when darkness fell, I could hear the tramping of many feet in the market square, and distant shouting, while flares and torches were tossed into the sky.