Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (12 page)

"He's a Protestant and he's not set foot in France these thirty years," Dick retorted. "He'll teach Ram swordplay and also French, which is an elegant tongue, though my own stumbles over it."

But it was the fact that Gaston offered to contribute his half pay that won her over. "Dalesview's never closed to brave men," she conceded then. "Likely we'll grow used to his foreign ways."

When Dick told Ram that Johnson must also be kept under eye day and night, the boy looked unhappy.

"Half the troop's deserted. Father," he complained. "John says their fathers protest this scouting of Captain Edwardes."

Learning the names of the "deserters," Dick snorted: "Jacobites all. We're well rid of 'em. But still scout the captain and Johnson with the lads you have left."

Among Villebonne's few possessions were two fine Toledo rapiers. "My grandfather's. He was a famous swordsman and he taught my father, who taught me. These are blades of beauty—and death."

Hefting one, Dick made it sing through the air. "I needed no lessons to run a saber through an Irish rebel, back in '90, but teach Ram the true art and I'll get him the best steel made."

"When the time's ripe," Gaston agreed. "As yet he's not grown enough to use a full-sized blade, but soon."

He converted a disused barn into a salle d'armes, marking the floor in geometrical patterns, each to teach his pupil the correct posture for thrust, parr}', prime, seconde and the rest. Ram's own miniature sword's point was left bare, but Gaston's rapier tip was

protected by a stout leather button. "Lest you run yourself upon it and so save your adversary the effort of killing you," he explained. "And now, mon enfant, en gardel"

When the boy's wrist grew stronger, Gaston let him use one of the rapiers, although it was almost four feet long. Sometimes Dick would take a turn, cutting and slashing but never able to beat down Gaston's guard. For in the salle, the emaciated Huguenot was metamorphosed into a being of grace and rhythm, whose gay taunts turned Dick red with shame.

"Devil take it!" he would groan. "I've the strength of an ox, but my wrist's bound with lead when I'm against you."

"The wrist must be one with the blade itself, old friend. But the young one, he'll be a swordsman. Also, he has a gift for my language." Gaston's tone changed, became intense. "Long ago in Poitou, I too had a son. He was so small, so innocent. He died, he and his mother, because we would not change our faith at orders of our Most Christian Majesty, Louis! ... I was left for dead—with my dead. Later I escaped, to fight Louis! So, mon cher, permit me to add my love to that you bear for Ram." Eyes wet, he turned away.

Word spread that at Dalesview there was a master fencer, so young sprigs who wore swords but barely knew how to draw them, rode over to watch the Frenchman. Many of them obviously knew Edwardes and some even nodded to the sullen Johnson. But Frank himself showed no interest in fencing, and when Dick said: "In the regiment you used to take on all comers except Gaston, yet ye never draw now," he shrugged languidly.

"He's so old and stiff, I'd beat him easily. But he's mouse-poor and a bout's not worth while without a wager to be won."

Hearing this from Dick, Gaston grew thoughtful. "So! What would he think a good wager?"

"Whatever it is, I'll put up your stake if I have to squeeze the money from my dame's very girdle. If you beat him, maybe he'll be so shamed he'll go and never retum."

Ram's arm felt leaden when at last Gaston called, "Assez.'" and turned to the half-dozen visitors. "Gentlemen, despite our young hero's efforts, I still feel fresh and I'd be honored to have a bout with any of you."

Harry Mostyn, his face adolescently pimpled, stripped off his coat. "Servant, monseer." Though devastatingly bumptious, he barely knew the first elements of fencing and as the bout progressed, his "Touche!" in acknowledgment of a hit became monotonous.

Edwardes drifted in, having just stabled Star. He nodded casually to some of the onlookers. John came in too, having, undetected, followed Edwardes to Bowes and back.

Panting and abashed, Mostyn dropped his point. " 'Sblood, sir, ye've touched me a score of times and I not even under your guard."

Gaston bowed, then appeared to see Frank for the first time. "Here's one who could touch me often. My old comrade is an expert, I assure you. Captain, it would be a pleasure to engage you."

"Bah, I never draw without a wager as spice," Edwardes shrugged, "and you never gamble."

"Forty guineas says you do not touch me one in three."

"Forty, ye say?" Frank took the bait. "Damme, why not?"

"Five to one on the Briton!" someone shouted. "What takers?"

"I!" Dick had just come in. Other bets were offered, all in Frank's favor, which indicated that he was known to more of these rustics than Dick had suspected.

"For the honor of England," Edwardes smiled, stripping to his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. John hurried out and returned with Rob and some farmhands; even Johnson came in.

As Frank was about to draw, Gaston said, "Comrade, I beg you to use one of my blades, which are identical in every way."

Nodding, the other tested each rapier in turn. "Beautiful. Didn't know you owned 'em." He swished his selection to get its feel, then took his stance. "Ready?"

"One moment." Villebonne signed to Ram who, enthralled, was watching his every movement. "Chalk." The boy brought a piece and each contestant covered his button with it.

"Now, monsieur, en gardel"

Each man felt out the other, probing for weakness. Edwardes' technique was good. The crowd grew silent; only the slither of steel on steel and the padding of feet was audible.

"Touchel" Edwardes acknowledged at last, a small chalk mark showing above his right hip. He bit his lip. "One to you."

"Chalk," Villebonne called. Taking it from Ram, he used it again on his button, then raised the blade above his head, left hand touching the protected point. Ram, watching, grew puzzled.

"En garde!"

One chance already lost, Edwardes grew cautious, but his eyes were angry as he lunged, parried and lunged again.

Gaston had been humming a French fighting song, now he threw ironic taunts. "I'm too old for this game, hein? Helas, forty guineas is my whole fortune. Come, win it quickly!"

"I will, i'cod, and I'll warn ye before I deliver the thrust!" Edwardes' fierce attack brought cheers from his backers. Gaston gave ground, but instantly made a riposte. "Near," he admitted.

"Goo it. Captain!" came a shout. "England forever!"

Frank pressed so savagely that he almost drove Gaston out of the circle. The slashing blades seemed to give off sparks.

"Now!" Frank lunged.

Villebonne barely moved his wrist, but the other's stroke missed and the pair came breast to breast—with two foot of steel protruding from the Englishman's back.

"Edwardes!" Before the onlookers understood, even before the luckless man began to sag, Villebonne let go his hilt and used both hands to support him. "Vite, vite! II sest empalet"

"God!" Dick ran up. "Draw the blade, he's hurt bad."

Gaston, easing Frank to the floor, looked up. "II est mortl"

Ram screamed. Captain Edwardes—he'd known him ever since he could remember—dead!

"Back!" Dick blared. Villebonne, seeming dazed, stood clear and it was Dick who, with a hard tug, freed the blade. Frank lay on one side, blood oozing from chest and back, his eyes staring, his mouth open as if he were still shouting "Now!"

"Murder!" Johnson snarled. "Murder, ye French bastard!"

"Enough!" Dick whirled on him, the dripping rapier still in his hand. " 'Twas clear accident." Just below the hilt, he saw then, the blade was ringed by a narrow band of leather. "Frank spitted himself so hard, poor devil, he pushed the point clear through the button."

Men crowded around, examining the weapon. "Fair bout," Mostyn conceded. He stared at Villebonne, his face turning green. "Holy Christ, it might have been me!"

Captain Francis Edwardes, late of Hertford's Foot, was buried in Bowes's churchyard. All who had served in the regiment were there— Villebonne excepted. So were Sir Roger, Mr. Robinson and many of the local gentry, several of whom gave Johnson nods.

Later, Dick took the man aside. "Ye still say it was murder?"

"I've seen many bouts, but none where the button's pierced."

"You've seen many a woman shrink before your pistol, ye scum. I know who held up the York coach. I served years with Frank, but what I did for him I won't for you. Get ye gone out of the Riding. You've your own mount and Star. Go!"

"You're no magistrate to order me away."

"Stay, and ye'll hang in a week. Not only because you're a pad, but because you're a traitor to King George."

Johnson went, leading Star, and without a word to Milkmaid Molly, who hid in the dairy and was still red-eyed the next day.

Since the tragedy, Ram had kept to himself and when, after the funeral, Dick found him in the salle, he seemed dazed.

"Come, lad, you've seen men die before. Had Frank fallen in battle, you'd grieve but not miss your dinner. What ails ye?"

"The button."

"Hey? Why, he spitted himself, button or no, like Gaston's warned you not to. He's not to blame, remember that."

"But that second bout, when he raised his sword above his head, he slipped on a different button with a slit in it. I saw him! Oh, Father, why did he do it?"

"God!" Dick remembered Villebonne's words: ". . . permit me to add my love to that you bear for Ram." He stared down at the unhappy boy. "You'll never know, lad. But Gaston loves ye well, and he'd do as much for you as I would myself."

"Ride like the wind! John, you to Bowes; Rob, you to Gilmonby. Ring the church bells and, damme, don't let anyone stop ye!" Ram snapped out orders as crisply as Dick himself. "And cry Scotland's risen and proclaimed the Pretender king. All old soldiers to report to the major at Mr. Robinson's house. Go!"

As the boys spurred away, he turned Moor and started after Dick, Villebonne, Will and a dozen more, who were taking a short cut to surprise Robinson.

Anstruther's Dragoons were being born.

Two days before a War Office letter authorized Dick to raise a regiment for the defense of the North Riding. And this morning came news that James Stuart's banner had been raised.

Whatever Robinson's pohtics might be, he commanded the local militia, and its weapons and ammunition were stored at his house; so Dick determined that they shouldn't fall into hostile hands.

As his party rode up the avenue toward the great house, Bowes's bells clanged; John had carried out his mission. "No violence, mind," Dick warned, dismounting, "but let no one near the magazine or the armory. To your posts. The rest follow me."

The surpise was complete. Robinson, conferring with a suspiciously large number of his militia officers, was aghast and flung dismay-inspired threats against this Anstruther upstart who dared to question his loyalty and thus invaded his home.

Waving the letter, Dick said he held the King's commission to raise a regiment and arm it from the militia stores. Actually, it gave him no authority to comandeer from the militia, but it did bear the King's own signature and the Royal seal.

Hoping to impress the Robinson womenfolk, young Mostyn chose to play the hero. "Sir, you must answer to me for insulting ladies with your presence," he blustered grandly.

"At your service, bantling," Dick shrugged. "I've swallowed larger helpings than you before breakfast many a time." He turned to Gaston. "Major, you'll second me?" Villebonne bowed gravely,

Mostyn changed color. "I—I meant I'd fight you alone, not in the London style, with seconds."

"Jackanapes, name a friend and Major Villebonne will confer with him. We choose swords."

Feminine squeals showed that Gaston's reputation had spread. "No bloodletting, sirs, I beg," Robinson pleaded, and faced Dick. "Sir, I bow to superior strength. Here are the keys to the munitions."

"We fight, nonetheless. I stand no insults from such witless apes. He's crazed, to challenge a King's officer in the performance of his duty." Leaving in a stunned silence, Dick made for the armory. Ecod, it was good to wear the red again, to command! As for Mostyn, he'd accept challenges from a dozen such every day.

By afternoon he had accepted almost a dozen. For his swift move

had wrecked many plans, and clearly the frustrated plotters hoped to scare him off by the very volume of their challenges.

As the victors escorted carts loaded with weapons and powder homeward, Gaston voiced this thought. Dick grinned sourly. "But I don't frighten. It's well I've exercised with you lately."

"Let me take your place," Gaston urged. "An unlucky thrust and there'll be no Anstruther's Dragoons."

"No. Rather than face you as principal, the whole pack would be off to join the Scots in open rebellion. If the Riding's to be held, they must be brought to heel now."

But after a too brief night's rest, his confidence had oozed. He was forty-five and stiff from wounds. They were all young, strong.

Gaston proffered one of his rapiers. "I'll wear the other and we'll take our challengers on two at a time."

"You bloody-minded old dog," Dick grunted fondly. "But, I don't want their lives, only a httle of their blood."

Once out in the dawn, his stomach chilled. Thrice-damned fool! he told himself, is this the time to risk your hide, just when your life's dream burgeons? He paced the gravel glumly as Will arrived with bandages and lint.

Horsemen debouched from the chestnuts, a whole troop. They came on slowly and, Dick hoped, reluctantly.

" 'Steeth, did I agree to meet so many?" he muttered. "There's a score of 'em. Heigh ho, I'll be stiff in the arm before the end." He recognized Robinson in the lead. "The old fool, he's sixty or more, and I don't recall he challenged me."

Dismounting, the party advanced in a body. It was Robinson who spoke. "Colonel Anstruther, I've the honor to present these young gentlemen to your notice. If yesterday's hot tempers are forgiven, you'll find they'll make stouthearted dragoons."