*CHAPTER XIV.*
_*THE SANCTUARY VIOLATED.*_
"The key is in the keeping of the Church."
At the actual moment when Father Bertram, at the beginning of theinterview recorded in the last chapter, uttered these words, the door ofthe chapel was literally in the Church's charge, in the person of thestout lay-brother, who, hearing footsteps and voices without, now stoodwith his broad shoulders leaning against the oak. He could hear butlittle of the conversation through the thick door, but he guessed it hadto do with his lady, and concluded that De Breaute had tracked her toher hiding-place.
For a time he remained uncertain how to act. Churchman as he was, itseemed almost impossible to him that any one, even a brutal soldier,should dare to violate the sanctuary of the chapel; but yet he fearedthat those without were plotting to carry off the Lady Aliva.
At length, when all was quiet again outside, he crossed the littlebuilding, and knocked gently at the door of the sacristy. It was openedby his mother, who laid her finger upon her lips as a sign to him tokeep silence.
"My lady sleeps," she whispered, and shut the door again. Evidently noadvice was to be had from her.
Uncertain whither to turn for aid, he recrossed the chapel, and, for thefirst time since Aliva had sought refuge in it, unbarred the door andlooked out.
It was now past midnight. The village was sunk in silence, and no onewas to be seen about. His first idea was to make his way towardsBedford, and he passed half across the bridge over the dark river. Thenhe fancied he heard the sound of a horse's hoof echoing from a distancethrough the stillness of the night. Though he knew it not, it was thesound of De Breaute spurring towards Bedford.
But another sight close at hand called off his attention. Through thegloom he became distinctly aware of a tall, armed figure leaning againstthe parapet of the bridge.
"Gramercy!" he said to himself, stopping short; "here is one of thesoldiers on guard! There can be no escape this way. St. Benedict aidus!"
Of course, unaware that in a few minutes the man would be withdrawn, thelay-brother retraced his steps. Next he met the other man-at-armsleading the horses toward his comrade, and his heart sank within him atwhat he imagined were further measures to guard the Bedford road. Hepassed the soldier unchallenged in the dark, and then a little furthermet a man coming towards the chapel.
It was the priest, straight from his conclave with De Breaute.
Bertram de Concours approached the lay-brother.
"A brother servant in the ministry of Holy Church, an I mistake not,"said he.
"Nay, reverend father," returned the Benedictine, "but a lay-brother I,of the holy house of Alban."
"And I," returned the other, "am but the unworthy priest who serves thealtar of St. Nicolas in yonder chapel. But the chapel," he continued,eying the lay-brother closely, "is occupied by other than its priestto-night. A lady hath sought sanctuary there. She must be guarded,watched, tended."
The Benedictine was puzzled. The voice sounded to him like the voice ofhim whom he had heard talking with De Breaute without the chapel door.Should he ask his advice and help? He was the priest of the chapel;surely he was to be trusted.
"Tended she hath been by my mother," he answered, "and I myself havewatched and guarded the chapel door. But she must remove hence. It isnot fit that our fair lady of Bletsoe should remain in this plight,tended by peasants only. She must to her father's house."
Bertram saw his opportunity.
"Sooth, thou speakest truly, brother," he said. "I would fain despatchher thither. Not that I quite make out her case," he continuedcraftily. "My people do tell me that yester evening a lady came intothe village in sore plight, and leading a steed well-nigh ridden todeath, and thou sayest she is the Lady de Pateshulle. She should toBletsoe. But can she walk?"
"Walk, father! nay, in good sooth. For all my mother's care she is soweary with her ride that she even now sleeps. Besides, do ladies suchas she tramp the country roads like a churl's wench? And her palfreycannot carry her!"
"She should be carried thither in a litter," replied Bertram deConcours; "but whither shall we fetch one? A messenger must forthwithto Bletsoe, and acquaint the noble house of De Pateshulle with itslady's need, and that at once."
The bait was thrown out by which he hoped to remove the lay-brother outof the way. The fish rose.
"I am thy messenger, father," responded the Benedictine with eagerness."I will myself to Bletsoe, and devise means to transport my lady thitherin safety and comfort."
"By my faith, brother," exclaimed Bertram, in simulated gratitude, "thouhast well spoken. A burden is lifted from my heart. Haste thee, andsee that help is here by dawn. But tarry a moment," he continued, stillweaving his treacherous web; "we must to the chapel and let the ladyknow that aid is at hand, and that she will shortly be quit of thisdangerous and unpleasant position."
The two men entered the chapel. The old woman was still watching by thesleeping girl, but hearing steps, she came out of the sacristy.
"Tell thy mother to warn her charge that she may expect to journeyshortly," said the priest.
"But my lady still sleeps softly," objected the good woman.
"Then let her know when she awakens that thy son hath gone to Bletsoefor aid, and that help she shall have shortly, and means of travellinghence," said Father Bertram.
Mistress Hodges returned to the sacristy.
"My lady is awakened," she said. "She heard your voices. Ye shouldhave spoken more softly. She needs yet rest."
"Go thou then to the door," said Bertram to the lay-brother. "She knowsthy voice, but I am a stranger. Tell her what thou purposest to do."
The Benedictine did as he was bid. Standing at the half-open door, heannounced in a few words that he was off to Bletsoe for help.
Aliva, barely aroused, sank back again into slumber, murmuring words ofthanks to her messenger.
"And now haste thee on thy road," said the priest to the lay-brother; "Imyself will watch the chapel door."
The latter set off. He did not again attempt to cross the bridge, stillguarded as he imagined by De Breaute and his men, or he would now havefound it clear of sentinels. He made his way along the right bank ofthe river to the ford at Milton in the dark quietness of the small hoursthat precede the dawn. But ere he reached the spot which had sowell-nigh proved fatal to him some few weeks before, the birds had begunto twitter in the brushwood and the sedge, and on the eastern horizon
"Lightly and brightly breaks away The morning from her mantle gray."
In the uncertain light he became aware that a horseman was in front ofhim, trying apparently to force a wearied steed through the ford. As heapproached, a clearer view revealed the rider to be none other thanDicky Dumpling, the fat porter.
"Soho, soho, Dickon! And whither so early, or so late, as you will?"
Thus apostrophized, Dicky turned his horse and recognized thelay-brother.
"St. Dunstan be praised! Here is a friend from Bletsoe. O brother,there is ill news--a sore mishap! Our Lady Aliva is chased, and carriedcaptive too, for aught I know, by that devil in man's shape, Fulke deBreaute, or his brother. The livelong night have I sought her on theroad 'twixt here and Elstow, over marsh and bank, up hill and down dale.Not a bite or a sup--"
"Peace, Dicky, and cheer thy heart. Thy lady is safe."
"Safe, thou sayest? Oh, the saints be praised!--safe?"
"As safe as Holy Church can make her," replied the other. "She hathfound refuge in the chapel on Bromham Bridge."
Dumpling gave a vast sigh of satisfaction, and his face once moreassumed its usual jolly expression.
"That was it then! Beshrew me for a fool! I found her palfrey inBromham village, and though I asked up and down among the folks, no onecould tell me aught of the lady. Even the women, whose tongues go fastenow, like the clapper of a bell at vespers time, when they are notwanted, had nothing to say.
Gramercy! safe in the chapel! But you,brother, what doest here?"
"On an errand thou canst well relieve me of. Four legs are better thantwo. Thy Dobbin has still enow strength left in him to carry him backto his manger. So haste thee, good Dickon, with all speed thou mayest,and bid them at Bletsoe Castle send quickly a litter for my lady to bearher home. She is weary and weak. I, meantime, will return to her.Somehow it mislikes me leaving her alone with priests and women, whenthose devil's servants, the Breaute varlets, are about. And 'twillcheer her heart to hear good news of thee, for she misdoubted somemishap to thee also."
"I fall not lightly, brother," replied Dicky. "The armed men came withthe rush of a battering-ram. But thanks to St. Dunstan and the muddyroads, I got off scathless.--And now, Dobbin--to our oats, Dobbin, toour oats; and to our lady's aid."
The lay-brother, much relieved in his mind, hurriedly retraced hissteps. It was broad daylight as he once more approached the chapel, andwhile yet at a distance he plainly perceived a little crowd gathered atthe door.
A horse-litter, consisting of a kind of curtained couch resting on twopoles, borne by two stout horses, was in waiting. On the foremost horserode a groom. Another mounted man stood by, leading a sparesaddle-horse.
As the lay-brother drew nearer, he saw three figures issue from thechapel, and recognized the Lady Aliva, his mother, and Father Bertram.
Struck with astonishment that the desired conveyance should haveappeared so speedily, the Benedictine halted in the middle of the road.Then the truth flashed upon him.
It was impossible that the litter could have come from Bletsoe. Theremust be treachery afoot.
A glance at the De Breaute livery worn by the mounted groom confirmedhis suspicion.
Without a moment's hesitation he rushed forward, exclaiming in warningtones,--
"Mother! my lady! Stay, stay! for God's sake stay!" and as he spoke hestretched out a detaining hand towards the litter.
But ere he could grasp it, the priest, who had been assisting Aliva intothe conveyance, turned sharply round, and with the key of the chapeldoor, which he still held in his hand, dealt the Benedictine a heavyblow on the head.
Then he shouted to the postillion to hurry off, and himself jumping onto the spare saddle-horse, followed the litter towards Bedford, leavingthe lay-brother senseless and bleeding on the road, his mother bendingover him.
The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle Page 14
