The Lady of Blossholme

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER IV

  THE ABBOT'S OATH

  On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher wascalled from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.

  "Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously.

  "A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered.

  "Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will."

  Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.

  "This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never lovedbook-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, youwho are more scholarly."

  "I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," shereplied doubtfully, and paling a little.

  "The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn."Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls."

  So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in herstrong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. Itran thus--

  "To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to EmlynStower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.

  "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death ofSir John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thievesand outlaws, sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship,according to my prerogative established by law and custom, over theperson and property of you, Cicely, his only child surviving. Mymessengers returned saying that you had fled from your home of SheftonHall. They said further that it was rumoured that you had ridden withyour foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to Cranwell Towers, the house of SirChristopher Harflete. If this be so, for the sake of your good name itis needful that you should remove from such company at once, as thereis talk about you and the said Sir Christopher Harflete. I purpose,therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to Cranwell Towers, andif you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly father, to commandyou, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence to the Nunneryof Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of my authority,you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you, unless,indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as one ofthe brides of Christ.

  "Clement, Abbot."

  Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of themstood a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meanttrouble for them all, till Cicely said--

  "Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot."

  So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand--

  "My Lord Abbot,

  "In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father(whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with hislast words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the handsof his murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church ofCranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dearlord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nordo I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardshipover my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit. "Yourhumble servant,

  "Cicely Harflete."

  This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it wasgiven to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode offas fast as the snow would let him.

  They watched him go from a window.

  "Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shalldo well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and Idoubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite."

  "I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go tosee that the horses are saddled."

  An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before thedoor, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all havingarms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such shortnotice, though others of his tenants and servants had already assembledat the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed.Without the snow was falling fast, and although she tried to look braveand happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.

  "We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily.

  "What matter, so long as we go together?" she answered in a gay voicethat yet seemed to ring untrue, "although," she added, with a littlechoke of the throat, "I would that we could have stayed here until I hadfound and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewherein the snows like a perished ox."

  "It is his murderers that I wish to bury," exclaimed Christopher; "and,by God's name, I swear I'll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, thatI forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridalsand buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take whatjoy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also.Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and justice."

  Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely toher horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking thatthey had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was notto be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing toleave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles fromCranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat witha monk's hood to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst throughthe fence and stood in front of them.

  "Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.

  "You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a deepvoice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to theAbbey yonder."

  "Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what isyour business, lay-brother Bolle?"

  "To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on theforest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as theweather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That's my business, SirChristopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there," and he noddedtowards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, "with your leaveI'll ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be ona dangerous journey."

  Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no moodto chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man,called out--

  "Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a fewsins to spare for a priest's wallet, and need a blessing or two to warmme."

  He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a littleway apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eagerconversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, lookinground--for they had ridden forward at a slow pace--saw Thomas Bolleleap through the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into thefalling snow, while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.

  "Stop," she said to Christopher; "I have tidings for you. The Abbot,with all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more,waits for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to takethe Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey."

  "I see no one," said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay belowthem about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise."Still, the matter is not hard to prove," and he called to the two bestmounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if anylurked behind that wood.

  So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, butanxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, forthe snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horsesgalloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came--

  "The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you betaken!"

  Christopher thought for a moment, then, rem
embering that with but fourmen and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way throughso great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, hegave a sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as theydid so, scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot's horsemenappeared plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, andwell for them was it that their horses were good and fresh, since beforeever they came in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninetyyards behind. But here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answerednobly to whip and spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those whowatched within the house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When theywere within fifty yards of the moat Cicely's horse stumbled, slipped,and fell, throwing her into the snow, then recovered itself and gallopedon alone. Christopher reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose,frightened but unharmed, put out his long arm, and, lifting her to thesaddle in front of him, plunged forward, while those behind shouted"Yield!"

  Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reachedthe bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.

  "Wind up," shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laidhands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six ofthe Abbot's folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it withtheir hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on sothat it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.

  "Leave go, you knaves," shouted Christopher; but by way of answer oneof them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of thebridge, and stood there, hanging to the chains.

  Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and thearrow being already on the string, again shouted--

  "Get off at your peril!"

  In answer the man called out something about the commands of the LordAbbot.

  Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company haddismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it heknew well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but,aiming swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he couldnot miss. The arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mailbeneath, and pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead.The others, scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now thebridge, relieved of the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond theirreach, and presently came home and was made fast.

  As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was acaptain of the Abbot's guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrowthat killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking himthrough the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.Thus, then, one of that good knight's murderers reaped his just reward.

  Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, whileChristopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side,her hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let themfall suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to thecorpse that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway--

  "How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the firstthrow of a long game, husband."

  "Nay, sweet," he answered, "the second; the first was cast two nightsgone by King's Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever callsfor blood."

  "Aye," she answered, "blood calls for blood." Then, remembering thatshe was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, sheturned and sought her chamber, weeping.

  Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed bythe sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, hesaw three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towardsthe Towers, one of whom held a white cloth above his head in tokenof parley. Then Christopher went up into the little gateway turret,followed by Emlyn, who crouched down behind the brick battlement, sothat she could see and hear without being seen. Having reached thefurther side of the moat, he who held the white cloth threw back thehood of his long cape, and they saw that it was the Abbot of Blossholmehimself, also that his dark eyes flashed and that his olive-hued facewas almost white with rage.

  "Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at mydoors, my Lord Abbot?" asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of thegateway.

  "Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?" answeredthe Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. "Know you not thatwhoso sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under ourancient charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as,by God's holy Name, I swear that I will do?" he added in a choked voice.

  "Aye," repeated Christopher reflectively, "by man shall his blood beshed. Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he notone of those who rode by moonlight round King's Grave lately, and therechanced to meet Sir John Foterell?"

  The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least,the Abbot's jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips neverpassed them.

  "I know naught of the meaning of your talk," he said presently in aquieter voice, "or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John--mayGod rest his soul--came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of his,that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a womanunder age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought herto shame--a crime even fouler than this murder."

  "Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such smallhonour as may be the share of Christopher Harflete's lawful wife. Ifthere be any virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God's own hand hasbound us fast as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only popewho can loose that knot."

  "Death!" repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him verycuriously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, "Well, hiscourt is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers,such as this," and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slainsoldier. "Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered myservant, I would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now,Sir Christopher; here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of CicelyFoterell----"

  "Of Cicely Harflete," interrupted Christopher.

  "Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall bedone to her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or hisVicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment inthis matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void."

  "What!" broke in Christopher scoffingly; "does the Abbot of Blossholmeannounce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce?Ere now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when thecase of Queen Catherine was in question."

  The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed--

  "Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servanthere, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down asan accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have myoffer--answer."

  "And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom Ihold dearer than a thousand lives?"

  "Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now orhereafter, on your own head be it."

  At this Christopher's rage broke out.

  "Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest andforeign traitor," he shouted, "whom all men know to be in the pay ofSpain, and using the cover of a monk's dress to plot against the land onwhich you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered inthe forest two nights gone? You won't answer? Then I will. Becausehe rode to Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, andtherefore you butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward?Because you wish to steal her lands and goods to feed your plots andluxury. You think you have bought friends at Court, and that for money'ssake those in power there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So itmay be for a while; but wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, norall ears deaf. That head
of yours shall yet be lifted higher than youthink--so high that it sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, awarning to all who would sell England to her enemies. John Foterell liesdead with your knave's arrow in his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is awaywith the writings. And now do your worst, Clement Maldon. If you want mywife, come take her."

  The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word.His swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. Theveins upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distanceChristopher could see them. He looked so evil that his countenancebecame twisted and ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst intoone of his hearty laughs.

  The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to thetwo men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which theycarried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of thehouse behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. Butthe other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing himto stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he woreglanced upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he wasunhurt, pulled their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher,setting another arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it tohis ear, covering the Abbot.

  "Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter behindthe parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--

  "Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you."

  He took no heed who was also turning about.

  "Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of yours;"then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped,cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast rearedstraight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.

  "Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will youbide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? Ifyou do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft between yourfingers."

  The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, thedead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.

  "Speak," he said in a muffled voice.

  "My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to murderme, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your lifeis in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servantsof yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or----" and helifted the bow.

  The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, ata distance, but within earshot.

  "You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take itin your right hand now and swear an oath."

  Again the Abbot obeyed.

  "Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot ofBlossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and ofChristopher Harflete and others upon earth," and he jerked his headbackwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein weregathered, listening, "make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swearthat I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, andall claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that werepossessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, DameFoterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the said CicelyHarflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her husband, nor seekto work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the bodies or thesouls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may live anddie in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the Roodand swear thus now, Clement Maldon."

  The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meekheart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.

  "Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?" he asked at length."I'll not swear," and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.

  "Then I'll shoot," answered Christopher. "Come, pick up that cross."

  But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopheraimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few archersin England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon's fur cap andcarried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.

  "The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on thestring. "I waste no more good shafts."

  Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldonbent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lipsand kissed it, muttering--

  "I swear." But the oath he swore was very different to that whichChristopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how tomeet guile with guile.

  "Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live onto fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to goabout my business, Christopher Harflete?" he asked, with bitter irony.

  "Why not?" asked Christopher. "Only be pleased henceforth not to meddlewith me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with mylady, and we do not seek your company on the road."

  Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards hisown men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of themrode away over the rise towards Blossholme.

  "Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcelydare to break," said Christopher presently. "What say you, Nurse?"

  "I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,"answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbswere cramped. "The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as givenunder fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow throughhis heart, instead of playing boy's pranks with his cap?"

  "I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse."

  "Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him andone of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slayhim, and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you.Well, my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you willhear it straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready forattack, and never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waitsyou there."

  Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up toCranwell Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat aletter that was tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of theoak posts of the outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he hadcome. In the presence of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and readthis second letter, as she had read the first. It was short, and ran--

  "Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it mayconcern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,swore to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having beenwrung from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further,that a report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded tothe King's grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county,and that by virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil,I shall proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, myward, and of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir JohnFoterell, deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered onher behalf, and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seizeyou, Christopher Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, bymeans of notice sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abetyou in your crimes that they will do so at the peril of their souls andbodies.

  "Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme."