In the castle field was
encamped an army of six thousand men, a rabble truly, and poorly armed,
many having naught but their tools for weapons, but enthusiasts all,
certain of the righteousness of their cause, prepared to die for the
King they had made and whom they trusted and loved. There was order of a
sort, but it seemed strangely like confusion to the horseman as he
dismounted within the courtyard. Here again a welcome met him, but it
was with difficulty he could get a message carried to King Monmouth.
Would he not see Lord Grey who was in charge of the cavalry, or Master
Ferguson who could tell him all he wanted to know--or Buyse, or Wade,
or--
"Monmouth, blockhead--and Monmouth only," was the angry retort. "And
quickly, or you'll suffer for such laggard service."
He spoke with such authority that there was whispered speculation who
this stranger might be. Perhaps he was the first of those nobles who had
promised to draw swords with them in the great cause. A messenger went
quickly, and soon returned. The King would see him at once.
As the stranger entered the chamber where half a dozen men were
gathered, one man rose and came forward to meet him.
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