CHAPTER XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY
When the Tavern Knight left the gates of Marleigh Park behind him onthat wild October night, he drove deep the rowels of his spurs, and sethis horse at a perilous gallop along the road to Norwich. The action wasof instinct rather than of thought. In the turbulent sea of his mind,one clear current there was, and one only--the knowledge that he wasbound for London for news of this son of his whom Joseph told him lived.He paused not even to speculate what manner of man his child was grown,nor yet what walk of life he had been reared to tread. He lived: he wassomewhere in the world; that for the time sufficed him. The Ashburnshad not, it seemed, destroyed quite everything that made his life worthenduring--the life that so often and so wantonly he had exposed.
His son lived, and in London he should have news of him. To London thenmust he get himself with all dispatch, and he swore to take no restuntil he reached it. And with that firm resolve to urge him, he ploughedhis horse's flanks, and sped on through the night. The rain beat inhis face, yet he scarce remarked it, as again more by instinct than byreason--he buried his face to the eyes in the folds of his cloak.
Later the rain ceased, and clearer grew the line of light betwixt thehedgerows, by which his horse had steered its desperate career. Fitfullya crescent moon peered out from among the wind-driven clouds. The poorruffler was fallen into meditation, and noted not that his nag did nomore than amble. He roused himself of a sudden when half-way downa gentle slope some five miles from Norwich, and out of temper atdiscovering the sluggishness of the pace, he again gave the horse ataste of the spurs. The action was fatal. The incline was become a bedof sodden clay, and he had not noticed with what misgivings his horsepursued the treacherous footing. The sting of the spur made the animalbound forward, and the next instant a raucous oath broke from Crispinas the nag floundered and dropped on its knees. Like a stone from acatapult Galliard flew over its head and rolled down the few remainingyards of the slope into a very lake of slimy water at the bottom.
Down this same hill, some twenty minutes later, came Kenneth Stewartwith infinite precaution. He was in haste--a haste more desperatefar than even Crispin's. But his character held none of Galliard'srecklessness, nor were his wits fogged by such news as Crispin had heardthat night. He realized that to be swift he must be cautious in hisnight-riding. And so, carefully he came, with a firm hand on the reins,yet leaving it to his horse to find safe footing.
He had reached the level ground in safety, and was about to put his nagto a smarter pace, when of a sudden from the darkness of the hedge hewas hailed by a harsh, metallic voice, the sound of which sent a tremorthrough him.
"Sir, you are choicely met, whoever you may be. I have suffered amischance down that cursed hill, and my horse has gone lame."
Kenneth kept his cloak over his mouth, trusting that the muffling wouldsufficiently disguise his accents as he made answer.
"I am in haste, my master. What is your will?"
"Why, marry, so am I in haste. My will is your horse, sir. Oh, I'm norobber. I'll pay you for it, and handsomely. But have it I must. 'Twillbe no great discomfort for you to walk to Norwich. You may do it in anhour."
"My horse, sir, is not for sale," was Kenneth's brief answer. "Give yougood night."
"Hold, man! Blood and hell, stop! If you'll not sell the worthless beastto serve a gentleman, I'll shoot it under you. Make your choice."
Kenneth caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel pointed at him from thehedge, and he shivered. What was he to do? Every instant was precious tohim. As in a flash it came to him that perchance Sir Crispin also rodeto London, and that it was expected of him to arrive there first if hewere to be in time. Swiftly he weighed the odds in his mind, and tookthe determination to dash past Sir Crispin, risking his aim and trustingto the dark to befriend him.
But even as he determined thus, what moon there was became unveiled, andthe light of it fell upon his face, which was turned towards Galliard.An exclamation of surprise escaped Sir Crispin.
"'Slife, Master Stewart, I knew not your voice. Whither do you ride?"
"What is it to you? Have you not wrought enough of evil for me? Am Inever to be rid of you? Castle Marleigh," he added, with well-feignedanger, "has closed its doors upon me. What does it signify to youwhither I ride? Suffer me leastways to pass unmolested, and to leaveyou."
Kenneth's passionate reproaches cut Galliard keenly. He held himself atthat moment a very knave for having dragged this boy into his work ofvengeance, and thereby cast a blight upon his life. He sought for wordswherein to give expression to something of what he felt, then realizinghow futile and effete all words must prove, he waved his hand in thedirection of the road.
"Go, Master Stewart," he muttered. "Your way is clear."
And Kenneth, waiting for no second invitation, rode on and left him. Herode with gratitude in his heart to the Providence that had caused himso easily to overcome an obstacle that at first he had held impassable.Stronger grew in his mind the conviction that to fulfil the missionJoseph required of him, he must reach London before Sir Crispin. Theknowledge that he was ahead of him, and that he must derive an amplestart from Galliard's mishap, warmed him like wine.
His mind thus relieved from its weight of anxiety, he little reckedfatigue, and such excellent use did he make of his horse that he reachedNewmarket on it an hour before the morrow's moon.
An hour he rested there, and broke his fast. Then on a fresh horse--apowerful and willing animal he set out once more.
By half-past two he was at Newport. But so hard had he ridden that manand beast alike were in a lather of sweat, and whilst he himself feltsick and tired, the horse was utterly unfit to bear him farther. Forhalf an hour he rested there, and made a meal whose chief constituentwas brandy. Then on a third horse he started upon the last stage of hisjourney.
The wind was damp and penetrating; the roads veritable morasses of mud,and overhead gloomy banks of dark, grey clouds moved sluggishly, thelight that was filtered through them giving the landscape a bleak anddreary aspect. In his jaded condition Kenneth soon became a prey to thedepression of it. His lightness of heart of some dozen hours ago wasnow all gone, and not even the knowledge that his mission was well-nighaccomplished sufficed to cheer him. To add to his discomfort a finerain set in towards four o'clock, and when a couple of hours later heclattered along the road cut through a wooded slope in the direction ofWaltham, he was become a very limp and lifeless individual.
He noticed not the horsemen moving cautiously among the closely-settrees on either side of the road. It was growing prematurely dark, andobjects were none too distinct. And thus it befell that when from thereverie of dejection into which he had fallen he was suddenly aroused bythe thud of hoofs, he looked up to find two mounted men barring the roadsome ten yards in front of him. Their attitude was unmistakable, and itcrossed poor Kenneth's mind that he was beset by robbers. But a secondglance showed him their red cloaks and military steel caps, and he knewthem for soldiers of the Commonwealth.
Hearing the beat of hoofs behind him, he looked over his shoulder to seefour other troopers closing rapidly down upon him. Clearly he was theobject of their attention. He had been a fool not to have perceived thisearlier, and his heart misgave him, for all that had he paused to thinkhe must have realized that he had naught to fear, and that in this somemistake must lie.
"Halt!" thundered the deep voice of the sergeant, who, with a trooper,held the road in front.
Kenneth drew up within a yard of them, conscious that the man's darkeyes were scanning him sharply from beneath his morion.
"Who are you, sir?" the bass voice demanded.
Alas for the vanity of poor human mites! Even Kenneth, who never yet hadachieved aught for the cause he served, grew of a sudden chill to thinkthat perchance this sergeant might recognize his name for one that hehad heard before associated with deeds performed on the King's behalf.
For a second he hesitated; then:
"Blount," he stammered, "Jasper B
lount."
He little thought how that fruit of his vanity was to prove his undoingthereafter.
"Verily," sneered the sergeant, "it almost seemed you had forgotten it."And from that sneer Kenneth gathered with fresh dread that the fellowmistrusted him.
"Whence are you, Master Blount?"
Again Kenneth hesitated. Then recalling Ashburn's high favour with theParliament, and seeing that it could but advance his cause to state thetrue sum of his journey:
"From Castle Marleigh," he replied.
"Verily, sir, you seem yet in some doubt. Whither do you go?"
"To London."
"On what errand?" The sergeant's questions fell swift as sword-strokes.
"With letters for Colonel Pride."
The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken hitherto, wasnot without its effect.
"From whom are these letters?"
"From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh."
"Produce them."
With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant observed ashe took the package.
"What ails you, man?" quoth he.
"Naught, sir 'tis the cold."
The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it was apassport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this man was indeedthe messenger he represented himself. Certainly he had not the air northe bearing of him for whom they waited, nor did the sergeant think thattheir quarry would have armed himself with a dummy package against sucha strait. And yet the sergeant was not master after all, and did he letthis fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it hereafter;whilst likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, he knew, was not anover-patient man. He was still debating what course to take, and hadturned to his companion with the muttered question: "What think you,Peter?" when by his precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance ofbeing permitted to depart.
"I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to pass on."
There was an eager tremor in his voice that the sergeant mistook forfear. He noted it, and remembering the boy's hesitancy in answering hisearlier questions, he decided upon his course of action.
"We shall not delay your journey, sir," he answered, eyeing Kennethsharply, "and as your way must lie through Waltham, I will but ask youto suffer us to ride with you thus far, so that there you may answer anyquestions our captain may have to ask ere you proceed."
"But, sir--"
"No more, master courier," snarled the sergeant. Then, beckoning atrooper to his side, he whispered an order in his ear.
As the man withdrew they wheeled their horses, and at a sharp wordof command Kenneth rode on towards Waltham between the sergeant and atrooper.