Crown and Sceptre Part 55

"They must have a fool for leader."

"Ah!" sighed Fred, as he strained his ears to catch every word and sound from outside.

But the landlord was wrong. The king's regiment of horse had no fool for colonel. On the contrary, he had suddenly woke to the fact that a regiment of Ironsides on his left, and another on his right, were trying to get round him by short cuts, so as to head him back to the regiment in pursuit; and, what was more, he saw that there could be no doubt of the success of the manoeuvre.

With a gallantry that almost approached recklessness he faced round his regiment, and in the full intent of attacking his enemies, corps by corps, he gave the order to charge, and dashed right at the pursuing regiment.

This movement resulted in bringing the engagement well within view of the spectators in the loft, or rather, it should be said, of the spectator; for, as soon as the landlord's daughter saw that a deadly shock was inevitable, she covered her face with her hands, stepped down from beside her father, and fell upon her knees in the straw close to where Fred lay.

"G.o.d help them, poor men!" she murmured. "How horrible it is!"

Then there was a painful silence within that straw-spread loft, while without there was a rus.h.i.+ng sound, as of two great torrents hurrying to meet, and above this came the jingling of sword and spur, the hoa.r.s.e shouting of words of command; then the brazen blare of trumpets, followed by a distant cheer; then one more near; and then one horrible, cras.h.i.+ng, hurtling noise, as man and beast dashed at man and beast, and came into collision. There was the clash of sword upon sword, of sword upon helmet, and again of sword upon breastplate. Yells of pain, wild shrieks, shouts of defiance, and then one confused din, broken by a loud "Hah!" from the landlord.

"Polly," he cried, "it's awful! Ah, here comes another regiment, and-- yes, here comes the other!"

Almost as he spoke, came the sound of another shock, and then of another, followed by desperate clas.h.i.+ng of steel, which grew less and less and less, and then gradually died out, to be followed by a dull, low murmur, and then silence, which lasted only a few moments, to be succeeded by a series of deafening cheers.

"Is it all over, father?" whispered Polly, with hands over her face.

"Yes, my girl," said the landlord, in a sad voice; "it is all over for the poor fellows."

"Who have won, father?"

"What's the use of asking that? What could you expect, when it was three to one? Plenty of killed and wounded, and not a man escaped.

Yes; there they are, two or three hundred of them, and all prisoners."

"Will they bring the wounded here, father?"

"I don't know, Polly. Where are we to put them, if they do?"

"Ah!" sighed the girl, rising and wiping her eyes, "it is very dreadful, and I nearly swooned away when they brought the first wounded men here; but I must be about and ready to help when they come. They'll want all we can do."

She smoothed down her ap.r.o.n in a calm, matter-of-fact way, and then moved over the rustling straw, as if ready for any duty; but she seemed to recollect something, and came back to where Fred lay.

"It's your side that has won, sir," she said. "You will not be a prisoner any longer, and--"

"Yes?" said Fred, for she stopped short.

"You heard what my father said, sir? You know he likes the Royalists, and if he fought would fight for the king?"

"Yes, I could see all that from his manner. I had no need to hear his words."

"But he is so good and kind, sir. He would not hurt a hair of any man's head. You will not betray him to the soldiers, sir, and let him be treated as a spy."

Fred was conscious that the girl was talking to him, but her words seemed to be coming through a thick mist, and she looked far away somewhere down a long vista of light, which stretched right away into s.p.a.ce, beginning upon the straw where he was lying, and pa.s.sing right out through the end of the loft. And there, within this vista of light, surrounded by dancing motes, was the landlord's daughter. Then, as if a thin filmy cloud had pa.s.sed over the sun, a cloud which grew thicker and thicker, so that the broad beam of light gradually died away, the pleasant young homely face grew less and less distinct, and, lastly, all was confused and mingled with singing noises and murmurs in his head, and then--a complete blank.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

DISCOVERING THE TRAITOR.

When Fred came to himself, he was no longer lying upon straw, but upon a comfortable bed, in a clean, white-washed room. It was evening, for the sun seemed to be low, and sending a ruddy glow through the open window.

For a time he felt puzzled, and wondered why he was there; and as he tried to collect his thoughts, and the memory of the fight which he had heard came back, it seemed as if it was all a dream.

But no; that was no dream. Tramp--tramp! tramp--tramp!--the heavy march of an armed man. It was a sentinel going to and fro beneath the window sure enough; for the footsteps sounded faint, grew gradually louder, as if pa.s.sing close to the window, became gradually fainter, and then grew louder once more, and this over and over again.

At the same time that he was listening to this, he became aware of a peculiar scratching noise close by, but until in his heavy drowsy state he had settled in his own mind that it was a sentinel, he could not pay any heed to the scratching.

By degrees he recognised the sound as being that of a pen, and knew that some one was writing, and just as he had arrived at this conclusion, there was the faint sc.r.a.pe of a chair, a clinking noise such as might be made by the hilt of a sword against a breastplate, and directly after a sun-browned, anxious face was gazing earnestly into his.

"Father!" whispered Fred, feebly.

"My dear boy! Thank Heaven!"

The first sentence was uttered aloud--the second breathed softly.

"How is it with you, Fred?"

"Bad, father, bad," he murmured. "I seem to have no strength left, and--and--and--oh, father," he gasped, as he clung to the hand which took his, "I did--indeed, I did my best."

"Why, Fred, my boy, Fred. Don't--don't take it so seriously as that.

You were overpowered and wounded."

"Yes, father, but you trusted me with the prisoners, and I allowed myself to be out-manoeuvred, and I have disgraced myself."

"What! How?"

"And I did try so hard to do my duty. I wish now I had been killed."

"Fred! My son!"

"Don't be angry with me now I am so weak."

"Yes, too weak, my dear boy," said Colonel Forrester, as he knelt down by the bedside, and pa.s.sed his arm beneath the lad's neck as he kissed his forehead, "too weak to talk about all this. Be silent and listen to me."

Fred answered by a look.

"You think you have disgraced yourself by letting your enemies out-manoeuvre you, and with the prisoners turn the table on your little escort?"

Fred gave another pitiful look.

"That you have disgraced yourself for ever as a young officer?"

"Yes," whispered the wounded lad.

"And that I, your father and your colonel, am angry for what you look upon as a lapse?"

Fred tried to bow his head, but failed.