“To say kings are accountable to none but God, is the overturning of all law and government. For if they may refuse to give account, then all covenants made with them at coronation, all oaths are in vain, and mere mockeries; all laws which they swear to keep, made to no purpose. Aristotle, whom we commonly allow for one of the best interpreters of nature and morality writes that ‘monarchy unaccountable is the worst sort of tyranny, and least of all to be endured by free-born men.’”—Milton.
Towards Christmas the fever abated, but the sufferings of the prisoners from the intense cold were very great. Gabriel, whose vigorous youth had hitherto withstood better than the rest the rigours of the life in the Castle, began now to show signs of all the long vigils he had kept with the sick and the dying, and Sandy, who was really fond of him, watched him with wistful eyes, feeling sure that he would before long succumb.
It was not until Christmas Eve that Aaron’s threat of filling up the gaps was fulfilled. Then, about two o’clock in the afternoon the door was flung open and the gaoler pushed in a young, active-looking man, dressed in mourning attire which had evidently seen hard service.
“Good-day to you, gentlemen,” he said, pleasantly. “I am sorry to add to your number, and fear you will scarcely welcome a new-comer.”
“On the contrary, sir,” said Rawlyns of Marlborough, “though sorry for the evil plight you find yourself in, we are right glad to welcome any visitor who can give us news.” Gabriel made room on his bench for the new-comer, looking with a sense of relief at the well-clad figure, and at the refreshing cleanliness of his ruddy face and well-kept light-brown hair.
“You are a prisoner of war, sir?” he inquired, doubtfully.
“‘Pon my life! I know not what I am,” said the visitor. “Save that I am one Humphrey Neal, burnt out of house and home at Chinnor last summer by the Royalists, and since then a wanderer. To-day, having business to see to in Oxford I rode into the city, and was promptly arrested as a spy.”
“Are you for the Parliament?” asked Rawlyns.
“Well, sir, I have never meddled with matters of State, and have thought more of hawking and hunting than of politics; but it is true that since the wanton destruction of my house, the robbery of all my live stock, and the devastation of my crops I bear no good-will to the Royalists.”
“I heard of the burning of the village of Chinnor from my friend, Captain Heyworth,” said Gabriel. “It was, if I remember right, on the night before Colonel Hampden got his death-wound at Chalgrove Field.”