CHAPTER TWO.
FOES BECOME FRIENDS.
The young Cavalier was now altogether at the mercy of his older, and asproved, abler antagonist; knew the latter could take his life, and hadthe right, as well as good reason, from the great provocation given himin that shower of insulting epithets--the latest of them "_Lache_!" Forall, he quailed not, neither made attempt to elude the next thrust ofthe victorious sword. Instead, stood his ground, crying out,--
"You have conquered! You can kill me!"
"Kill you?" rejoined the victor, with the same light laugh as before."That's just what I've been endeavouring _not_ to do. But it has costme an effort--all my skill. Had you been an ordinary swordsman I'd havedisarmed you at the first pass after engaging. I've done it withothers, half a dozen or more. With you, 'twas just as much as I wasable, without absolutely taking your life--a thing far from my thoughts,and as far from my wishes. And now that all's over, and we've neitherof us _murdered_ the other, am I to say `Surrender'?"
He still spoke laughingly, but without the slightest tone of satire, orshow of exultation.
"You can command it," promptly responded the vanquished youth, nowdoubly vanquished. "I cry `Quarter'--crave it, if you like."
It was no fear of death made him thus humbly submit, but a suddenrevulsion, an outburst of gratitude, to a conqueror alike merciful andgenerous.
Ere this their attendants had got upon the ground, seeming undecidedwhether to pitch in with their masters, or cross swords on their ownaccount. Both had drawn them, and waited but word or sign, scowlingsavagely at each other. Had it come to blows between the men, theresult, in all probability, would have been as with their masters; theCavalier's lightweight varlet looking anything but a match for thestout-bodied, veteranlike individual who was henchman to his antagonist.As it was, they had not resolved themselves till the combat came to anend. Then hearing the word "quarter," and seeing signs of amityrestored, they slipped their blades back into the scabbards, and sateawaiting orders.
Only one of them received any just then--he the heavy one.
"Dismount, Hubert," commanded his master, "and return his weapon to thisyoung gentleman, who, as you can testify, well deserves to wear it. Andnow, sir," he continued to the young gentleman himself, "along with yoursword let me offer you some apologies, which are owing. I admit mywords were rather rough, and call for qualification, or, to speak morecorrectly, explanation. When I said, that the man who is not aRepublican must be deficient either in head or heart, I meant one whohas reached the years of discretion, and seen something of the world--as, for instance, myself. At your age I too was a believer in kings--even the doctrine of Divine Right--brought up to it. Possibly, when youhear my name you'll admit that."
"You will give me your name?" asked the other, eagerly. "I wish it,that I may know to whom I am beholden for so much generosity."
"Very generous on your part to say say I am Sir Richard Walwyn."
"Ah! A relative of the Scudamores, are you not?"
"A distant relative. But I've not seen any of them lately, having justcome back from the Low Countries, where I've been fighting a bit. Inbetter practice from that, with my hand still in, which may account formy having got the better of you," and he again laughed lightly.
The young Cavalier protested against the generous admission, and thenwent on to say he knew the Scudamores well--especially Lord Scudamore,of Holme Lacey.
"I've often met his lordship at the Palace," was the concluding remark.
"At what palace, pray?" inquired Sir Richard.
"Oh! Whitehall. I did not think of specifying."
"Which proves that you yourself come from it? One of the King's people,I take it; or in the Queen's service, more like?"
"I was, but not now. I've been at Court for the last few months in thecapacity of gentleman-usher."
"And now? But I crave pardon. It is rude of me to cross-question youthus."
"Not at all, Sir Richard. You have every right. After being so frankwith me, I owe you equal frankness. I've given up the appointment Iheld at Court, and am now on my way home--to my father's house inMonmouthshire."
"Your father is--?"
"Sir William Trevor."
"Ah! now I can understand why your blood boiled up at my strenuousdefence of the Parliament--the son of Sir William Trevor. But we won'tenter upon politics again. After blows, words are inadmissible, asungracious. Your father's house is near Abergavenny, if I rememberrightly?"
"It is."
"That's good twenty-seven miles from here. You don't purpose going onthere to-night?"
"No; I intend putting up for the night at Monmouth."
"Well, that's within the possibilities; but not with daylight, unlessyou press your horse hard--and he looks rather jaded."
"No wonder. I've ridden him all the way from Witney, in Oxfordshire,since six this morning."
"He must be good stuff to stand it, and show the spirit he did just now.But for all he seems rather badly done up--another reason for my havinggot the better of you."
At this both smiled, the young Cavalier, as before, refusing to acceptthe complimentary acknowledgment.
"A pity," ran on Sir Richard, "to press the poor animal farther tonight--that is, so far as Monmouth. It's all of ten miles yet, and theroad difficult--pitches up and down. You should rest him nearer, by wayof reward for his noble performance of the day."
"Indeed, I was thinking of it; had half made up my mind to sleep atColeford."
"Ah! you mus'n't stop at Coleford, much less sleep there."
"And why not?"
"The Coleford people are mad angry with the King, as are most others inthe Forest. No wonder, from the way Sir John Wintour has been behavingto them since he got the monopoly grant of what his Majesty had no rightto give--rights that are theirs. Their blood's up about it, and justnow to appear in the streets of Coleford dressed as you are, cavalierand courtier fashion, might be attended with danger."
"I'll risk--defy it!"
"Bravely spoken, and I've no doubt you'd bravely do both. But there'sno need for your doing one or the other."
"If you describe these Coleford fellows aright, how can I help it, SirRichard? My road passes through their town."
"True, but there's a way you may avoid it."
"Oh! I'm not going to skulk round, taking bypaths, like a thief ordeer-stealer. I'll give them a fight first."
"And that fight might be your last--likely would, Master Trevor. Butno. You've fought your way _into_ the Forest so gallantly, it behoveshim you all but conquered to see you safe out of it. To do which,however, I must ask you to give up all thoughts of sleeping either atMonmouth or Coleford, and be my guest for the night."
"But where, Sir Richard? I did not know that you had a house in theForest."
"Nor have I. But one of my friends has; and I think I can promise youfair hospitality in it--by proxy. Besides, that little hole I've madein your hand--sorry at having made it--needs looking to without delay,and my friend has some skill as a surgeon. I could offer some otherinducements that might help in deciding you--as, for instance, a pair ofpretty faces to see. But coming from the Court of Queen Henriette, withher galaxy of grand dames, perhaps you've had a surfeit of that sort ofthing."
The young courtier shifted uneasily in his saddle, a slight blush comingover his cheeks, as though the words rather gave him pain.
"If not," continued Sir Richard, without heeding these indices ofemotion, "I can promise to show you something rare in the way offeminine beauty. For that I'll back Sabrina and Vaga against all yourmaids of honour and court ladies--the Queen included--and win witheither."
"_Sabrina! Vaga_! Singular names! May I ask who the ladies are?"
"You may do more--make their acquaintance, if you consent to myproposal. You will?"
"Sir Richard, your kindness overpowers me. I am at your service everyway."
"Thanks! Let us on, then, without delay.
We've yet full five miles ofroad before us, ere we can reach the cage that holds this pair of prettybirds. _Allons_!"
At which he gave his horse the spur, Trevor doing the same; and oncemore the two rode side by side; but friendly now--even to affection.