No Quarter! Part 32

Although below the Buckstone, at least nine hundred of the thousand feet by which this surmounts the sea's level, the point blank distance between them is inside the range of modern great guns. And so well within that of a field-gla.s.s that from the overhanging Forest heights men could be distinguished in the streets of the town, or moving along the roads that lead out of it.

As already said, one of these is the Kymin, then the main route of travel to Gloucester, by Coleford and Mitcheldean. Near where it attains the Forest elevation, at the picturesque village of Staunton, a lane branches off leading to the higher point on which stands the Buckstone; a path running through woods, only trodden by the tourist and others curious to examine the great balanced boulder.

On that same afternoon and hour when the cadgers were toiling up the Kymin Hill, two personages of very different appearance and character-- both men--might have been seen entering into the narrower trackway, and continuing on up towards the rock-crowned summit.

On reaching it one of them drew out a telescope, and commenced adjusting the lens to his sight. If his object was but to view the scenery there was no need for using gla.s.s. Enough could be taken in by the naked eye to satisfy the most ardent lover of landscape, though in September the woods still wore their summer livery; for on Wye side it is late ere the foliage loses its greenery, and quite winter before it falls from the trees. Here and there only a dash of yellow, or a mottling of maroon red, foreshadowed the coming change; but no russet-grey as yet. The afternoon was one of the loveliest; not a cloud in the azure sky save some low-lying fleecy c.u.muli, snow-white but rose-tinted, towards which the sun seemed hastening as to a couch of repose. A cool breeze had succeeded the sultriness of the mid-day hours; and, aroused from its torpor, all animated nature was once more active and joyous. Out of the depths of the High Meadow woods came the whistling call of stag and the bleat of roebuck; from the pastures around Staunton the lowing of kine, mingled with the neighing of a mother mare, in response to the "whigher"

of unweaned foal, while in Forest glade might now and then be heard shrill cries of distress, where fierce polecat or marten had sprung upon the shoulders of some hapless hare, there to clutch and cling till the victim dropped dying on the gra.s.s.

All the birds were abroad, some upon the trees, singing their evensong, or making their evening meal; others soaring above, with design to make a meal of them. Of these a host; for nowhere are the predatory species more numerously represented than along the lower Wye. More numerous then than now; though still may be seen there the fish-eating osprey; oftener the kite, with tail forked as that of salmon; not unfrequently the peregrine falcon in flight swift as an arrow, and squeal loud as the neigh of a colt; and at all times the graceful kestrel, sweeping the air with active stroke of wing, or poised on quivering pinions, as upon a perch.

In those days, eagles were common enough on the Wye; and just as the two men had taken stand by the Buckstone, a brace of these grand birds came over; the owners of an eyrie in the Coldwell rocks, or the Windcliff.

After a few majestic gyrations around the head of Staunton-hill, with a scream, they darted across the river to Great Doward, and thence on to quarter Coppet Wood.

But he using the telescope, as his companion, took no more notice of them than if they had been but skylarks. Nor looked they on that lovely landscape with any eye to its beauties. They were neither tourists nor naturalists, but soldiers; and just then, man, with his ways alone, had interest for them.

Both were in uniform; the elder--though there was no great difference in their ages--wearing that of a Colonel in the Parliamentary army; a rank which, in these modern days, when military t.i.tles are so lavishly bestowed, would seem as nothing. But in those times of a truer Conservatism, even though the social fabric was being shaken to its foundation, a colonel held as high command as a major-general now. So with him who had the telescope to his eye; for it was Colonel Edward Ma.s.sey, the military Governor of Gloucester.

And the other was a colonel, too, on the Parliamentary side; though in uniform of a somewhat irregular kind. Dressed as a Cavalier, but with certain insignia, telling of hostility to the Cavalier's creed; one especially proclaiming it, with bold openness--this, a bit of gold embroidery on the velvet band of his hat, representing a crown, thrust through and through by a rapier. Fair fingers had done that deft needlework, those of Sabrina Powell. For he who displayed the defiant symbol was Sir Richard Walwyn.

Why the two colonels were together, and there, needs explanation. Many a stirring event had transpired, many a b.l.o.o.d.y battle been fought, since the surrender of Bristol to Rupert; and among them that most disastrous to him as to the King's cause--Marston Moor. It had changed everything; as elsewhere, freeing the Forest of Dean from the Royalist marauders, who had been so long its masters. Ma.s.sey had himself dealt them a deadly blow at Beachley; routing Sir John Wintour's force, caught there in the act of fortifying the pa.s.sage a cra.s.s the Severn.

That occurred but three days before, and the active Governor of Gloucester having hastened on to Staunton, was now contemplating a descent upon Monmouth.

There was one who had pressed him to this haste, having also counselled him to attempt the capture of the town. This, the man by his side. But a woman, too, had used influence to the same end. Before sallying forth from Gloucester, for Beachley, a girl--a beautiful girl--had all but knelt at his feet, entreating him to take Monmouth. Nor did she make any secret of why she wished this. For it was Vaga Powell, believing that in Monmouth Castle there was a man confined, whose freedom was dear to her as her own. But she feared also for his life, for it had come to that now. The _lex talionis_ was in full, fierce activity, and prisoners of war might be butchered in cold blood, or sent abroad, and sold into slavery--as many were!

Luckily for the young lady, her intercession with Ma.s.sey was made at the right time, he himself eagerly wis.h.i.+ng the very thing she wanted. Ever since becoming Governor of Gloucester, Monmouth had been a sharp thorn in his side, compared with which Lydney was but a thistle. And now, having laid the latter low--as it were, plucked it up by the roots--he meant dealing in like manner with the former. To capture the saucy little city of the Wye would be a _coup_, worth a whole year's campaigning. With it under his control, soon would cease to be heard that cry hitherto resonant throughout South Wales, "For the King!" To still the hated s.h.i.+bboleth--alike hated by both--he and Sir Richard Walwyn were now by the Buckstone, with eyes bent upon Monmouth.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

A RECONNAISSANCE.

Instead of viewing the rural scenery, the two colonels had come there to make a reconnaissance. The town itself, its fortified _enceinte_, the gates piercing it, and the roads around, were the objects to which their glances were given. And, for a time, all their attention was engrossed by them, neither speaking a word.

At length Ma.s.sey, having made survey of them through the telescope, handed it to the knight, saying,--

"So you think there's a chance of our taking the place?"

Sir Richard but ran the gla.s.s around hastily. He had been up there before, and more carefully reconnoitred, their chief object being to ascertain the strength of the garrison.

"Yes, your Excellency," he rejoined, "a chance, and something more, if Kyrle prove true; or rather should I say, traitor. And," he added, with a significant smile, "I think we can trust him to do that."

"As it wouldn't be the first time for him, no doubt we can. He has twice turned coat already. And's no doubt itching to give it another s.h.i.+ft, if he can but see the way without getting it torn from his back.

Marston Moor has had its effect on him, too, I suppose."

"It has, and our affair at Beachley will strengthen it. He'll want to be back on what he believes the winning side now more than ever. His communication to me, though carefully worded, means that, if anything.

But we'll be better able to judge when our despatch-bearers report themselves at High Meadow House. I think we may look for a letter from him."

It was at High Meadow House their men were encamped; the main body under Ma.s.sey having just arrived, while Sir Richard, with his troopers in advance, had been there overnight. And that same morning the cadgers, hastily summoned from their home at Ruardean, had been despatched to Monmouth market: Jack, or rather the sister, with secret instructions, and Jink.u.m with full panniers.

"They ought to be back soon now," added Sir Richard, again raising the gla.s.s to his eye, and turning it on the town, his object to see if the market people had all gone away.

When he last looked, they were streaming out through the gates, the commercial business of the market being over long ago. And now there were only some stragglers on the outgoing roads, men who had lingered by the ale-houses in gossip, or standing treat to the ever-thirsty soldiery.

Just then there came within his field of view a group composed of elements altogether different from the home-returning rustics.

"What do you see?" asked Ma.s.sey, observing the telescope steadied, and the knight looking through it with fixed, earnest gaze.

"A party of horse, carrying the lance--most of them."

"Where?"

"Just coming out of the northern gate."

"A patrol, perhaps?"

"No; something more. There are too many of them for that. Over a hundred have pa.s.sed out already. And--yes; prisoners with them?"

"Let me have a look," said the Governor, stretching out his hand for the telescope, which, of course, the other surrendered to him. Reluctantly though, as Sir Richard felt more than a common interest in the prisoners so escorted.

"You're right," said Ma.s.sey, soon as sighting them. "Prisoners they have. But whither can they be taking them? That's the road to Ross."

"To Hereford also, your Excellency. The route; are the same as far as Whitchurch."

"Ah, true. Still it's odd their starting out at such an hour! And why carrying prisoners away to Hereford? Surely Monmouth Castle affords gaol room enough. I hope it's not so full. If so, all the more reason for our doing what we can to empty it."

"I don't think they're for Hereford, either. If I'm not mistaken, I saw something which tells of a different destination. If your Excellency will allow me another look through the telescope, perhaps--"

"Oh, by all means, take it!" said the Governor, interrupting, and again handing over the gla.s.s.

"Yes! just as I supposed they were--Harry Lingen's Horse!" exclaimed Sir Richard, after viewing them for a second or two. "And those poor fellows, their prisoners, likely enough are my own men--one of them, though I can't identify him, my unfortunate troop captain, young Trevor.

They're _en route_ neither for Ross nor Hereford, but Goodrich Castle, where Lingen has his headquarters. It's but a short six miles, which may account for their setting out so late."

"But Trevor's party was taken at a place near Ruardean--Hollymead House, if I recollect aright."

"True; the house of Master Ambrose Powell. It was there Lingen surprised them, through a scoundrel who turned traitor."

"Then why were they brought to Monmouth at all? Ruardean's but a step from Goodrich."

"Just so, your Excellency, I was puzzled about that myself up till this morning. Now I know why, having got the information from our cadger friends. It appears that when Lingen made his swoop on Hollymead he was on the way to join Wintour at Beachley, so kept straight on through Monmouth, where he dropped his _impedimenta_ of prisoners. On return he's now picked them up again, and's taking them on to his own stronghold."

"That's it, no doubt," a.s.sented Ma.s.sey. "But," he added, with a smile of triumphant satisfaction, "whoever those captives be, pretty sure none of them have been brought up from Beachley. Nor is their escort as large as it might have been had Lingen left Wintour to himself. We gave their ranks a good weeding there--all round."

"Yes, indeed," rejoined the knight, rather absently, and with the telescope still at his eye. He was endeavouring to make good the ident.i.ty of the captive party, and a.s.sure himself whether it was really what he had conjectured it to be.

But he could have little doubt, as he had none about the soldiers forming their escort--Lingen's Horse to a certainty--a partisan troop, variously armed, but most carrying the lance. And while he still continued gazing at them, they commenced the ascent of the Ley's _pitch_, which pa.s.ses over the col between Little Doward and the Table Mount, the road running through woods all the way. Under these they were soon lost to his sight, and as the last lance with its pennon disappeared below the tops of the trees, he lowered his telescope with a sigh, saying,--