HOW BENET KILLIGREW AND I FOUGHT IN THE LIGHT OF THE BEACON FIRE.
"Of course you expect no mercy from me?" said Otho presently.
"I know you are too good a pupil of your master to dream of such a
thing," I replied, and even as I spoke I wondered how long it would take
the messenger I had sent to reach Hugh Boscawen, and whether help could
arrive before Otho had completed his designs.
"Be careful, Roger Trevanion," he said bitterly.
"Why?" I asked. "I know you will do your worst whatever may happen. Say
your say, man, and unless you gag me I shall say mine."
"Yes, I will say my say. Oh, I know what you are thinking. Well, we have
sentinels in every direction, and the moment there is a sign of any
friends of yours coming, we shall be warned, and that moment you shall
die."
My heart sank as he said this. For although I do not think I fear death
more than another man, I did dread the cruelty of this man. Besides, I
longed for life; never, indeed, had it been so sweet to me as now. Only
a few hours before my dear maid Nancy had laid her head on my shoulder
and had sobbed out her love to me. I knew, too, that she would have a
bitter enemy in Otho, and if I were dead she would be a prey to his many
wiles. Still I determined not to betray fear. At any rate, he should not
have the comfort of making me plead for mercy.
"Then say on," I said, "your thoughts can give you little comfort; you
have been outwitted, beaten all along the line. I can die, but not
before I've drawn your teeth."
"Except that Charles will not land."
"If that is any comfort to you, except that."
"We may as well add another thing," he sneered; "but I will refrain,
because it refers to a lady."
I was silent.
"Oh yes, I have touched you at last, have I? Well, let me give you a
little comfort in that direction. The lady shall be well looked after."
I looked at Uncle Anthony as he spoke, and saw the old man's face
twitch. In spite of myself I was comforted. My dear maid was not without
one friend.
"Perhaps I will refer to that again presently," he went on; "you will be
glad to hear her name in your last minutes. But let me tell you another
thing: Roger Trevanion, I hate you."
"Doubtless," I said with a sneer.
"I hate you," he went on, and now he spoke quickly and passionately. "I
hate you because again and again you have beaten me, and I never forgive
a man who has done that. You have outwitted me--yes, I will admit
it--and have made the only woman----" he stopped a second as though his
passion had led him to commence a sentence which he did not know how to
finish. "God is tired of you," he continued presently, "for you have
hindered the true king from coming back to England, and with the true
king the true faith. We owe our failure to you."
"Yes, you do," I replied, "you do. You thought to restore the fortunes
of your dying name. Religion is little to you. How can it be? But the
failure of your plans to bring the Pretender here is the deathblow to
your hopes. To succeed you have lied, you have played the spy; you have
bartered friendship, and all things good and true. Well, I have beaten
you. You can take a paltry revenge by killing me, but you cannot undo
the fact that I have beaten you."
I felt a savage joy in saying this, for at that moment I cared for
nothing.
"You will not fight as a man should," I went on. "When it comes to open
blows you run away like a coward. You prefer plot and intrigue, and lies
in the dark."
"It cannot be said that you are guiltless of plot and intrigue, either,"
remarked Uncle Anthony quietly.
"I have been obliged to use my enemies' weapons," I replied; "but I have
betrayed no man, no woman. I have sought to hurt no man. Nay, I have
ever tried to befriend rather than to harm."
"I know more about you than you think," remarked Uncle Anthony; "and at
one time I should have been sorely disturbed at doing you harm, so much
did I believe in you. It is little use deploring the inevitable. I am
too old a man to give up because of one failure, or to cry out because
God seemeth against me. But why did you interfere, Roger Trevanion? You,
the gay spendthrift--you, who have cared but little for aught save your
gaming and your revelries. Why did you not live your life, and let
others deal with matters of serious import? Religion is naught to you.
It is everything to some of us."
"Because the society of a pure woman made me ashamed of myself," I
cried; "because she made me remember my name, my race, and my duty to my
country and to God."
The old man sighed, while Otho spoke apart with two or three of the
men.
"Methinks I had better have killed you this very evening," he said; "my
hand was on the trigger of my pistol."
"When we met?"
"Aye."
"And I might have had you arrested," I replied. "I recognized you in
spite of your disguise. I wrote a note to Lord Falmouth warning him that
no reliance could be placed upon the information you might give. I might
have added your name."
"So you might," he said quietly, and he seemed in deep thought. "Then
this danger signal would not have been seen," he added.
At that moment we heard the sound of a gun coming from across the
waters.
"Ah!" cried voices all around me; "they have seen the danger signal. Now
we must leave."
"But not before I have dealt with Roger Trevanion," cried Otho
Killigrew; "now, you fellows, do my bidding."
"Not that, by God, no!" cried one of the men, "let him die as man
should. I'll have naught to do with roasting."
"But we owe all our failure to him," cried Otho.
"You have your own private grudge, no doubt," said another. "Kill him as
a gentleman should be killed. Hot lead, cold steel, or the water, I
don't mind which, but not that."
I looked around as well as I could, but Uncle Anthony had gone, and I
saw that there was a movement among the men who had waited by the fire.
"Then it shall be cold steel," cried Otho, and he drew his sword from
his sheath.
If it be possible to realize a sense of satisfaction at such a moment, I
realized it then. At any rate, I was not to suffer the cruel torture
which Otho intended. Indeed, I doubt whether my mind could have
withstood much longer the strain I was undergoing. For the last few days
my life had been one constant excitement. Every nerve was strung to the
highest pitch, and although my wound was neither deep nor dangerous, it
had pained me much.
"They laugh best who laugh last," said Otho, coming to me grimly, "and I
shall laugh last, I warrant you."
"Be quick, then, and do your devil's work!" I cried aloud, for I was
sore wrought upon. "I cannot touch you, I am bound, so you are safe. But
I would to God I could die at the hands of a man, instead of a
revengeful cut-throat."
"No, you shall die by my hand," said Otho, slowly and grimly.
"No, by Heaven he shall not!" cried a voice near; "whatever he is,
Trevanion is a brave man, and he can fight. I would I had known you were
here sooner. Ah, I love a man who can fight! Cut the ropes, men, and let
him die as a man should!"
It was Benet Killigrew who spoke, and I saw his eyes fairly gleam with
savage joy.
"Yes, it is I, Roger Trevanion," he cried; "I told you we should meet
again; I told you we should fight again. Faith, I almost forgive you for
having spoiled all my old dad's plans; I shall have a fight after all, a
real fight with a man who knows the use of a sword. Aye, but I love you,
Trevanion. I love you!"
"Benet, this is not your affair," said Otho; "it was agreed upon that
this fellow should be taken and killed at all hazards, and that I should
see it done."
"I care not, Otho. He is a worthy gentleman, and he shall die as
becometh one. Oh, you need not fear, I will kill him; but not as a
butcher may kill a pig. Cut his cords, men. Nay I will do it myself.
There, that's it. Stand up, Roger Trevanion. Ah! they have not taken
your sword from you; it is well! Stand around, men; there is plenty of
light."
For once Otho Killigrew yielded to his brother. Perhaps he was glad to
do so, for while it may be easy to kill another in hot fight, a man must
have lost his manhood if he willingly and in cold blood will kill
another who is helpless and bound. Besides, Otho knew it to be dangerous
to stay there. The king's men might come at any minute.
"Yes, I will leave you to my brother, Roger Trevanion," he said slowly;
"I think I am glad he came. He saves me from doing dirty work."
"Very dirty," I replied.
"Aye," he said, "just as a hangman's work is dirty. Still it is
necessary, and Benet is better fitted for it than I. And before I go, I
will give you a little information. I go to see a lady who is a mutual
acquaintance. I will tell her how I left you. She will be much
interested. You are about to take a long journey, and the end thereof
will be dark. I wish you all the joy you can get out of it. I will tell
our lady friend about it, as we caress each other and laugh at you."
"Coward," I cried, unable to control myself, "base, skulking coward.
Come back and fight me," but he laughed in his quiet way as he mounted a
horse that stood near-by.
"By the way," he continued, "you stole my horse, but Benet will make
that all right. You will soon be in congenial company--and so shall I.
Good-night!"
"You are right, Trevanion," cried Benet in almost a friendly tone. "Otho
is a coward; he hath a way with him which drives me mad. Ah, but I love
you. Stand around, men. Now draw, man"; and putting himself in a posture
of defense, he made his sword whistle about his head.
"Had we not better get away to a distance?" asked one who stood by. "We
can now do no good by staying, and we may be in danger at any minute."
"Nonsense!" cried Benet. "They will have heard the guns as well as we,
and they will know what it means. The game is up, I tell you. Besides we
can never find a better place than this. Here is green grass to stand
on, and a rare light. Now, Trevanion."
I drew my sword and stood before him. Even as I did so I knew to whom I
owed his coming. It was Uncle Anthony who had told him how I stood. The
old man knew his disposition, knew that fighting was the breath of Benet
Killigrew's life, and was sure that it would be untold joy to him to do
battle with me again. Perhaps he hoped that in some way I might be able
to successfully defend myself. For the hermit felt kindly towards me,
even although I had thwarted the hope of his life. Strange as it may
seem, however, I had almost forgotten the greater issues at stake. While
I had spoken with Otho and Uncle Anthony, and heard the mutterings of
bitterness among their companions because their hopes had been
frustrated, I felt that I had indeed taken part in a very important
business, that, perhaps, I had changed the very life of the country. I
had to some extent realized the bitter disappointment they must have
felt, as well as their great anger towards me. But now my thoughts were
narrowed down to smaller issues, and although just after I drew my sword
I heard the dull boom of another gun resounding across the waters, I
thought nothing of the rage that the young Pretender must have felt, or
of what it might mean to millions of people.
My great thought was to sell my life dearly, for now that I was once
more free I felt my own man again. I knew that Benet Killigrew was a
great fighter, and although he had not been master in the past, I stood
at great disadvantage now. I had been weakened by my wound, and my
experiences of the last few days were not of a nature to fit a man to
fight with such a swordsman as Benet. All around me stood the dark
angry faces of his friends, and I was sure that, even should I master my
opponent, they would see to it that I should not escape alive. Still a
man at thirty-two years of age is not easily conquered. He has not lost
the hot blood of youth, and he has also gained the caution and the
judgment necessary to use his strength wisely.
And this I determined to do. Most of the men who had lit the great
beacon fire were gone, and I hoped that even in spite of my dark
prospects I might still be able to keep my skin whole. I knew the man
who stood before me. Passionate, daring, and strong as he might be, he
had still the feelings of a gentleman. There was nothing cunning in his
nature. He would fight openly, fight for the very joy of fighting. The
ferociousness of the savage he doubtless possessed, but he had higher
feelings as well.
"It gives me joy to meet you, Benet Killigrew," I said. "If I am to die,
I shall be glad to die at the hands of a brave man, rather than to be
butchered by one who knows not what a swordsman ought to feel."
"Ah! good!" he replied, "it is not oft I can find a man who is worthy of
standing before Benet Killigrew"--this he said with a kind of mountebank
bravado peculiar to him--"and it gives joy to my soul to meet a man. I
do not know much about who is the true king. I joined the business
because there was a chance of a fight. But I am sick of it. No sooner
was it discovered that there would be three to one against us than they
all showed the white feather, and so I was robbed of a rare bit of fun.
But you have turned up, Trevanion, and by my soul I love you for it; and
although I must kill you, because I have given my promise, I shall be
fair grieved to do it."
"At least we will fight as gentlemen," I replied, "and neither I am sure
will take advantage of the other."
"That goes without saying," he cried; "but come let us begin, we are
wasting time! Guard!" I must confess that all my own love for a fight
was aroused in me at that moment, and I needed no further invitation. At
the same time my policy was to act only on the defensive. I knew that
Benet would be careful, and would throw away no chances.
I have thought since that the scene must in its way have been
impressive. The great "danger fire" still cast its ruddy glow upon the
dark faces of the men who formed a ring around us, while in the near
distance the waves surged upon the rock-bound coast. It must have been
far past midnight, and the winds played among the newly budding leaves
which appeared on the trees in the woods nearby. Above the sounds of
both wind and waves could be heard the clash of our swords and the sound
of Benet's voice as we fought. For there was nothing cool and contained
about this man. He could not help but express his feelings, and every
time I parried his thrusts he gave a cry of pleasure and admiration.
"It is a joy to fight with you, Trevanion," he would say; "By Heaven,
you are a man! Good! Well parried!"
His eyes continued to gleam with a savage joy, and he constantly laughed
as though he were enjoying himself vastly.
Presently, however, he grew more serious, for I was very careful. I
contented myself with parrying, never offering to return his thrusts,
and although he tried hard he could not so much as touch me.
"By Heaven, fight!" he cried at length, but that I would not do. My
policy was to tire him out if I could, and then disarm him. This,
however, was easier said than done. He fought on with savage pleasure,
showing no weakness. His wrists seemed to be made of steel, and his eyes
continued to shine with a passionate light.
We had been fighting for some minutes, when I thought it wise to change
my tactics. I slowly yielded before him, and he thought my guard grew
weaker.
"Ah!" he cried with satisfaction.
Just at that moment I heard a cry among the woods.
"It's the Boscawens!" cried one of the bystanders. "Quick, Killigrew, we
shall be in danger soon!"
At this my heart gave a great bound, for hope grew stronger. I might
live to see my dear Nancy again, and this thought nerved my arm. I
thought of Otho's threat, and I longed to get to Restormel and see if my
love was safe.
I still pretended to yield to Benet, and while my guard was still
sufficient, I made him believe it was growing weaker.
Another cry came from the woods, sharper and clearer.
"The signal!" cried the bystanders, "the last signal. We must be away."
"No, he yields," cried Benet, "and I promised to kill him, and I will
keep my word. Ah!"
"But they will soon be here. Let us settle the business for you."
"No, by Cormoran, no! What! Benet Killigrew call help? I'll fight and
kill him by myself though ten thousand Boscawens stand by!"
"But there is danger, man! If we are caught we shall be hanged!"
"Can't you see I am fighting!" roared Benet, still keeping his eyes upon
me, and never for a moment thrown off his guard.
All the same, this talk was not to his advantage. It made him somewhat
rash, and I knew that my chance had nearly come.
"'Tis they!" one cried presently. "Truscott, give me your pistol!"
"I'll kill the man who interferes," said Benet madly; "I promised that
there should be no unfair advantage, and by Heaven there shall not!"
But his speech caused his own undoing. It was impossible for any man to
fence well under such circumstances, and so I was able to use the chance
I had long been waiting for, and his sword flew from his hand.
At that moment there was the tramp of horses' hoofs and the shout of
voices, and I knew that the bystanders became panic-stricken.
"We cannot go without killing him," cried one.
"No; very good, then"; and a bullet whizzed by my head, after which I
heard retreating footsteps.
"Fly, Benet Killigrew!" I panted.
"No, by God, no!"
"Yes," I answered; "you had not fair play. Those fellows confused you.
We will finish another time. If the Boscawens take you, you will be
hanged!"
"Will you fight again?" panted Benet.
"Yes; now begone!"
But it was too late. A dozen horsemen, headed by Hugh Boscawen, rode up
to us.
"Safe and unhurt, Trevanion?" he cried.
"Yes, my lord."
"It is well. Have they all gone! No! At least here is one prisoner."
"No, I think not, my lord," I answered; "this gentleman and I have been
settling a long-standing affair."
"Aye, but he is a rebel."
"Nay, my lord, let him go free," I said excitedly, for I could not bear
the thought of Benet being treated as a rebel. "I will swear to you that
this gentleman hath never plotted against the king. He is an honourable
man; but for him I should have been dead ere this."
"But you were fighting with him."
"The fight was a private matter, my lord. I ask you for his liberty as a
special favour. I will give my word that he will never lift up his hand
against the king's true subjects."
"I like not to refuse you anything, Trevanion," said Boscawen, "you
rendered such signal service. Well, if the fellow will give his word
that he will in no way help the Pretender's cause, I will for your sake
set him at liberty."
"Aye, I will promise, gladly," cried Benet; "I hate the whole business."
"Then you are free," said Boscawen.
"Good!" cried Benet, "and, by Heaven, I love you, Trevanion; I love you!
And I have your promise. Another time?"
"Yes, another time."
He took his sword, and laughed a great laugh. "It is well," he said; "I
love you for a man, and you are more worthy of the maid Nancy than I."
He left then, and a few seconds later was lost in the darkness, for by
this time the beacon fire began to burn low.
Of all that was said during the next half-hour I have but little
remembrance. Many questions were asked me which I answered as well as I
was able, and many things I heard which I was but little able to
understand, for my mind was sorely exercised as to what had become of my
dear maid. After a time, however, I was able to get a word with Hugh
Boscawen alone, when I told him of what Otho Killigrew had said.
"We will go thither," he cried; "I myself will accompany you to the
house. If we be quick, we shall be able to capture this fellow. He at
least will be a valuable prisoner."
So as quickly as possible we set out for Restormel, but so anxious was
I that I fretted and fumed at the delay in starting and the slowness of
our journey.
Morning was breaking when we reached Restormel, and the sight of the
house set my heart beating fast for joy, for I hoped that soon I should
hold my love in my arms again. But sore disappointment was in store for
me. We found the house empty save for Adam Coad and his wife. Neither of
them knew where Nancy was. All the old man could remember was that they
had heard a noise in the house, and when they had searched for his
mistress she was nowhere to be found.
Again I remembered Otho's words, and then my overtaxed nature yielded to
the continuous strain; I felt my blood grow cold and head grow dizzy.
After that all became dark to me.