Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
'Say on, Rowland. I owe thee something for long and faithful service.
An' I can, I will.'
'Give me the roundhead's mare that I may the better find her master.'
For Lady was still within the walls. The marquis could not restore her,
but neither could he bring himself to use her, cherishing the hope of
being one day free to give her back to a reconciled subject. But alas!
there were very few horses now in Raglan stalls.
'No, Rowland,' he said, 'thou art the last who ought to get any good of
her. It were neither law nor justice to hand the stolen goods to the
thief.'
He sat silent, and Rowland, not very eager, stood before him in silence
also, meaning it to be read as indicating that to the wars except on
that mare's back he would not ride. But the thought of the marquis had
now taken another turn.
'Thou shalt have her, my boy. Thou shalt not rust at home for the sake
of a gouty old man and his claret. But ere thou go, I will write out
certain maxims for thy following both in the field and in quarters. Ere
thou ride, look well to thy girths, and as thou ridest say thy prayers,
for it pleaseth not God that every man on the right side should live,
and thou mayst find the presence in which thou standest change suddenly
from that of mortal man to that of living God. I say nothing of
orthodoxy, for truly I am not one to think that because a man hath been
born a heretic, which lay not in his choice, and hath not been of his
parents taught in the truth, that therefore he must howl for ever. Not
while blessed Mary is queen of heaven, will all the priests in
Christendom persuade me thereof. Only be thou fully persuaded in thine
own mind, Rowland; for if thou cared not, that were an evil thing
indeed. And of all things, my lad, remember this, that a weak blow were
ever better unstruck. Go now to the armourer, and to him deliver my will
that he fit thee out as a cuirassier for his majesty's service. I can
give thee no rank, for I have no regiment in the making at present, but
it may please his majesty to take care of thee, and give thee a place in
my lord Glamorgan's regiment of body-guards.'
The prospect thus suddenly opened to Scudamore of a wider life and
greater liberty, might have dazzled many a nobler nature than his. Lord
Worcester saw the light in his eyes, and as he left the room gazed after
him with pitiful countenance.
'Poor lad! poor lad!' he said to himself; 'I hope I see not the last of
thee! God forbid! But here thou didst but rust, and it were a vile thing
in an old man to infect a youth with the disease of age.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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