Enchanting Cold Blood

by Petya Lehmann

  “Do you hear a sound?” said Meraud.

  “I do,” said he; “get down, noble girl, and I will get down too. I must be sure what that noise is.”

  “It is all very well to say 'get down,'” said Meraud, “but your horse is very high, full nineteen hands, and it seems to me a long way to the ground.”

  “What could happen to you?” said Estercel. “I am afraid you are very foolish. You have nothing to do but to slide down, and it is what any child of four years could do. If you are afraid, you can step on my foot and jump forward. Only make haste, noble girl, for I wish to find out what is that noise.”

  With a sigh and a laugh, Meraud prepared to slide, as right well she knew how, and came safely to the ground. In an instant, Estercel was beside her.

  “That hillock there is good for sound,” said he, pointing his finger to a little hill at a distance. “There is no passage for it underground here where we stand.”

  With a word to his horse, who stood obedient and motionless, he ran to the hill and cast himself down, ear to the ground, while Meraud did the same. As if a door had been opened, most wonderfully there came to their ears the noise of an innumerable tread: hoof of horse, and foot of man, and the rolling of wheels. Heavy was the noise and great. Estercel groaned as he lay to hear it. Meraud lifted up her head and gazed upon him. His eyes were closed, and his lips parted, and an expression of anguish stiffened upon his face.

  “Aha,” said the girl to herself as she looked, “you are no Queen's man. I know you for what you are, coming from Tyrone's country and all. You are no boy to be looking for an English college. I have you now in my hand to play with!”

  Even as she looked at him, he raised his head and stood up.

  “We had better be going,” he said. “That is no common sound. Anyone would say the whole world was come to Ireland.”

  He looked keenly at Meraud, who gave him no straight look back, but turned the corner of her shining wine-coloured eye upon him. It was the look of the enchantress, while his was the hero's gaze. The emotion left his face. Cold and grave, he said to her:

  “Now, noble girl, we have had our play, and I thank you for coming, but it is time you were safe at home. Will you ride now to the gate?”

  “I will go my own way and on foot,” said the damsel; then with a wicked smile she asked: “And when I am got home, shall I speak with my uncle to procure you speech of the Lord Essex on the subject of the English colleges, or have you perhaps other means of your own for getting at him and other matters to discuss?”

  Estercel's cheek whitened over as a cruel anger rose in his breast. Meraud saw her danger and trembled before it. Instinct warned her that here was a man whole and strong, who would destroy, and that at once, the fairest creature alive that played the traitor. For one moment, he and the white horse behind him seemed to grow in stature before her eyes till they seemed something huge and terrible. With a gasp, the evil spirit left her, conjured away by fear. With gentle looks and pale and speaking face, she went near and said to him:

  “Do not look so fierce all in a moment. I meant no harm and was only in play. Sure, what do I know of you but that you are beautiful and kind? I only ask for your friendship.”

  “I give no friendship to false faces,” said Estercel, in cold rage. “You have taken my hand and sat on the back of my horse. More than that, you put a kiss on my cheek. And was it a spy you were all the time?”

  Fierce and hard was his look, but Meraud's courage rose too. “Ay, and I would kiss you again for a penny,” she said with a smile. “I am no spy. Would you fight with a girl?”

  “Ay,” said he, “that I would. For there are women as I know that have sold the men that trusted them. Now it seemed to me that you were the sort.”

  “No, no,” said she, and her bold and open look was her very own. “I love no underhand ways, but always speak my mind. Do not get in a passion like a foolish child, but ask yourself and see: would I have given you the hint that I knew what you would be at if I meant spying?”

  “Well, and that is true,” said Estercel more doubtfully. “But, indeed, your wicked look shook my very heart. Perhaps I have done wrong to speak with you at all, knowing all the danger of the times.”

  “Indeed, you have done no wrong, and you shall not repent speaking with me,” said Meraud earnestly. “Trust me now. I will be your friend, I will not ask to know what you are after. I should break my heart to lose your friendship.”

  “It is very hard to deal with women,” said Estercel. “If you were another man, I would know what to do: break you over my knee, or else I would swear brotherhood in all things with you. But you are a girl, and the most strange and wonderful ever I saw. I don't know how to manage you at all,” and he stared helplessly at her.

  Meraud laughed, a wild sweet laugh. Her danger was over. She sprang forward and kissed his hand, then she ran forward towards the gate of the town. But as she went, she cried to herself in a sobbing voice: “I am bewitched! I am bewitched! What in the world has come into my heart to make me so bold all in a moment?”

  Chapter XI. - In the Cathedral

  What a day was that on which Essex rode to take the sword at St. Patrick's Cathedral! Such state had never been seen, not in Ireland certainly, not in England at the coronation of Essex's great mistress Elizabeth. The sun shone, the breeze, half salt, half sweet, wavered and turned between mountain and sea. White clouds balanced uncertainly, seemed to wait upon their wings to behold the shining river of gorgeous men that streamed along the city streets.

  Four hundred and eighty great gentlemen rode at Essex's back. The gold of the new world, silk and satin of the old, shone and glistened in the eye of the day. Above in the windows of the tall houses crowded many faces. A deaf man seeing those open mouths might have heard the shouting. Below, rags and hunger and hatred were grouped with the white-coated foot soldiery. A hedge of shining jewel-like eyes of the wretched watched flowing the gorgeous river of the inheritors of the Earth.

  Behind the gentlemen, adventurers came an endless file of orange-coated horsemen. Here and there you might see an honest English face fresh from the plough. Most of them were rogues and worse — savages full of the lust to trample and devour. Rome never trembled before the Goths as did those tormented ones before the gorgeous procession of gentlemen adventurers, formidable, hungry, every man of them, for spoil.

  Inconstant April airs, blue sky, rags and beggary, and orange-coated horsemen, all remained outside the cathedral. Within was the music of trumpets, harps, and drums; an incredible glance and blaze of gorgeous colours, the perfume of silks fresh from the loom, and a noise and rumour of voices. The smaller companies of the ladies had already arrived and sat like a bed of bright garden flowers disposed in the nave, bright indeed, but less adorned than their lords. Up the middle aisle came Essex, shining in the Queen's colour of snow-white, hung with chains of heavy gold, gallant in his masculine beauty, majestic in his port. Thousands of eyes followed him, and a murmuring filled all the arches of the cathedral.

  No more eager pair of eyes followed the passage of the great Essex than those of Meraud, where she sat forward by the side of a pillar, penned in the rear of her mother and aunt, and other reputable ladies loyal to the Queen's government and of high position. Angry and impatient, Meraud sat and stood. Now she flung herself backward, now stood up or stepped upon her chair, where her tall shoulders rose above the crowd, and her good mother turned about and angrily beckoned to descend. But in vain, for from this post she could see all around; see all the stir among the cathedral arches where the people turned and re-passed like a field of sea-birds new come from the sea. Many feelings, strange and new, rose in her breast, the desire to lead, to be at least among the first, to be away from these tamed ladies who were so poor of spirit. Another feeling possessed her and sent her glances fleeing abroad, seeking continually for the golden-locked hero whose beauty had bewitched her. And at the back of all was the imperious desire to know and understand the
secret intrigues and the hidden movements of the time.

  As Essex passed up the centre aisle, the Earl of Southampton at his shoulder, behind him a never-ending procession of manhood, gorgeous to the eye, thrice gorgeous in renown, Meraud's heart leaped in her breast at the gallant sight. And when Essex, burning like a white star of magnitude, stood high above them all, lifting to the chancel roof the sword that proclaimed him the Queen's regent, the arbiter of Ireland's destiny, she forgot Estercel and thought only of powers and thrones. How could she dream the truth of that shining uplifted figure? dream that that noble head was a marked prey and even now rocking upon his neck?

  When Meraud leaned against the pillar, round the stone cylinder, a small whispering voice reached her, and another answered, bitter as a dried lemon. Meraud leaned backward, but no more could she see than a red satin sleeve of a curious fashion, all gathered and drawn and pinked; and part of a man's leg, and that by no means a good leg, but well clothed in black hose; so she bent her ear again to listen.

  “I will swear to those black hose,” said Meraud to herself. “They are those of Sir Xylonides Bullen, whom I dislike the most of any man in all this town.”

  “The Queen's Majesty shall know of it,” said one voice. “Look at him, a crown on his head and garments of such state, never saw I the like. The Queen's Majesty herself was coronated in a simple cap of maintenance. Sir Anthony Standen said to me even now that his state is over-great. He would make himself a king, that fellow.”

  “Nay,” said the other voice, “he is a king already in his own estimation. It were time Her Majesty chastised him with something more consummating than a clout upon his ear.”

  And the men laughed: one of them cackled, the other laughed a soft musical laugh. “He has run to the length of his tether,” said the first voice. “He has enemies he doesn't know of: and they have the Queen's ear. Even now comes her order that Sir Christopher Blount, Essex's man, shall not be sworn of the council. You will see how that council shall guide him to ill purpose. And before long, he will find there is a hole in the bottom of his bag of treasure. Great as he appears, I tell you he goes to his undoing.”

  “Nothing more easy,” softly answered the sweeter voice, “than to undo him who is for ever undoing of himself. I am told there has been open speech between Essex and Sir John Harrington of Tyrone: some scurvy nonsense concerning that base bush-kern's fluency in the French and Italian tongue and of his honourable and courteous bearing. That were vile treason did Her Majesty hear of it. There is one that has made a note of his very words. This town is full of Tyrone's spies. Perchance, there are two or three under our polite noses and in this very place. It is but to take and squeeze one of them, and the strange matters that come forth can be sorted for Her Majesty's ears.”

  “Good, right good. The Tudor lioness raves every day more loudly against the disorders. I myself saw but yesterday a letter in her own handwriting, wherein she spoke of those 'base rebels and their golden calf, Tyrone' — Her Majesty's own words.”

  Chapter XII. - Crispin and Crispianus

  early the morning after, Meraud was awakened from her dreams by the sound of a trumpet in the street. It was not long before she was at the window; and there was a trumpeter on horseback crying the play of Crispin and Crispinianus to be played that very day upon the Hoggin Green. Meraud had never in her life beheld a play, and soon she was on foot and attiring herself in a white gown of new fashion, also a head-tire so ingenious that the very birds of the air, skilled as they are in weaving, might have envied its neat intricacies.

  All the town was pretty near as excited as Meraud. Who thought of rout, defeat, famine, plague, or red death? The gay coats of the soldiers might have been designed for festival, not for murderous war. The sun shone, and the merry tramp of the carpenters' hammers, as they put up the stage upon the green, was heard all through the town. Rows of benches in front of the stage were provided for Essex and all honourable company. Behind the stage stood up the spring bushes and trees in every shade of purple, brown, and green. Ropes were drawn to keep the soldiery and the common people from pressing upon their betters. From early morning crowds gathered together, as much to see the multitude of the gentlemen as to watch the play.

  At last, the hour drew near. Strange and delightful, the appearances began to be seen. Whenever some outlandish creature, such as an angel with wagging, unsteady wings or a devil with horns and a tail, looked out from behind the bushes, huge was the roar of delight. But that was nothing to the shouts that greeted Essex as he came on with his gorgeous and somewhat unruly host of gentlemen adventurers. The sun shone upon them as upon some Persian garden, astonished to find such a freedom of colour in a suffering land. Not one of all these men but felt himself too fine for the earth he stepped upon. What was the art and literature of the Celt to these captains? To be near is to be despised. They had smelt the gold of the Aztecs, the silver of Peru, the beauty and magnificence of England, France, and Spain was known to each one of them. Their errand here was one of blood, extermination, and divided lands.

  Playing, laughing, jesting, shouting, these fine fellows came on, and the vulgar crowd cheered them again. The people owed them no worship, nor the soldier either. The common soldier was the milch cow of these captains. Him they starved and robbed of his clothes, his food, his pay, and left him to rot for thanks. Yet such power lies in a gold chain and a satin coat, and a gay demeanour, that those who had been ready to curse now blessed instead.

  Among those whose arrival was most noted by the crowd was Meraud, who walked by the side of her mother with many gentlemen about her. She was half a head taller than any other girl. Those that looked upon her remarked that in brilliancy of colouring and noble port she was like the Elizabeth of a generation ago, only more fair. Eagerly, the girl looked about her. Passion as well as ambition was in her heart. She listened to the compliments of the gentlemen, but she longed most to speak with Estercel.

  Soon enough she saw him. He had on a fine brand-new suit of brown velvet and a gold chain. She saw more than one man pointing him out, so striking was his appearance of beauty and strength. But much as she wished it, she could not come at him. By good favour of Sir John Harrington, the Queen's own godson, Meraud was well seated to see the play, at the outer end of the very front row of benches which was covered with good crimson cloth. By bending back her head somewhat, she could see Essex in his raised seat, dressed this morning in a soldier's coat of blue, with no very pleased expression on his face.

  Apparently the paramount lord, the Earl of Essex began to find himself helpless in the nets of his enemies. His favourite Southampton, whose reminiscences of mad days in Paris were so delightful to him, whose gallant spirit resembled his own, had just been roughly removed by Elizabeth from his command as Master of the Horse, an intolerable slight to the leader of an army. Struggle as he might, his designs were for ever thwarted by the council; some malign influence breathed upon his army; already their spirit was altered; many of them were sickening, losing heart in the neglected, infected camp which was all that had been prepared for them outside the walls of the town. But though Essex had a sort of second sight that always made him alive to approaching misfortune, it was only one vein in him that was so. In the main, he was careless, generous, and high-mettled. In a second now, he threw off his gloom to watch the shoemakers of Dublin go through their lively performance.

  A curious mystery it was, and one very astonishing to the vulgar. The play opened with the appearance of two beautiful young cobblers who sat opposite to each other on the ground in chains and leather aprons, with shirts open at the neck, singing a pious Christian hymn. Then entered the gaoler, a surly man with two torturers dressed from head to foot in blood-red. They fall upon the lads, drag them to their feet, saying:

  “Vile ones, you must come away

  To the Prefect Rictiovarus.

  Tortured you will be this day

  Unless your hateful hymns you spare us.”

  Strik
ing them repeatedly, they bind them with thongs, drawing them tight. On the upper stage sits the Prefect Rictiovarus and his officers, and other torturers. The trial scene goes on, and to all the threatening curses of the officers who require them to sacrifice to “Jupiter and Mahound”, Crispin and Crispinianus answer in sweet broad tones and words of heavenly steadfastness.

  Meraud turned away her eyes from the stage as, with a parade of cruelty, the torturers ran here and thither making ready for their dreadful task. She heard the blows of the mallet as the nails were driven through and shuddered. Pressing up behind the ropes was a coarse soldiery, awed by the mystery, but partly rejoicing in the torturer's work and ready to take the hint and exercise the like practices among the Irish rebels of the north.

  Meraud looked up. Another curtain had been drawn, and on a raised platform above stood Mary, the Virgin, all in blue, and angels and archangels standing about her. She sends Gabriel down, and he touches the fingers of the two lads. By some sleight of hand, the awls fly about in all directions, striking the officers and torturers, who fall down dead. The heavenly host depart, singing a sweet roundel as they go.

  There was a pause, and the Earl descended from his raised seat and, attended by his gentlemen, began to walk up and down in front of the stage. Meraud rose, and many gentlemen crowded about her as she too began to pace up and down. Her quick eye soon saw that Estercel was moving slowly nearer and nearer in. A book was in his hand where a sword or an arquebus would have better become him. He was coming to speak with her, she felt, and she stood waiting to receive him; but with a smile, he passed on. His face was now pale, and he was frowning. Meraud drew her crimson cloak about her, for the April wind blew fresh, and the scene of torture had chilled her blood.

  Estercel passed on, and his heart was in his mouth. The desperate danger of his position almost caused him to shake. Here, before this throng, must his message be delivered, secretly to the ear of one who lived always in the centre of a crowd, and who in a moment of impatience or suspicion could give him instantly to a cruel death. But the young man was gifted with a bold and fighting spirit and a mind of single integrity. He did not pause a moment, but approaching Lord and Lady Clancarty, asked to be presented. The moment was well chosen: Essex and his gentlemen in full parade were approaching again, having turned at the far end of the green. Beautifully, the sun shone on their glancing jewels and noble apparel. Lord and Lady Clancarty stood forward a little with Estercel, and chance aided them. No sooner had Essex, who was a great lover of a noble person, clapped eyes upon Estercel than he stood and exchanged a greeting with Lady Clancarty and with her stout good-humoured husband.