Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER V.

  You have the captives, Who were the opposites of this day's strife! We do require them of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.--Shakspere.

  The chamber of Sir Osborne Maurice was next to that of Lady Constancede Grey, and from time to time he could hear through the partition thesweet murmuring of her voice, as she spoke to the woman who undressedher. Whatever were the thoughts these sounds called up, the youngsoldier did not sleep, but lay pondering over his fate, his braintroubled by a host of busy meditations that would not let him rest. Itwas not that he either was in love with Lady Constance, or fanciedhimself in love with her, though he neither wanted ardour of feelingnor quickness of imagination; and yet he thought over all she saidwith strange sensations of pleasure, and tried to draw the gracefuloutline of her figure upon the blank darkness of the night. And then,again, he called up the fortnight that he spent some five years beforeat the mansion of her father, when he had gone thither to bid farewellto his old tutor; and he remembered every little incident as though'twere yesterday. Still, all the while, he never dreamed of love. Hegave way to those thoughts as to a pleasant vision, which filled upsweetly the moments till sleep should fall upon his eyelids; and yethe found that the more he thought in such a train, the less likely washe to slumber. At length the idea of the Portingal captain crossed hismind, and he strove to fix at what moment it was that that worthy hadquitted the kitchen of the inn, by recalling the last time hepositively had been there. He tried, however, in vain, and in themidst of the endeavour he fell asleep.

  The sun had fully risen by the time Sir Osborne awoke; and findinghimself later than he had intended, he dressed himself hurriedly andran down to the court, where he met the honest clothier alreadyprepared to set out. His own horse, thanks to the care of Jekin Groby,had been accoutred also; and as nothing remained for him to do but topay his reckoning and depart, all was soon ready, and the travellerswere on the road.

  "Ah, ha! sir knight," said the clothier, with good-humouredfamiliarity, as Sir Osborne sprang into the saddle, "what would theysay in camp if it were known that Jekin Groby, the Kentish clothier,was in the field before you? Ha, ha, ha! that's good! And you talked,too, of being off by cock-crow! Lord 'a mercy! poor old chanticleerhas almost thrawn his own neck with crowing, and you never heeded hispiping."

  "I have been very lazy," said the knight, "and know not, in truth, howit has happened. But tell me, honest Master Groby, did you remark lastnight at what hour it was that the vagabond Portingallo took hisdeparture?"

  "Why, 'twas just when my young lady, Mistress Constance, came in,"said the clothier; "he slipped away, just as I've seen a piece ofcloth slip off a shelf, fold by fold, so quietly that no one heard it,till, flump! it was all gone together. But, bless us!" he continued,"how comical! our horses are both of a colour. Never did I see such amatch, only mine has got a white foot, which is a pity. Bought him inYorkshire when I went down after the cloth. Them damned cheats,however, painted me his white foot, and 'twas not till I'd had him aweek that I saw his foot begin to change colour. Vast cheats inYorkshire! Steal a man's teeth out of his head if he sleeps with hismouth open."

  "It is a good horse, though," said Sir Osborne; "rather heavy in theshoulder. But it is a good strong horse, and would bear a man-at-armswell, I doubt not."

  Jekin Groby was somewhat of a judge in horse-flesh, notwithstandinghis having been gulled by the Yorkshire jockeys; and, what was more,he piqued himself upon his knowledge, so that he soon entered upon astrain of conversation with Sir Osborne which could only beinteresting to connoisseurs. This continued some way as they trottedalong the road, which offered no appearance of anything bearing thehuman form divine, till they came to a spot where the way had been cutbetween two high banks, formed of chalky soil mingled with veins oflarge flints. On the summit of one of these banks was perched a man,who seemed looking out for something, as he stood motionless, gazingdown the road towards them. Upon his shoulder he carried a pole, orstaff, as it was called, some thirteen feet long, with a sharp ironhead, such as was frequently carried by the people of the country inthose days, serving both as a means of aggression or defence, and as asort of leaping-pole wherewith they cleared the deep ditches by whichthe country was in many parts intersected. The man himself wasapparently above the ordinary height. Whoever he was, and whatever washis occupation, no sooner did he see the travellers, than, descendingthe bank by means of the veins of flint, which served him as steps, heran on as hard as he could, and then, turning off through a littlestile, was seen proceeding rapidly across a field beyond.

  "Did you remark that fellow with his long pole?" demanded Sir Osborne."We have frightened him: look, he runs!"

  "He is vexed to see more than one at a time, sir knight," repliedJekin Groby. "God's fish! I am glad I had your worship with me."

  "Why, he can mean us no harm," said Sir Osborne. "The moment a manflies he changes from _your_ enemy and becomes his own. But thatfellow was evidently looking out for some one: now, if he know notthat you are travelling here with your bags well lined, as you expressit, which doubtless you are too wise a man to give notice of to everyone, he cannot be watching for _us_, for my plunder would not be worthhis having. I rather think he is some fellow hawking fowl, by the longstaff he has on his shoulder."

  "It may be so," replied the cloth-merchant. "One is bound to thinkcharitably, and never to judge rashly; but i'faith, I am mistaken ifhe is not a vast rogue. As to their not knowing that my bags arepretty full of angels, trust them for that. No one is robbed withoutthe consent of the chamberlain or hostler where last he lodged. Themoment you are off your beast, they whip you up your cap-case orbudget, as it may happen; and if they can't find out by the weight,they give it a shake, after such a sort as to make the pieces jingle.Then again, as for his pole or staff, as you term it, those fellowswith their staves are so commonly known for robbery on the road, thatno honest man rides without his case of dags at his saddle-bow, orsomething of the kind to deal with them out of reach of their pike,which sort of snapper, truly, I see your worship has got as well asmyself."

  "Oh! you need not fear them," said Sir Osborne, somewhat amused at thealarm of the clothier, though willing to allay it. "You are a stoutman, and I am not quite a schoolboy."

  "Oh! I fear them! I don't fear them," replied Jekin, affecting avirtue which he had not; for though, in truth, not very sensible tofear of a mere personal nature, yet his terror at the idea of losinghis angels was most pious and exemplary. "A couple of true men areworth forty of them; and besides, the fellow has run away. So now towhat I was telling your worship about the horse. He cleared the fenceand the ditch on t'other side; but then there was again another lowfence, not higher, nor--let me see--not higher nor---- Zounds! there'sLongpole again! Lord! how he runs! He's a-poaching, sure enough." Butto continue.

  During the next mile's journey, the same occurrence was repeated fouror five times, till at last the appearance of the man with the staff,whom Jekin Groby had by this time christened Longpole, was hardlynoticed either by the knight or his companion. In the mean time thehorsemen proceeded but slowly, and at length reached a spot where thehigh bank broke away, and the hedge receding left a small open spaceof what appeared to be common ground. Its extent perhaps might be halfan acre, lying in the form of a decreasing wedge between two thickhedges, full of leafless stunted oaks, terminated by a clump of largertrees, which probably hung over a pond. Thus it made a sort of littlevista, down which the eye naturally wandered, resting upon all thetranquil, homely forms it presented, with perhaps more pleasure than avaster or a brighter scene could have afforded. Sir Osborne lookeddown it for a moment, then suddenly reined in his horse, and pointingwith his hand, cried to Jekin Groby, who was a little in advance, "Isee two men hiding behind those trees, and a third there in the hedge.Gallop quick; 'tis an ambush!"

  The clothier instantly spurred forward his horse; but his passage wasclosed by two sturd
y fellows, armed with the sort of staves which hadobtained for their companion the name of Longpole. Animated with thesame courage in defence of his angels that inspires a hen inprotection of her chickens, Jekin Groby drew forth his dags, orhorse-pistols, and, with the bridle in his teeth, aimed one at thehead of each of his antagonists. The aggressors jumped aside, andwould probably have let him pass, had he not attempted too boldly tofollow up his advantage. He pulled the triggers, the hammers fell, butno report ensued; and it was then he felt the folly of not having wellexamined his arms before he left the inn.

  In the mean while Sir Osborne Maurice was not unemployed. At the samemoment that Jekin Groby had been attacked, a man forced his waythrough the hedge, and opposed himself to the knight, while sundryothers hastened towards them. Sir Osborne's first resource was hispistol, which, like those of the clothier, had been tampered with atthe inn. But the knight lost not his presence of mind, and spurred onhis horse even against the pike. The animal, long accustomed to combatwhere still more deadly weapons were employed, reared up, and with abound brought the knight clear of the staff, and within reach of hisadversary, on whose head Sir Osborne discharged such a blow with thebutt-end of his pistol as laid him senseless on the ground.

  With a glance of lightning he saw that at least a dozen more werehurrying up, and that the only chance left was to deal suddenly withthe two, who were now in a fair way to pull the clothier off hishorse, and having despatched them, to gallop on with all speed.Without loss of a moment, therefore, he drew his sword and spurredforward. One of honest Jekin's assailants instantly faced about, and,with his pike rested on his foot, steadfastly opposed the cavalier.However, he was not so dexterous in the use of his weapon that SirOsborne could not by rapidly wheeling his horse obtain a side view ofthe pike, when by one sweeping blow of his long-sword he cleft it intwain. One moment more and the unhappy pikeman's head and shoulderswould have parted company, for an arm of iron was swaying the edge ofthe weapon rapidly towards his neck, when suddenly a powerful mansprang upon the knight's horse behind, and pinioned his arms with aforce which, though it did not entirely disable him, saved the life ofhis antagonist.

  Using a strong effort, Sir Osborne so far disengaged his arms as tothrow back the pommel of his sword into the chest of this newadversary, who in a moment was rolling in the dust; but as he fell,another sprang up again behind the knight, and once more embarrassedhis arms: others seized the horse's bridle, and others pressed uponhim on every side. Still Sir Osborne resisted, but it was in vain. Acord was passed through his arms, and gradually tightened behind, inspite of his struggling, where, being tied, it rendered all furtherefforts useless.

  Hitherto not a word had been spoken by either party. It seemed as if,by mutual understanding, the attacking and the attacked had forborneany conversation upon a subject which they knew could not be decidedby words.

  At length, however, when they had pulled Sir Osborne Maurice off hishorse, and placed him by the side of Jekin Groby, who had now longbeen in the same situation, the tallest of the party, evidently noother than the agreeable gentleman who had watched them along the roadwith such peculiar care, and whom we shall continue to call Longpole,advanced, holding his side, which was still suffering from the pommelof Sir Osborne's sword; and after regarding them both, he addressedhimself to the knight, with much less asperity than might have beenexpected from the resistance he had met with. "Thou hit'st damnedhard!" said he; "and I doubt thou hast broken one of my ribs with thyback-heave. Howsoever, I know not which of you is which, now I've gotyou. Faith, they should have described me the men, not the horses;both the horses are alike."

  "Is your wish to rob us or not?" said Sir Osborne; "because in robbingus both you are sure to rob the right. Only leave us our horses, andlet us go; for to cut our throats will serve you but little."

  "If I wished to rob thee, my gentleman," answered Longpole, "I'd cutthy throat too, for breaking my companion's head, who lies there inthe road as if he were dead, or rather as if he were asleep, for he'ssnoring like the father-hog of a large family, the Portingallovagabond! However, I'll have you both away; then those who sent toseek you will know which it is they want. Hollo there! knock thatfellow down that's fingering the bags. If one of you touch a stiverI'll make your skins smart for it."

  "I see several Portingals," said Sir Osborne, "or I mistake. Is it notso?"

  "Ay, Portingals and Dutchers, and such like mixed," replied Longpole."But come; you must go along."

  A light now broke upon the mind of Sir Osborne. "Listen," cried he tothe Englishman, as he was preparing to lead them away; "how comes itthat you Englishmen join yourselves with a beggarly race of wanderingvagabonds to revenge the quarrel of a base-born Portingallo captainupon one of your own countrymen? Give me but a moment, and you shallhear whether he did not deserve the punishment I inflicted."

  Longpole seemed willing to hear, and one or two others came round,while the rest employed themselves in quieting the knight's horse,that, finding himself in hands he was unaccustomed to, began plungingand kicking most violently.

  "I will be short," said the knight. "This Portingal had agreed tofurnish a cargo of fruits to the Imperial army in Flanders; 'tis nowtwo years ago, for we had a malignant fever in the camp. He got themoney when they were landed, and was bringing them under a smallescort, which I commanded, when we found our junction cut off by theright wing of the enemy's army, which had wheeled. The greatestexertion was necessary to pass round through a hollow way; the leastnoise, the least flutter of a pennon, would have betrayed us to theFrench outposts, who were not more than a bow-shot from us, when ourPortingal stopped in the midst, and vowed he would not go on, unless Ipromised to pay him double for the fruit, and not to tell anybody ofwhat he had done. If I had run my lance through him, as I was tempted,his companions would have made a noise, and we were lost; so I wasobliged to promise. He knew he could trust the word of an Englishknight, so he went on quietly enough, and got his money; but then Itook him out into a field, and after a struggle, I tied him to a tree,and lashed him with my stirrup-leathers till his back was flayed. Hewas not worth a knight's sword, or I would have swept his head off.But tell me, is it for this a party of Englishmen maltreat theircountrymen?"

  "You served him right, young sir," answered Longpole; "and I rememberthat malignant fever well, for I was then fletcher to Sir JohnPechie's band of horse archers. But, nevertheless, you must comealong; for the Portingallo and his men only lend a hand in taking youto Sir Payan Wileton, who tells us a very different story, and doesnot make you out a knight at all."

  Sir Osborne replied nothing (for it seemed that the name of Sir PayanWileton showed him reply was in vain), but suffered himself to be ledon in silence by Longpole and five of bid stoutest companions, whilethe rest were directed to follow with Jekin Groby and the two horses,as soon as the Portuguese whom the knight had stunned should be in afit state to be removed.

  For some way Sir Osborne was conducted along the highroad without anyattempt at concealment on the part of those who guarded him; and evenat a short distance from the spot where the affray had happened theystopped to speak with a carter, who was slowly driving his team on tothe village. "Ah! Dick," said he, addressing Longpole, "what hast beenat?"

  "Why, faith," answered the other, "I don't well know. It's a job ofhis worship's. You know he has queer ways with him; and when he tellsone to do a thing, one knows well enough what the beginning is, butwhat the end of it is to be no one knows but himself. He says thatthis gentleman is the man who excited the miners on his Cornish landsto riot and insurrection, and a deal more, so that he will have himtaken. He don't look it, does he? If it had been to-morrow I'd nothave gone upon the thing, for to-day my sworn service is out."

  "Ay! ay!" said the other; "'tis hard to know Sir Payan. Howsomdever,he has got all the land round about, one way or t'other, andeverything must yield to him, for no one ever withstood him but whatsome mischance fell upon him. Mind you how, when young Davors went tolaw with him, and gain
ed his cause, about seven acres' field, he wasdrowned in the pond when out hawking, not a year after? Do not crosshim, man! do not cross him! for either God's blessing or the devil'sis upon him, and you'll come to harm some way if you do!"

  "I'll not cross him, but I'll leave him," said Longpole; "for I likeneither what I see nor what I hear of him, and less what I do for him.So, fare thee well, boy."

  Sir Osborne Maurice had fallen into a profound reverie, from which hedid not wake during the whole of the way. The astrologer's predictionof approaching evil, and a thousand other circumstances of still morepainful presage, came thronging upon his mind, and took away from himall wish or power either to question his conductors or to devise anyplan for escape, had escape been possible.

  The way was long, and the path which Longpole and his companionsfollowed led through a variety of green fields and lanes, silent andsolitary, which gave the young knight full time to muse over hissituation. Had he given credit to the words of his conductor, and foran instant supposed that the reason of his having been so suddenlyseized was the charge of instigating a body of Cornish miners totumult, he would have felt, no apprehension; for he knew it would beeasy to clear himself of crimes committed in a county which he hadnever seen in his life. But Sir Osborne felt that if such a chargewere brought forward, it would merely be as a pretext to place him inthe power of his bitterest enemies.

  The manner in which he had been made a prisoner, so different from theopen, fair course of any legal proceeding, the persons who had seizedhim bearing no appearance of officers of the law, the doubt that thechief of them had himself expressed as to the veracity of the charge,and the presence of a set of smuggling Portuguese sailors, all showedevidently to Sir Osborne that his detention solely originated in somedeep wile of a man famous for his daring cunning and his evil deeds.Yet still, knowing the full extent of his danger, and blessed with aheart unused to quail to any circumstance of fate, the knight wouldhave felt no apprehension, had not odd little Human Nature, who alwayskeeps a grain or two of superstition in the bottom of her snuff-box,continually reminded him of the prophecy of his singular companion ofthe day before, and reproached him for not having followed the advicewhich would infallibly have removed him from the difficulties by whichhe was now surrounded. The mysterious vagueness, too, the shadowyuncertainty, of the predicted evil, which seemed even now in itsaccomplishment, in despite of all his efforts, weighed upon his mind;and it was not till the long, heavy brick front of an old manor-housemet his view, giving notice that he was near the place of hisdestination, that he could arouse his energies to encounter what wasto follow.

  The large folding-doors leading into a stone hall were pushed open byhis conductors, and Sir Osborne was brought in, and made to sit downupon a bench by the fire. One or two servants only were in the hall;and they, unlike the persons who brought him, were dressed inlivery, with the cognizance of Sir Payan--a snake twisted round acrane--embroidered on the sleeve. "His worship is in the book-room,Dick," said one of the men; "take your prisoner there."

  These few words were all that passed, for an ominous sort of silenceseemed to hang over the dwelling, and affected all within it. Withoutreply, Longpole led the young knight forward, followed by two of thosewho had assisted in securing him; and at the end of a long corridor,which terminated the hall, knocked at a door in a recess.

  "Come in!" cried a voice within; and the moment after, Sir Osbornefound himself confronted with the man whose name we have often hadoccasion to mention with but little praise in the course of thepreceding pages, Sir Payan Wileton. He was seated in an arm-chair, atthe farther end of the small book-room, which, all petty as it was,when compared with the vast libraries of the present day, offered aprodigy in point of literary treasure, in those times when theinvention of the press had made but little progress towardssuperseding the painful and expensive method of manual transcription.About a hundred volumes, in gay bindings of vellum and of velvet,ornamented the shelves, and two or three others lay on a table beforehim, at which also was seated a clerk, busily engaged in writing.

  Sir Payan himself was a man of about fifty, of a deep ashy complexion,and thin, strongly-marked features. His eyes were dark, shrewd, andbright, and sunk deep below his brows, in the midst of which was to beobserved a profound wrinkle, which gave his face a continual frown.His cheek-bones were high, his hair was short and grizzled, and hiswhole appearance had, perhaps, more of sternness than of cunning.

  On the entrance of Sir Osborne Maurice, for a moment no one spoke, andthe two knights regarded each other in silence, with an austerebitterness that might have spoken them old enemies. But while he gazedon the young knight, Sir Payan's hand, which lay on some papers beforehim, gradually contracted, clenched harder and harder, till at lengththe red blood in his thin knuckles vanished away, and they becamewhite as a woman's by the force of the compression. But it was invain! Sir Osborne's glance mastered his, and dashing his hand acrosshis brow, he broke forth:--

  "So, this is he who excited my tenants and labourers to revolt againstthe king in that unfortunate Cornish insurrection, and who led them onto plunder my bailiff's dwelling, and to murder my bailiff! Clerk,make out instantly the warrant for his removal to Cornwall, withcopies of the depositions taken here, that he may be tried andpunished for his crimes on the spot where they were committed."

  "Sir Payan Wileton," said the knight, still regarding him with thesame steady, determined gaze, "we meet for the first time to-day; butI think you know me."

  "I do, sir; I do!" replied Sir Payan, without varying from the hurriedand impatient manner in which he had spoken at first. "I know you fora rebellious instigator to all kinds of mischief, and for a homicide.Speak, Richard Heartley; did the prisoner offer any resistance? Has headded any fresh crimes to those he has already perpetrated?"

  "Resist!" cried Longpole; "ay, your worship, he resisted enough, andbroke one of the Portingallos' heads, but not more than was natural orreasonable. The other one resisted too; yet it was easy to see thatthis one was of gentle blood, which was what your worship wanted, Idoubt not. But, however, as they were both mounted on strong blackhorses, such as your honour described, we brought them both up."

  "Umph!" said Sir Payan, biting his lip; "there were two, were there?"And he muttered something to himself. "Send me here the captain----, or Wilson the bailiff. It must be ascertained which iswhich--though there can be no doubt--there can be no doubt!"

  "Mark me, Sir Payan Wileton," said Sir Osborne, the moment the otherpaused. "Mark me, and take good heed before you too far commityourself. We know each other, and, therefore, a few words willsuffice. Five people in England are aware of my arrival, and equallyaware of where I slept last night, and when I set out this morning.Judge, therefore, whether it will not be easy to trace me hither, andto free me from your hands."

  Sir Payan Wileton had evidently been agitated by some strong feelingon first beholding the young knight; but by this time he hadcompletely mastered it, and his face had resumed that rigid austerityof expression with which he was wont to cover all that was passing inhis mind.

  "Railing, sir, and insinuations will be found of no use here," hesaid, calmly. "Clerk, make good speed with those warrants! Oh! here isWilson. Now, Wilson, look at the prisoner well, and tell me if you aresure that he is the person who assaulted you yesterday, and who ledthe miners when they burned your father's house in Cornwall. Look athim well!"

  The young man, whom it may be remembered Sir Osborne Maurice haddispatched so unceremoniously over the wall of old Richard Heartley'sgarden, now advanced, and regarded the knight with a triumphant grin.

  "Oh, ho! my brave bird, what! you're limed, are you?" he muttered; andthen, turning to Sir Payan, "yes, your worship, 'tis he," hecontinued. "I'm ready to swear that 'twas he led the men that burnedPencriton House, and that threw me over the wall, because I struck oldHeartley for calling your worship a usurping traitor and----"

  But at that moment Longpole laid a grasp upon his collar that almoststrangle
d him.

  "You struck my father, did you?" exclaimed he; "then pray God to makeall your bones as soft as whit-leather, for if they're but as crisp asbuttered toast, I'll break every one in your skin!"

  "Silence!" cried Sir Payan Wileton; "silence, Heartley! If your fatherhas been struck, I will take care he shall have satisfaction."

  "With your worship's good leave, I will take care of it myself,"replied Longpole. "I never trust any one to give or to receive adrubbing for me. I like always to calculate my own quantity ofcrabstick."

  "Silence!" said Sir Payan; "again I say, silence! My good Richard, Iassure you, you shall be satisfied. Clerk, swear Wilson to thedepositions he made. Oh! here is the Portingallo. Captain, is that theman you remember having seen in Cornwall when you were last there?"

  "Yes, yes, el Pero! that was himself!" cried the captain; "I sawed himat the ale-house at Penzance with my own eye, when I went to fetch thecargo of coal."

  "You mean of tin, captain," said Sir Payan.

  "Yes, yes, of ten," replied the Portuguese. "It was just ten, Iremember."

  Sir Osborne's patience was exhausted.

  "Vagabond! thief!" cried he, "do you remember my scourging you withthe stirrup-leathers in Flanders, till there was not an inch of skinupon your back?"

  "Yes, yes, that was your turn," said the captain; "I scourge you now."

  "Remark what he says," cried Sir Osborne, to those who stood round,"and all of you bear witness in case----"

  "Prisoner, you stand committed," cried Sir Payan, in a loud voice."Take him away! Suffer him not to speak! Richard Heartley, place himin the strong-room at the foot of the stair-case, and having lockedthe door, keep guard over him. Captain, stay you with me; all therest, go."

  The commands of Sir Payan were instantly obeyed; and the room beingcleared, he pressed his hands before his eyes, and thought deeply forsome moments.

  "He is mine!" cried he at length, "he is mine! And shall I let him outof my own hands now that I have him, when 'twould be so easy tofurnish him with a hook and a halter wherewith to hang himself, as thegood chaplain and John Bellringer did to the heretic Hun, in theLollards' Tower last year? But no, that is too fresh in the minds ofmen, and too many suspicions are already busy. So, my captain--Iforgot. Sit down, my good captain. I am, as we agreed, about to givethis young man into your hands to take to Cornwall. Why do you laugh?"

  "He! he! Cornwall," cried the captain; "I do not go in Cornwall."

  "Nay, some time in your life you will probably voyage to Cornwall aswell as to other lands," said Sir Payan. "Now, 'tis the same to mewhether you take him there now or a hundred years hence: you may carryhim all over the world if you will, and drop him at the antipodes."

  "I understand, I understand," replied the Portingal; "you have muchneed to get rid of him, and you give him to me. Well, I will take yourpresent, if you give me two hundred golden angels with him." Sir Payannodded assent. "But let me understand quite all well," continued thecaptain: "you want me to take him to Cornwall. There is one Cornwallat the bottom of the sea; do you mean that?"

  "'Twere fully as good as the other," said Sir Payan, "if the journeywere short, and the conveyance sure."

  "Two cannon-shot will make it a quick passage," replied the captain;"but they must be made of gold, my good worship."

  "Why of gold?" demanded Sir Payan. "Oh! I catch your meaning. But yougrow exorbitant."

  "Not I," said the Portingal; "I only ask two hundred angels more. Why,an indulgence will cost me half the pay. It's very dear drowning aman. If you like me to take him and leave him in Turkey with theOttomites, I will do it for the two; but if I send him to Cornwall,he! he! he! you shall give me four."

  "But how shall I know that it is done?" said Sir Payan, thoughtfully."But that must be trusted to. You are not such a child as to bepitiful. _Men_ know how to avenge themselves, and you heard his boastof having scourged you. If you be a man, then do not forget it."

  "Forget it!" cried the Portingal, his dark brows knitting till theyalmost hid his eyes; "give me the order under your hand, and fearnot."

  "What! an order to murder him!" cried Sir Payan. "Think you my brainis turned?"

  "No, no! You have the wrong," said the Portingal; "I mean an order totake him to Cornwall. It shall be very easy to drop him by the way. IfI was exorbitant, as you call me, I had make you pay more, because forwhy, I know you would eat your hand to get rid of him; else why haveyou make me bring you news of him when he was in Flanders? Why you paythree spies two crowns the month to give you news every step he took?Oh! I know it all. But it is this: I am an honest merchant and norogue, and when I pop him in the sea I do a little bit of my ownbusiness and a big bit of yours, so I do not charge you so much as ifit was all yours. Is not that honest?"

  "Honest!" said Sir Payan, with a grim smile; "yes, very honest. Butmark me, Sir Captain! I'll have some assurance of you. Thus shall itbe: I'll give you a warrant to take him to Cornwall, but you shallsign me a promise to drop him overboard by the way, so that there beno peaching; for when our necks are in the same halter, each will takecare not to draw the cord on his fellow, lest he be hanged himself."

  "Well, well," said the Portingal, "that's all right. No fear of me,and you will not for your own sake. But look here, Sir Payan. Whathave you intended to do with the other man that was taken with him, asthey tell me, who was at the inn-house, and will tell it to all theworld? He's the fat clothier; give him to me too, and let my men havethe clearing of his bags. You owe them something for the job, and onehas had his head broke, and will die by the time he is aboard.Besides, they were never paid for bringing you up the whole cargo ofstrong wine, five years past, which was paid for by Dudley, thesequestrator."

  "Then he should have paid for the carriage," said Sir Payan.

  "But he never got it!" cried the Portingal. "You kept all when youheard he was in prison, good Sir Payan; and when they did take hishead off, you drank the wine yourself. But say, will you, or will younot, let my men have all that is inside that fat clothesman's bags,and I will take him, so that you shall never see him again? If not,your whole business shall soon be known by everybody in the world byhis tongue."

  Sir Payan thought for a moment. "It must e'en be so," said he atlength. "Take him, but do not hurt him; and as to his bags, do as youlike."

  "Oh! hurt him! no!" answered the other. "In six months he shall be sogood a sailor as any of the others, and two thousand miles away. Butwe must get off to-night. I will go down, get the boat close under thecliffs, and be back by about one o'clock in the morning. Have allready against I come, the gold and the order--warrant, as you call it,and all; and lock all my men up in the big granary, with a thing ofbacon, and a big cask of liquor; so shall they be all drunk beforethree, and asleep by four, and sober again by the while I am back, andnobody hear anything about their being here at all."

  "That you must do yourself before you go," said Sir Payan. "In themean time, I must take care that the prisoners be kept out of sight,for a lady cousin is to be here by noon, and neither she nor hers musthear of this. I myself must be away. She came not yesterday when sheshould have come; and fain would I pick a quarrel with her house, forthey have lands too near my own to be any others than my own. So,though I have ordered her a banquet, yet shall she be served withscanty courtesy; then, if one word of anger fall from her, there shallmore follow."

  "Oh! if I be here when she shall come," said the Portingal, "I willgive her some cause either to be pleased or angry."

  "What wilt thou do, fellow?" demanded Sir Payan sternly. "Beware!remember she is of my blood."

  "Oh! nothing, nothing!" replied the captain, "only tell her somelittle compliment upon her beauty. But, my good worship, can you trustall your men about these prisoners?"

  "All! all!" replied Sir Payan. "There is no fear. No one of them but Icould hang one way or another, and they know it. All except Heartley,and he is bound to me by an illegal oath, wrung from him by fear ofseeing his father driven out this hard wint
er. But 'tis past noon now.Ho! without there! Send in my clerk. What! are the horses saddled?Farewell, Sir Portingal, till one i' the morning!"