“So you see you gain nothing by setting up your soft young prince as a rival king to yonder hardgrained, unscrupulous, cruel old papist usurper. Our only chance was, not in setting up a doll against the devil, but proclaiming that we had done with kings. See those people,—that row of them on top of the bank; they are shaking their heads, from one end of the row to the other. They say the sweet young king looks very pale—very sad. If they say he looks sulky, they are not far from the truth.”
“It is a pity that he shows his mood in his face so plainly.”
“Or that he does not tell the people what ails him.”
Battiscombe did not reply to this; and Colonel Wade divined the reason.
“O ho!” said he. “The young gentleman is pining for his lady-love, I suppose. Well! I could not advise that fact being made known among the people, unless it were certain that they had never heard of the little wife whom he has thrust out of sight.”
“Let us speak of something else,” said Battiscombe. “His Grace was over young when he was made a husband; and he has since felt himself more or less of an outcast. His real quality will appear when he is firm in his lofty seat. He will show a more steadfast countenance when he once gets to London.”
Meantime, the changes were disheartening and vexatious to his adherents. On the road, a messenger announced that preparations were made at the Duke of Beaufort’s, and at the Earl of Pembroke’s, to march a consolidated royal force down upon the insurgents, while Albemarle was already entering Taunton, rendering return impossible. Monmouth observed that nobody wanted to return to Taunton; but yet the gloom deepened on his countenance. He ordered his new guard to close round him, to give him a little respite from smiling at the people; but the people did not favour the guard, and inquired what his Majesty feared among the Somersetshire folk.
The fact was that Christopher dreaded Reuben, or some one who would take up Reuben’s task; and he had selected and brought together forty of the most spirited young men in the force to be Monmouth’s bodyguard. They did excellent service by their high spirits on this sunny June day,—jesting with the country people, and showing their real longing for a conflict with the Papists, and the slavish Protestants who upheld a Popish king. They had begun to inspirit Monmouth himself by the time he reached Bridgewater; and the welcome he found there caused an elation as manifest as his former depression. Many of the Taunton observances were gone through again; and when Monmouth saw his army, six thousand strong, encamped in the Castle Field, he was disposed to think himself invincible.
He had come forth from the banquet in the castle, to see and be seen; and loud were the acclamations. As he paced the grass at the upper end of the field, while the setting sun cast long shadows from the trees, he declared that this had been the most encouraging day yet. If there was as yet no victory, it was because the enemy dared not meet him. If there was no store of arms here as at Taunton, there were scythes coming in from all the country round; and pikes could always be had where there was a forge and a true-hearted blacksmith. As for numbers, if he could have kept all the hundreds who had been sent away to-day for want of arms, he need not flinch from all the Usurper’s forces united. While he was talking in this way, and his councillors were internally fretting at his bragging strain, his course of thought was effectually changed by the announcement that a messenger,—a gentleman from abroad,—desired an audience. His changing colour did him harm with many whose eyes were upon him. They supposed him afraid of evil tidings; whereas Lord Grey understood that it was the expectation of news from Lady Henrietta which made him red and pale.
“Rid me of these people,” he whispered to Lord Grey. “Let no gentleman remain but yourself; and bring the messenger here.”
“Here! Can your Majesty mean in this open place?”
“Even as I once received you, my Lord, on the open grass, and for the same reason,—that we are secure in such places from being overheard.”
It was necessary to obey; but care was taken to see the messenger before he was permitted to approach Monmouth. There was no fear. It was Emmanuel Florien; and, as it was this old comrade, Lord Grey himself retired out of earshot. When he next approached, Monmouth’s spirits had fled. Lady Henrietta had not arrived, and was not coming just yet, for she had grave news to send. The Prince and Princess of Orange were wrathful beyond measure. This was a matter of course: but they were preparing to forward Dutch regiments,—as many as the King, their father, should desire. Further, they were certainly in no great alarm for the succession of the Princess; for they had offers of fidelity from every leading Whig in England.
“We will make them change their minds,” Lord Grey observed, gaily. “These demonstrations are a matter of course in all wars of succession.”
“True, my Lord,” observed Florien. “But the peculiarity here is, that when his Majesty has conquered the succession for himself, there will remain another war to be fought,—to defend it from the Prince of Orange.”
“All this is nothing new, Florien. Is it possible that Lady Henrietta can have sent you to us to tell us what was equally true before we embarked at first?”
“Not solely for this. I bring some money; and burning words to fire any spirits that may need warming. See,” he continued, in a low voice, glancing towards Monmouth, who was now reading, apart, a letter which flushed his face for the moment; “there are some of those words in that letter, doubtless.”
“And addressed to one who needs them,” said Lord Grey, sighing. “If it were possible,—but it must not be thought of,—if it were possible to have that lady here, her presence would do more for the cause than that of many Whig nobles.”
“She will not come till the road to London is