Night had descended over Hollymead. A dark night, too, though there was
no lack of light inside the house or around it. Nearing November the
atmosphere had a frosty feel, and great wood fires were burning in the
wide chimney places of the reception rooms. Without, in the centre of
the courtyard, a very bonfire had been kindled, which sent its red glare
and glow to the most distant corner of the inclosure. Around this were
seated or standing, in every variety of attitude, such of the common
soldiers of the escort as were not upon duty. Carousing, of course.
For the rank and file of the Royalist army, especially that portion of
it which acted under Rupert, followed the fashion of their officers; and
one of the affectations of Cavalierism was to display a superior
capacity for indulgence in drink.
About the house they had found the wherewithal to give them a good
supper, with more than drink enough to wash it down. For when Monmouth
fell into the hands of the Parliamentarians, the Master of Hollymead,
thinking it safe, had done something to restock his pastures, as also
replenish larder and cellars! And once more these were in the way of
getting speedily depleted; the thirsty troopers around the courtyard
fire quaffing at free tap from a cask of ale they had rolled out upon
the pavement; while they bandied coarse jests, told indecent stories, or
sang songs of like character, roaring in chorus.
Inside there was revelry also. Of a less rude kind; still revelry, and
coarse enough, considering that they who indulged in it composed the
_entourage_ of a Prince. In the dining-hall was it being held, around a
table on which stood a varied assortment of bottles and decanters,
goblets and glasses. There had been a repast upon it, that same
dinner-supper; but the dishes and _debris_ of solids had been removed,
and only the drinking materials remained. Nearly a score of guests
encircled it, all gentlemen; and all in military uniform--being the
officers of the escort--not a man in citizen garb seen among them. For
the master of the house was not at the head of his own table, as might
have been expected. Instead, shut up in one of the rooms adjacent; its
door locked, and a sentry stationed outside!
His daughters were upstairs, in their private apartment, from which they
had never come down. Through the window they had seen their father
brought back under guard, as a felon; saw it with indignation, but also
fear. Greater became the last, when told they could not hold speech
with him, or have access to the room in which he was confined. Denied
interview with their own father, in their own house! Inhumanity that
augured ill for what was to come after.
What this might be they could neither tell nor guess. They even feared
to reflect upon it; trembling at every footstep on the stairs. Though
no key had been turned upon them, nor sentry set at their door, they
were as much imprisoned as their father. For the Prince's retinue of
servants filled the house, tramping and roaming about everywhere, and
bullying the family domestics. It was not safe to go out among them;
and the young ladies had locked themselves up, dreading insult, if not
absolute outrage. Even Gwenthian dared not trust herself downstairs,
and shared their confinement.
What did it all mean? Why such change in the behaviour of the Prince,
so late pretending amiability? For his people must have sanction, or
they would not be so acting.
The explanation was simple, withal. Shortly after Rupert's arrival at
Hollymead, a courier, who had followed him from Monmouth, brought
tidings of another Royalist reverse--Chepstow, with its castle, taken or
closely beleaguered. Exasperated by the intelligence, he no longer
resisted the wicked proposals of Lunsford, but gave willing assent to
them. And now, having thrown off the mask, he had determined on taking
the whole Powell family back with him to Bristol. As his prisoner there
he could do with the "bit of saucy sweetness" as it might please him; as
he had done with many other unfortunate women whom the chances of war
had brought within his wanton embrace.
It had been all settled, save some details about the departure from
Hollymead, the time, and the return route. These were now being
discussed between him and the commanding officer of his escort, as they
sate at a side table to which they had temporarily withdrawn, to be out
of earshot, of the others.
"Should we remain here for the night, _mein_ Colonel, or make back to
Monmouth? We can get there before midnight."
"That we could, easily enough, your Highness. But why go by Monmouth at
all?"
"Why not?"
"There are two reasons against it, Prince. Both good ones."
"Give them, Sir Thomas."
"If it be true that Chepstow's lost to us, there may be a difficulty in
our crossing the Wye down there. Or getting over to the Aust passage of
the Severn, with such a weak force as attends your Highness."
"_Gott_! yes; I perceive that. But what's your other reason against
Monmouth way?"
"A more delicate one. To pass through that town with such a captive
train as your Highness will have might give tongue for scandal. The
venerable Marquis of Worcester is rather squeamish; besides not being
your best friend. You know that, Prince?"
"I do know it, and will some day make him sorry for it, the old Papist
hypocrite. But what other route would you have us take?"
"Down through the Forest direct, and across the Severn, either at
Newnham or Westbury. There's a ferry at both places, with horse-boats
enough to take us all over in a trip or two. We may reach Berkeley
Castle before daylight; where, if it be your Highness's pleasure to lie
up for the day, you could enter Bristol on the following night without
all the world being the wiser as to the sort of prisoners we carried
in."
"Egad! your reasons are good. I'm inclined to follow your advice, and
return by the route you speak of. Are you well acquainted with it,
_mein_ Colonel?"
"Reasonably well, your Highness. But Captain Trevor knows it better
than I. He was longer with Sir John Wintour, and is familiar with every
crook and turn of the Forest roads in that quarter. There can be no
danger of our going astray."
"But the night's dark as pitch. So one has just told me."
"True it is now, your Highness. But there'll be a moon this side
midnight, and that will be time enough to start. We can make Berkeley
before morning--prisoners, crossing the Severn, and all delays
notwithstanding. Next night your Highness may sleep in your own bed
within the walls of Bristol Castle, with a sweet creature to share it--
whom I need not designate by name."
"She _shall_ share it!" rejoined the Royal reprobate, in reckless, but
determined tone, his wicked passions fired by the wine he had been
drinking. "And we go that way, Colonel. So see that all be ready for
the route soon as the moon shows her sweet face. Meanwhile, let us back
to our comrades and be merry."
Saying which he returned to the chair he had vacated at the head of the
table, the other along with him; then, grasping a filled goblet, he
called out the Cavalier's orthodox sentiment "The Wenches!" adding,--
"Colonel Lunsford will respond with a song, gentlemen!"
Which the Colonel did; giving that they liked best, with a chorus they
could all join in,--
"We'll drink, drink;
And our goblets clink,
Quaffing the blood-red wine.
The wenches we'll toast,
And the Roundheads we'll roast,
The Croppies and all their kind."
The coarse refrain, with the ribald jests that followed it, could be
heard all over the house, reaching the ears of its imprisoned owner.
Even those of his daughters, more distant, did not escape being offended
by them. No wonder at both having in their hearts, if not on their
lips, the prayer,--"God speed Win upon her errand!"