Part 43 (1/2)
He paused at this e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n; and Everard, desirous at once of knowing how far he stood committed, replied, ”Your Excellency seems to have something in your mind in which I am concerned. May I request you will speak it out, that I may know what I am accused of?”
”Ah, Mark, Mark,” replied the General, ”there needeth no accuser speak when the still small voice speaks within us. Is there not moisture on thy brow, Mark Everard? Is there not trouble in thine eye? Is there not a failure in thy frame? And who ever saw such things in n.o.ble and stout Markham Everard, whose brow was only moist after having worn the helmet for a summer's day; whose hand only shook when it had wielded for hours the weighty falchion?-But go to, man! thou doubtest over much. Hast thou not been to me as a brother, and shall I not forgive thee even the seventy-seventh time? The knave hath tarried somewhere, who should have done by this time an office of much import. Take advantage of his absence, Mark; it is a grace that G.o.d gives thee beyond expectance. I do not say, fall at my feet; but speak to me as a friend to his friend.”
”I have never said any thing to your Excellency that was in the least undeserving the t.i.tle you have a.s.signed to me,” said Colonel Everard, proudly.
”Nay, nay, Markham,” answered Cromwell; ”I say not you have. But-but you ought to have remembered the message I sent you by that person” (pointing to Wildrake;) ”and you must reconcile it with your conscience, how, having such a message, guarded with such reasons, you could think yourself at liberty to expel my friends from Woodstock, being determined to disappoint my object, whilst you availed yourself of the boon, on condition of which my warrant was issued.”
Everard was about to reply, when, to his astonishment, Wildrake stepped forward; and with a voice and look very different from his ordinary manner, and approaching a good deal to real dignity of mind, said, boldly and calmly, ”You are mistaken, Master Cromwell; and address yourself to the wrong party here.”
The speech was so sudden and intrepid that Cromwell stepped a pace back, and motioned with his right hand towards his weapon, as if he had expected that an address of a nature so unusually bold was to be followed by some act of violence. He instantly resumed his indifferent posture; and, irritated at a smile which he observed on Wildrake's countenance, he said, with the dignity of one long accustomed to see all tremble before him, ”This to me, fellow! Know you to whom you speak?”
”Fellow!” echoed Wildrake, whose reckless humour was now completely set afloat-”No fellow of yours, Master Oliver. I have known the day when Roger Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere, Lincoln, a handsome young gallant, with a good estate, would have been thought no fellow of the bankrupt brewer of Huntingdon.”
”Be silent!” said Everard; ”be silent, Wildrake, if you love your life!”
”I care not a maravedi for my life,” said Wildrake. ”Zounds, if he dislikes what I say, let him take to his tools! I know, after all, he hath good blood in his veins! and I will indulge him with a turn in the court yonder, had he been ten times a brewer.”
”Such ribaldry, friend,” said Oliver, ”I treat with the contempt it deserves. But if thou hast any thing to say touching the matter in question speak out like a man, though thou look'st more like a beast.”
”All I have to say is,” replied Wildrake, ”that whereas you blame Everard for acting on your warrant, as you call it, I can tell you he knew not a word of the rascally conditions you talk of. I took care of that; and you may take the vengeance on me, if you list.”
”Slave! dare you tell this to me?” said Cromwell, still heedfully restraining his pa.s.sion, which he felt was about to discharge itself upon an unworthy object.
”Ay, you will make every Englishman a slave, if you have your own way,” said Wildrake, not a whit abashed;-for the awe which had formerly overcome him when alone with this remarkable man, had vanished, now that they were engaged in an altercation before witnesses.-”But do your worst, Master Oliver; I tell you beforehand, the bird has escaped you.”
”You dare not say so!-Escaped?-So ho! Pearson! tell the soldiers to mount instantly.-Thou art a lying fool!-Escaped?-Where, or from whence?”
”Ay, that is the question,” said Wildrake; ”for look you, sir-that men do go from hence is certain-but how they go, or to what quarter”-
Cromwell stood attentive, expecting some useful hint from the careless impetuosity of the cavalier, upon the route which the King might have taken.
-”Or to what quarter, as I said before, why, your Excellency, Master Oliver, may e'en find that out yourself.”
As he uttered the last words he unsheathed his rapier, and made a full pa.s.s at the General's body. Had his sword met no other impediment than the buff jerkin, Cromwell's course had ended on the spot. But, fearful of such attempts, the General wore under his military dress a s.h.i.+rt of the finest mail, made of rings of the best steel, and so light and flexible that it was little or no enc.u.mbrance to the motions of the wearer. It proved his safety on this occasion, for the rapier sprung in s.h.i.+vers; while the owner, now held back by Everard and Holdenough, flung the hilt with pa.s.sion on the ground, exclaiming, ”Be d.a.m.ned the hand that forged thee!-To serve me so long, and fail me when thy true service would have honoured us both for ever! But no good could come of thee, since thou wert pointed, even in jest, at a learned divine of the Church of England.”
In the first instant of alarm,-and perhaps suspecting Wildrake might be supported by others, Cromwell half drew from his bosom a concealed pistol, which he hastily returned, observing that both Everard and the clergyman were withholding the cavalier from another attempt.
Pearson and a soldier or two rushed in-”Secure that fellow,” said the General, in the indifferent tone of one to whom imminent danger was too familiar to cause irritation-”Bind him-but not so hard, Pearson;”-for the men, to show their zeal, were drawing their belts, which they used for want of cords, brutally tight round Wildrake's limbs. ”He would have a.s.sa.s.sinated me, but I would reserve him for his fit doom.”
”a.s.sa.s.sinated!-I scorn your words, Master Oliver,” said Wildrake; ”I proffered you a fair duello.”
”Shall we shoot him in the street, for an example?” said Pearson to Cromwell; while Everard endeavoured to stop Wildrake from giving further offence.
”On your life harm him not; but let him be kept in safe ward, and well looked after,” said Cromwell; while the prisoner exclaimed to Everard, ”I prithee let me alone-I am now neither thy follower, nor any man's, and I am as willing to die as ever I was to take a cup of liquor.-And hark ye, speaking of that, Master Oliver, you were once a jolly fellow, prithee let one of thy lobsters here advance yonder tankard to my lips, and your Excellency shall hear a toast, a song, and a-secret.”
”Unloose his head, and hand the debauched beast the tankard,” said Oliver; ”while yet he exists, it were shame to refuse him the element he lives in.”
”Blessings on your head for once,” said Wildrake, whose object in continuing this wild discourse was, if possible, to gain a little delay, when every moment was precious. ”Thou hast brewed good ale, and that's warrant for a blessing. For my toast and my song, here they go together-
Son of a witch, Mayst thou die in a ditch, With the hutchers who back thy quarrels; And rot above ground, While the world shall resound A welcome to Royal King Charles.