"Kyrle has betrayed us. Massey in Monmouth. Large body of Horse--
several hundred--Walwyn's Forest troop, and some of Kyrle's old hands
with the traitor himself, gone out along the Hereford road this morning
before daybreak. Destination not known. Be on your guard."
The informal despatch, which showed signs of being written in great
haste, was without any signature. None was needed; the bearer,
personally known to Lingen, giving further details _viva voce_; while
its contents too truly confirmed the report just brought by the soldiers
from the other side.
Among Cavaliers Sir Henry Lingen was of the bravest, and would not cry
back from any encounter with fair chances. But he was not foolhardy,
nor lacking prudence when the occasion called for it. And there seemed
such occasion now. He knew something of Sir Richard Walwyn and his
Foresters, as also of Kyrle and his following, and what he might expect
from both. They would not likely be out that way unless in strong
force. Several hundred, the despatch said--pity it was not more exact--
while his own numbered less than two. Besides, if the returning
soldiers were not mistaken, twenty of them had been already snapped up;
and the rest would make but a poor fight, if they stood ground at all.
He rather thought they would not now; and so reflecting reined his
unwieldy charger round, and rode back down the pitch, at a much better
pace than he had ascended it.
Picking up all stragglers on the way, he meant doing the same with his
prisoners left at the inn. But before he had even reached it, he heard
hoof-strokes thundering down the hill behind in a multitudinous clatter,
that bespoke a large body of horse coming close upon his heels. So
close, he no longer thought of cumbering himself with prisoners, but
swept on past those at the hostelry in a _sauve qui peut_ flight, their
guards going along, and leaving them there in a state of supreme
bewilderment.
Not long, however, till they understood why they had been so abruptly
abandoned. In less than five minutes after, broke upon their view the
banner of the sword-stabbed crown, and beneath it coats of Lincoln
green, with hats plumed from the tail of Chanticleer, the uniform of the
Forest troop--their own.
In a trice they were freed from their fastenings, and armed with the
weapons taken from the party of Cavaliers that had been caught by the
head of the pitch. Riding their horses, too, after a quick exchange--in
short, everything reversed--then away from their halting-place with
cheers and at charging gallop, no longer prisoners, but pursuers!
Never did the chances and changes of war receive better or more singular
illustration than upon that autumn's morn along the road between
Acornbury and Goodrich. At early daybreak a Royalist host, in noisy
jubilance, conducting a score of dejected captives towards Hereford;
and, before the sun had attained meridian height, a like number of
prisoners going in the opposite direction, under guard of Parliamentary
soldiers!
Some difference, however, in the mode of march and rate of speed: the
former leisurely slow, as a triumphal procession; the latter a hot,
eager pursuit that permitted no tarrying by the way. Nor was there on
the return passage either jesting or laughter; instead, now and then
shouts in stern, angry tone--the demand, "Surrender!" as some fleeing
Cavalier, cursed with a short-winded horse, had to pull up, and call out
"Quarter!"
So on to the gates of Goodrich Castle, into which Lingen, _malgre_ his
indifferent mount, contrived to enter, quick closing them behind.
The pursuit could go no farther, nor the pursuers make entrance after
him. In that strong fortress he might bid defiance to cavalry--even the
best artillery of the time. Famine only had he to fear.
But to so shut him up--so humiliate him--was a triumph for Kyrle, his
ancient foe; and as the latter turned away from the defying walls, the
smile upon his face told how greatly it gratified him. A _revanche_ he
had gained for some wrongs Lingen had done his father; and, now that he
was himself to rule in Monmouth, he had hopes, ere long, to make a real
revenge of it, by razing Goodrich Castle to its foundation stones.