Part 54 (1/2)
”What execution-what malignants?” said Cromwell, laying down his knife and fork.
”Those in the prison here at Woodstock,” answered Zerubbabel, ”whom your Excellency commanded should be executed at noon, as taken in the fact of rebellion against the Commonwealth.”
”Wretch!” said Cromwell, starting up and addressing Pearson, ”thou hast not touched Mark Everard, in whom there was no guilt, for he was deceived by him who pa.s.sed between us-neither hast thou put forth thy hand on the pragmatic Presbyterian minister, to have all those of their cla.s.ses cry sacrilege, and alienate them from us for ever?”
”If your Excellency wish them to live, they live-their life and death are in the power of a word,” said Pearson.
”Enfranchise them; I must gain the Presbyterian interest over to us if I can.”
”Rochecliffe, the arch-plotter,” said Pearson, ”I thought to have executed, but”-
”Barbarous man,” said Cromwell, ”alike ungrateful and impolitic-wouldst thou have destroyed our decoy-duck? This doctor is but like a well, a shallow one indeed, but something deeper than the springs which discharge their secret tribute into his keeping; then come I with a pump, and suck it all up to the open air. Enlarge him, and let him have money if he wants it. I know his haunts; he can go nowhere but our eye will be upon him.-But you look at each other darkly, as if you had more to say than you durst. I trust you have not done to death Sir Henry Lee?”
”No. Yet the man,” replied Pearson, ”is a confirmed malignant, and”-
”Ay, but he is also a n.o.ble relic of the ancient English Gentleman,” said the General. ”I would I knew how to win the favour of that race. But we, Pearson, whose royal robes are the armour which we wear on our bodies, and whose leading staves are our sceptres, are too newly set up to draw the respect of the proud malignants, who cannot brook to submit to less than royal lineage. Yet what can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier? I grudge that one man should be honoured and followed, because he is the descendant of a victorious commander, while less honour and allegiance is paid to another, who, in personal qualities, and in success, might emulate the founder of his rival's dynasty. Well, Sir Henry Lee lives, and shall live for me. His son, indeed, hath deserved the death which he has doubtless sustained.”
”My lord,” stammered Pearson, ”since your Excellency has found I am right in suspending your order in so many instances, I trust you will not blame me in this also-I thought it best to await more special orders.”
”Thou art in a mighty merciful humour this morning, Pearson,” said Cromwell, not entirely satisfied.
”If your Excellency please, the halter is ready, and so is the provost-marshal.”
”Nay, if such a b.l.o.o.d.y fellow as thou hast spared him, it would ill become me to destroy him,” said the General. ”But then, here is among Rochecliffe's papers the engagement of twenty desperadoes to take us off-some example ought to be made.”
”My lord,” said Zerubbabel, ”consider now how often this young man, Albert Lee, hath been near you, nay, probably, quite close to your Excellency, in these dark pa.s.sages which he knew, and we did not. Had he been of an a.s.sa.s.sin's nature, it would have cost him but a pistol-shot, and the light of Israel was extinguished. Nay, in the unavoidable confusion which must have ensued, the sentinels quitting their posts, he might have had a fair chance of escape.”
”Enough Zerubbabel; he lives,” said the General. ”He shall remain in custody for some time, however, and be then banished from England. The other two are safe, of course; for you would not dream of considering such paltry fellows as fit victims for my revenge.”
”One fellow, the under-keeper, called Joliffe, deserves death, however,” said Pearson, ”since he has frankly admitted that he slew honest Joseph Tomkins.”
”He deserves a reward for saving us a labour,” said Cromwell; ”that Tomkins was a most double-hearted villain. I have found evidence among these papers here, that if we had lost the fight at Worcester, we should have had reason to regret that we had ever trusted Master Tomkins-it was only our success which antic.i.p.ated his treachery-write us down debtor, not creditor, to Joceline, an you call him so, and to his quarter-staff.”
”There remains the sacrilegious and graceless cavalier who attempted your Excellency's life last night,” said Pearson.
”Nay,” said the General, ”that were stooping too low for revenge. His sword had no more power than had he thrusted with a tobacco-pipe. Eagles stoop not at mallards, or wild-drakes either.”
”Yet, sir,” said Pearson, ”the fellow should be punished as a libeller. The quant.i.ty of foul and pestilential abuse which we found in his pockets makes me loth he should go altogether free-Please to look at them, sir.”
”A most vile hand,” said Oliver, as he looked at a sheet or two of our friend Wildrake's poetical miscellanies-”The very handwriting seems to be drunk, and the very poetry not sober-What have we here?
'When I was a young lad, My fortune was bad- If e'er I do well, 'tis a wonder'- Why, what trash is this?-and then again-
'Now a plague on the poll Of old politic Noll!
We will drink till we bring In triumph back the King.'
In truth, if it could be done that way, this poet would be a stout champion. Give the poor knave five pieces, Pearson, and bid him go sell his ballads. If he come within twenty miles of our person, though, we will have him flogged till the blood runs down to his heels.”
”There remains only one sentenced person,” said Pearson, ”a n.o.ble wolf-hound, finer than any your Excellency saw in Ireland. He belongs to the old knight Sir Henry Lee. Should your Excellency not desire to keep the fine creature yourself, might I presume to beg that I might have leave?”