“Sir,” says I, “if you will listen to my defence I shall hope to make myself clear to you.”
“You shall have all the consideration that is right,” says he. “So tell us your story, Master Coope, without fear.”
“I am a poor hand at it,” says I, “but this is a plain tale and the truth,” and I pulled my wits together and put the matter plainly before them. I told them how I had lost my horse, how I had chanced to overhear Anthony Dacre’s plot, how I had gone to the Manor House to warn my uncle, and had been trapped there ere I could leave, and how I had contrived to forward the despatch by Merciful Wiggleskirk. “And that,” says I, coming to an end, “is the truth of this matter, wherein, if I have done wrong, it has been for the sake of folk that were dear to me. And, gentlemen,” says I, looking from one to the other, “if there were need I would do it again—and I have no more to say.”
After I had finished none of them spoke for awhile, but at last Fairfax looked at Sands. “I wish,” says he, “that we knew more about this man Dacre and the plot which his kinsman Coope alleges against him.” But Sands shook his head. “’Tis neither here nor there, Sir Thomas,” says he. “What have we to do with plots about carrying off a young woman? Here is Richard Coope confessing, yea, and glorifying himself because of it, that he deserted his commission, and joined himself to his uncle in resisting our warrant. A clearer case,” says he, “I never heard.”
Then the four of them withdrew into another apartment, leaving me there with Stott and the troopers. “Thy foot will not pain thee much longer, young man!” says Stott. “Faith,” says I, conceiving a great dislike to him all of a sudden, “’tis well for you, sir, that I am unable to use it!” And there might have been a pretty row between us but that Sir Thomas and the others came back and took their seats. I glanced at Sands, and knew what was coming.
Fairfax looked at me with some kindness as he began to speak. But there was naught kind about his words. I had deserted my commission, and thereby caused great annoyance to the Parliament; I had joined myself with the Royalists, and had brought about the death of a useful officer, and it was impossible that my serious offence could be overlooked. And so I was to be shot at daybreak of the following morning.
I think I got to my feet and bowed to him when he made an end. And I must have winced with the pain that every movement gave me, for he looked at me with some consideration. “I am sorry that you suffer,” says he. “I will send my surgeon to see to your hurt.” “I am greatly your debtor, sir,” says I. And so we parted with much politeness on both sides, and the troopers helped me out, and presently installed me in a neighbouring cottage, with Merciful Wiggleskirk as a guard, and my own thoughts for amusement.
| Chapter VIII | Of my Surprising Deliverance from Death, my last Meeting with Anthony Dacre, and of certain Notable Passages ’twixt Mistress Alison and Myself. |