his eyes on the corpse.
“Yes,” said Athos, “by his own nephew.”
“Come, he was the first of us to go; peace be to him! he was
an honest man,” said D’Artagnan.
“Charles Stuart,” said the colonel of the English regiment,
approaching the king, who had just put on the insignia of
royalty, “do you yield yourself a prisoner?”
“Colonel Tomlison,” said Charles, “kings cannot yield; the
man alone submits to force.”
“Your sword.”
The king drew his sword and broke it on his knee.
At this moment a horse without a rider, covered with foam,
his nostrils extended and eyes all fire, galloped up, and
recognizing his master, stopped and neighed with pleasure;
it was Arthur.
The king smiled, patted it with his hand and jumped lightly
into the saddle.
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “conduct me where you will.”
Turning back again, he said, “I thought I saw Winter move;
if he still lives, by all you hold most sacred, do not
abandon him.”
“Never fear, King Charles,” said Mordaunt, “the bullet
pierced his heart.”
“Do not breathe a word nor make the least sign to me or
Porthos,” said D’Artagnan to Athos and Aramis, “that you
recognize this man, for Milady is not dead; her soul lives
in the body of this demon.”
The detachment now moved toward the town with the royal
captive; but on the road an aide-de-camp, from Cromwell,
sent orders that Colonel Tomlison should conduct him to
Holdenby Castle.
At the same time couriers started in every direction over
England and Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was the
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prisoner of Oliver Cromwell.
57
Oliver Cromwell.
“Have you been to the general?” said Mordaunt to D’Artagnan
and Porthos; “you know he sent for you after the action.”
“We want first to put our prisoners in a place of safety,”
replied D’Artagnan. “Do you know, sir, these gentlemen are
each of them worth fifteen hundred pounds?”
“Oh, be assured,” said Mordaunt, looking at them with an
expression he vainly endeavoured to soften, “my soldiers
will guard them, and guard them well, I promise you.”
“I shall take better care of them myself,” answered
D’Artagnan; “besides, all they require is a good room, with
sentinels, or their simple parole that they will not attempt
escape. I will go and see about that, and then we shall have
the honor of presenting ourselves to the general and
receiving his commands for his eminence.”
“You think of starting at once, then?” inquired Mordaunt.
“Our mission is ended, and there is nothing more to detain
us now but the good pleasure of the great man to whom we
were sent.”
The young man bit his lips and whispered to his sergeant:
“You will follow these men and not lose sight of them; when
you have discovered where they lodge, come and await me at
the town gate.”
The sergeant made a sign of comprehension.
Instead of following the knot of prisoners that were being
taken into the town, Mordaunt turned his steps toward the
rising ground from whence Cromwell had witnessed the battle
and on which he had just had his tent pitched.
Cromwell had given orders that no one was to be allowed
admission; but the sentinel, who knew that Mordaunt was one
of the most confidential friends of the general, thought the
order did not extend to the young man. Mordaunt, therefore,
raised the canvas, and saw Cromwell seated before a table,
his head buried in his hands, his back being turned.
Whether he heard Mordaunt or not as he entered, Cromwell did
not move. Mordaunt remained standing near the door. At last,
after a few moments, Cromwell raised his head, and, as if he
divined that some one was there, turned slowly around.
“I said I wished to be alone,” he exclaimed, on seeing the
young man.
“They thought this order did not concern me, sir;
nevertheless, if you wish it, I am ready to go.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Ah! is it you, Mordaunt?” said Cromwell, the cloud passing
away from his face; “since you are here, it is well; you may
remain.”
“I come to congratulate you.”