A month had passed, and the prisoners knew nothing of what was going on
in the outer world. Now and then rumours floated to Roy's ears through
different channels of how matters progressed in the country, but they
were rumours which, Lady Royland pointed out, could not be trustworthy.
One day it would be that the king was carrying everything before him,
and that the rebellion was nearly stamped out; while on another they
heard that the Parliamentarians held the whole country, and the king
hardly had a follower left.
The moat embraced the world of the prisoners during their captivity, and
they knew what went on within its enclosure,--little else.
"We must wait patiently, Roy," said Lady Royland.
"Yes, mother," he replied, with a smile full of annoyance; "we must
wait, but I can't do it patiently. In the old days I could fish and
climb after the jackdaws' nests, and make excursions, and read; but I
can't do any of those things now. I only seem able to think about
escaping."
"Well, my boy," said Lady Royland, sadly--one day when Roy said this for
perhaps the twentieth time, and she looked at him with a pained
expression in her eyes--"I know how hard it must be for a young bird to
beat its wings, shut in by a cage. Escape, then. You may be able to
find your father. But at the least you will be free."
Roy thought of Pawson's words about his father's death, but mentally
declared it was a lie like the other assertion, and burst out into a
mocking laugh, which made his mother look at him wonderingly.
"Escape?" he said. "I say, mother, do you know I've often thought how
easily I could get on to the ramparts, slide down a rope, and swim
across the moat."
"Yes, I am sure you could," she said, eagerly, but with the pain in her
eyes growing plainer. "Well, it would be bitter for me to part with
you, but go."
Roy laughed outright once more.
"Why, you dear, darling, silly old mother!" he cried, flinging his arms
about her neck, and kissing her; "just as if I could go away and leave
you here. I should look a nice young cavalier when I met my father--
shouldn't I?--and he asked where I had left you. No! I'm only
grumbling like old Ben does about being shut up, though General Hepburn
does treat us very well."
"Yes; no gentleman could behave to us with more consideration, my boy."
"But why doesn't father or the king, or some one of his officers, come
and attack this place? All this time gone by, and the general here
seems to hold the country for miles round, and all the gentry are
friendly to him. Do you know Parson Meldew was here yesterday to see
the beast?"
Lady Royland looked at him wonderingly.
"Well, I can't help calling him that. He is a beast, and he lives in a
den. No one seems to associate with him. I believe he hates the
general, but the general told me one day that Pawson was not good enough
to hate."
"Don't mention his name in my presence," said Lady Royland, sternly.
The conversation came to an end, Roy walking off into the court-yard, a
garden no longer, to see a squadron of horse drawn up before starting
upon some reconnoissance.
They rode out to the sound of the trumpet; and as the horses' hoofs
echoed on the lowered bridge, and mingled with their snorting and the
jingle of the accoutrements, Roy felt his heart burn within him, and the
longing to be free grew almost unbearable.
As the drawbridge was raised again, a grunt behind him made the boy turn
sharply, to face the old sergeant, who had come up, his step unheard
amidst the tramping of the horses as they passed over the planks.
"Sets one longing, sir, don't it?" said Ben.
"Ay, it does," said Roy, sighing.
"'Tick'larly at your age, sir. Why, I almost wish my wound hadn't got
well. It did give me something to think about. If I go on with nothing
to do much longer, they'll have to dig a hole to bury me."
"Nonsense, Ben!"
"No, it aren't nonsense, sir; for you see I always was a busy man. Now
there's no armour to polish, no guns to look after, no powder-magazine
to work at, and no one to drill. I'm just getting rusty, right through
to the heart."
"But you've been weak and ill, Ben, and a rest does you good."
"No, it don't, sir. Does t'others good; and thanks to my lady and the
doctor, every one's got well 'cept Sam Donny, whose leg is reg'lar
twissen up like, and as if it would never come straight again. Seems
queer, too, as a wound uppards should affect him so downards."
"Oh, he'll be right when the war's over."
"When it's over, sir? But when will that be?"
"Ah! I don't know, Ben," said Roy, with a sigh. "But there, don't
fret. Take it easy for a bit, and grow strong."
"I am strong, sir. Strong as a horse--but do I look like the sort of
man to take it easy? I've sat on that bench in the sun warming one
side, and turning and warming the other side, till I've felt as if I
hated myself. It aren't as if I could read. Begin to wish I could now,
not as I ever knowed much good come out o' books."
"Why, Ben!"
"Ah, you may say `Why, Ben!' sir, but look what books'll bring a man to!
Look at that there Fiddler Pawson. Shuts hisself up even now, doing
nothing but read, and only comes out o' nights, and goes prowling round
the ramparts like an old black tom-cat. You can often hear the sentries
challenging him."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Roy. "I've heard them challenge some one
when I've been watching the stars."
"What business have you watching the stars o' nights, sir?" said Ben,
sourly.
"Can't always sleep, Ben, for thinking."
"Humph!" growled the man. "Howsoever, sir, I do live in hopes."
"Yes; so do I."
"Ah, not same as me, sir. I lives in hopes o' one o' the sentries
making a mistake some night."
"And shooting him, Ben?"
The sergeant winked, nodded, and rubbed his hands.
"Only wish they'd put me on duty, sir."
"You wouldn't shoot him, Ben, if they did."
"Then I'd save the powder and bullet, sir, and pitch him into the moat,
same as the enemy did a lot of our chaps--all them as didn't jump--but
they all got safe over, I suppose."
Roy began to walk up and down with his companion, passing the other
prisoners from time to time on the wide bench in the corner; while old
Jenk sat on the mossy stone steps at the foot of the sun-dial in the
middle of the court, one arm nursing his sword upon his knees, the other
embracing the lichen-covered pedestal against which he rested his head--
no bad representation of old Father Time taking a nap.
"Wish I could sleep like he does," growled Ben. "Nothing to do. Won't
let me help any way. Tried to have a go in the armoury, but that
sergeant as went through the rat's hole with us grinned at me and turned
me out. Pah! I hate him! He's reg'lar took my job out o' my hands."
"Patience, patience, Ben," said Roy.
"Don't believe there's any o' that stuff left in the castle, Master Roy.
What do you think they're doing?"
"I don't know. What?"
"Got big stones and mortar down in the hole in three places, ready to
build it up. Done it by now, perhaps."
"How do you know?"
"Sergeant told me. Grinned at me and said they didn't mean to have any
one go out that way, nor yet come in at twelve o' clock at night."
"Indeed!" said Roy, to whom this news was troublous, interfering as it
did with sundry misty notions in which he had indulged about retaking
the castle, or all making their escape.
"Yes, sir; that general aren't a bit of a fool. Wouldn't be at all a
bad officer, if he was on the right side. That other chap wouldn't be a
bad sort o' sergeant either, if he knowed his duty to his king and
country. But there's going to be a fight some day 'twix' him and me."
"Nonsense! While we are prisoners we must behave ourselves, Ben."
"Oh, must we, sir? What call's he got to get grinning at me? I'll make
him grin the wrong side of his mouth if he don't look out."
"Yes; you are getting rusty, Ben," said Roy, merrily.
"Then why don't you make some plan, sir?" whispered the old sergeant in
an earnest whisper. "Let's make a bold stroke for it, and retake the
castle. Think of what your father would say if you did. Why, if the
king was to hear of it, he'd be that pleased, he'd send for you to the
palace and make a knight of you at once."
"Poor king!" said Roy, sadly. "Perhaps by this time he has no palace to
call his own."
"And he won't have, unless some of us shows we've got the right stuff
left in us."
At that moment they were passing the sun-dial, and old Jenk started into
wakefulness, rose, shaded his eyes, and stared at Roy.
"That you, sir?"
"Yes, Jenk."
"So it be. How are you, Master Roy--how are you? I've been thinking a
deal about you, sir. Don't you be downhearted; just wait a bit, and
you'll see."
"See--see what, Jenk?"
The old man shook his head and smiled in a cunning fashion.
"You wait, sir, and you'll see," he said; and he sank down again, laid
his head against the pedestal, and went off fast asleep.
"Yes, Master Roy, you'll see, and before many months have gone by," said
Ben, solemnly. "Poor old Jenk! He's been a fine old soldier, and a
true follower of the house of Royland."
"He has, Ben."
"And he's going to be the first prisoner set free."
He gave Roy a meaning look, and they separated, the lad to pass the
other prisoners on the bench, and return their salutes as he went on to
the private apartments and made his way to his own room, to sit down by
the open window to try to think out some way of ending their captivity
by turning the tables on the enemy.
The day was warm, the thinking hard, and at last his brain refused to
work any longer at the task of trying to do an impossible thing, the
result being that Roy suddenly opened his eyes after dreaming that some
people were talking angrily in his room while he slept.
But as he lay back, staring, and seeing that the room was empty, a
familiar and very stern voice came in through the window with these
words, uttered in a perfectly unimpassioned voice, but one which
suggested that against it there was no appeal:
"I have listened to all you had to say, Master Pawson, and all your
complaints. Now, hear me: and you had better take my advice, with which
I shall conclude. In the first place, in accordance with my
instructions, I concluded that iniquitous bargain with you."
"Iniquitous, sir?" cried Pawson, in his highly-pitched voice, which now
sounded quite a squeak.
"Yes, iniquitous. What else do you call it to sell your honour for the
sake of gain? Iniquitous, treacherous; it is all that, but war made it
a stern necessity that we should listen to your proposals. You kept to
your terms; the new government will keep to its bargain. You will
retain the castle and estate, but there was no question of time. I
shall hold this place as a centre as long as we find it necessary. You
can stay here or go till we have left. If you stay, take the advice I
gave you. Go to your room, and stay there always, save when, like some
unclean beast of prey, you come out to prowl at night. For, though your
life is safe, I tell you that there is not a soldier in my force who
does not look upon you with contempt. In future, sir, if you wish to
make any communication to me, be good enough to write."
Roy would have shrunk away, so as not to listen, but these words filled
the room in the silence of that afternoon, and the general's retiring
steps were plainly heard, followed by a low hissing sound, as of some
one expiring his pent-up breath.