TIDINGS AT MONKSFIELD
So Merrylips was perched on the saddle in front of Claus Hinkel. And
for the first half mile that she rode, she wondered what would happen
to her, now that she was left in the care of the man whom she so
distrusted.
For the next half mile she had a new fear. What if Claus should
recognize her as the little maid that he had seen at Larkland, and tell
every one that she was no boy? But she must have been wholly changed by
eighteen months of time and the boy's dress. Though she held her breath
and waited to hear Claus tell her secret, hers and Munn's, he said not
a word.
By this time Merrylips and Claus had worked their way through the mass
of men with whom they had left Storringham. They had now caught up with
the vanguard, which had marched out of the village an hour before them.
With the van went the creaking wains and the herd of cattle. Over all
hung a cloud of dust that shone in the light of the setting sun.
Soon the sun had sunk in a red smear of cloud behind the hills to
westward. Over the brown fields that lay on either hand the twilight
fell. In the hollows and where the road wound beneath trees it was
quite dark. Merrylips could see the men and horses round her only
as dim shapes in the blackness. But all the time she could hear the
padding of hoofs on the road, the jingle of bits, the squeak of stirrup
leathers, and the heavy breathing of horses and of men.
From time to time, too, she heard sharp orders from Lieutenant Crashaw,
who rode at the head of the troop, and low mutterings that passed
from man to man. They were moving slowly, because of the darkness and
because of the cattle and the wains, which could not be hurried. She
felt that all were uneasy at this slowness, and then she herself became
uneasy.
After what seemed a long, long time the moon broke through the clouds
and flung black shadows on the road. They moved a little faster now.
Presently they passed through a straggling village that lay along a
brook. No lights were burning in the cottages, and many of the doors
stood open to the night wind. From the talk of the men about her
Merrylips guessed that the Cavaliers had served this village as they
had served Storringham, later in the morning, and that in fear of their
return the village folk had stolen away.
In all the length of the village they heard no sound, except the dreary
howling of a dog, far off in the darkness. They saw no human creature,
until they came to a little bridge, by which they must cross the
stream. There, on the parapet, a lean man in fluttering rags sprang up
and mowed and gibbered at them.
"Hey! Go bet!" he cried, in a shrill voice that showed that his mind
was empty. "Whip and spur! Whip and spur! Hatcher of Horsham will learn
ye better speed. Ride, ride, ye robbers! Ye'll never outride Hatcher
and his men."
One of the troopers that rode near to Merrylips swung his carabine to
his shoulder. For the first time in her life she heard a shot fired in
anger. She bit her lip not to scream. But the crazy man was not hurt.
He leaped from the parapet, and before another shot could be fired
was out of sight among the shadows of the bushes that grew along the
brookside.
Lieutenant Crashaw came pushing to the spot and soundly rated the man
that had fired. Then he turned his horse to the rear, and trotted away
down the moon-lit road.
From that time Merrylips could not help glancing over her shoulder
every now and then. She wondered what might be happening in the rear.
And with all her heart she wished that Munn were at her side, or even
Stephen Plasket.
They had left the village well behind them, but they still were
following the road along the brook. Then, above the creak of the wains
and the clatter of the horses' feet, Merrylips heard a sound that
made her think of the beat of heavy hailstones on the leaded panes at
Larkland.
"Hark 'ee!" said Claus to the trooper beside him.
"Ay," said the latter.
He turned in the saddle to listen. All the while the spatter of the
hailstones sounded through the night.
"The fat's i' the fire now," said the trooper. "'Tis yonder at Loxford
village, and a pestilence place for an ambuscado!"
The corporal who was left in charge of the squadron came riding then
along their line, with sharp orders. Promptly the men fell silent. They
closed their ranks, and with little rustlings and clickings looked to
their primings and loosened their swords in their scabbards.
Still the hailstones spattered in their rear. Merrylips knew now that
she was listening to the crack of carabines. Through all her body she
began to tremble.
The rest of that strange night she remembered dimly. They rode on and
on, in a tense silence. They flogged forward the wain-horses and the
cattle, and some of them they had to leave behind. They met a great
body of horsemen who were friends, sent out to help them. They came
to a vast pile of buildings, set apart in a field, where there was a
sheet of water that gleamed dully in the moonlight. They rode through
an arched gateway, past sentries, into a big courtyard, where torches
were flaring. Merrylips knew then that at last they had come in safety
to Monksfield.
She felt herself lifted from the saddle, and stood upon a bench against
a stable wall.
"Stay ye there, master," she heard Claus say. "Cornet Venner will
speedily be here."
For a weary while Merrylips stood there, and watched the crowd. The
courtyard was choked with frightened cattle and horses, and men that
tried to clear the press, and officers that shouted orders. But she
seemed to be unnoticed by them all.
She was very tired with riding all day long. She was frightened, too,
at the strangeness of the place in which she stood, and troubled at
Munn's not coming. If she had not promised her brother to be brave, she
felt that she should have cried.
From time to time she shut her eyes. She was so tired! Once, as she
did so, she reeled and almost fell off the bench. Then she grew afraid
that she might fall and be trampled on by the cattle, so she left the
bench and crept into a shed that stood close by. There she sat down on
a truss of straw to wait for Munn. When he did not come, she thought it
no harm to lie down. She could wait for him just as well lying down as
sitting, and she was very tired.
It might have been minutes later, or hours later, when Merrylips woke
up. It still was night, and the torches were burning, but the courtyard
now was cleared of cattle. She sat up in the straw, and at first she
scarcely knew where she was, or how she came there, or anything, except
that she was lame and tired and cold.
Then she saw, standing over her, a man who must have wakened her.
She rubbed her eyes and looked again, and now she saw that it was
Lieutenant Crashaw. He wore his doublet bound about his neck by the two
sleeves, and his left hand rested bandaged in a sling.
For a moment she stared at him, and wondered, for she had not
remembered him like that. Then she came to herself.
"Where's Munn?" she asked. "Where's my brother?"
"My l-lad," said Crashaw, gravely, "thy b-brother is not here, nor will
be here for l-long."
Then, while Merrylips stared speechless into his haggard face and
seemed to see it far off, Crashaw went on:--
"The Roundheads from Horsham--C-Colonel Hatcher and a troop of
dragoons--set upon our rear at L-Loxford village. And one of our
troopers, Plasket, had his h-horse shot under him. And thy b-brother
like a g-gallant fool, reined up to take the f-fellow up behind him.
And so the rebels c-closed with him. And so, my l-lad, we had to leave
thy b-brother and the trooper, Plasket, p-prisoners in the hands of the
enemy."