by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER III
THE MEETING WITH JOHN HULL AT CHELMSFORD
John Commendone, Sir John Shelton, and the King of Spain walked up aflight of broad stone steps, which led to the wide-open door of Mr.Peter Lacel's house on the far side of Aldham Common.
It was now about ten o'clock in the morning, or a little after.
As soon as the body of the martyr had fallen into the flames, Sir Johnhad wheeled round upon his horse, and, attended by his men, had trottedaway, breaking through the crowd, who had rushed to the smouldering pyreand were pressing round it. They had gone some three hundred yards on tothe Common at a quick pace.
"I don't like this at all, Sire," Sir John had muttered to the King."The people are very turbulent. It will be as well, I think, that we goto the 'Crown.' It is that large house on the other side of the Common.There we shall find entertainment and refreshment, for I am told it is agood inn by a letter from the Sheriff, Mr. Peter Lacel--whom I hadlooked to see here as was duly arranged."
Then Sir John had stopped suddenly.
"He cometh," he cried. "That is Mr. Lacel with his yeomen," and as theknight spoke Johnnie saw a little party upon horseback galloping towardsthem. Foremost of them was a bluff, bearded country gentleman, his faceagitated and concerned.
"Good Sir John," said the gentleman as he reined up his horse, "I wouldnot have had this happen for much money. I have mistook the hour, andwas upon some county business with two of the justices at my house. Isit all over then? Hath Dr. Taylor suffered?"
"The runagate is stone dead," Shelton replied. "It is all over, and hathpassed off as well as may be, though I like not very much the demeanourof the people. But how do you, Mr. Lacel?"
"I do very well, thank you," the Sheriff answered, "but I hope much, SirJohn, that this mischance of mine will not be accounted to me as beingany lack of zeal to Her Grace."
Shelton waved his hand. "No," he said, "we know you very well, Mr.Lacel. Lack of loyalty will never be put to your charge. But now,doubtless, you will entertain us, for we have ridden since early dawn,and are very tired."
Mr. Lacel's face shone with relief. "Come you, Sir John," he said, "comeyou with these gentlemen and your men forthwith to the Manor. You mustindeed be weary and needing refreshment. But what of yonder?"
He pointed in front of him, and Sir John turned in his saddle.
A few hundred yards away a dense crowd was swaying, and above theirheads even now was a column of yellow smoke.
"There is no need for you there, Mr. Lacel," Sir John replied. "TheSheriff of London and his men are doing all that is needful. I am herewith mine, and we shall all be glad to taste your hospitality after thisbusiness. This,"--he made a little gesture of the hand towardsJohnnie--"is Mr. Commendone, Sir Henry Commendone's son, of Kent,attached to the King's person, and here to-day to report of Dr. Taylor'sburning to the Queen. This"--here he bowed towards Philip--"a Spanishnobleman of high degree, who is of His Majesty's Gentlemen, and who hathridden with us."
"Bid ye welcome, gentlemen," said Mr. Lacel, "and now, an ye will followme, there is breakfast ready in the Manor, and you can forget this nastywork, for I doubt none of you like it better than myself."
With that the whole party had trotted onwards towards the Sheriff'shouse.
The men-at-arms were met by grooms and servants, and taken round to thebuttery. John, Shelton, and the King walked up the steps and into agreat hall, where a long table was laid for their reception.
The King, whose demeanour to his host was haughty and indifferent, spokeno word at all, and Sir John Shelton was in considerable embarrassment.At all costs, the King's incognito must be preserved. Mr. Lacel was aCatholic gentleman of Suffolk, a simple, faithful, unthinking countrysquire, who, at the same time, had some local influence. It would neverdo, however, to let the Sheriff know that the King himself was under hisroof, and yet His Highness's demeanour was so reserved and cold, hisface so melancholy, frozen, and inscrutable, that Shelton wasconsiderably perplexed. It was with a sense of great relief that heremembered the King spoke but little English, and he took Mr. Lacelaside while serving-men were placing chairs at the table, and whisperedthat the Don was a cold, unlikeable fellow, but high in the Royalfavour, and must be considered.
"Not a testoon care I," Mr. Lacel answered. "I am glad to see ye, SirJohn, and these Court gallants from Spain disturb me not at all. Now,sit ye down, sit ye down, and fall to."
They all sat down at the table.
The King took a silver cup of wine, bowed to his host, and sipped. Hisface was very yellow, his eyes dwindled, and a general air of cold andlassitude pervaded him. Suddenly he turned to Commendone, who wassitting by his side watching his master with eager and somewhatfrightened attention.
"Senor," he said, in Spanish, "Senor Commendone, I am very far fromwell. The long ride hath tired me. I would rest. Speak to Sir JohnShelton, and ask this worthy _caballero_, who is my host, if I mayretire to rest."
Johnnie spoke at once to Mr. Lacel, explaining that the Spanish noblemanwas very fatigued and wished to lie down.
The Sheriff jumped up at once, profuse in hospitality, and himself ledthe way, followed by the King and Commendone, to an upper chamber.
They saw the King lie down upon the bed, and curtains pulled half-wayover the mullioned windows of the room, letting only a faint beam ofsunlight enter there.
"Thy friend will be all right now, Mr. Commendone," said the squire."These Spanish gentlemen are not over-strong, methinks." He laughedroughly, and Johnnie heard again, in the voice of this countrygentleman, that dislike of Spain and of the Spanish Match, which his ownfather shared.
They went out of the room together, and Johnnie shrugged hisshoulders--it was absolutely necessary that the identity of the Kingshould not be suspected.
"Well, well, Mr. Lacel," he said, linking his arm within his host's, andassuming a friendly country manner--which, of course, came perfectlynatural to him, "it is not for you and I to question or to make commentupon those gentlemen from over-seas who are in high favour in Londonjust now. Let us to breakfast."
In a minute more they were sitting at the table, where Sir John Sheltonwas already busy with wine and food.
For a few minutes the three men ate in silence. Then Mr. Lacel must havefrom them every detail of the execution. It was supplied him with greatvigour and many oaths by Sir John.
Mr. Lacel shook himself.
"I am indeed sorry," said he, "that I was not at the execution, becauseit was my bounden duty to be there. Natheless, I am not sorry formyself. To see a rogue or masterless man trussed up is very well, butDr. Rowland Taylor that was Rector here, and hath in times past been aguest at this very table--well, I am glad I did not see the man die. Wasa pleasant fellow, could wind a horn or throw a falcon with any of thegentry round, had a good lusty voice in a chorus, and learning muchbeyond the general."
"Mr. Lacel, Mr. Lacel," Sir John Shelton said in a loud and ratherbullying voice, "surely you have no sympathy nor liking for heretics?"
"Not I, i' faith," said the old gentleman at the top of the table,striking the thick oak with his fist. "I have been a good Catholic ever,and justice must be done. 'Twas the man I liked, Master Shelton, 'twasthe man I liked. Now we have here as Rector a Mr. Lacy. He is a goodCatholic priest, and dutiful at all his services. I go to Mass threetimes a week. But Father Lacy, as a man, is but a sorry scrub. He eatethnothing, and a firkin of ale would last him six months. Still,gentlemen, ye cannot live on both sides of a buckler. Poor Roly Taylorwas a good, honest man, a sportsman withal, and well loved over thecountry-side--I am glad I saw not his burning. Certainly upon religionhe was mad and very ill-advised, and so dies he. I trust his stay inpurgation be but short."
Sir John Shelton put down his tankard with a crash.
"My friend," he said, "doth not know that His Grace of London did cursethis heretic? I myself was there and heard it."
The ruffian lifted his tankard of wine to his lips, and took a longdraught. His face wa
s growing red, his eyes twinkled with half-drunkencunning and suspicion.
"Aye," he cried, "I heard it--'And by the authority of God the FatherAlmighty, and of the Blessed Virgin Mary, of St. Peter and Paul, and ofthe Holy Saints, we excommunicate, we utterly curse and ban, commit anddeliver to the Devil of hell, ye that have in spite of God and of St.Peter, whose Church this is, in spite of holy saints, and in spite ofour most Holy Father the Pope, God's Vicar here on earth, denied thetruths of Holy Church. Accursed may ye be, and give body and soul to theDevil. We give ye over utterly to the power of the Fiend, and thy soulwhen thou art dead shall lie this night in the pains of hell-fire, asthis candle is now quenched and put out.'"
As he finished, Sir John knocked over a tall glass cruet of Frenchvinegar, and stared with increasing drunkenness at his host.
Mr. Lacel, simple gentleman that he was, was obviously disgusted at hisguest. He said very little, however, seeing that the man was somewhatgone in liquor, as Johnnie also realised that the stale potations of thenight before were wakened by the new drink, and rising up into Shelton'sbrain.
"Well, well, Sir John," Mr. Lacel replied, "I am no theologian, but I ama good son of the Church, and have always been, as you and those atCourt--those in high places, Sir John," he said it with a certainemphasis and spirit--"know very well."
The quiet and emphatic voice had its effect. Shelton dropped hisbullying manner. He was aware, and realised that Mr. Lacel probably knewalso, that he was but a glorified man-at-arms, a led captain, and not atall in the confidence of great people, nor acquainted with privateaffairs of State. He had been puffed up by his recent association withthe King in his vile pleasures, but a clever ruffian enough, he saw nowthat he had gone too far.
He saw also that John Commendone was looking at him with a fixed anddisdainful expression. He remembered that the young courtier was high inthe good graces of the King and Queen.
"I' faith," he cried, with an entire change of manner--"I' faith, oldfriend Peter, I was but jesting; we all know thou art loyal to Churchand State, their law. Mr. Commendone, I ask you, hast seen a more----"
Johnnie's voice cut into the man's babbling.
"Sir John," he said, "if I were you I would go upstairs and see how theSpanish gentleman doeth."
He looked very keenly, and with great meaning, at the knight.
Sir John pushed his chair from the table. "Spine of God," he criedthickly, "and I was near forgetting His Highness. I will to him atonce."
He stumbled away from the table, pulled himself together, and, followingMr. Lacel's butler, who had just come into the hall, ascended the broadstairway.
Mr. Lacel looked very curiously at Johnnie.
"Sir," he said in a low voice, looking round the hall to see if anyservant were within earshot, "that drunkard hath said more than hemeant. I am not quite the country fool I seem to be, but least said issoonest mended. I have known Sir John Shelton for some years--a good manin the chase, a soldier, but a drunken fool withal. I know your name,and I have met your father at the Wool Exchange in London. We are bothof Catholic houses, but I think none of us like what is going on now,and like to go on since"--here he dropped his voice almost to a whisper,and glanced upwards to the gallery which ran round the hall--"since HerGrace had wedded out of the kingdom. But we must say nothing. Who thatgentleman upstairs is, I do not seek to know, but I tell you this, Mr.Commendone, that, heretic or none, I go to-morrow morning to Father Lacyand give him a rose-angel to say masses for the soul of a good deadfriend of mine. I shall not tell him who 'tis, and he's too big a foolto ask, but----"
The old man's voice caught in his throat. He lifted his cup, andinstinctively Johnnie did the same.
"Here's to him," Mr. Lacel whispered, "and to his dame, a sweet andgracious lady, and to his little lad Thomas, and the girl Mary; theyhave oft sat on my knee--for I am an old widower, Mr. Commendone--when Ihave told them the tale of the babes in the wood."
Tears were in the Sheriff's eyes, and in the eyes of the young man also,as he raised his cup to his lips and drank the sad and furtive toast.
"And here," Mr. Lacel continued, lifting his cup once more, and leaningforward over the table close to his, "and here's to Lizzie, whom dearDr. Taylor adopted to be as his own daughter when she was but a littlemaid of three. Here's to Elizabeth, the sweetest girl, the most blithecompanion, the daintiest, most brave little lady that ever trod thelanes of Suffolk----"
He had hardly finished speaking, and Johnnie's hand was trembling as helifted the goblet to his lips, when there was a noise in the galleryabove, and Sir John Shelton, pale of face, and followed by the butler,came noisily down the oak stairs.
The knight's manner was more than a little excited.
"Mr. Commendone," he said in a quick but conciliatory voice, "HisHighness--that is to say, the Spanish gentleman--is very fatigued, andcannot ride to London to-day."
He turned to Mr. Lacel.
"Peter," he said, and his voice was now anxious and suave, the voice ofa man of affairs, and with something definite to say, "Peter, I mustclaim your hospitality for the night for myself and for my Spanishfriend. Also, I fear, for my men."
Mr. Lacel bowed. "Sir John," he said, "my poor house is very gladly atyour disposal, and you may command me in all ways."
"I thank you," Sir John answered, "I thank you very much. You are doingme a service, and perhaps other people a service which----" He broke offshortly, and turned once more to Commendone. "Mr. Commendone," he said,"it is requisite that you will at once to horse with your own servantand one of my men, and ride to London--Excuse me, Peter, but I have aprivy word to say to the Esquire."
He drew Johnnie aside. "You must ride post-haste to the Queen," he said,"and tell her that His Majesty is very weary or eke unwell. He will liethe night here and come to London with me in the morning, and by theMass, Mr. Commendone, I don't envy you your commission!"
"I will go at once," Johnnie answered, looking at his watch.
"Very good, Mr. Commendone," Sir John answered. "I am not of the PrivyCloset, as you know. You are in communion with Her Grace, and have been.But if all we of the guard hear is true, then I am sorry for you.Natheless, you must do it. Tell Her Grace of the burning--oh, tell heranything that commendeth itself to you, but let her not think that HisHighness is upon some lover's business. And of Duck Lane not a word, nota single word, as you value your favour!"
"It is very likely, is it not, Sir John," Commendone answered, "that Ishould say anything of Duck Lane?"
The sneer in his voice was so pronounced that the big bully writheduneasily.
"Surely," he replied, "you are a very pattern and model of discretion. Iknow it well enough, Mr. Commendone."
Johnnie made his adieux to his host.
"But what about your horses, sir?" the old gentleman asked. "As Iunderstand it, you ride post-haste to London. Your nag will not take youthere very fast after your long ride."
"I must post, that is all," Johnnie answered. "I can get a relay atChelmsford."
"Nay, Mr. Commendone, it is not to be thought of," said the squire."Now, look you. I have a plenty horses in my stables. There is a roanmare spoiling for work that will suit you very well. And what servantsare you taking?"
Sir John Shelton broke in.
"Hadst better take thy own servant and two of my men," he said. "Youwill be riding back upon the way we came, and I doubt me the countryfolk are too friendly."
"That is easy done," said Mr. Lacel. "I can horse your yeomen also. Infour days I ride myself to Westminster, where I spend a sennight with mybrother, and hope to pay my duties at the Court when it moveth toWhitehall, as I hear it is about to do. The horses I shall lend you, Mr.Commendone, can be sent to my brother's, Sir Frank Lacel, of LacelHouse."
"I thank you very much, sir," Johnnie answered, "you are very kind." Andwith that he said farewell, and in a very few minutes was riding overAldham Common, on his way back to London.
Right in the centre of the Common there was still
a large crowd ofpeople, and he saw a farm cart with two horses standing there.
He made a wide detour, however, to get into the main road for Hadley,shrinking with a sudden horror, more poignant and more physicallysickening than anything he had known before, from the last sordid andgrisly details of the martyr's obsequies.
... No! Anything would be better than to see this dreadful cleaningup....
The big rawbone mare which he was riding was fresh and playful. Johnniewas a consummate horseman, and he was glad of the distraction of keepingthe beast under control. She had a hard mouth, and needed all his skill.
For four or five miles, followed by his attendants at a distance of twoor three hundred yards, he rode at a fast canter, now and then lettingthe mare stretch her legs upon the turf which bordered the rough countryroad. After this, when the horse began to settle down to steady work, hewent on at a fast trot, but more mechanically, and thought began to beborn within him again.
Until now he had seemed to be walking and moving in a dream. Even thehorrors he had seen had been hardly real. Inexperienced as he was inmany aspects of life, he yet knew well that the man with an imaginationand sensitive nerves suffers far more in the memory of a dreadful thingthan he does at the actual witnessing of it. The very violence of whathe had seen done that day had deadened all the nerves, forbidding fullsensation--as a man wounded in battle, or with a limb lopped off bysword or shot, is often seen looking with an amazed incredulity athimself, feeling no pain whatever for the moment.
It was now that John Commendone began to suffer. Every detail of Dr.Taylor's death etched themselves in upon his brain in a succession ofpictures which burnt like fire.
As this or that detail--in colour, movement, and sound--came back to himso vividly, his heart began to drum, his eyes to fill with tears, orgrow dry with horror, the palms of his hands to become wet. He lived thewhole thing over again. And once more his present surroundings becamedream-like, as he cantered through the lanes, and what was past becamehideously, dreadfully real.
Yet, as the gallant mare bore him swiftly onwards, he realised that thehorror and disgust he felt were in reality subservient to something elsewithin him. His whole being seemed quickened, infinitely more alert,ready for action, than it had ever been before. He was like a man whohad all his life been looking out upon the world through smoked ortinted glasses--very pleased and delighted with all he saw, unable torealise that there could be anything more true, more vivid.
Then, suddenly, the glass is removed. The neutral greyness which he hastaken for the natural, commendable view of things, changes and fallsaway. The whole world is seen in an infinity of light and colourundreamed of, unexpected, wonderfully, passionately new.
It was thus with Johnnie, and the fact for some time was stunning andparalysing.
Then, as the brain adjusted itself slowly to fresh and marvellousconditions, he began to question himself.
What did it mean? What did it mean to him? What lay before?
Quite suddenly the explanation came, and he knew.
It was the face of a tall girl, who stood by St. Botolph's tower in theghostly dawn that had done this thing. It was her voice that had rentaside the veil; it was her eyes of agony which lit up the world sodifferently.
With that knowledge, with the quick hammering of love at a virgin heart,there came also an enormous expectation. Till now life had been pleasantand happy. All the excitements of the past seemed but incidents in along tranquillity.
The orchestra had finished the prelude to the play. Now the traverse wasdrawn aside, and action began.
As the young man realised this, and the white splendour of the fullsummer sun was answered by the inexpressible glow within, he realised,physically, that he was galloping madly along the road, pressing hisspurs to his horse's flanks, riding with loose rein, the stirrups behindhim, crouching forward upon the peaked saddle. He pulled his horse upwithin two or three hundred yards, though with considerable difficulty,the animal seeming, in some subtle way, to share and be part of thatwhich was rioting within his brain.
He pulled her up, however, and she stood trembling and breathing hard,with great clots of white foam covering the rings of the bit. Hesoothed her, patting the strong veined neck with his hand, bringing itaway from the darkening hide covered with sweat. Then, when she was alittle more at ease, he slipped from the saddle and led her a few pacesalong the road to where in the hedge a stile was set, upon which he sathimself.
He held hold of the rein for a minute until he saw the mare begin tocrop the roadside grass quietly enough, when he released her.
For a mile or more the road by which he had come stretched white andempty in the sun. There was no trace of his men. He waited there tillthey could come up to him.
He began to talk to himself in slow, measured terms, his own voicesounding strange in his ears, coming to them with a certain comfort. Itwas as though once more he had regained full command and captaincy ofhis own soul. There were great things to be done, he was commander ofhis own legions, and, like a general before a battle, he was issuingmeasured orders to his staff.
"So that it must be; it must be just that; I must find Elizabeth"--hissubconscious brain heard with a certain surprise and wonder how the slowvoice trembled at the word--"I must find Elizabeth. And then, when Ihave found her, I must tell her that she, and she alone, is to be mywife, and my lady ever more. I must sue and woo her, and then she mustbe my wife. It is that which I have to do. The Court is nothing; myservice is nothing; it is Elizabeth!"
The mare raised her head, her mouth full of long sweet grass, and shelooked at him with mild, brown eyes.
He rose from the stile, put his hand within his doublet, and pulled outa little crucifix of ebony, with a Christ of gold nailed to it.
He kissed it, and then, singularly heartened and resolute in mind, hemounted again, seeing, as he did so, that his men were coming up behind.He waited till they were near and then trotted off, and in an hour cameto the outskirts of Chelmsford town.
It was now more than two hours after noon, and he halted with his men atthe "Tun," the principal inn of the place, and adjacent to a brewery ofred brick, where the famous Chelmsford ale--no less celebrated then thannow--was brewed.
He rode into the courtyard of the inn, and the ostlers came hurrying upand took his horse away, while he went into the ordinary and sat downbefore a great round of beef.
The landlord, seeing a gentleman of quality, bustled in and carved forhim--a pottle-bellied, voluble man, with something eminently kindly andhuman in his eye.
"From the Court, sir, I do not doubt?" he said.
Johnnie nodded.
"If I mistake not, you are one of the gentlemen who rode with theSheriff and Dr. Rowland Taylor this morning?"
"That was I," Johnnie answered, looking keenly at the man.
"I would have wagered it was, sir. We saw the party go by early. Is theDoctor dead, sir?"
Johnnie nodded once more.
"And a very right and proper thing it is," the landlord continued, "thatsuch should die the death."
"And why think you that, landlord?" Johnnie asked.
The landlord scratched his head, looking doubtfully at his guest.
"It is not for me to say, sir," he replied, after a moment's hesitation."I am but a tradesman, and have no concern with affairs of State. I am achild in these things, but doubtless what was done was done very well."
Johnnie pushed away the pewter plate in front of him. "My man," he said,"you can speak freely to me. What think you in truth?"
The landlord stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly sat down atthe table.
"I don't know, sir," he said, "who or what you may be. As thou art fromthe Court, thou art a good Catholic doubtless, or wouldst not be there,but you have an honest face, and I will tell you what I think. UnderKing Hal I gat me to church, and profited well thereby in that reign,for the abbey being broke up, and the friars dispersed, there was nomore free beer for any rogue or masterl
ess man to get from the buttery,aye, and others of this town with property, and well-liked men, whowould drink the monks' brew free rather than pay for mine own. So, Godbless King Henry, I say, who brought much custom to mine inn, being awise prince. And now, look you, I go to Mass, and custom diminisheth notat all. I have had this inn for thirty years, my father before me forfifty; and in this inn, sir, I mean to die. It is nothing to me whetherbread and wine are but bread and wine, or whether they be That which allmust now believe. I am but a simple man, and let wiser than I decide,keeping always with those who must certainly know better than I.Meanwhile I shall sell my beer and bring up my family as an honest manshould do--God's death! What is that?"
He started from his chair as Johnnie did likewise, for even as the manspoke a most horrid and untoward noise filled all the air.
Both men rushed to the bulging window of leaded glass, which looked outinto the High Street.
There was a huge shouting, a frightful stamp and clatter as of feet andhorses' hooves upon the stones, but above all there came a shrill,snarling, neighing noise, ululating with a ferocity that was not human,a vibration of rage, which was like nothing Commendone had ever heardbefore.
"Jesus! But what is this?" Johnnie cried, flinging open the casement,his face suddenly white with fear--so utterly outside all experience wasthe dreadful screeching, which now seemed a thousand times louder.
He peered out into the street and saw people rushing to the doors andwindows of all the houses opposite, with faces as white and startled ashis own. He looked to the right, for it was from there the pealinghorror of sound was coming, but he could see nothing, because less thantwenty yards away the High Street made a sudden turn at right anglestowards the Market Place.
"It is some devil, certes," the landlord panted. "Apollyon must havejust such a voice. What----"
The words died away upon his lips, and in a moment the two men and allthe other watchers in the street knew what had happened.
With a furious stamping of hooves, round the corner of an old timberedhouse, leaping from the ground in ungovernable fury, and in that leapingadvancing but very slowly, came a huge stallion, black as a coal, itseyes red with malice, its ears laid back over its head, the hugebull-like neck erect, and smeared with foam and blood.
Commendone had never seen such a monster; indeed, there were but few ofthem in England at that time--the product of Lanarkshire mares crossedwith the fierce Flanders stallions, only just then introduced intoEngland by that Earl of Arran who had been a suitor for the hand of thePrincess Elizabeth.
The thing seemed hardly horse, but malignant demon rather, and with acold chill at their hearts the landlord and his guest saw that thestallion gripped a man by one arm and shoulder, a man that was no more aman, but a limp bundle of clothes, and shook him as a terrier shakes arat.
The bloody and evil eyes glared round on every side as the greatcreature heaved itself into the air, the long "feather" of silky hairabout its fetlocks waving like the pennons of lances. There was adreadful sense of _display_. The stallion was consciously and wickedlyperforming, showing what it could do in its strength of hatred--evil,sentient, malign.
It tossed the wretched man up into the air, and flung him lifeless andbroken at its fore feet. And then, horror upon horror, it began to poundhim, smashing, breaking, and treading out what little life remained,with an action the more dreadful and alarming in that it was oneabsolutely alien to the usual habits of the horse.
It stopped at last, stiffened all over, its long, wicked head stretchedout like that of a pointing dog, while its eyes roved round as if insearch of a new victim.
There was a dead silence in the street.
Then Johnnie saw a short, thick-set man, with a big head and a brownface, come out from the archway opposite, where he had been standing inamazement, into the full street, facing the silent, waiting beast.
Something stabbed the young man's heart strangely. It was not fear forthe man; it was quite distinct from the breathless excitement andsickening wonder of the moment.
Johnnie had seen this man before.
With slow, very slow, but resolute and determined steps, the man drewnearer to the stallion.
He was within four yards of it, when it threw up its head and opened itsmouth wide, showing the great glistening yellow teeth, the purple lipscurling away from them, in a rictus of malignity. From the open mouth,covered with blood and foam, once more came the frightful cry, the madchallenge.
Even as that happened, the man, who carried a stout stick of ash such asdrovers used, leapt at the beast and struck it full and fair upon themuzzle, a blow so swift, and so hefty withal, that the ash-plant snappedin twain and flew up into the air.
The next thing happened very swiftly. The man, who had a short cloakupon his arm, threw it over the stallion's head with a sudden movement.There was a white flash in the sunshine, as his short knife left hisbelt, and with one fierce blow plunged deep into the lower portion ofthe stallion's neck just above the great roll of fat and muscle whicharched down towards the chest.
Then, with both hands at the handle of the knife, the man pulled itupwards, leaning back as he did so, and putting all his strength intowhat he did, cutting through the living veins and trachea as a butchercuts meat.
There was a dreadful scream, which changed upon an instant to a cough, afountain of dark blood, and the monster staggered and fell over upon itsside with a crash.
A minute afterwards Commendone was out in the High Street mingling withthe excited crowd of townspeople.
He touched the sturdy brown-faced man upon the shoulder.
"Come into the inn," he said. "I have somewhat to say to you, JohnHull."
