The Path of the King Part 19

"The King?" he queried. "You were in two minds when we last spoke on the matter. I hoped I had persuaded you. Has some new perplexity arisen?"

The other shook his big head, so that for a moment he had the look of a great bull that paws the ground before charging.

"I have no clearness," he said, and the words had such pa.s.sion behind them that they were almost a groan.

Lovel lay back in his chair with his finger tips joined, like a jurisconsult in the presence of a client. "Clearness in such matters is not for us mortals," he said. "You are walking dark corridors which the lamp of the law does not light. You are not summoned to do justice, being no judge, but to consider the well-being of the State. Policy, Oliver. Policy, first and last."

The other nodded. "But policy is two-faced, and I know not which to choose."

"Is it still the business of the trial?" Lovel asked sharply. "We argued that a fortnight since, and I thought I had convinced you. The case has not changed. Let me recapitulate. Imprimis, the law of England knows no court which can bring the King of England before it."

"Tchut, man. Do not repeat that. Vane has been clacking it in my ear. I tell you, as I told young Sidney, that we are beyond courts and lawyer's quibbles, and that if England requires it I will cut off the King's head with the crown on it."

Lovel smiled. "That is my argument. You speak of a trial, but in justice there can be no trial where there is neither const.i.tuted court nor valid law. If you judge the King, 'tis on grounds of policy. Can you defend that policy, Oliver? You yourself have no clearness. Who has? Not Vane.

Not Fairfax. Not Whitelocke, or Widdrington, or Lenthall. Certes, not your old comrade Nick Lovel."

"The Army desires it--notably those in it who are most earnest in G.o.d's cause."

"Since when have you found a politic judgment in raw soldiers? Consider, my friend. If you set the King on his trial it can have but the one end.

You have no written law by which to judge him, so your canon will be your view of the public weal, against which he has most grievously offended. It is conceded your verdict must be guilty and your sentence death. Once put him on trial and you unloose a great stone in a hill-side which will gather speed with every yard it journeys. You will put your King to death, and in whose name?"

Cromwell raised his head which he had sunk between his hands. "In the name of the Commons of Parliament and all the good people of England."

"Folly, man. Your Commons are a disconsidered rump of which already you have made a laughingstock. As for your good people of England, you know well that ten out of any dozen are against you. The deed will be done in your own name and that of the hoteads of the Army. 'Twill be an act of war. Think you that by making an end of the King you will end the Kings party? Nay, you will give it a martyr. You will create for every woman in England a new saint. You will outrage all sober folk that love order and at the very moment when you seek to lay down the sword you make it the sole arbitrament. Whatsay you to that?"

"There is no need to speak of his death. What if the Court depose him only?"

"You deceive yourself. Once put him on trial and you must go through with it to the end. A deposed king will be like a keg of gunpowder set by your hearth. You cannot hide him so that he ceases to be a peril. You cannot bind him to terms."

"That is naked truth," said Cromwell grimly. "The man is filled with a devil of pride. When Denbigh and the other lords went to him he shut the door in their face. I will have no more of ruining hypocritical agreements. If G.o.d's poor people are to be secure we must draw his fangs and destroy his power for ill. But how to do it?" And he made a gesture of despair.

"A way must be found. And let it not be that easy way which will most utterly defeat your honest purpose. The knots of the State are to be unravelled, not cut with the sword."

Cromwell smiled sadly, and his long face had for the moment a curious look of a puzzled child.

"I believe you to be a G.o.dly man, friend Nicholas. But I fear your soul is much overlaid with worldly things, and you lean too much on frail understanding. I, too, am without clearness. I a.s.sent to your wisdom, but I cannot think it concludes the matter. In truth, we have come in this dark hour to the end of fleshly reasonings. It cannot be that the great marvels which the Lord has shown us can end in barrenness. His glorious dispensations must have an honest fruition, for His arm is not shortened."

He rose to his feet and tightened the belt which he had unbuckled. "I await a sign," he said. "Pray for me, friend, for I am a man in sore perplexity. I lie o' nights at Whitehall in one of the King's rich beds, but my eyes do not close. From you I have got the ripeness of human wisdom, but my heart is not satisfied. I am a seeker, with my ear intent to hear G.o.d's command, and I doubt not that by some providence He will yet show me His blessed way."

Lovel stood as if in a muse while the heavy feet tramped down the staircase. He heard a whispering below and then the soft closing of a door. For maybe five minutes he was motionless: then he spoke to himself after the habit he had. "The danger is not over," he said, "but I think policy will prevail. If only Vane will cease his juridical chatter....

Oliver is still at the cross-roads, but he inclines to the right one....

I must see to it that Hugh Peters and his crew manufacture no false providences. Thank G.o.d, if our great man is one-third dreamer, he is two-thirds doer, and can weigh his counsellors."

Whereupon, feeling sharp-set with the cold and the day's labour, he replenished the fire with a beech f.a.ggot, resumed the riding cloak he had undone and, after giving his servant some instructions, went forth to sup in a tavern. He went unattended, as was his custom. The city was too sunk in depression to be unruly.

He crossed Chancery Lane and struck through the narrow courts which lay between Fleet Street and Holborn. His goal was Gilpin's in Fetter Lane, a quiet place much in favour with those of the long robe. The streets seemed curiously quiet. It was freezing hard and threatening snow, so he flung a fold of his cloak round his neck, m.u.f.fling his ears. This deadened his hearing, and his mind also was busy with its own thoughts, so that he did not observe that soft steps dogged him. At the corner of an alley he was tripped up, and a heavy garment flung over his head.

He struggled to regain his feet, but an old lameness, got at Naseby, impeded him. The cobbles, too, were like gla.s.s, and he fell again, this time backward. His head struck the ground, and though he did not lose consciousness, his senses were dazed. He felt his legs and arms being deftly tied, and yards of some soft stuff enveloping his head. He ceased to struggle as soon as he felt the odds against him, and waited on fortune. Voices came to his ears, and it seemed that one of them was a woman's.

The crack on the causeway must have been harder than it appeared, for Mr. Lovel fell into a doze. When he woke he had some trouble in collecting his wits. He felt no bodily discomfort except a little soreness at the back of his scalp. His captors had trussed him tenderly, for his bonds did not hurt, though a few experiments convinced him that they were sufficiently secure. His chief grievance was a sharp recollection that he had not supped; but, being a philosopher, he reflected that, though hungry, he was warm. He was in a gla.s.s coach driven rapidly on a rough road, and outside the weather seemed to be wild, for the snow was crusted on the window. There were riders in attendance; he could hear the click-clack of ridden horses. Sometimes a lantern flashed on the pane, and a face peered dimly through the frost.

It seemed a face that he had seen before.

Presently Mr. Lovel began to consider his position. Clearly he had been kidnapped, but by whom and to what intent? He reflected with pain that it might be his son's doing, for that gentleman had long been forbidden his door. A rakeh.e.l.l of the Temple and married to a cast-off mistress of Goring's, his son was certainly capable of any evil, but he reminded himself that Jasper was not a fool and would scarcely see his profit in such an escapade. Besides, he had not the funds to compa.s.s an enterprise which must have cost money. He thought of the King's party, and dismissed the thought. His opponents had a certain regard for him, and he had the name of moderate. No, if politics touched the business, it was Ireton's doing. Ireton feared his influence with Cromwell. But that sober man of G.o.d was no bravo. He confessed himself at a loss.

Mr. Lovel had reached this point in his meditations when the coach suddenly stopped. The door opened, and as he peered into the semicircle of wavering lamp light he observed a tall young lady in a riding coat white with snowflakes. She had dismounted from her horse, and the beast's smoking nostrils were thawing the ice on her sleeve. She wore a mask, but she did not deceive her father.

"Cecily," he cried, astounded out of his calm. "What madcap trick is this?"

The girl for answer flung her bridle to a servant and climbed into the coach beside him. Once more the wheels moved.

"Oh, father, dearest father, pray forgive me. I have been so anxious.

When you fell I begged Tony to give up the plan, but he a.s.sured me you had taken no hurt. Tell me you are none the worse."

Mr. Lovel began to laugh, and there was relief in his laugh, for he had been more disquieted than he would have confessed.

"I am very greatly the worse!" He nodded to his bonds. "I do not like your endearments, Cis."

"Promise me not to try to escape, and I will cut them." The girl was very grave as she drew from a reticule beneath her cloak a pair of housewife's scissors.

Mr. Lovel laughed louder. "I promise to bide where I am in this foul weather."

Neatly and swiftly she cut the cords and he stretched arms and legs in growing comfort.

"Also I have not supped."

"My poor father. But in two hours' time you will have supper. We sleep at--but that I must not say."

"Where does this journey end? Am I to have no news at all, my dear?"

"You promised, remember, so I will tell you. Tony and I are taking you to Chastlecote."

Mr. Lovel whistled. "A long road and an ill. The wind blows bitter on Cotswold in December. I would be happier in my own house."

"But not safe." The girl's voice was very earnest. "Believe me, dearest father, we have thought only of you. Tony says that London streets will soon be running blood. He has it from secret and sure sources. There is a King's faction in the Army and already it is in league with the Scots and our own party to compa.s.s the fall of Cromwell. He says it will be rough work and the innocent will die with the guilty.... When he told me that, I feared for your life--and Tony, too, for he loves you. So we carry you to Chastlecote till January is past, for by then Tony says there will be peace in England."

"I thank you, Cis,--and Tony also, who loves me. But if your news be right, I have a duty to do. I am of Cromwell's party, as you and Tony are of the King's. You would not have me run from danger."

She primmed her pretty mouth. "You do not run, you are carried off.

Remember your promise."

"But a promise given under duress is not valid in law."

"You are a gentleman, sir, before you are a lawyer. Besides, there are six of Tony's men with us--and all armed."

Mr. Lovel subsided with a chuckle. This daughter of his should have been a man. Would that Heaven had seen fit to grant him such a son!

"Two hours to supper," was what he said. "By the slow pace of our cattle I judge we are on Denham hill. Permit me to doze, my dear. 'Tis the best antidote to hunger. Whew, but it is cold! If you catch a quinsy, blame that foolish Tony of yours."

But, though he closed his eyes, he did not sleep. All his life he had been something of a fatalist, and this temper had endeared him to Cromwell, who held that no man travelled so far as he who did not know the road he was going. But while in Oliver's case the belief came from an ever-present sense of a directing G.o.d, in him it was more of a pagan philosophy. Mr. Lovel was devout after his fashion, but he had a critical mind and stood a little apart from enthusiasm. He saw man's life as a thing foreordained, yet to be conducted under a pretence of freedom, and while a defender of liberty his admiration inclined more naturally to the rigour of law. He would oppose all mundane tyrannies, but bow to the celestial bondage.