CHAPTER XI
The Psychology of cowardice
SINCE that first strange hour of the King’s revelation, Gamaliel Hooker had sat in his chimney-side, except for the few brief minutes in which he had done his Majesty’s behests. Very naturally, in the first shock of the King’s appearance his wits had deserted him. An event of such magnitude had never happened in his life before.
It was not likely to happen in it again.
Presently, with the King upstairs out of the way, and his generous potations to strengthen him and to calm his nerves, the landlord’s wits strayed back slowly, one at a time. To think that the King should come in the guise of a serving-man, and that he should be such a blind fool as not to recognise him when he came! And ye gods, to think what sacrilegious hands he had laid upon the royal person! To think how roughly, not to say angrily, he had addressed him! Gamaliel never came so near being a sensitive man, as in the first horrified five minutes of his returning faculties.
These were the secondary thoughts which occupied his mind at first. But soon there were others. As he sat sipping his liquor and ruminating over the events of the morning, he felt them dimly to be shaping themselves. They were gradually coming forward. And they would have to be grappled with and considered on their merits. The landlord stiffened the fibres of his brain for the task.
One fact came uppermost. It would assert itself; it refused to be blinked. Now that the King was indeed here in his inn, the utmost must be made of him. For was there not to a poor man a fortune in the royal person? To some people it might seem distasteful to sell the King; yea, even to him, Gamaliel Hooker, when he thought of it in cold blood, it did not seem a pleasant thing. It would have its compensations, though.
If, however, the King was to be taken in his house, he must act at once. He would be hardly likely to tarry. And yet he might. As Will Jackson, he had already stayed two days. He was probably waiting for his friends. Still, it would be by no means safe to count upon his remaining. There was yet one drawback to sending for the soldiers. When they came they would most certainly take away the wounded cavalier as well as the King. And Gamaliel had not yet had time to deprive him and his wife of their money and jewels. That was indeed a fly in the ointment. In a sense, it considerably lessened the price upon the head of the King.
Still, it would be folly to risk losing the King’s price for the sake of a sum paltry by comparison. He would dearly like to grasp every penny. It was his nature; but in attempting to do so, he must not throw away the substance for the shadow. With a sudden access of resolution he called for his son.
“Joseph,” he said, in his lowest tone, “do you saddle the tit this minute. I want you to ride right away to Woolden Magna, and ask for Captain Culpeper at Master Parkin’s farm. You know it well. ’Tis on the top of Woolden Hill, overlooking the sea. And when you see Captain Culpeper, you are to whisper in his private ear: ‘The King, Charles Stuart, is at the “Sea Rover”; do you come at once.’”