No Quarter! Part 38

"In the present case the source of something good, however. But for the lady, in all likelihood Monmouth would still be under Royalist rule-- nay, I may say surely would."

"How so, Walwyn? What had she to do with the taking of Monmouth?"

"A great deal--everything. She was the instigator; her motive you may guess."

"I see; to get young Trevor out of prison. Well!"

"I had some difficulty in convincing Ma.s.sey the thing was possible; and, but for her intercession with him, I might have failed doing so. Our success at Beachley, however, settled it; especially when I laid before him the scheme we've been so fortunate in accomplishing."

"Well, we should thank the lady for it. May I know who she is?"

"Certainly. The daughter of Ambrose Powell, of Hollymead."

"Ah! That explains why Trevor was there when taken?"

"In a way, it does."

"I've but slight acquaintance with Powell, myself; though, as neighbours, we were always on friendly terms. He and his family are now in Gloucester, are they not?"

"They are. For a time they stayed at Bristol--up to the surrender."

"Luckily they're not there now. A sweet place that for anything in the shape of a young lady. Master Powell may thank his good star for getting him and his out of it. Two daughters he has, if I remember rightly, with names rather singular--Sabrina and Vaga?"

"They are so named."

"With whom is young Trevor in relations?"

"The younger, Vaga. Poor girl! she'll be terribly disappointed when she hears of his having been carried on out of our reach, and so near being rescued!"

"Out of our reach!" said Kyrle, an odd expression coming over his features, as if some thought had struck him. "Is that so sure?"

"Why not? He's in Goodrich Castle. You don't think it possible for us to take it?"

"Not at present; though, by-and-by, it may be within the possibilities.

No man wishes more than I to see the proud pile razed to the ground, and Henry Lingen hanged over the ruins. Many the fright he has given my poor father with his cowardly threats. But I hope getting quits with him before the game's at an end."

"What chance then of rescuing Trevor? Have you thought of any?"

"I have. And not such a hopeless one either. You're willing to risk something to get him free?"

"Anything! My life, if need be."

"That risk will be called for; mine too, if we make the attempt I'm thinking of."

"An attempt! Tell me what it is. For heaven's sake, Kyrle, don't keep me in suspense!"

"It's this, then. Lingen, it appears, don't intend lodging any prisoners in Goodrich Castle. Since the affair at Beachley he has some fear of his castle being besieged; and in a siege the more mouths the worse for him. By the merest accident I heard all this yesterday; and that the party he took away from here will be sent on to Hereford under escort first thing to-morrow morning--that is this morning, since it's now drawing up to it."

"I think I comprehend you, Kyrle."

"You'd be dull if you didn't, Walwyn."

"You mean for us to strike out along the Hereford Road, and intercept the escort?"

"Just so. 'Twill be venturing into the enemy's ground dangerously far; but with a bold dash we may do it."

"We _will_ do it!"

"What about leave from Ma.s.sey? Do you think there will be any difficulty in our getting that?"

"I don't antic.i.p.ate any. In my case he can't object. My command is independent of him; the troop my own; and, though now numbering little over a hundred, they are Foresters, and I've no fear to match them against twice their count of Lingen's Lancers--the gentlemen of Hereford, as they style themselves."

"Then you agree to it? We go if Ma.s.sey gives permission?"

"I go, whether he gives it or not. In fact, I don't feel much caring to ask him."

"Egad! that may be the best way, and I'm willing to risk it too.

Suppose we slip out without saying a word? Time's everything. Our only chance with the escort will be to take them by surprise--an ambuscade.

For that we'll have to be well along the Hereford road before daylight.

I know the very spot; but we must be into the saddle at once."

"Then at once let us into it!"

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

BETWEEN TWO PRISONS.

In Parliamentary war times English roads were very different from what they are of to-day. Those of the shires bordering Wales were no better than bridle paths, generally following the routes of ancient British trackways, regardless of ups and downs. Travel over them was chiefly in the saddle or afoot, traffic by pack-horse, wheels rarely making mark on them save when some grand swell of the period transported his family from town to country house. Then it was a ponderous coach of the chariot order, swung on leathern springs--such as the gossipy Pepys and Sir Charles Grandison used to ride in--calling for at least four horses, with a retinue of attendants. These last armed with sword and pistol for protection against robbers, but also, pioneer fashion, carrying spade and axe to fill up ruts, patch broken bridges, and cut down obstructing trees.

Where the routes ran over hills, the causeway, sunk below the level of the adjacent land, was more like the bed of a dry watercourse than a highway of travel; this due to the wear of hoof and washing away by rains. There was no Macadam then to keep the surface to its normal height by a compensating stratum of stone; and in many places the tallest horseman, on the back of a sixteen-hands horse would see a cliff on either side of him, its crest barely touchable with the stock of his whip. Often half a mile or more of this ravine-like road would be encountered, so narrow that vehicles meeting upon it could not by any possibility pa.s.s each other; one of them must needs back again, perhaps, hundreds of yards! To avoid such _contretemps_, the husbandman who had occasion to carry corn to the mill, or produce to the market town, in his huge lumbering wain, was compelled by law to announce its approach by a jangle of big bells, or the blowing of a horn!

Yet over these ancient highways--many of them still in existence--the Roman legionaries of Ostorius Scapula had borne their victorious eagles; and along them many a Silurian warrior, standing erect in his scythe-winged chariot, was carried to conquest or defeat.

At a later period had they echoed the tramp of armed men, when Henry the Fourth, father of Agincourt's hero, made war upon the Welsh. Later still, twice again, in the days of the gallant Llewellyn and those of the bold Glendower; and still farther down the stream of time were they stained with blood as of brother shed by brother, when England's people--those of Wales as well--King-mad and King-cursed, took a fancy, or frenzy, to cut one another's throats about the colour of a rose.

And now, on these same roads, two centuries later, they were again engaged in a fratricidal strife, though not as before with both sides infatuated through kingcraft. One was fighting for a better cause--the best of all--a people's freedom. The first time they had struck blow for this or themselves; their stand for Magna Charta, so much vaunted, being a mere settling of disputes between barons and king; no quarrel of theirs, nor its results much gain to them. Neither would it be far from the truth to say, it was the _last_ time for them to draw sword on the side of human liberty; indeed difficult to point out any war in which Great Britain has been engaged since not undertaken for the propping up of vile despotisms, or for selfish purposes equally vile, to the very latest of them--Zululand and Afghanistan _videlicet_.

But the rebellion against Charles Stuart had a far different aim, all who upheld it being actuated by higher and n.o.bler motives; and, though the war was internecine, it need never be regretted. For on the part of England's people it brought out many a display of courage, devotion to virtue, and other good qualities, of which any people might be proud.

Nor was it all fruitless, though seeming so. From it we inherit such fragment of liberty as is left us, and to it all such aspirations turn.

Not all stifled by the corruption which came immediately after under the rule of the Merry Monarch; nor yet by what followed further on, during the foul reign of "Europe's first gentleman;" and let us hope still to survive through one foreshadowing, nay, already showing, corruption great as either.

Though in the Parliamentary wars no great battle occurred in the counties of Monmouth or Hereford, in both there was much partisan strife, at first chiefly along their eastern borders. Their interior districts, save during the Earl of Stamford's brief occupation, and Waller's sweeping raid, had been hitherto in the hands of the Royalists; and no traveller thought of venturing on their roads who was not prepared upon challenge to cry "For the King!"