The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Welcome again to my cave, Sir Thomas Wyat!” cried the demon, with a mocking laugh. “I told you, on the night of the attempt upon the king, that though you escaped him, you would not escape me. And so it has come to pass. You are now wholly in my power, body and soul — ha! ha!”

  “I defy you, false fiend,” replied Wyat. “I was mad enough to proffer you my soul on certain conditions; but they have never been fulfilled.”

  “They may yet be so,” rejoined Herne.

  “No,” replied Wyat, “I have purged my heart from the fierce and unhallowed passion that swayed it. I desire no assistance from you.”

  “If you have changed your mind, that is nought to me,” rejoined the demon derisively— “I shall hold you to your compact.”

  “Again I say I renounce you, infernal spirit!” cried Wyat; “you may destroy my body — but you can work no mischief to my soul.”

  “You alarm yourself without reason, good Sir Thomas,” replied Herne, in a slightly sneering tone. “I am not the malignant being you suppose me; neither am I bent upon fighting the battles of the enemy of mankind against Heaven. I may be leagued with the powers of darkness, but I have no wish to aid them; and I therefore leave you to take care of your soul in your own way. What I desire from you is your service while living. Now listen to the conditions I have to propose. You must bind yourself by a terrible oath, the slightest infraction of which shall involve the perdition of the soul you are so solicitous to preserve, not to disclose aught you may see, or that may be imparted to you here. You must also swear implicit obedience to me in all things — to execute any secret commissions, of whatever nature, I may give you — to bring associates to my band — and to join me in any enterprise I may propose. This oath taken, you are free. Refuse it, and I leave you to perish.”

  “I do refuse it,” replied Wyat boldly. “I would die a thousand deaths rather than so bind myself. Neither do I fear being left to perish here. You shall not quit this cell without me.”

  “You are a stout soldier, Sir Thomas Wyat,” rejoined the demon, with a scornful laugh; “but you are scarcely a match for Herne the Hunter, as you will find, if you are rash enough to make the experiment. Beware!” he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, observing the knight lay his hand upon his sword, “I am invulnerable, and you will, therefore, vainly strike at me. Do not compel me to use the dread means, which I could instantly employ, to subject you to my will. I mean you well, and would rather serve than injure you. But I will not let you go, unless you league yourself with me. Swear, therefore, obedience to me, and depart hence to your friends, Surrey and Richmond, and tell them you have failed to find me.”

  “You know, then, of our meeting?” exclaimed Wyat.

  “Perfectly well,” laughed Herne. “It is now eventide, and at midnight the meeting will take place in the forester’s hut. If you attend it not, I will. They will be my prisoners as well as you. To preserve yourself and save them, you must join me.”

  “Before I return an answer,” said Wyat, “I must know what has become of Mabel Lyndwood.”

  “Mabel Lyndwood is nought to you, Sir Thomas,” rejoined Herne coldly.

  “She is so much to me that I will run a risk for her which I would not run for myself,” replied Wyat. “If I promise obedience to you, will you liberate her? will you let her depart with me?”

  “No,” said Herne peremptorily. “Banish all thoughts of her from your breast. You will never behold her again. I will give you time for reflection on my proposal. An hour before midnight I shall return, and if I find you in the same mind, I abandon you to your fate.”

  And with these words he stepped back towards the lower end of the cell. Wyat instantly sprang after him, but before he could reach him a flash of fire caused him to recoil, and to his horror and amazement, he beheld the rock open, and yield a passage to the retreating figure.

  When the sulphureous smoke, with which the little cell was filled, had in some degree cleared off, Wyat examined the sides of the rock, but could not find the slightest trace of a secret outlet, and therefore concluded that the disappearance of the demon had been effected by magic.

  CHAPTER V.

  How Mabel escaped from the Cave with Sir Thomas Wyat.

  The next day Mabel was set at liberty by her gaoler, and the hours flew by without the opportunity of escape, for which she sighed, occurring to her. As night drew on, she became more anxious, and at last expressed a wish to retire to her cell. When about to fasten the door, Fenwolf found that the lock had got strained, and the bolts would not move, and he was therefore obliged to content himself with placing a bench against it, on which he took a seat.

  About an hour after Mabel’s retirement, old Tristram offered to relieve guard with Fenwolf, but this the other positively declined, and leaning against the door, disposed himself to slumber. Tristram then threw himself on the floor, and in a short time all seemed buried in repose.

  By-and-by, however, when Fenwolf’s heavy breathing gave token of the soundness of his sleep, Tristram raised himself upon his elbow, and gazed round. The lamp placed upon the table imperfectly illumined the cavern, for the fire which had been lighted to cook the evening meal had gone out completely. Getting up cautiously, and drawing his hunting-knife, the old man crept towards Fenwolf, apparently with the intent of stabbing him, but he suddenly changed his resolution, and dropped his arm.

  At that moment, as if preternaturally warned, Fenwolf opened his eyes, and seeing the old forester standing by, sprang upon him, and seized him by the throat.

  “Ah traitor!” he exclaimed; “what are you about to do?”

  “I am no traitor,” replied the old man. “I heard a noise in the passage leading to Wyat’s cell, and was about to rouse you, when you awakened of your own accord, probably disturbed by the noise.”

  “It may be,” replied Fenwolf, satisfied with the excuse, and relinquishing his grasp. “I fancied I heard something in my dreams. But come with me to Wyat’s cell. I will not leave you here.”

  And snatching up the lamp, he hurried with Tristram into the passage. They were scarcely gone, when the door of the cell was opened by Mabel, who had overheard what had passed; and so hurriedly did she issue forth that she over-turned the bench, which fell to the ground with a considerable clatter. She had only just time to replace it, and to conceal herself in an adjoining passage, when Fenwolf rushed back into the cavern.

  “It was a false alarm,” he cried. “I saw Sir Thomas Wyat in his cell through the loop-hole, and I have brought the key away with me. But I am sure I heard a noise here.”

  “It must have been mere fancy,” said Tristram. “All is as we left it.”

  “It seems so, certes,” replied Fenwolf doubtfully. “But I will make sure.”

  While he placed his ear to the door, Mabel gave a signal to Tristram that she was safe. Persuaded that he heard some sound in the chamber, Fenwolf nodded to Tristram that all was right, and resumed his seat.

  In less than ten minutes he was again asleep. Mabel then emerged from her concealment, and cautiously approached Tristram, who feigned, also, to slumber. As she approached him, he rose noiselessly to his feet.

  “The plan has succeeded,” he said in a low tone. “It was I who spoiled the lock. But come with me. I will lead you out of the cavern.”

  “Not without Sir Thomas Wyat,” she replied; “I will not leave him here.”

  “You will only expose yourself to risk, and fail to deliver him,” rejoined Tristram. “Fenwolf has the key of his cell. Nay, if you are determined upon it, I will not hinder you. But you must find your own way out, for I shall not assist Sir Thomas Wyat.”

  Motioning him to silence, Mabel crept slowly, and on the points of her feet, towards Fenwolf.

  The key was in his girdle. Leaning over him, she suddenly and dexterously plucked it forth.

  At the very moment she possessed herself of it, Fenwolf stirred, and she dived down, and concealed herself beneath the table. Fenwolf, who had been only s
lightly disturbed, looked up, and seeing Tristram in his former position, which he had resumed when Mabel commenced her task, again disposed himself to slumber.

  Waiting till she was assured of the soundness of his repose, Mabel crept from under the table, signed to Tristram to remain where he was, and glided with swift and noiseless footsteps down the passage leading to the cell.

  In a moment, she was at the door — the key was in the lock — and she stood before Sir Thomas Wyat.

  A few words sufficed to explain to the astonished knight how she came there, and comprehending that not a moment was to be lost, he followed her forth.

  In the passage, they held a brief consultation together in a low tone, as to the best means of escape, for they deemed it useless to apply to Tristram. The outlet with which Sir Thomas Wyat was acquainted lay on the other side of the cavern; nor did he know how to discover the particular passage leading to it.

  As to Mabel, she could offer no information, but she knew that the stable lay in an adjoining passage.

  Recollecting, from former experience, how well the steeds were trained, Sir Thomas Wyat eagerly caught at the suggestion, and Mabel led him farther down the passage, and striking off through an opening on the left, brought him, after a few turns, to a large chamber, in which two or three black horses were kept.

  Loosening one of them, Wyat placed a bridle on his neck, sprang upon his back, and took up Mabel beside him. He then struck his heels against the sides of the animal, who needed no further incitement to dash along the passage, and in a few seconds brought them into the cavern.

  The trampling of the horse wakened Fenwolf, who started to his feet, and ran after them, shouting furiously. But he was too late. Goaded by Wyat’s dagger, the steed dashed furiously on, and plunging with its double burden into the pool at the bottom of the cavern, disappeared.

  CHAPTER VI.

  Of the Desperate Resolution formed by Tristram and Fenwolf, and how the Train was laid.

  Transported with rage at the escape of the fugitives, Fenwolf turned to old Tristram, and drawing his knife, threatened to make an end of him. But the old man, who was armed with a short hunting-sword, stood upon his defence, and they remained brandishing their weapons at each other for some minutes, but without striking a blow.

  “Well, I leave you to Herne’s vengeance,” said Fenwolf, returning his knife to his belt. “You will pay dearly for allowing them to escape.”

  “I will take my chance,” replied Tristram moodily: “my mind is made up to the worst. I will no longer serve this fiend.”

  “What! dare you break your oath?” cried Fenwolf. “Remember the terrible consequences.”

  “I care not for them,” replied Tristram. “Harkee, Fenwolf: I know you will not betray me, for you hate him as much as I do, and have as great a desire for revenge. I will rid the forest of this fell being.”

  “Would you could make good your words, old man!” cried Fenwolf. “I would give my life for vengeance upon him.”

  “I take the offer,” said Tristram; “you shall have vengeance.”

  “But how?” cried the other. “I have proved that he is invulnerable and the prints of his hands are written in black characters upon my throat. If we could capture him, and deliver him to the king, we might purchase our own pardon.”

  “No, that can never be,” said Tristram. “My plan is to destroy him.”

  “Well, let me hear it,” said Fenwolf.

  “Come with me, then,” rejoined Tristram.

  And taking up the lamp, he led the way down a narrow lateral passage. When about half-way down it, he stopped before a low door, cased with iron, which he opened, and showed that the recess was filled with large canvas bags.

  “Why, this is the powder-magazine,” said Fenwolf. “I can now guess how you mean to destroy Herne. I like the scheme well enough; but it cannot be executed without certain destruction to ourselves.”

  “I will take all the risk upon myself,” said Tristram, “I only require your aid in the preparations. What I propose to do is this. There is powder enough in the magazine, not only to blow up the cave, but to set fire to all the wood surrounding it. It must be scattered among the dry brush-wood in a great circle round the cave, and connected by a train with this magazine. When Herne comes back, I will fire the train.”

  “There is much hazard in the scheme, and I fear it will fail,” replied Fenwolf, after a pause, “nevertheless, I will assist you.”

  “Then, let us go to work at once,” said Tristram, “for we have no time to lose. Herne will be here before midnight, and I should like to have all ready for him.”

  Accordingly, they each shouldered a couple of the bags, and returning to the cavern, threaded a narrow passage, and emerged from the secret entrance in the grove.

  While Fenwolf descended for a fresh supply of powder, Tristram commenced operations. Though autumn was now far advanced, there had been remarkably fine weather of late; the ground was thickly strewn with yellow leaves, the fern was brown and dry, and the brushwood crackled and broke as a passage was forced through it. The very trees were parched by the long-continued drought. Thus favoured in his design, Tristram scattered the contents of one of the bags in a thick line among the fern and brushwood, depositing here and there among the roots of a tree, several pounds of powder, and covering the heaps over with dried sticks and leaves.

  While he was thus employed, Fenwolf appeared with two more bags of powder, and descended again for a fresh supply. When he returned, laden as before, the old forester had already described a large portion of the circle he intended to take.

  Judging that there was now powder sufficient, Tristram explained to his companion how to proceed; and the other commenced laying a train on the left of the secret entrance, carefully observing the instructions given him. In less than an hour, they met together at a particular tree, and the formidable circle was complete.

  “So far, well!” said Tristram, emptying the contents of his bag beneath the tree, and covering it with leaves and sticks, as before; “and now to connect this with the cavern.”

  With this, he opened another bag, and drew a wide train towards the centre of the space. At length, he paused at the foot of a large hollow tree.

  “I have ascertained,” he said, “that this tree stands immediately over the magazine; and by following this rabbit’s burrow, I have contrived to make a small entrance into it. A hollow reed introduced through the hole, and filled with powder, will be sure to reach the store below.”

  “An excellent ideal,” replied Fenwolf. “I will fetch one instantly.”

  And starting off to the side of the lake, he presently returned with several long reeds, one of which was selected by Tristram and thrust into the burrow. It proved of the precise length required; and as soon as it touched the bottom, it was carefully filled with powder from a horn. Having connected this tube with the side train, and scattered powder for several yards around, so as to secure instantaneous ignition, Tristram pronounced that the train was complete.

  “We have now laid a trap from which Herne will scarcely escape,” he observed, with a moody laugh, to Fenwolf.

  They then prepared to return to the cave, but had not proceeded many yards, when Herne, mounted on his sable steed, burst through the trees.

  “Ah! what make you here?” he cried, instantly checking his career. “I bade you keep a strict watch over Mabel. Where is she?”

  “She has escaped with Sir Thomas Wyat,” replied Fenwolf, “and we have been in search of them.”

  “Escaped!” exclaimed Herne, springing from his steed, and rushing up to him; “dogs! you have played me false. But your lives shall pay the penalty of your perfidy.”

  “We had no hand in it whatever,” replied Fenwolf doggedly. “She contrived to get out of a chamber in which I placed her, and to liberate Sir Thomas Wyat. They then procured a steed from the stable, and plunged through the pool into the lake.”

  “Hell’s malison upon them, and upon you b
oth!” cried Herne. “But you shall pay dearly for your heedlessness, — if, indeed, it has not been something worse. How long have they been gone?”

  “It may be two hours,” replied Fenwolf.

  “Go to the cave,” cried Herne, “and await my return there; and if I recover not the prize, woe betide you both!”

  And with these words, he vaunted upon his steed and disappeared.

  “And woe betide you too, false fiend!” cried Fenwolf. “When you come back you shall meet with a welcome you little expect. Would we had fired the train, Tristram, even though we had perished with him!”

  “It will be time enough to fire it on his return,” replied the old forester; “it is but postponing our vengeance for a short time. And now to fix our positions. I will take my station in yon brake.”

  “And I in that hollow tree,” said Fenwolf. “Whoever first beholds him shall fire the train.”

  “Agreed!” replied Tristram. “Let us now descend to the cave and see that all is right in the magazine, and then we will return and hold ourselves in readiness for action.”

  CHAPTER VII.

  How the Train was fired, and what followed the Explosion.

  About ten o’clock in the night under consideration, Surrey and Richmond, accompanied by the Duke of Shoreditch, and half a dozen other archers, set out from the castle, and took their way along the great park, in the direction of the lake.

  They had not ridden far, when they were overtaken by two horsemen who, as far as they could be discerned in that doubtful light, appeared stalwart personages, and well mounted, though plainly attired. The new-comers very unceremoniously joined them.

  “There are ill reports of the park, my masters,” said the foremost of these persons to Surrey, “and we would willingly ride with you across it.”

  “But our way may not be yours, friend,” replied Surrey, who did not altogether relish this proposal. “We are not going farther than the lake.”