No Quarter!

There was not much to choose between them; in either case he would be returned to the Sheriff of Hereford; but to cut short suspense he decided on giving himself up at once. The road was blocked by the party of horse, and, weaponless, to attempt running the gauntlet of them would be to get piked out of his saddle, or cut to pieces in it.

These observations and reflections occupied but an instant, to end in his responding, —

“For the Parliament?”

He might as well make a clean breast of it, and tell the truth.

“We see you are. Come on!”

Surprised was he at the rejoinder as at the voice that gave utterance to it, which seemed familiar to him. But his surprise became astonishment when the speaker added, “Quick, Trevor! we’re in ambuscade;” and drawing nearer, the sun now out of his eyes, he saw that well-known banneret, with sword-pierced crown in its field, waving above the head of Sir Richard Walwyn!

Chapter Fifty

An Ambuscade

Steaming at the nostrils Saladin was for the second time brought to a stand, head to head with old stable comrades that snorted recognition. For with Colonel Walwyn was Rob Wilde and others of his troop.

A hurried explanation ensued, Sir Richard first asking, —

“Your guards? You were being escorted?”

“Yes; I’ve given them the slip.”

“Where are they now?”

“Coming up the hill – you hear them?”

“Hush!” enjoined the knight, speaking to those around him; and all became silent, listening.

Voices, with a quick trample of hoofs, and at short intervals a call as of command, from far below and but faintly heard. The road was almost subterranean, and wound up through a dense wood.

“What’s their number?” again questioned the knight.

“Nigh two hundred – nearly all Lingen’s force – and about twenty prisoners.”

“Is Lingen with them?” eagerly asked an officer by Sir Richard’s side, who seemed to share the command with him.

“Colonel Kyrle – Captain Trevor,” said the knight, introducing them. “I suppose you’re aware we’ve taken Monmouth?”

“I was not; but am happy to hear it. Yes, Colonel,” replying to Kyrle, “Lingen is with them; coming on in the pursuit.”

Over the features of the ex-Royalist came an expression of almost savage joy, as one who had been longing to confront an old and hated foe, and knew the opportunity near.

“I’m glad?” he exclaimed, as in soliloquy; then seemed to busy himself about his arms.

“His presence was near being a sorry thing for me – the inhuman scoundrel!” rejoined the escaped prisoner.

“How so?”

“I heard him give the order to fire on me, as I was making off.”

“And they did?”

“Yes. Every one who could get piece, or pistol, ready in time.”

“That explains the shots we heard, Walwyn. Well, young sir,” to Trevor, “you seem to bear a charmed life. But we must back into ambush. You take the right, Dick; let me look to the left and give the cue to fall on. I ask that from my better knowing the ground.”

“So be it!” assented Sir Richard, and the two commanders, parting right and left, rode back a little way within the wood, where each had a body of horse drawn up, and ready for the charge.

The conversation, hurriedly carried on, had consumed but a few seconds’ time; and in an instant after the causeway was clear again, only a vidette left under cover to signal the approach of the pursuers. Captain Trevor, of course, went with his colonel, but now carrying a sword and pistols; supernumerary weapons which had been found for him by Sergeant Wilde.

A profound silence succeeded; for the horses of the Parliamentarians, after two years’ campaigning, had become veterans as the men themselves, and trained to keeping still. Not a neigh uttered; no noise save the slight tinkle of curb or bit, and an occasional angry stamp at bite of the bree fly. But the one could not be distinguished, even at short distance, amid the continuous screeching of jays, and oft-repeated glu-glu-gluck of the green woodpecker, whose domain was being intruded on; while the other might be mistaken for colts at pasture.

To the surprise of all in ambuscade, the pursuing party appeared to be coming on very slowly; and in truth was it so. Two reasons retarded them. Their horses were not Saladins, and the best of them had become blown in their gallop against the steep acclivity more than a mile in length. But the riders themselves had grown discouraged. In their last glimpse got of the fugitive he was so far ahead, and his mount showing such matchless speed, it seemed idle to continue the chase. They but hoped that some chance party of Scudamore’s men from Hereford might be patrolling the road farther on, and intercept him. So, instead of pressing the pursuit with ardour, they lagged on it; toiling up the steep in straggled line, and at a crawl.

Some twenty of the best horsed, however, had forged a long distance ahead of the others, who were following in twos and threes, with wide intervals between. And among the laggards was Lingen, instead of in the lead, as might be expected in the commander of a partisan troop. Fond of display, and that day designing exhibition of it, he rode a charger of superb appearance; one of the sort for show, not work. As a consequence, after the first spurt of the pursuit, he had fallen hundreds of yards behind, and was half-inclined to turn round and ride back to the inn, under pretence of looking after his other prisoners.

But there was no going back for those who had pushed on, nor much farther forward. Having surmounted the summit of the pitch, they heard a heavy trampling of hoofs, with the dreaded slogan, “God and the Parliament!” and saw two large bodies of horse, one on each flank, simultaneously closing upon them. At a charging gallop these came on, so quick the surprised party had no time either to turn back or make a dash onward, ere seeing the road blocked before and behind.

A surround complete as sudden, accompanied by the demand “Surrender!” made in tone of determination that would not brook refusal.

Of the score of Cavaliers so challenged, not one had the heart to say nay. They had left their courage below with their spilled wine cups, and now cried “Quarter!” in very chorus, delivering up their arms without striking blow, or firing shot.

“Where’s Harry Lingen?” cried Kyrle, spurring into their midst with drawn sword. “I don’t see his face among you.” Adding, with a sneer, “Such a valiant leader should be at the head of his men!”

Then fixing on one he knew to be a cornet of Lingen’s Light Horse, he vociferated, —

“Say where your colonel is, sirrah! or I’ll run you through the ribs.”

“Down the hill – behind somewhere,” stammered out the threatened subaltern. “He was with us when we commenced the pursuit.”

Riding clear of the crowd Kyrle glanced interrogatively down the road. To see the tails of horses disappearing round a corner; some of the pursuers, who, catching sight of what was above, had made about face, and were galloping back.

“Let us after them, Walwyn! What say you?” hurriedly proposed Kyrle.

“Just what I was thinking of. Trevor tells me most of their prisoners are my own men, those taken at Hollymead. They shall be rescued, whatever the risk.”

“Not much risk now, I fancy. Lingen’s lot are so demoralised they won’t stand a charge. We needn’t fear following them up to the gates of Goodrich Castle. And we can get back to Monmouth that way, well as the other.”

“That way we go,” then said the knight determinedly; and down the pitch started the two colonels with their respective followers, a detail having been hastily told off to guard the prisoners just taken.

Meanwhile the Sheriff had been balancing between advance and return. Vexed with the cause which retarded him, he was vowing he would never again bestride the showy brute, when he saw several of his men coming back down the pitch at breakneck speed, as they approached calling out, “Treason! A surprise!”

“Treason! What mean you?” he demanded, drawing his sword, and stopping them in their headlong flight. “Are you mad, fellows?”

“No, Colonel; not mad. Some one has betrayed us into an ambuscade. The Roundheads are up the hill; hundreds – thousands of them?”

“Who says so?”