The young Cavalier was now altogether at the mercy of his older, and as
proved, abler antagonist; knew the latter could take his life, and had
the right, as well as good reason, from the great provocation given him
in that shower of insulting epithets--the latest of them "_Lache_!" For
all, he quailed not, neither made attempt to elude the next thrust of
the 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 cost
me an effort--all my skill. Had you been an ordinary swordsman I'd have
disarmed you at the first pass after engaging. I've done it with
others, half a dozen or more. With you, 'twas just as much as I was
able, 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 neither
of us _murdered_ the other, am I to say `Surrender'?"
He still spoke laughingly, but without the slightest tone of satire, or
show of exultation.
"You can command it," promptly responded the vanquished youth, now
doubly vanquished. "I cry `Quarter'--crave it, if you like."
It was no fear of death made him thus humbly submit, but a sudden
revulsion, an outburst of gratitude, to a conqueror alike merciful and
generous.
Ere this their attendants had got upon the ground, seeming undecided
whether to pitch in with their masters, or cross swords on their own
account. Both had drawn them, and waited but word or sign, scowling
savagely at each other. Had it come to blows between the men, the
result, in all probability, would have been as with their masters; the
Cavalier's lightweight varlet looking anything but a match for the
stout-bodied, veteranlike individual who was henchman to his antagonist.
As it was, they had not resolved themselves till the combat came to an
end. Then hearing the word "quarter," and seeing signs of amity
restored, they slipped their blades back into the scabbards, and sate
awaiting orders.
Only one of them received any just then--he the heavy one.
"Dismount, Hubert," commanded his master, "and return his weapon to this
young gentleman, who, as you can testify, well deserves to wear it. And
now, sir," he continued to the young gentleman himself, "along with your
sword let me offer you some apologies, which are owing. I admit my
words were rather rough, and call for qualification, or, to speak more
correctly, explanation. When I said, that the man who is not a
Republican must be deficient either in head or heart, I meant one who
has 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 you
hear 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 just
come back from the Low Countries, where I've been fighting a bit. In
better practice from that, with my hand still in, which may account for
my having got the better of you," and he again laughed lightly.
The young Cavalier protested against the generous admission, and then
went 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 the
capacity of gentleman-usher."
"And now? But I crave pardon. It is rude of me to cross-question you
thus."
"Not at all, Sir Richard. You have every right. After being so frank
with me, I owe you equal frankness. I've given up the appointment I
held at Court, and am now on my way home--to my father's house in
Monmouthshire."
"Your father is--?"
"Sir William Trevor."
"Ah! now I can understand why your blood boiled up at my strenuous
defence of the Parliament--the son of Sir William Trevor. But we won't
enter upon politics again. After blows, words are inadmissible, as
ungracious. Your father's house is near Abergavenny, if I remember
rightly?"
"It is."
"That's good twenty-seven miles from here. You don't purpose going on
there to-night?"
"No; I intend putting up for the night at Monmouth."
"Well, that's within the possibilities; but not with daylight, unless
you 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 having
got the better of you."
At this both smiled, the young Cavalier, as before, refusing to accept
the complimentary acknowledgment.
"A pity," ran on Sir Richard, "to press the poor animal farther to
night--that is, so far as Monmouth. It's all of ten miles yet, and the
road difficult--pitches up and down. You should rest him nearer, by way
of reward for his noble performance of the day."
"Indeed, I was thinking of it; had half made up my mind to sleep at
Coleford."
"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 in
the Forest. No wonder, from the way Sir John Wintour has been behaving
to them since he got the monopoly grant of what his Majesty had no right
to give--rights that are theirs. Their blood's up about it, and just
now to appear in the streets of Coleford dressed as you are, cavalier
and 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's
no need for your doing one or the other."
"If you describe these Coleford fellows aright, how can I help it, Sir
Richard? 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 or
deer-stealer. I'll give them a fight first."
"And that fight might be your last--likely would, Master Trevor. But
no. You've fought your way _into_ the Forest so gallantly, it behoves
him 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 at
Monmouth or Coleford, and be my guest for the night."
"But where, Sir Richard? I did not know that you had a house in the
Forest."
"Nor have I. But one of my friends has; and I think I can promise you
fair hospitality in it--by proxy. Besides, that little hole I've made
in 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 other
inducements that might help in deciding you--as, for instance, a pair of
pretty faces to see. But coming from the Court of Queen Henriette, with
her galaxy of grand dames, perhaps you've had a surfeit of that sort of
thing."
The young courtier shifted uneasily in his saddle, a slight blush coming
over his cheeks, as though the words rather gave him pain.
"If not," continued Sir Richard, without heeding these indices of
emotion, "I can promise to show you something rare in the way of
feminine beauty. For that I'll back Sabrina and Vaga against all your
maids of honour and court ladies--the Queen included--and win with
either."
"_Sabrina! Vaga_! Singular names! May I ask who the ladies are?"
"You may do more--make their acquaintance, if you consent to my
proposal. You will?"
"Sir Richard, your kindness overpowers me. I am at your service every
way."
"Thanks! Let us on, then, without delay. We've yet full five miles of
road before us, ere we can reach the cage that holds this pair of pretty
birds. _Allons_!"
At which he gave his horse the spur, Trevor doing the same; and once
more the two rode side by side; but friendly now--even to affection.