The King's General Part 24

Stones were thrown at the windows of the Town Hall, and the landlord of my hostelry, fearing for his own, barred the shutters early, and the doors.

"They've put a double guard at the castle," he told Matty, "and the troops are still confined to their quarters."

How typical it was, I thought with bitterness, that now, in his adversity, my Richard should become so popular a figure. Fear was the whip that drove the people on. They had no faith in Lord Hopton or any other commander. Only a Grenvile, they believed, could keep the enemy from crossing the Tamar.

When Colonel Roscarrick came at last to see me I could tell from his weary countenance that nothing much had been accomplished.

"The general has sent word to us," he said, "that he will be no party to release by force. He asked for a court-martial and a chance to defend himself before the prince and to be heard. As to us and to his army, he bids us serve under Lord Hopton."

Why, in G.o.d's name, I wondered, could he not do the same himself but twelve hours since?

^So there will be no mutiny," I said, "no storming of the castle?"

"Not by the Army," said Colonel Roscarrick in dejection. "We have taken an oath to remain loyal to Lord Hopton. You have heard the latest news?"

'No."

"Dartmouth has fallen. The governor, Sir Hugh Pollard, and over a thousand men ^ taken prisoner. Fairfax has a line across Devon now from north to south."

This would be no time, then, to hold courts-martial.

"What orders have you," I asked wearily, "from your new commander?"

"None as yet. He is at Stratton, you know, in the process of taking over and a.s.sembling his command. We expect to hear nothing for a day or two. Therefore, I am at your disposal. And I think--forgive me--there is little purpose in your remaining here at Launceston."

Poor Colonel Roscarrick. He felt me to be a burden, and small blame to him. But the thought of leaving Richard a prisoner in Launceston Castle was more than I could bear.

"Perhaps," I said, "if I saw the governor myself?"

But he gave me little hope. The governor, he said, was not the type of man to melt before a woman.

"I will go again," he a.s.sured me, "tomorrow morning, and ascertain at least that the general's health is good and that he lacks for nothing."

And with that a.s.surance he left me to pa.s.s another lonely night, but in the morning I woke to the sound of distant drums and then heard the clattering of horses and troopers pa.s.s my window, and I wondered whether orders had come from Lord Hopton at Stratton during the night and the Army was on the march again. I sent Matty below for news, and the landlord told her that the troops had been on the move since before daybreak.

All the horse, he said, had ridden away north already.

I had just finished breakfast when a runner brought me a hurried word, full of apology, from Colonel Roscarrick, saying that he had received orders to proceed at once to Stratton, as Lord Hopton intended marching north to Torrington, and that if I had any friend or relative in the district it would be best for me to go to them immediately. I had no friend or relative, nor would I seek them if I had, and summoning the landlord, I told him to have me carried to Launceston Castle, for I! wished to see the governor .I set forth, therefore, well wrapped against the weather, with Matty walking by my side and four fellows bearing my litter, and when I came to: the castle gate I demanded to see the captain of the guard. He came from his room, unshaven, buckling his sword, and I thought how Richard would have dealt with him.; "I would be grateful," I said to him, "if you would give a message from me to the; governor."

"The governor sees no one," he said at once, "without a written appointment."

"I have a letter here in my hands," I said. "Perhaps it could be given to him."

He turned it over, looking doubtful, and then he looked at me again.

"What exactly, madam, is your business?" he said.

He looked not unkindly, for all his blotched appearance, and I took a chance.

"I have come," I said, "to enquire after Sir Richard Grenvile."

At this he handed back my letter.

"I regret, madam," he said, "but you have come on a useless errand. Sir Richard is no longer here."

Panic seized me on the instant, and I pictured a sudden, secret execution.

"What do you mean," I asked, "no longer here?"

"He left this morning under escort for St. Michael' s Mount," replied the captain of the guard. "Some of his men broke from their quarters last night and demonstrated i here before the castle. The governor judged it best to remove him from Launceston.' < at="" once="" the="" captain="" of="" the="" guard,="" the="" castle="" walls,="" the="" frowning="" battlements="" lost="" att="" significance.="" richard="" was="" no="" more="" imprisoned="">

"Thank you," I said. "Good day." And I saw the officer staring after me and thenj return to his room beneath the gate.

St. Michael's Mount... Some seventy miles away, in the western toe of Cornwall At least he was far removed from Fairfax, but how in the world was I to reach hirflf there? I returned to the hostelry, with only one thought in my head now, and that to j from Launceston as soon as possible.

As I entered the door the landlord came to meet me, and said that an officer ha called to enquire for me and was even now waiting my return .I thought it must be Colonel Roscarrick and went at once to see--and found instead my brother Robin.

"Thank G.o.d," he said, "I have sight of you at last. As soon as I had news of Sir Richard's arrest, Sir John gave me leave of absence to ride to Werrington. They told me at the house you had been gone two days."

I was not sure whether I was glad to see him. It seemed to me, at this moment, that no man was my friend, unless he was friend to Richard also.

"Why have you come?" I said coolly. "What is your purpose?"

"To take you back to Mary," he said. "You cannot possibly stay here."

"Perhaps," I answered, "I have no wish to go."

"That is neither here nor there," he said stubbornly. "The entire Army is in the process of reorganising, and you cannot remain in Launceston without protection. I myself have orders to join Sir John Digby at Truro, where he has gone with a force to protect the prince in the event of invasion. My idea is to leave you at Menabilly on my way thither."

I thought rapidly. Truro was the headquarters of the council, and if I went there, too, there was a chance, faint yet not impossible, that I could have an audience with the prince himself.

"Very well," I said to Robin, shrugging my shoulders. "I will come with you, but on one condition. And that is that you do not leave me at Menabilly but let me come with you all the way to Truro."

He looked at me doubtfully.

"What," he said, "is to be gained by that?"

"Nothing gained nor lost," I answered, "only for old time's sake, do what I demand."

At that he came and took my hand and held it a minute.

"Honor," he said, his blue eyes full upon my face, "I want you to believe me when I say that no action of mine had any bearing on his arrest. The whole Army is appalled.

Sir John himself, who had many a bitter dispute with him, has written to the council, appealing for his swift release. He is needed at this moment more than any other man in Cornwall."

"Why," I said bitterly, "did you not think of it before? Why did you refuse to obey his orders about the bridge?"

Robin looked startled for a moment and then discomfited.

"I lost my temper," he admitted. "We were all rankled that day, and Sir John, the best of men, had given me my orders.... You don't understand, Honor, what it has meant to me and Jo and all your family to have your name a byword in the county.

Ever since you left Radford last spring to go to Exeter people have hinted and whispered and even dared to say aloud the foulest things."

"Is it so foul," I said, "to love a man and go to him when he lies wounded?"

"Why are you not married to him then?" said Robin. "Then in G.o.d's conscience you would have earned the right now to share in his disgrace. But to follow from camp to camp, like a loose woman.. .I tell you what they say, Honor, in Devon. That he well earns his name of Skellum to trifle thus with a woman who is crippled."

Yes, I thought, they would say that in Devon....

"If I am not Lady Grenvile," I said, "it is because I do not choose to be so."

"You have no pride then, no feeling for your name?"

"My name is Honor, and I do not hold it tarnished," I answered him.

'This is the finish, you know that?" he said after a moment's pause. "In spite of a Pet.i.tion signed by all our names, I hardly think the council will agree to his release.

Not unless they receive some counterorder from His Majesty."

"And His Majesty," I said, "has other fish to fry.... Yes, Robin, I understand.

And what will be the outcome?"

"Imprisonment at His Majesty's pleasure, with a pardon, possibly, at the end of the War."

"And what if the war does not go the way we wish, but the rebels gain Cornwall for the Parliament?"

Robin hesitated, so I gave the answer for him.

"Sir Richard Grenvile is handed over, a prisoner, to General Fairfax," I said, "and sentenced to death as a criminal of war."

I pleaded fatigue then and went to my room and slept easily for the first time for many nights, for no other reason but because I was bound for Truro, which was some thirty miles distant from St. Michael's Mount....

The snow of the preceding days had wrought havoc on the road, and we were obliged to go a longer route, by the coast, for the moors were now impa.s.sable. Thus, with many halts and delays, it was well over a week before we came to Truro, only to discover that the council was now removed to Pendennis Castle, at the mouth of the Fal, and Sir John Digby and his forces were now also within the garrison.

Robin found me and Matty a lodging at Penryn and went at once to wait on his commander, bearing a letter from me to Jack Grenvile, whom I believed to be in close attendance on the prince.

The following day Jack rode to see me--and I felt as though years had pa.s.sed since I had last set eyes upon a Grenvile, yet it was barely three weeks since he and Richard and young Bunny had ridden all three to Menabilly. I nearly wept when he came into the room.

"Have no fear," he said at once, "my uncle is in good heart and st.u.r.dy health .I have received messages from him from the Mount, and he bade me write you not to be anxious for him. It is rather he who is likely to be anxious on your part, for he believes you with your sister, Mrs. Rashleigh."

I determined to take young Jack into my confidence.

"Tell me first," I said, "what is the opinion on the war?"

He made a face and shrugged his shoulders.

"You see we are at Pendennis," he said quietly. "That in itself is ominous. There is a frigate at anchor in the roads, fully manned and provisioned, with orders to set sail for the Scillies when the word is given. The prince himself will never give the word--he is all for fighting to the last--but the council lack his courage. Sir Edward Hyde will have the last word, not the Prince of Wales."

"How long, then, have we till the word be given?"

"Hopton and the Army have marched to Torrington," answered Jack, "and there is hope--but I fear a faint one--that by attacking first, Hopton will take the initiative, and force a decision. He is a brave fellow but lacks my uncle's power, and the troops >. care nothing for him. If he fails at Torrington and Fairfax wins the day--then you may I expect that frigate to set sail."

"And your uncle?"

"He will remain, I fear, at the Mount. He has no other choice. But Fairfax is a soldier and a gentleman. He will receive fair treatment."

This was no answer for me. However much a soldier and a gentleman FairfaxI' himself might be, his duty was to Parliament, and Parliament had decreed in '43 that,; Richard Grenvile was a traitor.

"Jack," I said, "would you do something for me, for your uncle's sake?"

"Anything in the world," he answered, "for the pair of you."

Ah, bless you, I thought, true son of Bevil.

"Get me an audience with the Prince of Wales," I said to him.

He whistled and scratched his cheek, a very Grenvile gesture. , "I'll do my best, I swear it," he said, "but it may take time and patience, and If cannot promise you success. He is so hemmed about with members of the council and! dares do nothing but what he is told to do by Sir Edward Hyde. I tell you, Honor, he's! led a dog's life until now. First his mother, and now the Chancellor. When he doesj come of age and can act for himself, I'll wager he'll set the stars on fire."

"Make up some story," I urged. "You are his age and a close companion. Yo^ know what would move him. I give you full licence."

He smiled--his father's smile.

"As to that," he said, "he has only to hear your story and how you followed my uncle to Exeter to be on tenterhooks to look at you. Nothing pleases him better than a love affair. But Sir Edward Hyde--he's the danger."

He left me, with an earnest promise to do all he could, and with that I was forced to be content. Then came a period of waiting that seemed like centuries but was, in all reality, little longer than a fortnight. During this time Robin came several times to visit me, imploring me to leave Penryn and return to Menabilly. Jonathan Rashleigh, he said, would come himself to fetch me, would I but send the word.

"I must warn you, in confidence," he said, "that the council have little expectation of Hopton's withstanding Fairfax. The prince, with his personal household, will sail for Scilly. The rest of us within the garrison will hold Pendennis until we are burnt out of it. Let the whole rebel army come. We will not surrender."

Dear Robin. As you said that, with your blue eyes blazing and your jaw set, I forgave you for your enmity for Richard and the silly useless harm you did in disobeying him.

Death or glory, I reflected. That was the way my Richard might have chosen. And here was I, plotting one thing only, that he should steal away like a thief in the night.

"I will go back to Menabilly," I said slowly, "when the Prince of Wales sets sail for the Scillies."

"By then," said Robin, "I shall not be able to a.s.sist you. I shall be inside the garrison at Pendennis, with our guns turned east upon Penryn."

"Your guns will not frighten me," I said, "any more than Fairfax's horse thundering across the moors from the Tamar. It will look well in after years, in the annals of the Harris family, to say that Honor died in the last stand in '46."

Brave words, spoken in hardihood, ringing so little true....

On the fourteenth of February, the feast of St. Valentine, that patron saint of lovers, I had a message from Jack Grenvile. The wording was vague and purposely omitted names. "The snake is gone to Truro," he said, "and my friend and I will be able to receive you for a brief s.p.a.ce this afternoon. I will send an escort for you. Say nothing of the matter to your brother."

I went alone, without Matty, deeming in a matter of such delicacy it were better to have no confidante at all. True to his word, the escort came, and Jack himself awaited me at the entrance to the castle. No haggling this time with a captain of the guard. But a swift word to the sentry, and we were through the arch and within the precincts of the garrison before a single soul, save the sentry, was a whit the wiser.

The thought occurred to me that this perhaps was not the first time Jack Grenvile had smuggled a woman into the fortress. Such swift handling came possibly from long experience. Two servants in the prince's livery came to carry me, and after pa.s.sing up some stairs (which I told myself were back ones and suitable to my person) I was brought to a small room within a tower and placed upon a couch. I would have relished the experience were not the matter upon which I sought an audience so deadly serious. There were wine and fruit at my elbow, and a posy of fresh flowers, and His Highness, I thought, for all his mother, has gained something by inheriting French blood.

I was left for a few moments to refresh myself, and then the door opened again, and Jack stood aside to let a youngster of about his own age pa.s.s before him. He was far from handsome, more like a gypsy than a prince, with his black locks and swarthy skin, but the instant he smiled I loved him better than all the famous portraits of his rather that my generation had known for thirty years.