THE REDEEMED PLEDGE.
Ha! dost thou know me? that I am Lothario?
As great a name as this proud city boasts of.
Who is this mighty man, then, this Horatio,
That I should basely hide me from his anger?
FAIR PENITENT.
Refreshed by their halt at Ely, the soldiers of Dunbarton pushed on
towards "Merry Lincoln," the merriment of whose citizens would
probably be no way increased by their arrival. Marching by the most
unfrequented route to avoid the highway, they pursued a devious path
through fallow fields and frozen lawns, and sought the shelter of
every copsewood.
The level plains of fertile England could oppose but few and feeble
obstacles to the hill-climbing Scots, accustomed from infancy to the
rocky glens and pathless forests of their rugged mountain home;
however they found it necessary to abandon the four pieces of English
cannon, which were spiked and concealed in a thicket, and thus
unencumbered, they hurried on with increased speed.
Walter's heart grew buoyant and gay as the day wore apace, and the
picturesque villages with their yellow thatched cottages and
ivy-covered churches, the old Elizabethan halls and brick-built
manors of Cambridge and Lincolnshire, were passed in rapid
succession. He knew that every pace lessened the distance between
Lilian and himself, and before the sober winter sun descended in the
saffron west, he hailed with pleasure the old town of Crowland, with
its great but ruined abbey, the walls of which were buried under
masses of luxuriant ivy.
Far over the gently undulated landscape shone the purple and yellow
rays of the setting sun; Crowland Abbey, its old fantastic houses and
village spire, on the summit of which the vine and ivy flourished,
and all the winter scenery were bathed in warm light. The Scots were
descending a slope towards the town, when a shot fired by the avant
guard, gave them an _alert_; then the voice of Dunbarton was heard
commanding his brave musqueteers to halt, while Gavin of that ilk
came galloping back from the front.
"My lord earl," said he, "we have seen the glitter of steel above the
uplands yonder."
"Then we have been brought to bay at last. With 6000 horse on our
flanks, it was not likely we would pass the Ridings of Yorkshire
without a camisado. Strike up the Scottish point of war, and let
these knaves show themselves."
The shrill fifes and brattling drums rang clear and sharp in the pure
frosty air, and ere the last note had died away, a body of horse
appeared on an opposite eminence. Their broad beaver hats and waving
feathers, polished corslets and scarlet coats, declared them English.
"'Sdeath," said the earl, "they are Langstone's Red Dragoons, so de
Ginckel's Black Riders are not far off."
"'Tis but a troop of sixty, my lord," said Walter.
"Dost think thee are within range?" asked Gavin, as his grenadiers
began to open their pouches and blow their fuses.
"Scarcely, and we have no ammunition to spare; so if they molest us
not, I freely bid them good speed in God's name."
A single cavalier was now seen to spur his horse to the front, and
after riding along the roadway a few yards, to rein up and fire a
pistol in the air. By the military etiquette of the time, this was
understood to be a challenge to single encounter, or to exchange
shots with any cavalier so inclined.
Full of ardour and youthful rashness, and burning to distinguish
himself, Walter Fenton exclaimed,
"I accept the challenge of this bravadoer; you will permit me, my
Lord Dunbarton?"
"Doubtless, my brave lad, but beware; yonder fellow appears an old
rider; his harness is complete, à la Cuirassier, as we used to say in
France."
"Scaled all over like an armadillo, as we used to say at Tangier,"
added Dr. Joram. "Speed thee, Fenton, and shew the rebel villain
small mercy."
Walter galloped within a few paces of his adversary, who had now
reloaded his pistol. His powerful frame which exhibited great
muscular strength, was cased in a corslet of bright steel, buff coat
and gloves, and enormous jack boots, fenced by plates of iron; his
head was defended by an iron cap covered with black velvet (a fashion
of James VII.,) and was adorned by a single feather; he carried a
long carbine and still longer broadsword. His hair was cut short,
and his chin shaved close in the Dutch fashion. He levelled a pistol
between his horse's ears with a long and deliberate aim at Walter,
whose eye was fixed in painful acuteness upon the little black muzzle
and stern grey eye that glared along the barrel.
He fired!
The ball grazed the cheek plate of Walter's morion. He never winced,
but felt his heart tingle with rage and exultation, as in turn he
levelled his long horse pistol at the Williamite trooper, who was
reloading with the utmost coolness. Walter fired, and with a loud
snort, a strange cry, and terrific bound, the strong Flemish horse of
his adversary sank to the earth, and tore up the turf with its hoofs.
Its brain had been pierced. The rider lost his pistol by the plunge,
but adroitly disengaging himself from the twisted stirrups, high
saddle, and convulsed legs of the fallen steed, he unsheathed his
long sword, and brandished it, crying--
"Vive le Roi Guillaume! come on young coistrel!"
While the cheers of his comrades and a brisk ruffle on their drums
made his heart leap within him, Walter sprang from his horse, and
throwing the reins to Hab Elshender, drew his slender, cavalier
rapier, and rushed to encounter his strong antagonist, but a glance
sufficed to stay his forward step and upraised hand, and to lull the
excitement of his spirit.
"Captain Napier!" he exclaimed, on recognizing beneath the dark head
piece, the stern, unmoved, but not unhandsome features of Lilian's
kinsman, and his rival.
"I told thee, Fenton, we would meet again," said Napier, coldly and
sternly, "and I swore when that hour came to spare thee not. It hath
come, so do unto me, as thou wilt be done by."
"For the sake of her whose name and blood you inherit in common, I
would rather shun than encounter you. Your life--I spared it once."
"Why remind me of that?" said Napier, furiously, while his cheek
reddened. "'Tis better to die than remember that the boldest heart
of the Scots Brigade owes its existence to the favour of a beardless
moppet like thee! bethink thee, man," continued Napier, sneeringly,
"the entail--your sword can break it in a moment; Quentin Napier is
the last of his race, and then Lilian becomes an heiress."
"Away, sir," replied Walter, sadly and calmly, as he dropped the
point of his sword, "you have mentioned the only thing that in an
hour like this, unnerves my hand to encounter you."
At that moment a drum of Dunbarton's beat a charge.
"Hark! your comrades are impatient," said Napier scornfully; "fall
on, you nameless loon, for here shall I redeem the pledge I gave or
die," and swaying his sword with both hands, he attacked Walter with
great fury and undisguised ferocity.
His courage was well met by Walter's address, but his bodily strength
and weight of weapon were far superior, and he pressed on pell mell,
until a deep gash in the right cheek reminded him of the necessity of
coolness. The wound which would undoubtedly have roused another man
to additional fury, had the effect of giving Napier a caution, that
enabled him to parry Walter's successive cuts and thrusts with great
success. Without the least advantage being gained on either side,
the combat continued for three or four minutes, during which the
greatest skill in swordsmanship was exhibited by both cavaliers, in
their attempts to pass each other's points, until a stone in the
frozen turf caught Walter's heel and he was thrown to the earth with
great force. Ere he could draw breath, the captain sprang upon him
like a tiger, and with his sword shortened in his hand, and a knee
pressed upon his breast, he exclaimed in a fierce whisper through his
clenched teeth,
"Now I have thee! now your life is in my hand, but even now will I
spare it, if here before the God that is above us, ye swear for the
future to renounce all hope and thought of Lilian Napier--now, yea,
and for ever!"
"Never!" gasped Walter, panting with rage and shame, for an exulting
shout from the Red dragoons stung him to the soul; "never; by what
title dare you impose such terms on me?"
"By the right of a kinsman and betrothed lover who would save her
from contamination, by becoming the wife of an unknown foundling, a
beggarly varlet, a soldier's wallet boy--ha!" and he ground his teeth.
Walter felt stifled as his corslet was compressed beneath the heavy
knee of his conqueror, and he made many ineffectual struggles to
grasp his poniard, but it lay below him.
"Renounce--renounce! swear--swear!" hissed Napier through his teeth.
"Never, never," groaned Walter.
"Then die!" shouted Napier; and raised his shortened sword which he
grasped by the blade; but endued with new energy at the prospect of
instant death, Walter by a vigorous effort of strength, with one hand
flung his adversary from him and pinning him to the earth in turn,
unsheathed his long dagger, and while labouring under a storm of
wrath and fury, drove it twice through the joints of his shining
gorget, but unable to withdraw it after the second blow, sank upon
his enemy, and they lay weltering together in blood.
"My bitter and my heavy curse be on thee, Walter Fenton!" hissed the
dying Napier through his chattering teeth; "and if thou gettest her,
may the curse of Heaven, and the curse that fell on Jeroboam be
thine! mayest thou die childless, and be the _last_ as thou art the
_first_ of thy race!" He fell back and expired.