Part 47 (1/2)

The altercation brought three more of the guard up to where they stood, and just in time to see Fred's pa.s.sion master him.

”Dog, yourself, you miserable popinjay!” cried Fred. ”Here, Samson!

Another of you--a fresh rope and stake. You must be taught, sir, the virtue of humility in a prisoner.”

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang at the young officer, and seized him by the wrists, but only to hold him for a moment before one hand was wrenched away, and a back-handed blow sent Fred staggering back.

He recovered himself directly, and was das.h.i.+ng at his a.s.sailant to take prompt revenge for this second blow; but Samson already had Scarlett by the shoulders, holding on tightly while the staff was thrust under his armpits, and he was rapidly bound as firmly as two strong men could fasten the bonds.

Fred woke to the fact that his followers were watching him curiously, as if to see what steps he would take now, after receiving this second blow; but, to their disgust, he was white as ashes, and visibly trembling.

”Be careful,” he said. ”Don't spoil his plumage. We don't have so fine a bird as this every day. Mind that feathered hat, Samson, my lad. He will want it again directly. Here, follow me.”

Scarlett burst into an insulting laugh as Fred strode away--a laugh foreign to the young fellow's nature; but his position had half maddened him, and he was ready to do and say anything, almost, to one who, he felt, was, in a minor way, one of the betrayers of his father; while as Fred went on, gazing straight before him, he could not but note the peculiar looks of his men, who were glancing from one to the other.

Fred felt that he must do something, or his position with his men would be gone for ever. They could not judge him fairly; all they could measure him by was the fact that they had seen him struck twice without resenting the blows.

What should he do?

He could not challenge and meet his prisoner as men too often fought, and he could not fight him after the fas.h.i.+on of schoolboys, and as they had fought after a quarrel of old.

Fred was very pale as he stopped short suddenly and beckoned Samson to his side, the result being that the ex-gardener ran to his horse, was busy for a few moments with his haversack, and then returned to where his master was standing, looking a shy white now, and with the drops of agony standing upon his brow.

The next minute Fred had tossed off the heavy steel morion he wore, throwing it to his follower, who caught it dexterously, and then followed closely at his leader's heels.

”Master or Captain Scarlett Markham,” he said, in a husky voice, ”you have taken advantage of your position as a prisoner to strike me twice in the presence of my men. It was a cowardly act, for I could not retaliate.”

Scarlett uttered a mocking laugh, which was insolently echoed by his men.

Fred winced slightly, but he went on--

”All this comes, sir, from the pride and haughtiness consequent upon your keeping the company of wild, roystering blades, who call themselves Cavaliers--men without the fear of G.o.d before their eyes, and certainly without love for their country. You must be taught humility, sir.”

Scarlett laughed scornfully, and his men again echoed his forced mirth.

”Pride, sir,” continued Fred, quietly, ”goes with gay trappings, and silken scarves, and feathered hats. Here, Samson, give this prisoner a decent headpiece while he is with us.”

He s.n.a.t.c.hed off the plumed hat, and tossed it carelessly to his follower.

”And while you are with us, sir, you must be taught behaviour. You are too hot-headed, Master Scarlett. You will be better soon.”

Scarlett was gazing fiercely and defiantly in his old companion's face, hot, angry, and flushed, as he felt himself seized by the collar. Then he sat there as if paralysed, unable to move, stunned, as it were mentally, in his surprise, and gradually turning as white as Fred as there were a few rapid snips given with a pair of sheep shears, and roughly but effectively his glossy ringlets were shorn away, to fall upon his shoulders.

Then he flung himself back with a cry of rage. But it was too late; the curls were gone, and he was closely cropped as one of the Parliamentarian soldiers, while his enemy-guard burst into a roar.

”There, Master Scarlett Markham,” said Fred, quietly, ”your head will be cooler now; and you will not be so ready to use your hands against one whose position makes him unarmed. Samson, the headpiece. Yes, that will do. Master Scarlett, shall I put it on, as your hands are bound?”

”You coward!” cried Scarlett, hoa.r.s.ely, as he gazed full in Fred's eyes; and then again, with his face deadly pale, ”You miserable coward! Bah!”

He turned away with a withering look of scorn, and, amid the cheering of his men, Fred tossed the shears to Samson, and strode away sick at heart and eager to walk right off into the wood, where, as soon as he was out of eye-shot, he threw himself down and buried his face in his hands.