CHAPTER ONE.
A SWORD DUEL IN THE SADDLE.
"He who is not a Republican must either have a bad head or a bad heart."
The speaker was a man of military mien, cavalry arm, as could be told byhis seat in the saddle--for he was on horseback. Not in militaryuniform, however, but dressed in a plain doublet of dark grey cloth,with a broad Vandyke collar, high-crowned hat, buff boots reaching abovethe knees, and turned over at the tips. Nor did his wearing a swordcertify to his being a soldier. In those days no one went without suchweapon, especially when on a journey, as he was. Thirty, orthereabouts, he looked a little older through his complexion beingsun-browned, as from foreign service or travel; which had also left itstraces in his hair, a strand or two of silver beginning to show in a_chevelure_ otherwise coal-black. His fine sweeping moustaches,however, were still free from this betrayer of middle age; while hiswell-balanced figure, lithe and tersely set, bespoke the activity of ayet youthful manhood. His features, oval and regular, were of a typedenoting firmness; handsome, too, with their tint of bronze, which lentinterest to them, lit up as they were by the flashing of eagle eyes.For flash these did excitedly, almost angrily, as he so declaredhimself. By his speech he should be a Puritan, of extremest views; forthat he meant what he said was as evident from the emphasis given to hiswords as from the expression on his face. Still, his hair showed notthe close crop of the "Roundhead;" instead, fell down in curlingluxuriance as affected by the "Cavalier;" while a plume of cock'sfeathers set jauntily on the side of his hat gave him more the air ofthe latter than the former, in contradiction to the sentiment expressed.
There could be no mistaking to which belonged the personage to whom headdressed his speech. Of the Cavalier class sure, as the effect itproduced upon him would have told of itself. But the style of hisdress, air, bearing, everything proclaimed him one. A youth not yetturned twenty, in garb of silken sheen; coat and trunks of rich yellowsatin, Cordovan leather boots, with a wide fringe of lace around thetops; spurs gilt or of gold, and a beaver over which waved a _panache_of ostrich feathers, upheld in a jewelled clasp. His sword belt of silkvelvet was elaborately embroidered, the needlework looking as though itcame from the fingers of a lady who had worked with a will and _conamore_; the gauntlets of his white gloves ornamented in a similarfashion by the same. Handsome he, too, but of manly beauty, quitediffering from that of the other, even to contrast. With a bright,radiant complexion, and blonde hair falling in curls over his cheeks,yet unbearded, his features were of the type termed aristocratic; suchas Endymion possessed, and Phidias would have been delighted to securefor a model. Habitually and openly wearing a gentle expression, therewas, at the same time, one more latent, which bespoke intellectualstrength and courage of no common kind. Passionate anger, too, whenoccasion called for it, seeming to say, "Don't put upon me too much, oryou'll find your mistake."
Just such a cast came over them as he listened to what the other said; adeclaration like defiance, flung in his teeth. Although meant as theclincher of a political argument which had been for some time going onbetween them, the young Cavalier, taken aback by its boldness, anddoubtful of having heard aright, turned sharply upon the other,asking,--
"What's that you said, sir?"
"That the man who is not a Republican must either have a bad head or abad heart."
This time more emphatically, as though nettled by the tone of theother's interrogative.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the youth reining up, for they were riding along aroad.
"Indeed, yes," returned the older man, also drawing bridle. "Or if youprefer it in another form, he who is not a Republican must be either aknave or a fool."
"You're a knave to say so!" cried the silken youth, whose rising wrathhad now gathered to a head, his hand as he spoke crossing to the hilt ofhis sword.
"Well, youngster," rejoined the other, seeming, on the contrary, tobecome calmer, and speaking with a composure strange under thecircumstances, "that's speech plain enough, and rude enough. It almosttempts me to retort by calling you a fool. But I won't; only, if youvalue your life you must withdraw your words."
"Not one of them! Never, so long as I wear a sword. You shall eatyours first?" and he whipped out his rapier.
Though journeying side by side, they were quite strangers to oneanother, an accident having brought them together upon the road, bothgoing in the same direction. It was up the steep declivity leading fromthe town of Mitcheldean into the Forest, near the point where now standsa mansion called "The Wilderness." Nor were they altogether alone, twoother horsemen, their respective body servants, riding at a littledistance behind. It was after surmounting the slope, and having gotupon level ground, that their conflict of words reached the climaxdescribed, likely to end in one of blows. For to this the fiery youthseemed determined on pushing it.
Not so the other. On the contrary, he still sat composedly in hissaddle, no sign of drawing sword, exhibiting a _sang froid_ curiously incontrast with the warmth he had shown in the wordy disputation. Itsurely could not be cowardice? If so, it must be of the most cravenkind, after that demand for withdrawal of the insulting words.
And as such the Cavalier conceived, or misconceived, it, crying out,--
"Draw, caitiff! Defend yourself, if you don't want me to kill you incold blood!"
"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the other, lightly and satirically. "It's justbecause I don't want to kill _you_ in cold blood that I hesitate baringmy blade."
"A subterfuge--a lie!" shouted the youth, stung to madness by theimplied taunt of his inferiority. "Do your best and worst. Draw,sirrah, or I'll run you through. Draw, I say!"
"Oh, don't be in such a hurry. If I must I must, and, to oblige you,will, though it dislikes me to do murder--all the more that you've aspark of spirit. But--"
"Do it if you can," interrupted the Cavalier, unheeding the compliment."I've no fear of your murdering _me_. Maybe the boot will be on theother leg."
Again that strange expression came over the face of the older man,half-admiration, half-compassion, with a scarce discernible element ofanger in it. Even yet he appeared reluctant to draw his sword, and onlydid so when the opprobrious epithet _Lache_--for the Cavaliers spoke asmattering of French--was flung into his teeth by his now furiousantagonist. At this, unsheathing, he called out,--
"Your blood be on your own head. To guard!"
"For God and the King!" cried the challenger, as he tightened grasp onhilt and rein, setting himself firmly in the saddle.
"For God and the People!" followed the response antagonistic.
A prick of the spur by both, a bound forward, and their blades crossedwith a clash, their horses shoulder to shoulder. But on the instant ofengaging, that of the Cavalier, frayed by the clink of the steel and itsflash in the dazzling sunlight, reared up, pivoting round to the right.This brought his rider left side to his antagonist, giving the latter anadvantage: and so decided, it seemed as though he could bring the affairto an end at the moment of commencement. For his own better-trainedsteed had stood ground, and wanted only another touch of the spur tocarry him close enough for commanding the bridle arm of his adversary,and all under it, when with a lunge he might thrust him through. Surelyhe could have done this! Yet neither spur nor sword were so exerted.Instead, he sat quietly in his saddle, as if waiting for his adversaryto recover himself! Which the latter soon did, wheeling short round,and again furiously engaging; by a second misconception, unaware of themercy shown him. This time as they came to the "engage" the Cavalier'shorse behaved better, standing ground till several thrusts and paradeswere exchanged between them. Clearly the silk-clad youth was no noviceat fencing, but as clearly the other was a master of it, and equallyaccomplished as a horseman; his horse, too, so disciplined as to givehim little bother with the bridle. A spectator, if a connoisseur in the_art d'escrime_, could have told how the combat would end--must end--unless some accident favoured the younger combatant. As it was, eventhe Fates seemed agai
nst him, his horse again rearing _en pirouette_,and to the wrong side, placing him once more at the mercy of hisantagonist. And again the latter scorned, or declined, taking advantageof it!
When the angry youth for the third time confronted him, it was with lessfury in his look, and a lowered confidence in his skill. For now he notonly knew his own inferiority as a swordsman, but was troubled with anindistinct perception of the other's generosity. Not clear enough,however, to restrain him from another trial; and their swords cametogether in a third crossing.
This time the play was short, almost as at the first. Having engagedthe Cavalier's blade in _carte_, and bound it, the self-proclaimedRepublican with a quick _flanconnade_ plunged the point of his ownstraight for his adversary's wrist. Like the protruded tongue of aserpent, it went glistening into the white gauntlet, which instantlyshowed a spot of red, with blood spurting out; while the rapier of theCavalier, struck from his grasp, flew off, and fell with a ring upon theroad.