“Am I to surrender, Master Roy?” said the old fellow, bitterly.
“Yes, Ben; it is all over now.”
The hilt of a sword was thrust out as the old soldier held it to the officer by the blade.
“Shake hands with that, sir,” he said, bitterly. “I’m a king’s man still.—Forward!”
This to his brave companions; and as they marched slowly out and gave up their arms, a tremendous roar arose from all assembled in the court-yard.
It was no derisive cry, no jeer at the conquered, but a full-throated cheer of admiration for the brave little party, blood-stained, bandaged roughly, three of them hardly able to keep their feet; and Roy’s heart once more swelled within him in spite of his despair, for he noticed in the gloom that the officer in command took off his helmet as the men marched by into the court; and then, as he replaced it, he said quietly to Roy—
“All this is not necessary, sir.—Quick, one of you; untie this gentleman’s hands.”
For the first time that night, Roy felt giddy and sick with pain. But he roused himself directly, for Master Pawson came up, and spoke quickly in a low voice to the officer, who replied coldly, and with a ring of contempt in all as he said, loudly—
“Of course, sir,” he said, “in some things, by the terms of your bargain, you are master here of the place and the estate. All that the Parliament desires is the destruction of the castle as a stronghold; but as to the garrison, that is another thing. We shall hold the place for a time, and while I await further orders the prisoners will be my charge.”
He turned to give some orders, and the secretary turned to Roy.