Notwithstanding Lunsford's assurances--at best rather dubious--the river
could not be crossed at Westbury, without much difficulty and delay.
The large horse-boat had received some damage, and it would take time to
repair it. So Rupert and his following were constrained to keep on to
Framilode Passage, three miles farther up stream.
It would bring them into dangerous proximity with Gloucester; and should
any of Massey's men be raiding down the river, they might find an enemy
in front, even when over it. Still this was little likely, as Massey
was believed to be himself out of Gloucester, operating on the northern
side in the direction of Ledbury. Besides, Walwyn must have had
information of their being at Hollymead, to have drawn him into the
Forest at that time of the night.
Still from behind was the Prince most apprehensive of danger; now
greater by the traverse of flooded tracts that must needs be made before
they could reach the Passage. His failure to get across at Westbury
seemed ominous of evil; and he had grown more nervous than ever. What
if he should fail also at Framilode? Then, indeed, would he have to
risk encounter with the redoubtable Foresters, outnumbering his escort,
as he knew.
Already had they passed across several stretches of inundated ground; at
each the rear-guard being left on the dry land till the main body was
well-nigh through; and then following on to the next. But now one of
longer extent lay before them; more than a mile of road leading on to
the ferry being under water. Still the causeway, or rather where it
ran, could be told by certain landmarks; and these Lunsford, as others
of the escort, was acquainted with. But the flood was high over it, and
the fording must be done cautiously, entailing loss of time. Moreover,
if caught on the narrow way, with no chance of manoeuvring, scarce width
enough for an "about face," any party pursuing would have them at a
disadvantage--almost at mercy.
Greater vigilance would be called for on the part of the rear-guard, its
strength needing to be doubled. And this was done; the Prince, before
taking to the water, himself inspecting it, and giving minute
instructions to the officer in command. It was to be kept in ambush
behind some trees that grew conveniently by; and, should pursuers
appear, they were to be fired at, soon as within range; the firing
continued, and the point held at all hazards, till the last moment of
retreat practicable. If no pursuit, then the guard to follow as before,
at signal of bugle sent back.
Reginald Trevor it was to whom the dangerous duty was assigned; and, as
regarded courage and acquaintance with the ground, no officer of the
escort was better fitted for it than he. None half so well, had his
heart been in the work. Which it was not, but all the other way; for
every movement he was making, every act he had been called upon to
accomplish since leaving Bristol, was not only involuntary on his part,
but sorely against his will. Forced upon him had been the ceremony of
introducing Prince Rupert to the woman he himself loved; and now was he
further compelled to be one of those conducting her to a prison--as it
were to her grave! For, well knew he it would be the grave of her
purity, the altar on which her young life's innocence was sure of being
sacrificed.
In the past, sinful himself, profligate as most of the Cavalier school,
he had of late become a much altered man. That one honest love of his
life had purified him, as such often does with natures like his. And
now a great sorrow was to seal his purification; the object of his love
about to suffer defilement, as it were before his face; and as it were,
with himself aiding and abetting it!
His thoughts were black and bitter, his constrained duties repulsive.
And as he stood by the flood's edge, looking after the escort that had
commenced making way through it, he felt faint and sick at heart.
Nor took he any steps to carry out the commands of the Prince, either by
placing the guard in ambush, or making other disposition of it. So the
men remained in their saddles, exposed on the high ridge of the road,
just as they had come up; receiving but one order from him: that, should
pursuers appear, they were not to fire till he gave the word.
After which he separated from them, and walked his horse back along the
Westbury road; stopping at some fifty paces' distance, and there staying
alone. The soldiers thought it strange, for they had overheard the
instructions given him. But as they were acquainted with his courage,
and could not doubt his fidelity to the King's cause, they made no
remark about his apparent remissness, supposing it some strategic
design.
Yet never was officer entrusted with guard less careful of his charge,
than he at that moment. Caring, but not for its safety; instead,
wishing it attacked, defeated, destroyed, though he himself might be the
first to fall. For still another change had of late come over his
sentiments--a political one. Brought about by the behaviour of Prince
Rupert and his associate crew; which, for some time past, had been a
very career of criminal proceeding. It had inspired Reginald Trevor
with a disgust for Cavalierism, as his cousin Eustace two years before.
Growing stronger day by day, the last day's and this night's work had
decided him. He was Royalist no more, though wearing the King's
uniform. But he meant casting it off at the first opportunity; was even
now blaming himself for not having sought an opportunity since they
passed through Mitcheldean; reflecting whether, and in what way, such
might yet be found.
As he sate in his saddle, listening, glad would he have been to hear
hoof-strokes in the direction of Westbury; to see horsemen approaching,
with the hostile war-cry "For the Parliament?" That might still save
Vaga Powell, and nothing else could. In another hour she would be
across the Severn, and on for Berkeley Castle, whither he must follow.
But with no hope of being able to do anything for the doomed girl. On
the one side, as the other, all powerless to protect her, even with the
sacrifice of his own life. And at that moment he would have laid it
down for her; so much had generosity, love's offspring, mastered the
selfishness of his nature.
An interval of profound silence followed; the only sounds heard being
the screams of wild fowl flying low over the flooded meadows, the
occasional stamp of a restive steed among those of the guard, and the
plunging of nigh two hundred others far off in the water, gradually
becoming less distinct as they waded farther. But, ere long, something
else broke upon the night's stillness, as it reached the ear of Reginald
Trevor, causing him to start in his saddle. There sate he, listening
and vigilant; the sparkle of his eyes proclaiming it no sound that
alarmed him, but one welcome and joy-giving.
A dull pattering as of horses' hoofs--hundreds--making way over soft
ground, or along a muddy road. And so it was, the road from Westbury,
the horses ridden by men in military formation, as the practised ear of
the young soldier told him. But no other noise, save the trample; no
voice of man, nor note of bugle.
Soldiers were they notwithstanding; and pursuing soldiers, led by one
who knew how to carry pursuit to a successful issue. For it was
Walwyn's Horse.
Still at a gallop, their hoof-strokes were quickly nearer, sounding
clearer. For there was no taking up of trail to delay them now. Away
over the white water they saw a long dark line, serried, by a turn in
the route which brought Rupert's following quarter-flank towards them;
saw, and knew it to be that they were after.
At the same time seen themselves by Reginald Trevor, who rode back upon
his guard. But not to inspire it to resistance, nor place it in a
position of defence. Instead, he seemed irresolute, uncertain whether
to make stand or retreat. His men, heavy Dragoons, had unslung their
dragon-muzzled muskets, and awaited the word "Fire!" But no such word
was spoken, no order given. Even when the approaching horsemen were
charging up to them, shouting "For God and Parliament!" even then, no
command from their officer to meet or withstand the charge.
Nor did they then wish it; they saw the assailants were ten to their
one; it was too late, even for retreat. Should he call "Quarter!" they
were ready to chorus it. And just that called he, the instant after, to
a man among the foremost of the charging party--his cousin! Their
swords came together with a clash, Eustace the first to speak.
"At last!" he exclaimed. "At last we've met to keep our promise made.
`No Quarter!' I cry it!"
"And I cry `Quarter'--beg it."
Never dropped blade quicker down from threatening thrust than that of
Eustace Trevor; never was combatant more surprised by the behaviour of
an adversary.
"What do you mean?" he asked, in utter astonishment.
"That I fight no more for Prince, or King. Henceforth, if they'll have
it, my sword's at the service of the Parliament."
"God bless me, Rej; how glad I am to hear you say that! And so near
making mince-meat of one another!"
"Not of one another, Eust. You might have done that with me--may still,
if you feel spiteful."
"Good Heavens! cousin; what has come over you? But I won't question
now; there's no time."
"There isn't. See yonder. Rupert and Lunsford, with the Powells as
their prisoners."
"We know all that. But where are the ruffians taking them?"
"Berkeley first; then Bristol. They're making to cross at Framilode
Passage. It's but a short way beyond."
"They shall never cross it--can't before we come up with them. You'll
be with us now, Rej?"
"I will."
The strange episode, and dialogue, took up but a few seconds' time;
during which Rob Wilde, with a half-score files of Foresters, had
disarmed the unresisting rear-guard. It was now under guard itself, and
all ready for continuing the pursuit.
And continued it was instantaneously; Sir Richard, at the head of his
green-coats, spurring straight into the flood, and on after the red
ones, without further precaution either of silence or concealment. For
he knew they would be seen now.