Crown and Sceptre Part 47

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.

"Miserable coward!" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Yes, he is right. How could I do such a despicable thing!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A CLEVER SCHEMER.

Fred Forrester felt that he had had his revenge--that he had hit back in a way that humbled and wounded his enemy more deeply than any physical stroke could possibly have done; and, as has been the case with thousands before and since, he had found out that the trite old aphorism, "Revenge is sweet," is a contemptible fallacy. For even if there is a sweet taste in the mouth, it is followed by a tw.a.n.g of such intense bitterness that no sensible being ever feels disposed to taste again.

He had struck back fiercely, and bruised himself, so that he felt sore in a way which made him writhe; and at last, when, urged by the knowledge that he must attend to his duty, he rose, instead of walking back to where his men were waiting the orders to continue the route, proud and elate, he felt as if he were guilty and ashamed to look his prisoners in the face.

No sooner, however, was he seen by his men than there was a loud buzz of voices, and he learned what a change had taken place between them, for instead of being welcomed back with sidelong glances and a half meaning look, the soldiers saluted him with a loud cheer, in which sentries and the two outposts joined.

His action, then, was endorsed by his followers, who began laughing and talking merrily among themselves, looking from time to time at the prisoners, among whom sat Scarlett, with his arms upon his knees and his face lowered into his hands.

Fred's first inclination was to go straight to his captive, offer him his hand, and beg his pardon for what he had done; but two strong powers held him back--shame and dread. What would Scarlett say to him for the degradation? and what would his men say? They would think him ten times the coward they thought him before.

It was impossible; so giving his orders stoutly and sharply, the horses were bitted and the girths tightened. The prisoners were then helped into their saddles, and the ends of the ropes made fast after an examination to see that the bonds were secure, and once more they sought the road, the advance guard well to the front, and the relative positions of the early part of the march resumed.

There does not seem to be much in a few snips with a pair of big scissors; but the young leader's use of those cutting implements had completely changed the state of affairs in the little party. For while the guard were merry, and looked in the best of spirits, the common prisoners seemed as if they felt most bitterly the insult offered to their young captain, sitting heavily in their saddles, with their chins down upon their chests, and neither looking to right nor left, while Scarlett Markham gazed straight before him, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng beneath the steel headpiece he now wore. His face was very pale, and his whole form was rigid as he sat there with his arms well secured to the cross staff at his back, and his lips tightened and slightly drawn back from his teeth as he drew his breath with a low hissing sound.

A few hours before, although a prisoner, he had looked the das.h.i.+ng young Cavalier in his scarlet, feathers, and gold, and, in spite of his uniform being stained and frayed with hard service, the lad's mien had hidden all that, and he seemed one to look up to and respect.

Now all was changed: the gay hat and feathers had been replaced by the battered steel morion; the long cl.u.s.tering effeminate curls were shorn away, and the poor fellow looked forlorn, degraded, and essentially an object for pity; his uniform showed every stain, and the places where the gold lace was frayed--and all through the working of a pair of shears among his locks. A short time before the smart young Cavalier, now only Fred Forrester's prisoner--nothing more.

As they rode onward the men commented upon the change aloud; but not half so intently as did Fred Forrester in silence.

The afternoon grew hotter; there was a glorious look of summer everywhere, for nature was in her brightest livery; but to the young leader everything seemed shrouded in gloom, and twice over he found himself wis.h.i.+ng that a party of the enemy would come upon them suddenly and rescue those of whom he had charge.

As they rode on slowly with Fred in the rear, he noted that the two men who formed the advance guard were not in their proper places; and, seeking relief from his torturing thoughts in striving to give the strictest attention to his father's military lessons, he turned to Samson.

"Ride forward and tell those men to advance another hundred yards. They are far too near in case of surprise."

Samson spurred his horse, cantered forward, gave the order, and then halted as the advance guard trotted on for a hundred yards or so.

As the party came up, Samson exchanged looks with his brother, whose lips moved as if he were saying--

"Only just you wait, my fine fellow, and I'll serve you out for this."

But Samson laughed and rode to his old place in the rear beside his captain.

As Samson went by Fred, the latter caught sight of something scarlet, and the colour suggesting his prisoner, he turned sharply upon his follower.

"What's that?" he said.

"Only the young captain's hat, sir."

Fred frowned as he saw that Samson had fastened the grey felt hat with its gay feathers to his saddle, and then glanced forward at Scarlett, whose cropped head was sheltered by the heavy, uneasy steel cap.

"Ride forward," he said, "and give the prisoner back his hat."