But the luck was still against me. Half-way to Naseby I heard the pounding of horses' hoofs coming toward me from the village. The riders were still invisible around a slight bend of the road. Hoping to have a chance to observe them before they saw me, I ran from the road in an effort to reach the shelter of that belt of willows along the trout-stream to my left.
I acted too late, however, and my attempt to hide, failing as it did, was a thing which presently increased the difficulties closing about me like a mesh.
Before I gained the willows there came a shout from the road and a voice commanded me to "Stand!" Had I had my full wits about me I should have risked a shot and run for it, but I came to a standstill when I saw that the leader of the group on the road was no other than Sergeant Okey.
For the moment I suppose I only thought that, next to Jack Bunyan, there was no more friendly acquaintance than Gossip Okey. But then I did not reckon with the sergeant's solemn sense of duty and I did not know—did not think in that moment—that I was already posted a deserter.
"Seize him!" roared Okey. "'Tis the king himself!"
But when Okey saw my face he knew I was not the king, although several moments passed before he recognized me. I had made no resistance when I was surrounded, and now I was the center of a group of dismounted troopers, two of whom held me securely by the arms.
When Okey did recognize me his Puritan morality was shocked into a kind of pious fury. I think the man had had a liking for me. To have heard of me as a deserter, and then himself to capture me under the suspicious circumstance of my cavalier costume, aroused him to no sympathy.
"So there ye are, deserter!" he cried. "And I did think ye an honest lad, only fouled by ill company. But what means this popinjay dress? And ye tried to hide afore ye were accused—an ill sign—like to Adam that had a guilty conscience, wore fig-leaves, and hid in the bushes.
"Aha!" he broke off, a new thought. dawning upon him. "Desarter, did I say? This ha' the look o' worse. Silence!"
I had not uttered a word: I was speechless.
"I will not hear word from thee!" he roared, but adding less sternly: "For thine own sake; for ye are parlous nigh to a rope as 'tis. But 'tis thy just desart for desartin', for bringing shame upon our company. Noll himself shalt be thy judge! Bind his arms there, Staines. Use thy belt, man! Do thee and Bassett there walk atween ye. The rest of ye—mount!"
So, my arms pinioned with Trooper Staines's belt, I was marched ahead of the company into and through Naseby Village and to our camp.
My passage created some stir. The villagers gathered and followed us to the edge of the military zone, and among the curious eyes that fed on me I saw a pair set in the face of Master Lapham, the tinsmith. His gaze met mine for just a second. In that moment I saw a glimmer of understanding of my predicament and, at the same time, fear for himself through his More or less slight connection with Eveleigh Manor.
The tinsmith averted his eyes almost at once and slipped away among the crowd. There was little except sympathy that Master Lapham could lend me. And that brought home to me a fact which momentarily became more evident—that I could look for more sympathy than assistance from any of my friends, even John Bunyan. None but I could explain in my own defense.
The short passage through the camp to Cromwell's headquarters was a more painful ordeal. On all sides I was met by ominous, hard looks, particularly from the comrades of my own immediate company. I had fouled the nest of my brothers-in-arms: I had placed a blot on the colors of Noll's division: I was a disgrace to the Parliamentary army.
I felt the eyes of every man, except one, accusing me; and that one who did not was the man I was most anxious to behold—Jack Bunyan. I did not see him in the number who watched my humiliating return.
Five minutes later I was standing before Oliver Cromwell, in that house which had
