"Zounds! it's that young renegade, Trevor! He mustn't escape,
gentlemen. All after him!"
Down went tankards and flagons, dashed to the ground, spilling the wine
they had not time to drink; and off all set, swords drawn, and spurs
buried rowel deep.
The common men, save those cumbered with prisoners, joined in the
pursuit; some unslinging lances or firelocks, others plucking pistols
from their holsters.
"Shoot!" shouted Lingen. "Bring him down, or the horse!"
It was the critical moment for the fugitive, and in modern days would
have been fatal to him. But the old _snap-hans_ and clumsy horse pistol
of the Stuart times were little reliable for a shot upon the wing, and
as a winged bird Saladin was sweeping away. Both volley and straggling
fire failed to stay him; and ere the pursuers were well laid on, the
pursued was at least fifty lengths ahead of the foremost.
Up the hill, towards Hereford, was he heading! This a surprise to all.
In that direction were only his enemies; and he could as easily have
gone off in the opposite, with hope of getting to Gloucester. At
starting he had even to pass the group of officers under the tree. And
why setting his face for Hereford--as it were rushing out of one trap to
run into another?
He knew better. Fleeing to the capital of the county was the farthest
thing from his thoughts. His goal was Monmouth; but first the forking
of the roads on the shoulder of Acornbury Hill. That reached, with no
_contretemps_ between, he might bid defiance to the clattering ruck in
his rear.
The distance he was so rapidly gaining upon them told him he had not
been mistaken about the superior qualities of his steed. If the latter
should show bottom as it already had heels, his chances of escape were
good. And the omens seemed all in his favour: his own horse so oddly
restored to him; the luck of that ring left un-pilfered during his
imprisonment; and, lastly, to have come unscathed out of the shower of
bullets sent after him! They had whistled past his ears, not one
touching him or the horse.
He thought of these things when far enough ahead to reflect; and the
farther he rode the greater grew his confidence. Saladin would be sure
to justify his good opinion of him.
And Saladin seemed to quite comprehend the situation. He at least knew
his real owner and master was once more on his back, which meant
something. And having received word and sign for best speed--the first
"On!" the last a peculiar pressure of the rider's knees--he needed no
urging of whip or spur. Without them he was doing his utmost.
Up the pitch went he as hare against hill; up the channel-like trackway
between escarpments of the old red sandstone that looked like artificial
walls; on upward, breasting the steep with as much apparent ease as
though he galloped along level ground. No fear of anything equine
overtaking him; no danger now, for the pursuers were out of sight round
many turnings of the road; the hue and cry was growing fainter and
farther off, and the stone which marked the forking of the routes would
soon be in sight.
Eustace Trevor's heart throbbed with emotions it had long been a
stranger to, for they were sweet. He now felt good as sure he would get
off, and to escape in such fashion would do something to restore his
soldierly repute, forfeited by the affair of Hollymead. Nothing had
more exasperated him than his facile capture there; above all, the light
in which a certain lady would regard it; but now he could claim credit
for a deed--
"Not done yet!" was his muttered exclamation, interrupting the pleasant
train of thought, as he reined his horse to a sudden halt.
He was approaching the head of the pitch, had almost surmounted it, when
he saw what seemed to tell him his attempt at escape was a failure; all
his strategy, with the swiftness of his steed, to no purpose. A party
of mounted men, just breaking cover from among some trees, and aligning
themselves across the road. At the same instant came the customary
hail,--"Who are you for?"
The dazzle of the sun right before his face, and behind their backs,
hindered his seeing aught to give a clue to their character--only the
glance of arms and accoutrements proclaiming them soldiers. And as no
soldiers were like to be there save on the Royalist side, to declare
himself truthfully, and respond "For the Parliament," would be to
pronounce his own doom. Yet he hated in his heart to cry "For the
King." Nor would the deception serve him. They coming on behind would
soon be up, and lay it bare.
He glanced to right and left, only to see that he was still between high
banks of the sunken causeway. On neither side a possibility of scaling
them to escape across country. It was but a question, then, to which he
should surrender--the foe in front, or that he had late eluded?
There was not much to choose between them; in either case he would be
returned to the Sheriff of Hereford; but to cut short suspense he
decided on giving himself up at once. The road was blocked by the party
of horse, and, weaponless, to attempt running the gauntlet of them would
be to get piked out of his saddle, or cut to pieces in it.
These observations and reflections occupied but an instant, to end in
his responding,--
"For the Parliament?"
He might as well make a clean breast of it, and tell the truth.
"We see you are. Come on!"
Surprised was he at the rejoinder as at the voice that gave utterance to
it, which seemed familiar to him. But his surprise became astonishment
when the speaker added, "Quick, Trevor! we're in ambuscade;" and drawing
nearer, the sun now out of his eyes, he saw that well-known banneret,
with sword-pierced crown in its field, waving above the head of Sir
Richard Walwyn!