CHAPTER II.
SIR HEREWARD'S RING.
From the spire of the Abbey church, throughout the night, the monkscould see on the high lands close by, to the south, long lines of redcamp-fires, and dancing torches here and there, as captains made theirwatchful rounds. The cries of the sentries came to their ears throughthe stilled air, as from the near side of Swilgate Brook itself, whichwashed the Abbey's walls. Little of sleep did the cells or dormitoriesknow that frightened night, for servants were busy till the firstcock-crow burying jewels and plate in the Abbot's garden, and half thebrothers kept vigil in prayer before the High Altar, or in the chapelsof St. Eustacius and St. James, while others slumbered fitfully ontheir pallets, or climbed the tower to watch the Lancastrians' lights.
Thus, at last, anxious morning broke, and the cawing of the rooks inthe branches close to Hugh's window roused the boy from his sleep. At abound he was on his feet, forgetting even to rub his eyes, and gladthat, having slept in his clothes, he might fare forth without loss oftime. His dreams had been all of archery--how that the best bows wereof Spanish yew, and he had tried to cut down the English yews in thechurchyard to make new weapons, and had been haled before the King'sjustices because of the law to preserve the yews for the King'sarmies--and the thread of this dream ran through his mind even as heknelt and muttered his prayer.
It was full daylight when Hugh found himself outside the Abbey wallsand on the footpath leading over the brook up to the Vineyards. Behindhim the matin chimes were sounding from the belfry. Before him rose thedismantled walls of Holme Castle, once the abiding place of the greatEarls of Gloster, but now long since grown over with ivy, and a harborfor owls and bats. When he had come to the top of the knoll, at thefront of these ruins, the sight spread out before his eyes was one towell quicken breath and set veins tingling.
A vast host of armed men seemed to cover the earth as far as he couldsee. The boy had not known before that the whole world contained somany soldiers. One company was in the rough meadow close at hand. Inthe bright light he could discern them clearly--strong men of war, withbattered steel breastplates, half blue, half red with rust, and ironcaps upon their heads. Some of these were leading a score of horsesback and down to the brook whence he had come. Others toiled atlevelling some half-dozen camp-tents of white cloth, with crimsonstripes, while still others crowded about the place where sparkscrackled and black smoke curled about huge caldrons wherein food wascooking. At the peak of the largest tent, high upon the staff, floatedgently in the early breeze an emblazoned standard, bearing theblood-red three roundels of the Courtenays.
For a moment Hugh's thoughts stopped at the memory of the strangeKnight and his letter; somewhere among this band of brawny fighting menwould be the four caitiffs who were here to slay that unknown Devongentleman, Sir Hereward. He glanced at his little finger, whereon thesignet ring of the three fishes glittered unwontedly,--and marvelled tofind his base-born skin touched by such a trinket, for he had resistedPeter's desire to take it over to the Abbey treasury,--and then theglance lifted itself to still more marvellous things.
Away in the distance, on the topmost point to the left hand of thehighroad, Hugh had already noted a brave pavilion, guarded by banks ofearth raised since last he saw that familiar horizon, and overhung bywhat he saw now to be the royal standard of England's Kings. A blare oftrumpets, rolling in sharp echoes from mound to mound across the field,proceeded now from this point, and as he looked Hugh saw upon thehighway, setting forth in his direction, a little cavalcade of knightsand ladies whose dress and trappings sparkled in the morning sun, eventhus afar, like the lights on the High Altar beneath the paintedwindows.
Onward this group of riders came--and the boy, creeping under the coverof the hedge, stole forward with no other thought than to see themclose at hand. And so it was that he crouched in listening silence, notmore than twenty paces removed, when this thing happened.
The tall, grave-faced, golden-haired noble whom Hugh knew to be John,Earl of Devon, clad all in burnished steel, and bearing a greatlion-crested tilting helmet upon his arm, strode forth from the companynear the ruins to the highway, and stood thus, with bare head erect inthe sunlight, until the riders, cantering lightly over the dew-laidroad, drew rein before him. Then he advanced, and bending with one kneeto earth, kissed the hand of a lady who, with a single knight, rode atthe head of the little train.
"HE ADVANCED AND KISSED THE LADY'S HAND."]
This lady, then,--she with the bold, beautiful face, pale now as anivory missal-cover, and drawn with stern lines, she with the burningbrown-black eyes, and proudly upright carriage,--was the Frenchwoman,the Queen, the great Margaret of Anjou!
Hugh held his breath and stared out of fixed eyes at this terribleforeign woman, whose hates had fastened war upon his country, hadkilled even his own father, had drenched the land with blood--andlistened with all his ears.
"We have given you, out of our grace, the lands and titles which yourrecreant brother Henry forfeited, and lost along with his head, when heplayed fast and loose with the usurper," this Queen said, in loud, coldtones, when the Courtenay stood upright again. "This day will test ourwisdom in the thing."
"Madame," the Earl made answer, holding her eye with his, "our househas given three lives for you. If mine goes to-day I shall diesorrowing chiefly for this--that there are no more of us to die for ourKing."
The knight who rode beside the Queen--Hugh through the bushes saw onlythat he was tall and lean, with a delicately handsome young face andreddish-brown hair under his beaver, and wore a silver swan on hisbreast--spoke now:--
"My Lord of Devon, my mother rides now with the Lady Anne and hertiring women to a place of safety on t'other side of Avon, there towait upon the good tidings we shall presently bring her. The place isat Bushley, the Lady Anne being acquainted with it from childhood. Fromthis, I return to lead our centre, with the Prior and the Lord Wenlock.My Lord Duke holds the front, beyond where our standard hangs. To you,my lord, the rear is given, to swing across this field, with your backagainst the ridge. The men from Somerset march to join you, even now.God stead you, honest Courtenay, and bring us victory!"
The Prince at this threw himself off his horse and into his mother'sarms, his face buried upon her knees, his hands holding hers. TheQueen, with marble face, swept her agonized glance high into themorning sky, and wept not, neither spoke, but bit her lips, and withher eyes invoked the saints.
Then, like some dissolving mist before Hugh's gaze, everything wasaltered. The Queen with her escort was ambling one way, toward the grayAbbey walls and the passage at the mill; her gallant young son wasgalloping with his group of knights back whence he came; the Courtenaycompany, close at hand, was gathering itself into ranks, with knightsclambering heavily into saddles, and men-at-arms striking their pikestogether. The whole broad field was, as by some magic hand, set inmotion; everywhere troops were marching, standards fluttering forward,trumpets calling shrill-voiced to one another.
The boy, lifting his head now above the hedge, looked upon this vastshifting picture with but a dazed comprehension. The beauty of it allwas so great that its grim meaning missed his mind. As far as eye couldreach, armed bodies of men, with banners and harness glittering in thesunlight, met the vision. And now, of a sudden, all movement ceased.The birds in the ivy on the ruin behind him sang into the morning air,and no trumpet answered them. The landscape stood still.
Suddenly the boy clapped hands to ears, and stared affrightedly abouthim. A demon-like roaring sound had burst, as out of the very earth,which rocked and quivered under the shock. A thousand thunder-claps inone, out from the clear sky! Quailing with fright, as lesser belchingnoises succeeded, shaking the ground and confounding all senses andwits, Hugh backed out of the ditch, and felt, rather than made, his wayrearward to the shadow of the ruins. Creeping up upon a ragged heap oftumbled stones, he ventured to look forth again.
A broadened veil of smoke--curious, thin, bluish smoke--all unlike thatfrom burning that
ches or stubble refuse--hung now upon the horizonwhere the royal standard had been. Was it still there? Hugh could nottell. Flashes of fire leaped swiftly for an instant here and there fromthis veil of smoky haze, and after each dart of flame there burst thisdeafening, thunderous roar which had so appalled him. Then it brokeupon his brain that these were cannon, of which all men had long sinceheard, but few had ever seen on English soil. More than this it was noteasy to grasp of what was going forward. Along the line of smoke, wheresky ought to meet earth, could be seen confused masses of horse andfootmen struggling together, but whither moving or how faring in theirconflict could not be told. The men under Courtenay's banner hadmarched westward toward the windmill, and were not in sight.
All at once Hugh's gaze was diverted from this distant prospect to astrange apparition nearer at hand--a brownish-gray sort of globe, likea full moon, which, low to earth, stood between him and the smoke, andseemed to wax in bigness visibly as he looked. There was not time forthought before this ball, singing to itself as it came, swelled togiant size in the lad's vision--then smashed into the vine-clad wallbeside him with a huge scattering of stones and mortar. The wallquivered for a moment, then fell outward, prone to the sward.
Without hesitation, Hugh slid down from his perch, and half-choked withdust and lime ran toward Swilgate Brook as fast as ever his legs wouldcarry him. He made no pause, nor cast any glance backward, until hestumbled, panting and aflame with fright, into the cool shadow of theAbbey's big west gate. Not till its ponderous doors had clanged shutbehind him, did he venture to draw breath.
Only the slowest and stoutest of the lay servitors in the kitchenlingered yet over their morning meal when the boy, his hunger ledforward by keenest smelling sense, found his way thither. Within thislow-vaulted chamber it was as if the confusion of tongues had fallenagain. There were some hardier spirits who had, from sundry distantpoints of vantage, seen a tithe of what Hugh had witnessed. These toldtheir tales to gaping, awe-stricken groups with much bold embroideryand emblazoning of fancy, peopling the field with mailed giants, andimputing to magic the mystery of the cannons, whose dire bellowingsgave even these stony kitchen walls a throbbing pulse. Worse still waswhat the village vagabonds--permitted for the once to enter freely andmix with their betters before the fires--related with rolling eyes andquaking voices, to wile further victuals from the frightened cooks.
Into such riot ran this babel of loose tongues that not even thePrecentor's entrance stilled it. This gentle, soft-eyed old monk had,indeed, no thought to govern aught or any, and gazed about over themotley throng as one abashed, until his glance fell upon Hugh. To himhe beckoned, and, when the two were without upon the stairs, madehurried explanation:--
"His Lordship will himself sing the early Mass, with pontificalprocession, and full chapter ceremonial. Get thee with all speed intothy surplice, comb out thy locks--shalt bear the cross!"
A brief while later, paced slowly from the cloisters the longdevotional line, Hugh, all aglow with pride in his new office,advancing at its head, with the jewelled cross upheld aloft. After himwere singing boys in surplices and singing men with added copes; thentwo score monks in ebon black with lighted tapers, the secular canons,the priests of the Abbey, the priors, the deacons attired for thealtar, and last the venerable Abbot, John Strensham, bent with age andinfirmities, and wearing over his vestments an almuce with hood ofermine, because his blood was cold. Into the choir the procession filedwith measured step and solemn chant--and then, as by some sudden strokeof universal palsy, foot halted and song died on lips.
Such a scene as never monk or abbot had dreamt of in Tewkesbury laybefore them.
The doors of the rood screen hung wide, so that vision swept from thechoir down through the nave and its outer parts, where the simple andbase-born heard the Mass, straight to the great north porch. Here, too,the doors were open, for daylight streamed therefrom transverselyacross the nave. And in this light the amazed monks saw a mired,blood-stained, bedraggled swarm of armed men struggling fiercely forentrance before their fellows, and among these some who smote andfelled the others with their swords or battle-axes--amid clamor ofshrieks and violent curses, rising above the ground-note of a deep wildshouting as from a multitude without, and the furious clash of steel onsteel. The wrath of hell raged here and tore itself before them on theconsecrated floor of heaven.
While yet this spell of bewilderment lay upon the astounded spectatorsin the choir, Hugh felt himself clutched by the shoulder and pushedforward down the steps and into the aisle by a strong though tremblinghand. It was the old Abbot, who in the moment of horror at thissacrilege forgot his years. Raising himself to his full height, andsnatching the great beryl monstrance from the altar, he hurried nowdown the nave at such a pace that the cross-bearer, whom he dragged athis side, and the wondering monks and choristers who followed, werefain almost to run if they would not let him reach the porch alone.
The western end of the nave held now a closely-packed mass offugitives, with scarce a weapon among them--gilded and blazoned knighthuddled against unkempt billman, lord and varlet jammed together--allcrowding backward in despair from the open porch where, bestridingcorpses on the blood-wet flags, a dozen mailed ruffians with nakedswords and axes bent ferocious, hungry scowls upon them.
Helpless and dazed, as in an evil dream, the boy felt himself thrustforward into the very front of these war-wolves; and as he stood there,holding the cross as steadily as might be, within a cloth-yard shaft'slength of their ravening jaws and flame-lit eyes, his foolish kneesknocked together, and he had liked to swoon.
But then--lo! these fierce men put down their blades, and, bowingfirst, with ill-will slunk backwards to the sides of the porch; and theforemost, still doggedly, even fell upon their knees. Then, the waybeing clear, Hugh saw that where the churchyard graves had been wasnow, underfoot, a slaughter pen, and above a wilderness of wild facesand dripping pike-heads. And in the forefront of this awful array, withone mailed foot on the threshold of the porch itself, stood the noblestfigure of a man the boy's eyes had ever compassed--a youngish man ofuncommon stature and great girth of shoulders, girt with polished steelarmor picked in gold, and having on its breast a silver sun withflaring jewelled rays. He too grasped a huge naked sword, and sank itspoint before the cross Hugh held--the while two esquires made loose therivets of his towering helmet and lifted it from him. Then he, not toohumbly, bowed his head--a shapely head, with reddish-golden curls--andlifting it, looked into the church with the flushed face and glance ofa very god of war.
The Abbot, tottering as he came, pushed Hugh aside and reared himselfproudly in the porch, holding the monstrance with shaken hand above hishead, and crying out:--
"Where thou standest, my liege, thou art not King, but only EdwardPlantagenet, a sinner even as the meanest of us, and with the blood ofGod's children on thy hands. Therefore abase thyself. It is the Host!"
The King dropped to his knees for the counting of ten, then rose andmade a step within the porch, still searching sharply with restlesseyes into the shadows of the nave.
"My Lord Abbot," he said, in a soft, full voice of stately measurewhich belied his glance, "I and my brothers and our trusty friends havedesire to forthwith enter this holy edifice, and with thee offerreverent thanks for this our resplendent victory." As the Abbot heldhis silence, the King added, "I had not looked to find a Strenshamlifting himself between the saints and my piety."
The Abbot found his voice: "I am stricken in years, my liege. My lifehas been thine as long as has thy crown; take it now if needs be. Butwhile it lasts me, into this consecrated house thou may'st not enter toravish or mete punishment. Pledge me thy royal faith that no man withinthese walls shall feel thy wrath--that all shall be suffered to goforth in peace!"
"Since what time, my Lord Abbot," asked the King, dryly, "hath theprivilege of sanctuary descended upon the black monks of Tewkesbury?"
"Where God's flesh and blood are, there _is_ sanctuary!" shrilledthe Abbot. "By the pains of Calv
ary, thou shalt not enterunpledged--save over my old bones!"
While the King's answer hung yet in doubt, an old monk slipped past theAbbot, and, thrusting his shaven gray poll in obeisance close beforeEdward, mumbled a request which none behind him might hear. It wasPeter, the Brother Sacristan--and the King, so far from buffeting theaudacious shaveling with his gauntlet, thought for a moment, thensmiled, and waved Peter aside.
"On my kingly honor, I promise," he said firmly, with a glance rangingfrom Peter to the Abbot, and the half-smile playing on his handsome,ruddy face. "Before God, I promise! And for this sacrilegious bloodshedhere, will I do penance!"
The Abbot's withered old lips formed a mute thanksgiving. "My liege,"he faltered, "some forewarning of your triumph of a surety brought mefrom my bed to the altar this day. Praise God thy enemies are put underthy feet! Pray God for humility and a gentle spirit, these to stay theefrom trampling them! Wilt follow, and hear the Mass?"
Thus strangely, the broken procession was reformed, and Hugh, awearynow under the weight of the cross, sick with the smell of blood and thesight of hewn corpses at his feet, stumbled back again up the aisle,past the rood screen, into the choir, the singers chanting the solemn_Te Deum Laudamus_ behind him, and King, princes, nobles and knightsand monks and soldiers following the Abbot to the High Altar. Here, outof pity at his white face, another took his office on him, and Hugh,escaping from the incense-laden air of the choir, staggered into theambulatory, faint and distressed. He had too little wit left to notethat the side aisles and transepts held scores of skulking fugitivesoldiers, and that others of a like kidney were hiding in the shrinechapels about him.
Not even when one of these came forth from the enclosure dedicated toSt. Edmund the Martyr, and laid hand upon his shoulder, was hestartled, but only looked up with wan indifference on his chalk-likeface.
"Where had ye that ring?" a deep voice asked, with tightened grip uponhis shoulder to point the query.
Hugh saw now that it was a stalwart young man who questioned him--andone of quality, despite the miry disorder of his dress and armor, andhis dust-stained face. What could be discerned of this face waspleasing enough, too--but the lad's head was whirling and his tonguenumbed at its roots. For his life he could not speak.
"That ring!" the stranger went on excitedly. "I saw it on your handwhilst you held the cross--the which, now I think on't, saved ourlives. Fear nothing, lad! Tell me, how came you by it? Perchance I ambeholden to you for the letter last night--if so--will ye not speak, Isay!"
Hugh, with a despairing effort, gathered his wits, and asked faintly:"Are you the Sir Hereward, then, to whom 'twas writ?"
"Aye, none other--what there is left of me. And writ ye the letter? Andat whose behest?"
The boy opened his mouth to answer, looked blankly up into hisquestioner's face--then, as the swelling chant ceased suddenly in thechoir beyond, rolled supinely on the stones at Sir Hereward's feet, ina deadly swoon.
Through what remained of this awful Saturday, and through the startledhush of the Sunday following it, the boy kept his bed in a faint,drowsing languor, broken by fits of shuddering under the terror of evildreams. Oft and again, the writing monks came in compassion to hisbedside, but his shaken wits made of these visitors only black figuresin the background of an endless scared vision of stark corpses, bearingblood-stained heraldic shields along the pages of his book.
The second night came, and, lagging desperately through the longwatches, stole off by a trick at last while the lad slept--so that hewoke crowned as he lay with sunlight. The neglected book was in histhoughts first of all--and then came consciousness that he wasbetter--and then, as he opened his eyes and blinked against the fulllight, he saw that Peter was in the room, bearing a steaming dish ofbroth.
"Art fit for great news?" the Sacristan asked, roughly enough, butlooking down upon the boy with a kindly light shining from under hisgray, shaggy brows. "The Prince Richard--my Lord Duke of Gloster--hathsent hither for our best scrivener to attend him at the Tolzey, andBrother Thomas, conferring with the Abbot, hath nominated thee. Notthat thou art our best, nor near it, but thy masters are in cowls andgowns, and since Saturday's sacrilege no monk may stir forth to servethe Princes or the King. Art fit for it?"
Hugh sat up in bed, and put hand to brow, and smiled wistfully. "Aye,save for a foolish little wandering here," he made answer, "naught ailsme now!" And for proof he seized the dish and buried his jowl in it.
Peter strode up and down before the narrow casement, grumbling as hisgown flapped about his heels.
"Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" he sneered. "Well may the King laugh us toscorn as witless loons! For what is 'sacrilege' but a weapon forged byHoly Church to use against the laity, to our great profit and theiruplifting? Yet here are we, turning its point upon our own throats!Because a little paltry blood was spattered in the porch--lo! for afull month now the Church must lie in penitential darkness, no matins,no masses, no vespers--until it be purified and newly consecrated. Wasever such madness? Here with mine own eyes have I seen the son of aking, he that was born Prince of Wales, shovelled into a grave in thechoir without so much as a rush-light. The flags are all up forburials--the Earl of Devon, the Lord Wenlock, the Lord John Beaufort,and scores of knights and brave gentlemen brought to us by God's ownhand--and yet we may not harvest so much as a penny for it all! Oh!senseless chapter, to decree such folly!"
Hugh had in swift silence dressed himself the while the old monkbabbled, and stood now in all readiness. "I will to the scriptorium,good Peter," he said eagerly, "to bring ink and pens and paper, andthen take orders from Brother Thomas for my going."
"Thomas thou may'st not see, nor any other," said the Sacristan; "eachis in his cell, upon his knees, because of this same sacrilege, andthere must stick for days!"
"But thou art here!"
"Oh, aye!" the old monk growled. "Belike I took the habit overlate inlife to learn the trick of good, thick, solid praying. They set me nowand again at small, light supplications, but when great things arebesought, my help seems never needful. Moreover, I have the burials toorder. A sweet task, truly! To be laying the bones of princes and lordsin consecrated ground as thick together as rogues in the stocks atfair-time, and not the purchase of so much as a gum-wreath to show forit!"
The two walked through the long deserted corridor overhanging thecloisters, and entered the tenantless writing room. Naught had beentouched since that fateful Friday night, when Hugh had written theletter for the strange knight. He recalled this now, as he took hisinkhorn from the dusty table.
"Oh--tell me, Peter," he said, "saw you aught of the Devongentleman--him to whom that letter was writ--he was in the Abbeywhen----"
"Aye, more than once. He was holding you in his arms when Thomas and Ifound you. A goodly youngster--a thought too hasty, it may be, butsound at heart. He hath promised a year's masses for the dead Earl ofDevon, when things come right again. They were in some sort kinsmen.And I have sown in his mind pious thoughts of, moreover, rearing analtar-tomb in the Lady Chapel, with effigy and sculptured sides. Oh,aye--he had food from me yestere'en here in this very room, and sohotly pressed payment on me that----"
Even as the Sacristan spoke the veil of silence hanging like a pallover the Abbey was rent by a shrill, piercing shriek from thecloister-green below! Clambering to the table, and peering forth, Hughsaw the figures of men running along the vaulted walks, and of others,mailed, and with weapons, chasing them. From the church beyondproceeded a great tumult, with angry shouts, and the clashing of steel.
The King's word was broken. The fugitives were being dragged fromsanctuary!
Above the noises of search and despairing flight which now filled theair, there rose suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps near at hand.Then the further door was flung open, and Sir Hereward Thayer,breathless, bareheaded, and without his corselet, made hasty entrance.His eyes brightened as they fell upon Peter.
"The wolves are on us," he said, "and we have not so much as a stick tofend th
em off. It is no shame to hide. Where shall I find security,good brother?"
"Alack! there will be none here!" cried Peter. "If they are in thechurch itself, think you they will spare mere cells and offices?"
"Whither leads this room?" asked Sir Hereward, opening the middle door,and looking in upon Peter's array of candles, banners, wreaths, andpalls. "Here, under these, I can make myself secret till the search bedone!"
Without further words, he lifted from the darkest corner a pile ofdisordered linen stuffs, loose shrouds, and grave-cloths, and coveringsfor coffins. The Sacristan, as he looked from the doorway, noted withshrewd swiftness the gay colors of the morris-dresses underneath, and,stepping forward, laid his hand upon them. Then Hugh, hurriedly, andwith faltering lips, told Peter what they were, and the story of theirguilty presence--and lo! the old monk laughed aloud.
Then suddenly--as the clamor of the chase deepened outside--Peterhissed commands into Sir Hereward's ear.
"Get you into this motley in all haste! Lose no moment! Thus only canyou win outside and pass the gates, and go unquestioned through thetown!"
CHAPTER III.
HOW HUGH MET THE PRINCE.
Only a brief space later, Hugh and this new companion in painted fool'sclothes and with raddled cheeks made their way forth from the greatwest gate to the green. No formless loitering of idle men-at-arms nowmet their gaze. Straight lines of pikemen had been posted before eachentrance to church or monastery, and in the open space beyond stoodlong regular ranks of other soldiers, with fluttering standards and aforest of tall weapons--all newly burnished--ashine in the morning sun.
The twain, with as bold a front as might be, walked down this passageof pikes until the captain of the watch, a burly, bearded man inFlemish armor, stopped them with uplifted hand; and two dozenpike-heads clashed down as by a single touch, to bar alike progress andretreat.
"TWO DOZEN PIKE-HEADS CLASHED DOWN AS BY A SINGLETOUCH."]
"I am the scrivener of the Abbey," Hugh called out from within thissteel girdle, "and go forth to the Tolzey at behest of your master andmine--the Lord Duke of Gloster."
"And this merry fellow; hath the Duke need for him likewise?" thecaptain asked, with sharp glances. "I'm sworn his Grace looks more forheadsmen than for morris-dancers, as to-day's wind blows."
"Put thy queries to the Duke himself," said Hugh; "and hold us nolonger waiting here, as he waits at the Tolzey."
Grumbling in his beard, the captain dropped his hand, and the pikesflashed upward. Hugh and the mock fool passed forth, and turned theirfeet townwards across the trampled sward. At the church gate to theirright hand, a greater body of armed men stood, and beyond these, withinthe churchyard, high plumes on knightly helmets nodded in the morningbreeze. Of what was going forward there the two saw nothing, buthurried on, glad to pass unquestioned.
They came thus to the market-place, held clear by solid walls oftroopers, mailed, and armed to the teeth, behind whom the townsfolk,now heartily of but one opinion, strove to win friends and peep betweensteel shoulders into the open space. Still unmolested, the boy, bearinghis inkhorn and scroll well before him as a badge of craft, passed withhis companion to the side of the cross--where workmen toiled with axeand mallet to rear a platform of newly hewn beams and boards--and heldhis course straight to the Tolzey.
"Saw you what they build, there by the cross?" whispered Sir Hereward."It is a scaffold, where presently axes shall hew flesh and blood, notlogs." And then he added, "Whither go we; into the very tusks of theboar?"
"Nay, but to get behind him," returned Hugh, in the same sidelongwhisper. "Halt you at the Tolzey door; mix there with the throng whichidly gapes upon the soldiery, until chance offers to steal through somealley to the open fields."
"And you leave me there?"
"How shall it be otherwise? And--I say it now--farewell; the saintsprotect thee!"
"A word," the masker whispered. "Art sure it was a knight who orderedthe letter to be writ?"
"None other. A knight in full battle harness. And--_Oh!_ God save us!_It is he!_"
Before the low-browed Tolzey, or Toll-booth, a house of bricks ontimber, with projecting gallery reared over open pillars, an urgentthrong of citizens swarmed behind two rows of soldiers, to note theuttermost of what was passing. This Tolzey--at once exchange and townhall, court-house and jail--had in its long life seen strange things,but nothing like unto to-day, when the King's brother, Richard ofGloster, and John Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, held bloody assize upon theenemies of the King. Above the gable floated, side by side, twostandards of deep red stuff, on which were wrought, one the silver boarof Gloster, Lord Constable of England, one the silver lion rampant ofNorfolk, Earl Marshal.
And at the porch, pushing their way through the press of onlookersunder the arches between the pillars, a knot of men-at-arms draggedforward that same strange knight at whose bidding Hugh had written theletter!
"Look! It is he!" the boy repeated breathlessly, quickening his pacefor the instant, then shrinking back dismayed.
Sir Hereward laid a firm hand on his arm. "I quit ye not here!" heswore, between clenched teeth. "Hasten we forward, and into thepresence of the court."
"But--it means death to thee--" the boy began, as the other hurried himon.
"Better a thousand deaths--by fire and molten lead--than that _this_should happen," the other gasped. "Up with thy chin! They _must_ notsay us nay!"
What answers they gave, in what manner their arguments satisfied, thetwain barely knew. The chief matter was that they won their way intothe Tolzey, were borne up the foul, narrow staircase by the throngclose at the heels of the soldiers and their captive, and suddenlyfound themselves stumbling over the threshold into a large room,whereof one part was densely crowded, and one empty as a grave freshdug. A triple line of steel corselets, sallets, and bills, drawn fromside to side, split these parts asunder, and behind this line those inauthority at the door roughly made to drive the new-comers.
When Hugh had shown his writing tools and told his errand, theysmoothed their tone and bade him stand aside, in the cleared space. Theothers--strange knight, his rude captors, the mummer-gentleman--allwere swallowed up behind the barrier into the throng which snarled, andsurged, and gnashed its teeth, in weltering heat and evil smells, underthe spell of the scent of blood.
After a little while there rose an echoing blast of trumpets from themarket-place without, riding as it were on the crest of a great wave ofcheering. Then hurriedly the officers brought forth from an outer roomtwo high chairs of state, gilded, and bearing the town's arms, and setthem upon the floor-cloth under a canopy, and put behind these, oneither side of the dais, other chairs and stools--and then bowed low asthe doors in the centre were flung open with loud knocks, and twoheralds, in blazoned tabards, entered. Behind these, with stately step,by twos came a score of great warriors and lords, mailed to the throat,and with pages bearing their cumbrous head-gear; then others ofdistinction, for the most part advanced in years, who wore rich gownsand chains, and held velvet caps in their hands; and lastly, two youngmen in gowns who wore their caps on their heads. And one of these, of asquare, thick-featured aspect, with broad breast, and reddish hair, wasEarl Marshal of England, yet had scarce a look from any one, so bentwere all thoughts upon the other.
This other--clad in sober colors, with a broad chain upon his breastand a black close-curling plume in his cap--came sedately forward andsat in the large chair a hand's breadth in front of his companion's. Helet his glance rest easily upon the crowded half of the room, as ifnoting things in idleness the while his mind was elsewhere.
The heralds called out each his master's exalted office, and whatmatters they had come now to rightly judge upon; and Hugh, having beenseated at a desk by the window, hung with all his eyes to the face ofthe youth in the foremost chair.
It was a thin, thoughtful face, dark of skin and with a saddened air.The bended nose was long, the point well out in air to bespeak aninborn swiftness of scent. And above, wide apart,
there burned a steadyflame of great-hearted wisdom in two deep iron-gray eyes which embracedall things, searched calmly and comprehended all things. This Prince,though first subject and foremost soldier under the King, his brother,was even now but nineteen years of age; and Hugh, gazing in rapttimidity upon him, flushed with shame at thought of his own years,close treading upon those of this Prince, and of his own weakunworthiness.
The boy wrote down what the old men in gowns bade him say concerningthe dreadful things that now were toward, and, writing, contrived alsoto look and listen with an awed, ashen face and bewildered mind.
Other soldiers had entered the room, and, making a weapon-lined lanebetween the door and the throng, brought forward now, one afteranother, the captive lords and knights taken red-handed from the Abbeyor found in hiding in the town. Each in his turn, with elbowsthong-bound at his back, with torn raiment and dishevelled if notbandaged head, was haled before the dais, and looked into thesedeep-glancing eyes of his boy judge.
Richard held them in his calm, engirdling gaze with never sign of heator pity, and to each spoke in tones high and sharp-cut enough for allto hear, but of a level in cold dignity. When they in turn replied, helistened gravely, with lip uplifted so that his teeth were seen. Everand again his fingers toyed with the hilt of the baslard at his girdlethe while he listened; and these to whom he hearkened thus trembledrightly at the omen. When all needful words were spent, the Princeleaned for a moment to his right and whispered apart with Mowbray, Dukeof Norfolk; but this for very form's sake, and not to seek counsel.Then, still in the same chilled, equable voice, he would mete out thejudgment, suiting to each with apposite words his deliverance, whetherthey should lose their heads for their treason on the morrow, or departunder the King's mercy as free men, paying fines in gold or land, orsuffering no penalty whatsoever. Well nigh two score and ten passedthus before the Prince, and of this number two-and-twenty were sent tothe block. Of these, the greatest in estate was Edmund Beaufort, Dukeof Somerset, blood-cousin to his judge, and to whom gray hairs hadbrought neither wisdom nor control. With him Prince Richard parleyed atlength, pointing out how the Beaufort line of John of Gaunt, beginningin dishonor with Katherine Swynford, and filtering through envioustrickery and disloyalty, would on the morrow run itself miserably outin muddy lees upon the scaffold. And then they led the childless Dukeaway amid the angered hootings of the crowd.
None but this Somerset, and Sir John Longstrother, who was called thePrior of St. John's, had courage wherewith to accuse the King of brokenfaith, in that he had sworn to give mercy to all who sought refuge inthe Abbey. To this young Gloster, still deadly calm, made answer thatthe King had given no such pledge, but only granted some old monk'sprayer that all of gentle blood who met their death, either in battleor on the scaffold, might be buried in the Abbey without dismemberment;this, and nothing more.
Of a sudden, Hugh, grown at home among these horrors, saw advancingunder guard between the glittering lines of bills, the mailed figure heknew so well. The boy held his breath as the strange Knight stoodbefore the dais, helmeted and erect--and as he noted that themorris-dancer, fiercely pushing his way, had followed close behind.
"What now!"--it was Mowbray who spoke--"Who comes thus covered? Looseus his helm!"
"I pray ye both," spoke the Knight, "suffer me to thus remain! It is aseasy to lose one's head in this fashion as another. I crave no othermercy."
A pale, flitting smile played over the Prince's lips. "After suchstress of sober state affairs, cousin of Norfolk," he said, moregently, "the jest is grateful. Hast brought thy morris-dancer withthee, too, I note, good sir!"
The Knight swung round to follow Gloster's glance; then, after amoment's earnest gaze upon the disguised man close at hand, turned withclosed eyes and hand on heart.
The Prince rubbed his hands softly together, and smiled again.
"Aye! lift us the basnet," he said to the soldiers standing guard. "Thejest will trip the better for more air and light"--and in a twinklingthe men had unfastened and raised the heavy helmet; and the Knightstood, flushed and confused, no knight at all! but a young andfair-faced woman, with loose golden hair tumbled sweetly upon her neck.
Richard's lips curled again, and his teeth gleamed under them, whilehis eyes shone with a merry light.
"Most excellent!" he chuckled, looking to Mowbray's dull, puzzled facein mock search for sympathy. "Now scrub us the paint off yon mummer'scheeks, and let his head be bared. The jest goes bravely."
Before the astonished onlookers, this too was done, and Sir Hereward,still arrayed to the throat in motley, with eyes sheepishly downcast,stood revealed.
The young Prince covered the two, as they stood, with his mirthfulregard, and rubbed his palms together in silent enjoyment.
"Read me the riddle, Lady Kate," he said at last. "I guess thy errandto these parts, and his is clear enough--perchance too clear!--but why,if thou must trick him out in morris-dress, why bring him here?Nay!"--as the lady would have spoken--"fear nothing; I like the jestthus far, but comprehend it only in part."
"My Lord Duke," the lady said, throwing back her hair with a proudgesture, "we were children together,--you and I,--you will credit myword. I knew not till this moment that he was here, but deemedhim--left--behind on the field. And I came hither, not in your despite,or your dread brother's, but to warn my friend here, Sir Hereward, oftreason menacing him in his own camp; and to that end, on Friday night,sent I a letter to him where he lay, by my own servant's hand."
"This is the letter," said Sir Hereward simply, drawing from his breastthe folded paper with its broken seal.
The Prince bent forward, took the missive, spread it out upon his knee,and read carefully through from first to last. "I grieve to learn ofyour good sire's death," he said once, lifting his eyes, and then readon, musingly. At last he smiled, and shook his head.
"I have full knowledge--none better, Lady Kate," he said, "of thy highspirits and brave temper. Thou wert of the mettle of knights-erranteven in short clothes. But what I looked not for was this clerkly hand,this deft scrolling of lines and letters." Still with dancing eyes heheld the paper up before the Earl Marshal. "Why, look you, cousin ofNorfolk! 'Tis as fair as any guild work from Bruges. And from a woman'shand, mark ye!"
The lady hung her head and blushed, then, lifting it, smiled. "YourGrace ever loved his jest," she said. "Alas, I am no clerk, nor wouldbe with a thousand years of teaching. I could more easily ride, bynight and day, across from Devon to save my--my friend, than mark astraight line on paper."
"And who writ ye this?" pursued Richard, eying the scroll afresh.
"A youth in the Abbey," said the lady, and Sir Hereward pointed him outwhere he sat.
Then suddenly Hugh, staring vaguely at all this, heard some one say inhis ear that his Grace had called for him, and felt another push him tohis feet--and then saw, as through a golden fog, that the Prince heldup a jewelled finger, beckoning to him. The boys heart thumped to histhroat with every step as he moved to the dais.
"It is thy hand, eh?" Duke Richard asked, with kindly voice, and thelad could only bow and blush. One of the old men at the table hadbrought forward as well the scrolls on which Hugh had written the day'sgrim record, and the Prince glanced over these with a student'slingering eye. Then, with a quaint smile and sigh, he said:--
"Behold how fair and goodly a thing is learning! Of ye three, thisstripling boy comes first in the race. Thou mightst have had thy ridefor naught, my Lady Kate, but for his craft. And thou, sirrah, mightsthave been murdered in thy camp, but for this same letter. And wert thouset upon by these knaves?"
"Aye, your Grace," Sir Hereward replied, "and slew two, with some smallhurt to myself, and their fellows fled--to be butchered elsewhere--downby the mill pit."
The Prince nodded his head in satisfaction, then more slowly spokeagain.
"Sir Hereward, were thy head a match for thy heart or thy vast sinews,belike thou hadst not saved it to-day. 'Tis dull of wit, but belongs toa simple val
iant gentleman, and I will not lop it from his shoulders.Get thee to Devon, and keep within the King's grace--and if the tastefor mumming rise in thee again, and will not down, go morris-dancing onthine own estates--or hers. And thou--saucy Kate--go take thy man, andmake thy wit the complement of his slow honesty. But no tricks! Why,silly pretty maid, didst think England was ruled by blind men! Thouhadst not killed thy first horse, in Somerset, ere we knew of thee andthy quest. And as for thy knight in motley, loud rumor preceded himdown the street to-day as if he had been the borough bellman."
Sir Hereward, holding the lady's hand, would at this have made somespeech of thanks, but that the Prince held up his finger to stop him.
"Nay--another day," he said, "perchance when we do send for thee tocome up to London town. Thy affairs have eaten up too much time, as itstands. The saints speed thee, Lady Kate, and teach thee to write. Inthis rude, topsy-turvy world, naught is secure but learning. Observewhat joy I have in this clerkly boy whose skilled hand mocks MasterCaxton's types in the Low Countries--but of that thou knowest nothing.I am beholden to thee for the boy. This night I'll beg him of theAbbot, and he shall be of my household at Baynard's. Go now. I amaweary of good unlettered folk."
And as the twain, bowing, left the room, the Prince turned again to thescrivener lad.
The Deserter, and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars Page 19
