by Tom Bevan
Chapter XII.
SNARING A FLOCK OF NIGHT RAVENS.
At about the hour when Johnnie Morgan stepped out over his threshold togo down to the admiral at Gatcombe, Andrew Windybank stole like a thieffrom the Tower and went through by-paths towards Westbury-on-Severn, afishing hamlet that lay a little farther up-stream than Newnham. Not asingle man of all his servants and retainers went with him. He wasclad in helmet and cuirass, and armed with sword and poniard. Althoughhe walked stealthily, he walked firmly. Impelled by superstitiousfears, avarice, and desire for revenge, he had finally thrown himselfwhole-heartedly into the Spanish plot. He had found it impossible tohold out against Jerome and Basil, for, had he withstood them, theywould have killed him without mercy. Therefore, being implicatedhopelessly with them and their schemes, he determined, wisely, to useno half-measures and thus court defeat and disaster, but to strive tohis uttermost for the success of their plans, treasonable anddishonourable though he knew them to be. "May as well be hanged for aroyal stag as for lesser game," said Master Windybank; and as he saidit he felt his neck grow uncomfortable. He plucked at his doublet,found it quite loose, swore at himself for an imaginative fool, andhurried on his way.
The wood was almost passed; the trees were thin, and the steep of thehill was merging into the level of the plain. Master Andrew could hearthe faint roar of the running tide. Nowhere along the river could alight be seen. From wood to wood across the wide waterway all was ablack hollow, not even the yellow of the half-covered sands showing atinge of colour through the thick darkness. "A mirky night for a mirkydeed," whispered the young man. "Father Jerome hath chosen well." Heresumed his walk, turning north towards the cliff at Westbury. Thedarkness and the sense of security had heightened his courage; hestepped out boldly and without hesitation. All at once he wasconscious that some one was near him. Hardly had he realized thispresence when a hand was laid in a familiar fashion on his arm. "Thyfeet are swift in the good cause," said a voice; "thus do men step tovictory!"
Basil! Windybank felt uncomfortable at once. Had the fellow beendogging his steps from the Tower? He moved more stealthily than thenight itself, and one never felt free of his presence.
The two walked on side by side, never exchanging another word; indeedWindybank made no reply to Basil's remark. They came out on theriver-side path that ran from Newnham to Westbury around the greathorseshoe sweep of the river. The shallow wavelets of the advancingtide were already lapping at the soft, red bank on their right. Ontheir left was a ditch; behind that, an embankment topped by a tallhedge; beyond that, orchards and fields stretching away to forest andhill. The two conspirators crept along in the shadow of the hedge.Half a mile farther on was the rendezvous. A faint light coming fromthe foam-topped water made the blackness near its margin seem lessintense, and presently Windybank saw three figures ahead of himsilhouetted against the stretch of river. He plucked Basil by thesleeve, and the fanatic came to a dead stop instantly.
"Friends or foes?" whispered the young forester.
"No foe would walk so openly to our meeting-place," replied the other,"and no friend should risk discovery so stupidly. I'll hurry afterthem and teach them discretion."
The ex-monk crouched down and ran almost on all fours like a dog. Thepace at which he went in so strained a position opened Windybank'seyes. "The fellow's more beast than man," he thought, "and hismuscular strength is marvellous." He went on to the appointed placealone and slowly, seeing nothing of Basil or the three others until hegot there.
About a dozen men were assembled, and Windybank gathered from theirwhispers that they were from the northern part of the forest or frombeyond the Wye; neither Father Jerome nor his other lieutenant, John,was present. Windybank stretched himself on the grass just above thewater, being determined to say nothing to any man. He fell tocontemplating the tall spire of Westbury Church, which stood out like ablurred finger in the darkness. Meanwhile the tide ran strongly.
A boat came across from the eastern side of the river. Father Jeromeand five men stepped out, and the boat was tied up under the bank. TheJesuit asked for "Master Windybank," and Andrew stood up. "Yourleader, friends, if it comes to fighting," said Jerome quietly.Windybank bowed; he had not anticipated such an honour, and hecertainly did not want it; there was too much danger about it.
"Where is John?"
Basil answered. "Gone to meet the company that rides from Gloucester."
Nearly half an hour went by, a time of dead silence and anxiouswatching. Some of the less eager conspirators began to feel thedemoralizing effects of the long wait; their courage began to ebb.Andrew Windybank had time to reflect, and he wished himself well out ofthe whole business. Here and there a man sighed or fidgeted in thedarkness. Basil was quick to notice the signs, and equally quick tocombat them. He whispered words of hope and promise, and stimulatedthe nagging ones to fresh zeal.
A muffled sound of hoofs--the men from Gloucester! Windybank notedwith some degree of satisfaction that they ware well armed and wellmounted. In the darkness he counted nearly a score of men. A few were"riff-raff;" some, like himself, were perhaps forced; but the majorityseemed to be of some substance and courage. Prospects were lookingbrighter. Master Andrew ventured to ask Basil a question. "What ofthe Irish ship?"
"The _Luath_ will not fail us; she is almost due."
"It is possible that she may pass the cliff in the darkness," put in abystander. "Mine eyes are good, but I cannot see mid-stream, and aboat that carries no lights may easily slip by unseeing and unseen."
"That is our greatest risk, my son," admitted Basil. "But if the_Luath_ is to escape other prying eyes, we must take the chance againstourselves. One thing, we know when and where to expect her, and thecaptain will steer inshore after passing Newnham, because of the deeperchannel being this side. I don't think we shall miss her."
Father Jerome utilized the minutes in slipping from man to man andgiving each a fixed duty to perform the moment the _Luath_ should cometo anchor under the bank. He seemed to have forgotten nothing; ropeswere ready for the tying up of the vessel and the hauling ashore of thecargo in cradles that the skipper would have aboard with him. Thehorses from the city were designed for duty as pack-horses, by means ofwhich combustibles would be conveyed to divers parts of the forest andhidden whilst the darkness lasted. Finally, the boat that had broughtFather Jerome and the contingent from the Arlingham side would driftdown-stream on the ebb with materials for giving the fire a good startround Awre and Blakeney.
"Ha!"--the exclamation came in a strained whisper from a dozen throats.A black shape loomed up out of the darkness, and was recognized by morethan one for the _Luath_. The ship swung towards the cliff, and themen stood ready to drop the anchor. There was a soft call of "Ahoy!"
"Ahoy!" answered Basil. In an instant every conspirator was alert andafoot. Father Jerome rubbed his hands with undisguised glee, andAndrew Windybank felt a great weight drop from his heart. He had nowno doubt of success for the night's venture. The _Luath_ was safe andto time, and many hours of darkness were yet before them. He had notexpected that things would go so smoothly. He saw visions of satisfiedrevenge dancing before him like "Jack-o'-lanthorns." His spirits wereof that sort that are easily elated or depressed. Now they bounded uplike a liberated balloon.
But another black shape crept up-stream--a small black shape. And fromthis came, not a faint call, but a rousing shout of:--
"St. George and the Heart of Oak!"
