“Father!” the captain’s voice spoke, then after an instant’s blank pause ran on: “You do not understand, good sir. He—”
“Will you stand arguing?” There came a noise as of a staff’s being struck upon the floor. “Do I command in this house, son Thomas, or do you? You ruffianly knaves, up with you all!”
They had left him free, Hugh found, and dragging one arm up to his head he lay panting desperately, without strength or heart to move. “Help him to his feet,” the stern voice spoke again. “Or have you done him serious hurt?”
They lifted him up, with gentler handling than they had yet given him, and staggering a pace to the table he leaned against it. He drew his hand across his eyes unsteadily to rub away the black spots that danced before them; he had a blurry sight, then, of the troopers drawn back to the windows, and of the captain and Peregrine, who stood together with half-abashed faces, for in the doorway, leaning on his staff, was Master Gilbert Oldesworth. “Get you back to Kingsford and fight out your fight with the scoundrel who wronged your sister,” he spoke again. “At such a time can you find no better task than to maltreat a boy?”
“If you would only pause to hear how matters stand, sir,” the captain urged, with a visible effort to maintain a respectful tone. “The lad holds the information that shall make us masters of that villain Gwyeth. If he will not speak, though he were twenty times my nephew, I’ll—”
“If he were twenty times the meanest horseboy in the king’s camp, he should not be put to torture beneath my roof,” Master Oldesworth answered grimly. “Come here to me, Hugh Gwyeth.”
Wondering dully why all the strength had gone out of his body, Hugh stumbled across the room and pitched up against the wall beside his grandfather. He noted now that his shirt was torn open, and drawing his coat together he tried to fasten it; his fingers shook unsteadily, and the buttons were hard to find. He felt his grandfather’s hand placed firmly on his shoulder. “I think you have mishandled this gentleman enough to satisfy you,” the old man spoke contemptuously. “Henceforth you will merely hold him as a prisoner taken in honorable war. And I shall myself be responsible for his custody.”
“My good father,” Captain Oldesworth broke out, “I cannot suffer him to pass from my keeping. My responsibility to the state—”
“Will you school me, Thomas?” Master Oldesworth cut him short. “I am neither bed-ridden nor brain-sick that you should try to dictate to me now. But I will advise you, sir, that there are decencies to be observed even in war, and there are those in authority would make you to smart if ever they got knowledge of this you purposed. Lift your hand against my grandson, and this day’s work comes to their ears.”
Then the grasp on Hugh’s shoulder tightened, and submissively he walked at his grandfathers side out into the guardroom. Those loitering there drew back to make way for them, he judged by the sound of footsteps, but he had not spirit even to look up. By the difference of the oak planking of the floors he perceived they were entering the passage that led to the main building, when he felt a firmer grip close on his arm and heard the voice of the Roundhead corporal: “I crave your pardon, sir. The captain bade me see the prisoner safely locked up.”