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BOOK: Georgette Heyer
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  He was out of breath, and dishevelled, his florid, handsome face reddened by exertion; and, without wasting time on ceremony, he grasped the King's arm. 'Leave that, sir! In another minute they will be in! Your servants are holding the door! You must come at once!'
  'Yes,' the King said. 'Yes, I'll come. One more, Duke! Blow up the flame!'
  The last document flared up the chimney. Darcy scrambled up from his knees, stammering: 'Your gear – your jewels!'
  'Oh, Duke!' The King began to laugh.
  Wilmot flung open the door, and pushed the King through it. 'The back way! They wait for you there.'
  To judge by the confused din coming up the well of the staircase from the ground-floor, the fight was by this time concentrated about the entrance to the house.
  'Quick, sir! For God's love, will you be quick?' Wilmot hissed. He thrust the King towards the narrow backstairs, but suddenly pulled him back again. 'No, wait! I'll go first: they may have got round the house by now!'
  He pulled his sword out of the scabbard, and went swiftly but cautiously down the twisting stair. The King caught Darcy by the hand, who seemed as though he would remain heroically to guard the rear, and followed him.
  Talbot, Lauderdale, Armourer, and Hugh May were all gathered about the back-door, and there was as yet no sign of a Republican soldier to dispute the King's escape. Talbot fetched a great sigh when he saw the tall, graceful form emerge from the house, and pressed forward immediately, leading the grey horse. 'Up, sir! Already we've stayed too long. Leslie will have marched out through the St Martin's Gate. We must follow him hard.'
  'O God!' burst from the King. 'Flight! I
must
rally them. They
shall
follow me!'
  Talbot, who had a bitter disbelief in the rallying power of men who had retreated, leaving their King to the mercy of his enemies, was silent; but Lauderdale said bluffly: 'Ay, we'll rally them, never fear! But ye'll need to catch them first, I'm thinking. On with ye, sir!'
  The King set spurs to his horse; the little party closed in about him, and, trotting briskly, made its way along the narrow streets to the St Martin's Gate.
  The struggle was now concentrated about Castle Hill, which was still held by Rothes and Sir William Hamilton; and in Friars Street, where the Cavaliers were being driven back with terrible loss towards the Key. As the King's party rode westward, the noise of the fighting became muffled in the distance. No Republican troops appeared to oppose the King's passage; and at six o'clock, in fast-gathering dusk, he galloped out through the St Martin's Gate on to the Wolverhampton Road.
  A mile beyond the town, at Barbon's Bridge, Leslie had succeeded in halting his brigade. With this imposing force of horsemen were also a number of English Cavaliers, who, finding the Scots horse retreating, and the King gone, had escaped in some confusion from the town. When the King rode up, a troop was hurriedly forming under Buckingham to break back into the town, and carry the King out of it in the teeth of his enemies. His arrival brought such a sense of relief to his friends that it was greeted with something like a cheer. He paid no more heed to it than to the salutation of Buckingham, who rode up to him at once, a dozen questions on his lips. A hand motioned that beautiful young man out of the way; the King's eyes were fixed on Leslie's face. He said, with the good-humour that never wholly deserted him: 'You have them well together, General! It is not too late. A surprise attack now –'
  'I have them together, as your Majesty perceives,' Leslie interrupted. 'But I can keep them together only in retrograde movement. I must earnestly beseech your Majesty to abandon any thought of renewing hostili ties.'
  'Did you say
renewing
?' asked Buckingham, honey sweet.
  Leslie ignored him, keeping his gaze on the King. 'Believe me, I feel for your Majesty, but I should be failing in my duty to your person were I to counsel anything but retreat.'
  Those near the King saw his hand tighten on the bridle. For a moment he did not speak, but after a pause he said in a low voice that was unsteady with some suppressed emotion: 'Do you know – do
they
know – that there are men back there in Worcester fighting to cover this shameful retreat?'
  Leslie gave an infinitesimal shrug. 'The men you speak of are not Scots, sir,' he said dryly. 'These know that, at least.'
  'Then you will do nothing?' The King's voice rose slightly. 'You are their General! They know you; they trust you! One word from you – the word you will not give, it seems –'
  'I will give no order I cannot compel my men to obey, sir.'
  The King uttered an impatient exclamation, and wheeled his horse about. Once more he showed himself to the troopers, calling on them by name, cajoling, almost imploring. It was useless; even this temporary halt was not to their liking; and men were already deserting from the ranks.
  'This is not to be borne!' Talbot said under his breath, his heart wrung by the sight of the young King's despair.
  His muttered words reached Lord Derby's ears. A flush had mounted to Derby's cheeks; his lofty brow was frowning; his eyes alight with contempt and a sense of outrage. 'It is not to be borne!' he echoed. 'Scottish scum!' He drove his spurs suddenly into his horse's flanks, and leaped forward after the King.
  Buckingham would have followed, but found his way blocked by Talbot. 'Let be, my lord!' Talbot said. 'You can do no good there.'
  Buckingham checked, but said with a scowl: 'Had I been given the command, these poltroons should have shown a different front!'
  'It is useless to hark back to past grievances,' Talbot replied, curbing a little natural exasperation. The vola tile Duke, though only twenty-four years old, and quite inexperienced in war, had been sulking for days because the King had refused to give the command of the army to him. He had been brought up with Charles, almost like a brother, and enjoyed, besides the gifts of beauty, grace and wit, a greater share of the King's confidence than Talbot thought he deserved. He often presumed on his position and the King's easy temper, but though he looked sulky now, and for a moment obstinate, he did not push past Talbot, but sat flicking his embroi dered gloves against his high boot, and looking angrily in Leslie's direction.
  Wilmot, who had ridden after Derby, came back to join the knot of gentlemen gathered round Talbot. Talbot saw the glint of a tear on his cheek, and moved forward to meet him. 'It's a sleeveless errand, Harry: they won't fight, and every moment that we linger here puts him in danger!'
  'He's distracted,' Wilmot said. 'I have never known him like this before.'
  'Small wonder. This is a crushing defeat. I dare not think on the consequences.'
  Wilmot sighed, but said, pursuing his own train of thought: 'To get him out of the country! There will be a price on his head. Oh, my God, what to do, Talbot? What to do to save that unhappy boy?'
  Talbot was unable to answer, for the King had ridden up beside Lord Derby. In the gloom of twilight it was hard to see his face, half-hidden by the sweep of his hat-brim. He did not speak; nor, when an order rang out, and the brigade began to move northwards again, did he glance towards the ranks of the troopers. He reined in his horse at the side of the road, and remained motionless in the saddle, seeming to heed neither the steady trot of the squadrons passing him, nor the anxious consultation being held by his friends.
  The last of the squadrons had not passed when the thunder of hooves approaching from the south sent hands instinctively to sword-hilts. But the oncoming cavalry was not riding in the orderly formation of Cromwell's victorious troops; the hoof-beats were irregular, approaching at full gallop; in another minute the King's party was lost to view in a sudden swirl of Cavalier horse, and the evening became loud with voices, sharp questions and disjointed answers tossed to and fro in almost indistinguishable babel.
  The troop numbered from fifty to sixty horsemen, who had fought their way out of the town, after the wild turmoil in Friars Street. So great was the confusion in Worcester that the officers could give the King no very sure account of those of his followers who were missing from their ranks. The Roundheads were in possession of the town, but it was thought that the Scots lords were still holding out on Castle Hill, a position sufficiently impregnable to enable them to surrender upon terms. The English defence at the Town Hall had been over come; someone had seen the Duke of Hamilton carried, mortally wounded, into the Commandery. Of Cleveland, Wogan, Carlis, Hornyhold, Slaughter, all engaged in the cavalry skirmish to secure the King's retreat, there was no news. At the end it had been each man for himself; nor, in the dusk and the appalling mêlée, had it been possible to discover who yet lived, and who lay dead in the reeking streets.
  A sob broke from the King; he said wildly: 'We must go back, I tell you! I will not bear this flight! Better dead! Better dead!'
  His words brought about a momentary silence. It was broken by Colonel Blague, who said bluntly: 'The day is lost, sir. We can do but one thing more.'
  The King's eyes lifted eagerly to his face. 'What more?'
  'We can preserve your person, sir, and that, God helping us, we will do.'
  'My person!' the King exclaimed, with an impatient jerk of his head.
  Derby's cool voice interposed. 'Your person, sir, which is to say, our honour. There can be no turning back. Your Majesty knows it as surely as I do.'
  The King turned from him. 'George! Harry!' he said imploringly.
  'Oh, sir, my Lord Derby is of course right: no ques tion!' Buckingham replied.
  Wilmot pushed up to the King's horse, and laid a hand over the ungloved one grasping the bridle. 'Alas, sir, think! What will become of us if you fall into Crom well's hands? All is not lost while you live. Believe me, believe me, my dear master, the worst disaster that can now befall us who love you, and look to you to lead us again, is your death or your capture!'
  The hand was rigid under his, but after a moment the King said in a quieter voice: 'You must forgive me, gentlemen: in truth, I am not myself. Let us go on.'
  The last of the Scottish cavalry had ridden by; the King started after the diminishing squadrons, riding soberly, his cloak drawn round him, and his hat pulled low over his brow. The Lords Talbot and Wilmot joined him, riding one on either side of him; Buckingham, Lauder dale, and the Gentlemen of his Bedchamber closed in behind; and the remainder of the escort fell into some kind of order in the rear.
  Leslie, who had waited to confer with the King and his advisers, ranged alongside the Earl of Derby, and began in his dry, rather expressionless voice to explain the course he thought it proper to pursue. This consisted of an immediate retreat into Scotland, which, little though it might commend itself to one of Derby's proud temper, did indeed seem to be the only thing left to do. Both Buckingham and Lauderdale, who had pressed up close behind the King's companions, accorded the plan their approval, but the King, over whose apparently unattending head the discussion was held, did not utter a word, but rode on, jostled sometimes by the horses on either side of him, but aloof from their riders, his despair a barrier not even Buckingham cared to break through.
  It was agreed that Leslie's itinerary should be followed, with Newport, in Shropshire, for the first objective. Leslie could not but believe that Cromwell would lose no time in pursuing the remnant of the King's army, but he trusted that by forced marches they might be able to reach the border before him.
  He spurred on to join his own officers, leaving the King's friends to talk over his advice. The King's voice, now perfectly under control, but flat-toned, as though drained of vitality by the shattering of his hopes, inter rupted the discussion. 'I will not go back to Scotland.'
  The brief sentence surprised the four persons who heard it into a rather stunned silence. After a moment, Buckingham repeated: 'You will not go back to Scot land?'
  'No.'
  'But – oddsblood, sir, what else remains? You must seek your safety there!'
  'I had rather be hanged.'
  He spoke without passion, but so deliberately that it was evident his mind was made up. The crack of a laugh broke from Lauderdale. 'I warrant ye! But ye are bound to consider your safety, sire – or we for ye, forbye –'
  'I think it absolutely impossible to reach the border. The country will all rise up on us once the news of this day's defeat is known.'
  'Ay, maybe you're right at that,' Lauderdale conceded. 'But we've a matter of three thousand horse with us, I'll have your Majesty to bear in mind.'
  'Men who deserted me when they were in good order would never stand to me when they have been beaten,' Charles replied.
  Lauderdale found nothing to say. Buckingham, who had no reason to share his master's loathing of Argyll and his Covenanters, began to expostulate, but was silenced by the King's saying over his shoulder, with unaccustomed sharpness: 'Peace, George! My mind is made up. I do not go to Scotland.'
  'Then, by your leave, sir, it is time to call a halt!' said Talbot. 'I shall not say you are wrong: indeed, I am with you, but this is a matter for consultation. Mr Lane! Pass the word to halt!'
BOOK: Georgette Heyer
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