“In good sooth and sober truth,” replied Henry, rounding his arm and placing his hand on his lusty thigh in true royal fashion.
“Were you the royal Henry, I should not care for your preference,” said Mabel more confidently. “My grandsire says the king changes his love as often as the moon changes — nay, oftener.”
“God’s death! — your grandsire is a false knave to say so!” cried Harry.
“Heaven help us! you swear the king’s oaths,” said Mabel. “And wherefore not, sweetheart?” said Harry, checking himself. “It is enough to make one swear, and in a royal fashion too, to hear one’s liege lord unjustly accused. I have ever heard the king styled a mirror of constancy. How say you, Charles Brandon? — can you not give him a good character?”
“Oh! an excellent character,” said Brandon. “He is constancy itself — while the fit lasts,” he added, aside.
“You hear what my friend says, sweetheart,” observed Harry; “and I assure you he has the best opportunities of judging. But I’ll be sworn you did not believe your grand-sire when he thus maligned the king.”
“She contradicted me flatly,” said Tristram. “But pour out the mead, girl; our guests are waiting for it.”
While Mabel, in compliance with her grandsire’s directions, filled the horn, the door of the cottage was noiselessly opened by Morgan Fenwolf, who stepped in, followed by Bawsey. He stared inquisitively at the strangers, but both were so much occupied by the damsel that he remained unnoticed. A sign from the old forester told him he had better retire: jealous curiosity, however, detained him, and he tarried till Harry had received the cup from Mabel, and drained it to her health. He then drew back, closed the door softly, and joined a dark and mysterious figure, with hideous lineaments and an antlered helm upon its brows, lurking outside the cottage.
Meanwhile, a cup of mead having been offered to Brandon, he observed to his companion, “We must now be setting forth on our journey. Night is advancing, and we have five long miles to traverse across the great park.”
“I would stay where I am,” rejoined Harry, “and make a bench near the fire serve me in lieu of a couch, but that business requires our presence at the castle to-night. There is payment for our meal, friend,” he added, giving a mark to Tristram, “and as we shall probably return to-morrow night, we will call and have another supper with you. Provide us a capon, and some fish from the lake.”
“You pay as you swear, good sir, royally,” replied Tristram. “You shall have a better supper to-morrow night.”
“You have a dangerous journey before you, sir,” said Mabel. “They say there are plunderers and evil spirits in the great park.”
“I have no fear of any such, sweetheart,” replied Harry. “I have a strong arm to defend myself, and so has my friend Charles Brandon. And as to evil spirits, a kiss from you will shield me from all ill.”
And as he spoke, he drew her towards him, and clasping her in his arms, imprinted a score of rapid kisses on her lips.
“Hold! hold, master!” cried Tristram, rising angrily; “this may not be. ’Tis an arrant abuse of hospitality.”
“Nay, be not offended, good friend,” replied Harry, laughing. “I am on the look-out for a wife, and I know not but I may take your granddaughter with me to Guildford.”
“She is not to be so lightly won,” cried Tristram; “for though I am but a poor forester, I rate her as highly as the haughtiest noble can rate his child.”
“And with reason,” said Harry. “Good-night, sweet-heart! By my crown, Suffolk!” he exclaimed to his companion, as he quitted the cottage, “she is an angel, and shall be mine.”
“Not if my arm serves me truly,” muttered Fenwolf, who, with his mysterious companion, had stationed himself at the window of the hut.
“Do him no injury,” returned the other; “he is only to be made captive-mark that. And now to apprise Sir Thomas Wyat. We must intercept them before they reach their horses.”
CHAPTER IV.
How Herne the Hunter showed the Earl of Surrey the Fair Geraldine in a Vision.
On the third day after Surrey’s imprisonment in the keep, he was removed to the Norman Tower. The chamber allotted him was square, tolerably lofty, and had two narrow-pointed windows on either side, looking on the one hand into the upper quadrangle, and on the other into the middle ward. At the same time permission was accorded him to take exercise on the battlements of the Round Tower, or within the dry and grassy moat at its foot.
The Fair Geraldine, he was informed, had been sent to the royal palace at Greenwich; but her absence occasioned him little disquietude, because he knew, if she had remained at Windsor, he would not have been allowed to see her.
On the same day that Surrey was removed to the Norman Tower, the Duke of Richmond quitted the castle without assigning any motive for his departure, or even taking leave of his friend. At first some jealous mistrust that he might be gone to renew his suit to the Fair Geraldine troubled the earl; but he strongly combated the feeling, as calculated, if indulged, to destroy his tranquillity; and by fixing his thoughts sedulously on other subjects, he speedily succeeded in overcoming it.
On that night, while occupied in a translation of the Aeneid which he had commenced, he remained at his task till a late hour. The midnight bell had tolled, when, looking up, he was startled by perceiving a tall figure standing silent and motionless beside him.
Independently of the difficulty of accounting for its presence, the appearance of the figure was in itself sufficiently appalling. It was above the ordinary stature, and was enveloped in a long black cloak, while a tall, conical black cap, which added to its height, and increased the hideousness of its features, covered its head.
For a few minutes Surrey remained gazing at the figure in mute astonishment, during which it maintained the same motionless posture. At length he was able to murmur forth the interrogation, “Who art thou?”
“A friend,” replied the figure, in a sepulchral tone.
“Are you a man or spirit?” demanded Surrey.
“It matters not — I am a friend,” rejoined the figure.
“On what errand come you here?” asked Surrey.
“To serve you,” replied the figure; “to liberate you. You shall go hence with me, if you choose.”
“On what condition?” rejoined Surrey.
“We will speak of that when we are out of the castle, and on the green sod of the forest,” returned the figure.
“You tempt in vain,” cried Surrey. “I will not go with you. I recognise in you the demon hunter Herne.” The figure laughed hollowly — so hollowly that Surrey’s flesh crept upon his bones.
“You are right, lord of Surrey,” he said; “I am Herne the Hunter. You must join me. Sir Thomas Wyat is already one of my band.”
“You lie, false fiend!” rejoined Surrey. “Sir Thomas Wyat is in France.”
“It is you who lie, lord of Surrey,” replied Herne; “Sir Thomas Wyat is now in the great park. You shall see him in a few minutes, if you will come with me.”
“I disbelieve you, tempter!” cried Surrey indignantly. “Wyat is too good a Christian, and too worthy a knight, to league with a demon.”
Again Herne laughed bitterly.
“Sir Thomas Wyat told you he would seek me out,” said the demon. “He did so, and gave himself to me for Anne Boleyn.”
“But you have no power over her, demon?” cried Surrey, shuddering.
“You will learn whether I have or not, in due time,” replied Herne. “Do you refuse to go with me?”
“I refuse to deliver myself to perdition,” rejoined the earl.
“An idle fear,” rejoined Herne. “I care not for your soul — you will destroy it without my aid. I have need of you. You shall be back again in this chamber before the officer visits it in the morning, and no one shall be aware of your absence. Come, or I will bear you hence.”
“You dare not touch me,” replied Surrey, placing his hand upon his breast; “I am
armed with a holy relic.”
“I know it,” said Herne; “and I feel its power, or I would not have trifled with you thus long. But it cannot shield you from a rival. You believe the Fair Geraldine constant — ha?”
“I know her to be so,” said Surrey.
A derisive laugh broke from Herne.
“Peace, mocking fiend!” cried Surrey furiously.
“I laugh to think how you are deceived,” said Herne. “Would you behold your mistress now? — would you see how she conducts herself during your absence?”
“If you choose to try me, I will not oppose the attempt,” replied Surrey; “but it will be futile.”
“Remove the relic from your person,” rejoined Herne. “Place it upon the table, within your grasp, and you shall see her.”
Surrey hesitated; but he was not proof against the low mocking laugh of the demon.
“No harm can result from it,” he cried at length, detaching the relic from his neck, and laying it on the table.
“Extinguish the light!” cried Herne, in a commanding voice.
Surrey instantly sprang to his feet, and dashed the lamp off the table. “Behold!” cried the demon.
And instantly a vision, representing the form and lineaments of the Fair Geraldine to the life, shone forth against the opposite wall of the chamber. At the feet of the visionary damsel knelt a shape resembling the Duke of Richmond. He was pressing the hand extended to him by the Fair Geraldine to his lips, and a smile of triumph irradiated his features.
“Such is man’s friendship — such woman’s constancy!” cried Herne. “Are you now satisfied?”
“I am, that you have deceived me, false spirit!” cried the earl. “I would not believe the Fair Geraldine inconstant, though all hell told me so.”
A terrible laugh broke from the demon, and the vision faded away. All became perfect darkness, and for a few moments the earl remained silent. He then called to the demon, but receiving no answer, put forth his hand towards the spot where he had stood. He was gone.
Confounded, Surrey returned to the table, and searched for the relic, but, with a feeling of indescribable anguish and self-reproach, found that it had likewise disappeared.
CHAPTER V.
What befell Sir Thomas Wyat in the Sandstone Cave — And how he drank a maddening Potion.
THE cave in which Sir Thomas Wyat found himself, on the removal of the bandage from his eyes, was apparently — for it was only lighted by a single torch — of considerable width and extent, and hewn out of a bed of soft sandstone. The roof, which might be about ten feet high, was supported by the trunks of three large trees rudely fashioned into pillars. There were several narrow lateral passages within it, apparently communicating with other caverns; and at the farther end, which was almost buried in obscurity, there was a gleam seemingly occasioned by the reflection of the torchlight upon water. On the right hand stood a pile of huge stones, disposed somewhat in the form of a Druidical altar, on the top of which, as on a throne, sat the demon hunter, surrounded by his satellites — one of whom, horned and bearded like a satyr, had clambered the roughened sides of the central pillar, and held a torch over the captive’s head.
Half-stifled by the noxious vapour he had inhaled, and blinded by the tightness of the bandage, it was some time before Wyat fully recovered his powers of sight and utterance.
“Why am I brought hither, false fiend?” he demanded at length.
“To join my band,” replied the demon harshly and imperiously.
“Never!” rejoined Wyat. “I will have nought to do with you, except as regards our compact.”
“What I require from you is part of our compact,” rejoined the demon. “He who has once closed hands with Herne the Hunter cannot retreat. But I mean you fairly, and will not delude you with false expectation. What you seek cannot be accomplished on the instant. Ere three days Anne Boleyn shall be yours.”
“Give me some proof that you are not deceiving me, spirit,” said Wyat.
“Come, then!” replied Herne. So saying, he sprang from the stone, and, taking Wyat’s hand, led him towards the lower end of the cave, which gradually declined till it reached the edge of a small but apparently deep pool of water, the level of which rose above the rock that formed its boundary.
“Remove the torch!” thundered the demon to those behind. “Now summon your false love, Sir Thomas Wyat,” he added, as his orders were obeyed, and the light was taken into one of the side passages, so that its gleam no longer fell upon the water.
“Appear, Anne Boleyn!” cried Wyat.
Upon this a shadowy resemblance of her he had invoked flitted over the surface of the water, with hands outstretched towards him. So moved was Wyat by the vision, that he would have flung himself into the pool to grasp it if he had not been forcibly detained by the demon. During the struggle the figure vanished, and all was buried in darkness.
“I have said she shall be yours,” cried Herne; “but time is required for the accomplishment of my purpose. I have only power over her when evil is predominant in her heart. But such moments are not unfrequent,” he added, with a bitter laugh. “And now to the chase. I promise you it will be a wilder and more exciting ride than you ever enjoyed in the king’s company. To the chase! — to the chase, I say!”
Sounding a call upon his horn, the light instantly reappeared. All was stir and confusion amid the impish troop — and presently afterwards a number of coal-black horses, and hounds of the same hue, leashed in couples, were brought out of one of the side passages. Among the latter were two large sable hounds of Saint Hubert’s breed, whom Herne summoned to his side by the names of Saturn and Dragon.
A slight noise, as of a blow dealt against a tree, was now heard overhead, and Herne, imposing silence on the group by a hasty gesture, assumed an attitude of fixed attention. The stroke was repeated a second time.
“It is our brother, Morgan Fenwolf,” cried the demon.
Catching hold of a chain hanging from the roof, which Wyat had not hitherto noticed, he swung himself into a crevice above, and disappeared from view. During the absence of their leader the troop remained motionless and silent.
A few minutes afterwards Herne reappeared at the upper end of the cave. He was accompanied by Fenwolf, between whom and Wyat a slight glance of recognition passed.
The order being given by the demon to mount, Wyat, after an instant’s hesitation, seized the flowing mane of the horse nearest him — for it was furnished neither with saddle nor bridle — and vaulted upon its back. At the same moment Herne uttered a wild cry, and plunging into the pool, sunk within it. Wyat’s steed followed, and swam swiftly forward beneath the water.
When Wyat rose to the surface, he found himself in the open lake, which was gleaming in the moonlight. Before him he beheld Herne clambering the bank, accompanied by his two favourite hounds, while a large white owl wheeled round his head, hooting loudly. Behind came the grisly cavalcade, with their hounds, swimming from beneath a bank covered by thick overhanging trees, which completely screened the secret entrance to the cave. Having no control over his steed, Wyat was obliged to surrender himself to its guidance, and was soon placed by the side of the demon hunter.
“Pledge me, Sir Thomas Wyat,” said Herne, unslinging a gourd-shaped flask from his girdle, and offering it to him. “’Tis a rare wine, and will prevent you from suffering from your bath, as well as give you spirits for the chase.”
Chilled to the bone by the immersion he had undergone, Wyat did not refuse the offer, but placing the flask to his lips took a deep draught from it. The demon uttered a low bitter laugh as he received back the flask, and he slung it to his girdle without tasting it.
The effect of the potion upon Wyat was extraordinary. The whole scene seemed to dance around him; the impish figures in the lake, or upon its bank, assumed forms yet more fantastic; the horses looked like monsters of the deep; the hounds like wolves and ferocious beasts; the branches of the trees writhed and shot forward like hissin
g serpents; — and though this effect speedily passed off, it left behind it a wild and maddening feeling of excitement.
“A noble hart is lying in yon glen,” said Morgan Fenwolf, advancing towards his leader; “I tracked his slot thither this evening.”
“Haste, and unharbour him,” replied Herne, “and as soon as you rouse him, give the halloa.” Fenwolf obeyed; and shortly afterwards a cry was heard from the glen.
“List halloa! list halloa!” cried Herne, “that’s he! that’s he! hyke! Saturn! hyke, Dragon — Away! — away, my merry men all.”
CHAPTER VI.
How Sir Thomas Wyat hunted with Herne.
Accompanied by Wyat, and followed by the whole cavalcade, Herne dashed into the glen, where Fenwolf awaited him. Threading the hollow, the troop descried the hart flying swiftly along a sweeping glade at some two hundred yards distance. The glade was passed — a woody knoll skirted — a valley traversed — and the hart plunged into a thick grove clothing the side of Hawk’s Hill. But it offered him no secure retreat. Dragon and Saturn were close upon him, and behind them came Herne, crashing through the branches of the trees, and heedless of all impediments. By-and-by the thicket became more open, and they entered Cranbourne Chase. But the hart soon quitted it to return to the great park, and darted down a declivity skirted by a line of noble oaks. Here he was so hotly pressed by his fierce opponents, whose fangs he could almost feel within his haunches, that he suddenly stopped and stood at bay, receiving the foremost of his assailants, Saturn, on the points of his horns. But his defence, though gallant, was unavailing. In another instant Herne came up, and, dismounting, called off Dragon, who was about to take the place of his wounded companion. Drawing a knife from his girdle, the hunter threw himself on the ground, and, advancing on all fours towards the hart, could scarcely be distinguished himself from some denizen of the forest. As he approached the hart snorted and bellowed fiercely, and dashed its horns against him; but the blow was received by the hunter upon his own antlered helm, and at the same moment his knife was thrust to the hilt into the stag’s throat, and it fell to the ground.
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