XVI
Of Our Flight from That Neighbourhood
Now, when he had brought us into a place of safety, and had seen us lodged in somewhat more comfortable fashion than that we had lately enjoyed, our deliverer sat himself down before us and looked at us with a severe countenance.
“Gentlemen,” said Ben, “you have truly brought misfortune upon yourselves, if not upon others. Did I not tell you that you would get sore heads if you strove to further the King’s cause in this place? Was I not right? For sore heads you have, if I mistake not; and as for me, here I am helping ye to sneak out of my neighbour’s cellar as if we were all thieves.”
“Peace, thou chattering knave!” said Jack. “Thieves, indeed! Why, Master Ben, what does this mean?”
“Like thieves, I said, Jack. Alas! you do not know what risks I am running, for the folk here are so bitter against Strafford and the Star Chamber that they would never buy of me again an it were known that I am a Royalist. For a Royalist I am, lads, if I am aught.”
“Dear lad,” said I earnestly, “be whatever you please, Royalist or Roundhead, but at present, for the love of Heaven, give us something to eat and drink, for we are nigh famished. At least,” I added, “I am, whatever my companions are.”
“Famished am I,” said Jack. “Hast got by any chance, Ben, a meat-pie? A meat-pie—with eggs, hah? And ale, Ben—a large can of ale.”
“Why,” said Ben, scratching his left ear as if the matter perplexed him, “I dare say I could find something of that sort, but, lads, how shall I hide your presence from my household? There are two ’prentices upstairs that might perhaps keep the thing secret, but the housekeeper—alack, she would noise it abroad in a moment, and then where should we all be?”
“Show me the way to the pantry,” said Jack. “Let me fend for myself.”
“Why,” said Ben, still scratching his ear, “if you could put up without forks and plates, and could all drink out of one horn—”
“Good Ben,” said Jack, “only produce the food and drink, and we will show thee what we can do without. Man, ’tis twelve hours since bite or sup passed these lips.”
Thus adjured, Ben went softly away to visit his larder, and erelong returned bearing a huge pasty of meat and a great jack full of ale, at sight of which Jack’s eyes glistened exceedingly, as no doubt did my own also. And after that there was silence for a space, during which our jaws made up for what our tongues lacked. As for myself, I was as hungry as a hunter, and felt greatly relieved when I had eaten and drunk. Then, too, I felt my spirits revive, and longed to meet the mob once more by whose overpowering numbers we had been beaten down and forced into the magistrate’s cellar.
“Ah!” said Jack, having swallowed the last mouthful of ale from the can, “I am myself once more. After all, there is naught like food and drink for setting a man up again. Master Lisle, how is it with you?”
“My head rings, Jack, my head rings yet. There is a lump the size of a hen’s egg on the back of it. However, let us be thankful. We have escaped, thanks to worthy Master Tuckett here.”
“Gentlemen,” said Ben, “I want no thanks, ’Twas well for you I knew the little secret. But now, lads, what are you going to do?”
“Do! Ride home at once,” said I.
“Ride home? But they have placed your horses under lock and key.”
Now, we had never thought of what might become of our horses, and when Ben gave us this news we looked at each other in amazement. Philip Lisle, indeed, jumped to his feet as if he would at once go forth to release his own animal.
“Perdition seize them!” said he. “I am naught without my horse, old as he is. He and I have had many a narrow shave, and have escaped all dangers. Where have they stowed our horses, Master Tuckett?”
“Nay,” said Ben, “they are where you left them—at the Peck of Malt, but master landlord has had orders to give them to nobody save a magistrate’s man. Under lock and key they are at this moment.”
“Oh!” said Philip Lisle, “an that be all, we shall not have much trouble in releasing them. If you, Will, can show me the ins and outs of the place, I will engage to have them under us in half an hour.”
“And where will you go then?” asked Ben.
“To Dale’s Field,” said I.
“Better not at present,” said he. “For I heard tonight that they have sent there to search for papers, and it might go ill with you to present yourselves there. They have some mighty grievance against you, Master Lisle, and indeed I heard certain persons swear that you should hang ere two days went by, which God forfend, for ’tis a poor death.”
“Bah!” said Philip Lisle. “The rope is not spun, good Ben, that will hang me. However, Will, what Ben says is good. Let us absent ourselves for awhile from this part of the country and return later on. What say you; and you, Jack, what have you to say?”
“I am good for anything,” said Jack. “It matters not to me whether we are here or there.”
“But what shall we do about those at home?” I inquired. “How can we leave them? Who knows, indeed, what may have happened already?”
“Nay, man, let them search for what papers they will. They will find naught at Dale’s Field, either of yours or mine. And I will not believe that Englishmen will cause trouble to innocent women. When they find naught they will go away and leave the house in peace.”
“But they will not leave you in peace,” said Ben, “for I heard that they were determined, being strong Parliamentarians, to put a stop to your recruiting tactics, Master Lisle. So therefore I say—take yourselves to some safe place for a season.”
“To the King’s camp!” said Philip.
“Agreed,” said Jack. “Come, Will, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let us with Master Lisle to the King and see what we can do there. You can return soon if you think it well.”
Now, my blood was somewhat heated by the exciting adventure of the day, and I felt mightily inclined to fall in with Philip Lisle’s counsel. I knew that Ben Tuckett would see to the safety of my mother and sister and of Rose Lisle; and as to the farm, my mother and Jacob Trusty would manage that. However, I did not anticipate any trouble in our neighbourhood, for I felt sure that matters would soon settle themselves, seeing that we were not fond of war and liked trading and moneymaking mightily better.
“Well,” said I, “then I will go with you, but I shall hold myself free to return homewards whenever I please. But now, gentlemen, there are our horses to consider. Are we to leave them where they are, and if so, how are we to get away on foot?”
But it was out of the question that we should leave the horses. Philip Lisle, indeed, would not have left Caesar for all the gold of Peru, and as the other two beasts were mine—one of them my own mount and the other lent to Jack—I did not feel inclined to surrender them to people who had no right to their custody. So we immediately set to work making some plan whereby we could rescue the three animals from the stable where they were secured.
“I am not fond of fighting,” said Ben Tuckett, “but I am a rare hand at a plot. Gentlemen, hearken to me. Jack, you know the house that lies amongst the trees, ’twixt here and Carleton, at the corner of the lane leading from Baghill?”
“Truly,” said Jack; “old Master Hull lives there.”
“That he doth not, because he is dead this three weeks, wherefore the house is shut up and desolate. Now, Jack, I will let thee out through my garden here at the back, and you must take Master Lisle across the fields beneath Friars’ Wood and lie by that house until Will and I bring the horses to you, which I promise you we will not be long in doing. And now, friends, you shall have another mouthful of ale and then away.”
Now, our task in getting easily away from Ben Tuckett’s house was a light one, for those ancient houses in the Marketplace have long outbuildings and gardens in their rear, and at the foot of them is Southgate, and beyond that there lies a stretch of open country, dipping down into a valley and then rising again until it reaches the village of Carleton a mile away. Across the garden and fields it would be easy enough to steal unobserved, and thereafter we should have no difficulty in riding away. To secure our cattle, however, was a difficult matter, for they were lodged at an inn which stood right in the heart of the town, and were, therefore, hard to come at. Nevertheless we were determined not to leave them without a struggle.
Presently, then, Ben conducted Jack Drumbleforth and Philip Lisle out through his rear premises and set them across the fields to the house lately occupied by Master Hull. A fairly dark night it was by good chance, and therefore gave us all the better prospect of escape. It was past midnight when Ben came back from letting them out at the rear gate, and everything was quiet as the grave.
“Now, Will,” said he, “we will go out by the same way, for it will not do for me to unbar my front-door at this time o’ night. Let us pass round the town to Church Lane and there see how the land lies.”
So we stole forth, climbing more than one garden wall in our desire to keep concealed from the sight of any who might be about at that hour, and presently we got round to the north side of the Marketplace and went quietly up the narrow lane that leads to St. Giles’ Church. In this lane were the stables which held our beasts, and as the lane itself was paved with rough boulders it was quite impossible to bring them out by that way.
Arrived in front of the stables we held a council of war. There was evidently no one on guard; they had contented themselves with locking the horses in a separate stable. Our work, then, was to find some means of picking the lock and afterwards getting the animals out without awakening the people of the inn.
“This is the stable,” said Ben, whispering with his lips close to my ear. “I sent one of my ’prentices round when I heard they had seized your horses, and bade him find out which they were confined in. This it is—the door next to the great water-butt.”
“But how shall we pick the lock, Ben?”
“I have the necessary implements under my cloak.”
“But once inside, how can we bring out the horses without noise? Their feet will raise a clatter on these cobbles.”
“I am not sure,” said Ben, “but I have an idea that from this stable there is a door into a fold beyond. If it be so we can get away easily, Will. But if not—why, we must chance cobblestones and everything and ride for it!”
While Ben spoke he had pulled out a great chisel, with which he forced out the staple to which the padlock was attached in the stable-door, so that we entered very easily, and presently stood by the horses, who were quiet and peaceful, as though they knew themselves to be in prison.
“ ’Tis as I thought,” said Ben, “there is a door that leads into the fold. From the fold there is a gate opening into the fields. There is another lock gone, anyway. And now, Will, let us get the beasts out. There is manure in this fold right up to the stable-door, so none will hear if we walk a troop of horses across.”
Now, my own two horses, knowing my voice and the touch of my hand, came readily enough with me, and I had them out of their stalls and in Ben’s hand in the fold in a moment; but Caesar, who was never harnessed by any other hand than his master’s, was somewhat frightened, and trembled as I strove to pacify him, so that I grew anxious lest he should make a stir and bring down the landlord and his men upon us. However, by dint of coaxing and free use of his name I got him out of the stable and led him myself across the fold, Ben following with the other two horses. And presently we were out in the open fields, where we both mounted, I leading Caesar by his bridle, and Ben riding Jack’s horse. Caesar was plainly frightened and suspicious, for he knew that his master was not with him, and would now and then stop and listen as he went along, so that our progress was interrupted continually. It was necessary, too, to make a long round in getting to the appointed meeting-place, for we had to skirt the town, passing round Tanshelf and the high ground over against the Priory, before we came to the lonely house where Jack and Philip waited for us. Then indeed there was much rejoicing ’twixt Philip Lisle and his horse—nay, they could not have understood each other better if they had spoken a common tongue.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Ben, “I will go back and leave you to your own devices. Will, if thou goest to the war, I will see to the women at Dale’s Field. Make thy mind easy on that score. Jack, if thou seest fighting, remember thy old tricks. And so farewell, friends all, and God send ye good fortune and a safe return.”
And therewith he gave us a clasp of the hand and vanished into the darkness, while we, clapping spurs to our animals, set out in the direction of Dale’s Field, riding past Carleton and climbing the lower part of Went Hill, so that we might the sooner strike into the North Road.
Now, when we came to the old familiar homestead, and could just make out its roofs and gables in the darkness, a great wave of feeling came over me that I should do wrong to forsake it and those whom it sheltered. It was my duty after all to stay there and defend it and them. And so I turned my horse’s head to the orchard gate and drew rein.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “ride on and leave me here. I cannot go with you and leave all I have in these troublous times. It is best that you should go, but not that I should go with you. Go on therefore and let me stay.”
“You are right, Will,” said Philip Lisle, after a pause. “Yes, it is best that you should stay and that we should go. You shall hear of us soon. Take care of Rose, Will. And so, farewell.”
I grasped his hand and promised, and then gave my hand to Jack, who squeezed it between his own.
“Goodbye, Will,” said Jack. “I wish thou hadst gone with us, but ’tis best not, considering the women. Well, perchance we shall get news of thee. Farewell.”
And so they rode away, and I, standing at the orchard gate, heard the sound of their horses’ feet dying into silence far off along the road.