It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in theguest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,and with them Emlyn.
"Witchcraft!" shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, "blackwitchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countrysideand have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifestedthemselves----"
"By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess todoom," broke in Emlyn.
"Silence, Sorceress," shouted the Abbot. "Get thee behind me, Satan. Iknow you and your familiars," and he glared at the Prioress.
"What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?" asked Mother Matilda, bridling up."My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do youcall that witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir JohnFoterell appeared here--we admit it who saw that ghost. But what didthe spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and itrescued the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to chokeout its pure life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what didthe wretch mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her becauseshe was poor and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, myLord Abbot? None in this house, I'll swear. And who changed Sir JohnFoterell from flesh to spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?"
"Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare putsuch questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. Thejudgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not toleave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not youshall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,"he added slowly, "fire can still bite and there is store of faggots inthe woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go."
"Do as it pleases you," answered the enraged Mother Matilda. "When youset out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that youtake what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her illcompany and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter ofthis Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you andthose that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the firstEdward, and the appointment of every prioress since his day has beensigned by the sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual ofthe eighth Henry. You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot tothe King. Fare you well, my Lord," and, followed by her little train ofaged nuns, she swept from the room like an offended queen.
After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration ofher babe to her unharmed, Cicely's recovery was swift. Within a weekshe was up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, thanever she had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and thoughall knew that danger threatened them from this quarter they were contentto enjoy the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
But in Cicely's awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn moreof what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge ofdeath. Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length sheknew all; namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he,dressed in her father's armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy fromdeath. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself,as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to drawfrom his own lips every detail and circumstance that she could gatherconcerning Christopher.
For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of sucha meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, shegave way.
At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood inthe chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to returnthanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before thealtar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, whichwere the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered themwith other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the woodenimage turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir JohnFoterell's armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in thisfamiliar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and herknees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking afterher health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied withhis service.
"Indeed and indeed yes," she answered; "and oh, friend! all that I havehenceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but aprisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest uponyou, you gallant man."
"Thank me not, Lady," answered the honest Thomas. "To speak truth it wasEmlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends formany a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, theFlounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance thatI came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was goingabout my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me toarm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know,and so I think by now does Mother Megges," he added grimly.
"Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see inall this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there areother things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said myhusband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded andnot buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omittingnothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it fromyour own lips."
So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that hehad seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that SirChristopher had been shipped abroad upon the _Great Yarmouth_, sorelywounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes andthe monk Martin.
"That's ten months gone," said Cicely. "Has naught been heard of thisship? By now she should be home again."
Thomas hesitated, then answered--
"No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of iteven to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then cameanother story----"
"Ah! that other story?"
"Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and theyhave shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherdwho is half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him helearned that the _Great Yarmouth_ was set upon by two Turkish piratesand captured after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and otherswere killed. This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and driftedto and fro till they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel whichlanded them at Hull. That's all I know--save one thing."
"One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?"
"Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these mensaw him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board oneof their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows."
Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him withquestions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a soundcaught his ear.
"Look at the window!" he exclaimed.
They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staringat them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with itother faces.
"Betray me not, or I shall burn," he whispered. "Say only that I cameto haunt you," and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and wasgone.
"What now, Emlyn?"
"One thing only--Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. Isit our fault if your father's ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,your father's ghost, no other. Ah! here they come."
As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbotand his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted,hanging together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried,"Seize the witches!"
Cicely's terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
"What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?" she asked.
"We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you butnow,
and whither has it gone?"
"The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon themurderess. It wore my father's armour, but its face I did not see. Ithas gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if youcan."
"Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?"
"It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King's Grave Mountand of those who wrought it," and she looked at him steadily until hiseyes fell before hers.
"What else?"
"It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as youput about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he willreturn again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured bythe infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father's servant, andthe priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, orseemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now."
"Aye," answered the Abbot, "Satan, with whom you hold converse, isalways among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and youshall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot ofBlossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witchesand let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the CourtEcclesiastic for their trial."
So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. Asthey crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns,who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was thetumult in the chapel.
"What is it now, Cicely?" asked the Prioress.
"Now we are witches, Mother," she answered, with a sad smile.
"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "and the charge is that the ghost of the murderedSir John Foterell was seen speaking to us."
"Why, why?" exclaimed the Prioress. "If the spirit of a woman's fatherappears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poorSister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child toher?"
"Aye," said the Abbot, "I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes tothe hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them," andhe glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guardedby monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for theirconfinement, there was little change in their condition. The child wasallowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They wereaware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, thatthey were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscenecharges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creaturecalled the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings hadpower to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew wellthat this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it couldnot be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn's instigation had workedmuch evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather theirAbbot, back in his own coin.
Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomasto some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor theother, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
"This is a coil that we cannot untangle," said Cicely. "Let us betrayno one, but put our trust in God. I am sure," she added, "that God willhelp us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shallnot attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything toHim."
"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that thewhole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully.
"May be," answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, "perhaps because theydid not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I willwalk in it--to the fire if need be."
"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, Iwonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
On the morrow this faith of Cicely's was put to a sharp test. The Abbotcame and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song--
"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and yourmistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn."
As before she denied all knowledge of them.
"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your livesfor a few miserable gems?"
Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak withher mistress.
He bade her do so.
"I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know wherethey are?" asked Cicely.
"Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and Igive them up to save you."
Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,then laughed aloud and answered--
"Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I havetold you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn orwhether I am saved, he shall not have them."
"Good," said Emlyn, "that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,"and she went out and told the Abbot.
He came into Cicely's chamber and raged at them. He said that theyshould be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely,whom he had thought to frighten, never winced.
"If so, so let it be," she replied, "and I will bear all as best I can.I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine,not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I amsure that the end shall be far other than you think."
"What!" said the Abbot, "has the foul fiend been with you again that youtalk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,"and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
"Put these women upon bread and water," he said, "and prepare them forthe rack, that they may discover their accomplices."
Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered--
"It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law,and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are myguests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you."
"Said I not that they had accomplices?" sneered the Abbot, and went hisway.
But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had anill sound in his ears.
The Lady of Blossholme Page 20
