CHAPTER XXIII
THE ROAD TO THE PORT
THEIR side of the earth turned, turned with ceaseless motion towardthe central orb. There grew a sense of the threshold of dawn, of thechill and sunken furthest hour, when the need was great for the doorof light to open. The road they were upon was narrower, rougher, thanthe highway, with more hills to climb. The four travelled as rapidly aswas possible, there being a goal to be reached before sunlight and theworld abroad. Gervaise and Lantern swung on without overmuch effort,but the faces of Joan and Aderhold were drawn and the beads stood ontheir foreheads. Behind them were long prison, scanty fare, bodilyhurt, broken strength. Their lips parted, their breath came gaspingly.They went on from moment to moment, each step now a weariness, allthought suspended, the whole being bent only on endurance, on measuringthe road that must be measured. They did not speak, though now and thenone turned eyes to the other.
Far off a cock crew and was answered by another. Vaguely the airchanged, the world paled, a steely light came into the east. Gervaiselooked at the two. “We’ll rest here until there’s colour in the sky.We’ve come pretty fast.” There was a great stone by the road. Aderholdand Joan sank upon it, lay outstretched, still as in the last sleep.He had a wide cloak, she had none. He raised himself upon his hand andspread over her the half of this. They lay with closed eyes, drinkingrest.
Far off and not so far, more cocks were crowing. In the eastern skythe bars of grey turned purple, then into them came a faint red. Thebirds were cheeping in the tree-tops. The mist veil over field andmeadow grew visible. Gervaise and Lantern, who had been seated withtheir knees drawn up, arms upon knees and head upon arms, raised theireyes, marked the red in the sky, and got to their feet. Gervaise wentand touched the two. “Time to go on! We’ve got to get hidden beforeCuriosity’s had breakfast.”
They went on, the light strengthening, the air warming, a myriad smallsounds beginning. In less than a mile they came to a branching road,rough and narrow. Gervaise leading, they entered this, followed it forsome distance, and left it for a half-obliterated cart track runningthrough woods. In turn they quitted the woods for a stubblefield,plunged from this into a sunken lane, and so in the early sunlight camebefore a small farmhouse, remote and lonely, couched and hidden betweenwooded hills. “My granther’s brother’s house,” said Gervaise. “Stayyou all here while I go spy out the land.” They waited in the sunkenlane, the blue sky overhead. The wry-mouthed man busied himself with atorn shoe. Joan and Aderhold knelt in a warm hollow of the bank, leanedagainst the good earth.
“_Giles and John Allen_,” he said. “Do not forget the names.”
“No.... When I speak to you, am I to say, ‘Giles’?”
“Aye,—aye, John.”
“Do you think they will not know that I am a woman?”
He looked at her critically for the first time. “You have height and aright frame. Your voice is deeper than most women’s. Now that your hairis cut, I have seen youths with locks so worn and of that colour andthickness. You are pale from prison and unhappiness, but the sun willtan your cheeks. You have mind and will, and all that you do you dowith a just art. Discovery may come, but it need not come—”
Gervaise reappeared. “It’s all right! The old people will not blab, andtheir two daughters and the ploughman have propitiously gone to a fair!Now, Master Allen, and your brother, and good George Dragon—” Theymoved toward the house. Gervaise jerked his thumb toward a barn thatshowed beyond. “Good straw—good, warm, dusk corner to lie _perdu_ in,back of the eaves! I’ll bring food, bread and milk. So you’ll have yourrest to-day, and to-night we’ll cover as many miles as may be.—Thisway! We’ll not go through the house. Say we’re taken, I’d rather notdrag the good folk in more than ankle-deep.”
The barn was dim and wholesome-smelling. The piled straw in the loftfelt good beneath aching frames. They made with bundles of it achance-seeming barrier, behind which in a fragrant hollow they preparedto rest. Close overhead was the brown roof that, beyond their niche,sloped steeply upward a great distance. A square had been cut for lightand air; through it poured vagrant, scented breezes, and in and outflew the swallows. The light was thick and brown; it would take keeneyes to see aught but straw, rudely heaped. Gervaise brought a basketfilled with homely, country fare, and then a great jug of spring water.They ate and drank, and then set watches—one to watch while the othersslept. Humphrey Lantern took the first.
Rest was sweet, sleep was sweet.... Joan woke sometime in the earlyafternoon. There in a hollow of his own sat Gervaise, succeeded toLantern’s watch. He sat, blue-eyed and meditative, chewing a straw.Lantern sprawled at a little distance, in sleep back, perhaps, inthe old wars. Nearer lay Aderhold, his arm thrown across his eyes,profoundly sleeping. At first Joan was bewildered and did not knowwhere she was; then the whole surged back. She lay quite still, andmemory painted for her picture after picture.
Presently Gervaise, glancing her way, saw that her eyes were open.He nodded to her and crept over the straw until they were closeneighbours, when he seated himself Turk fashion and asked if she hadslept.
She laughed. “Unless I was dead, I was asleep.”
“He has not moved. Prison life’s a hard life, and then I understandthat before that he was up day and night with the plague.... Well, andwhat do you think of the wide world before you?”
“Is it so wide?”
“That’s as you take it. It’s as wide as your vision, your taste, andyour hearing.”
“I do not wish to be hanged.... It used to come and gather round mewhen I slept, there in the dungeon, in the prison. First the placegrew large, and then it filled with people,—I could feel them in thedark,—and then I knew where the gallows was, and hands that burned meand bruised me put a rope around my neck, and in the dark the peoplebegan to laugh and curse. And then I woke up, and my hands and armswere cold and wet, and I said, ‘So it will be, and so the rope willfeel, and so they will laugh!’... Over and over.... But it did not cometo me here, though I was asleep. I do not believe that they will takeus now.”
“Do you believe in witches and black men and Satan and his country?”
“I used to. Isn’t every little child taught it? It’s hard to rub outwhat they taught you when you were a child. But do I believe it now?”She laughed with a bitter mirth. “My oath, on anything you please,that I do not believe it now! I believe that some folk have more goodthan bad in them, and a few have far more good than bad. And that somefolk have more bad than good in them, and a few have far more bad thangood. And that most folk are pretty evenly mixed, and that now onehaving walks forth and now another. But that we are all folk.”
“That presents well enough,” said Gervaise, “my manner of thinking. Butthen I have lived long with Sir Richard.”
They fell silent. A bird flew in at the window. The pleasant, drowsyscent of the hay was about them, the sun-shot dusk, the murmur of thewind across the opening. “Is your watch nearly over,” asked Joan, “andwere you going to wake him next? I am awake already, so give it to me.”
“Nay, nay,” said Gervaise; “neither to you nor to him! I’ll sit herefor another two hours and think of the flowers I might have grown. ThenLantern will take it again. You two are to get your rest.—I like wellenough to converse with you, but my advice is to shut your eyes and goback to sleep.”
Joan smiled at him and obeyed. She shut her grey eyes, and in twominutes was back at the fountain of rest for overwrought folk. Sheslept, slept, and Aderhold slept. When they waked the sun was hanginglow in the west. They waked at a touch from Gervaise. “Best all of usopen our eyes and pull our senses together! I hear the two daughtersand the ploughman, and maybe company with them, coming back from thefair.”
There were heard, indeed, from the lane, not far away, voices talkingfreely and all together. Lantern crept to the window and with carelooked forth. He came back. “Country folk—five or six, and merry fromthe fair.” The voices reached the farmhouse, entered it, and becamemuffled. The su
n dropped behind the hills.
Twilight was not far advanced when there sounded a footstep in the barnbelow the hayloft. The four, still before, now lay hardly breathing.
The footstep approached the loft, halted beside the ladder that ledup. “Gervaise” said a quavering, anxious voice. “Granther’s brother,”murmured Gervaise, and crept cautiously to the edge of the loft.Presently he disappeared down the ladder, and the three, crouchedwhere the roof was lowest, heard a muted colloquy below. The farmer’svoice sounded alarmed and querulous, Gervaise’s soothing. At last theyceased to talk, and the old man’s slow and discontented step was heardto leave the barn. Gervaise came up the ladder and crawled over thestraw to the escaped prisoners and runaway gaoler. The loft was nowin darkness, only the square window glimmered yet, framing a sky fromwhich the gold had not quite faded.
“It’s boot and saddle, sound horn and away!” he said in a soberwhisper. “We had not been gone two hours when some officious foolmust seek the heart’s ease of Lantern’s company! No Lantern to befound—all dark! No new turnkey to be found either. Whereupon theywaken an authority, and he’s inspired to open dungeon doors and lookwithin! Hue and cry! Town first, but with the morning light mena-horseback on all roads.—They had it all at the fair—brought itall home. County’s afire to bring the wild beasts back. Country foras many miles as necessary will be scoured clean as a prize pannikin.Reward for capture, living or dead;—bands out to earn it. All mannerpenalties for any who harbour. The goodman here put two and twotogether,—matched four with four,—and at the first chance, whilethey’re all at supper, comes shivering out to warn us off. Granther’sbrother’ll not tell, but travel it is!—Humphrey Lantern, you take thebasket with what food’s left. We’ll need it. Toss the straw together so’twill not show the lair. We’ll just wait till that last light goes.”
They waited, felt their way to the ladder and down it, then out of thebarn. Voices were noisy in the house a stone’s throw away. A womancame to the open door and stood looking out. When she had turned away,they entered the lane and followed it until it set them in the woodtrack they had left in the morning. Here they paused to consider theircourse. In that direction so many miles, as the crow flew, lay theport. Return to the road they had left at dawn, strive to keep upon itat least through the night, and so make certainly the greatest speedtoward their goal? Night-time, and ordinarily there would be none orlittle travel through the night, and that little easily hidden from.But to-night the road might be most perilous; harrow and rake might bedragging along it. Nevertheless they decided for the road.
It was now utterly dark. They saw nothing, heard nothing, but the smallcontinuous voice of the hot, dry night. They were rested; to Joan andAderhold especially there seemed to have come anew youth and strength.They walked steadily, with a swinging step, and the country fell behindthem and the sea grew nearer. They spoke only at long intervals andthen in whispers.
“Luck’s with us,” offered Gervaise. “I’d almost rather see it morechequered! Very Smooth always has a mocking look in her eyes.”
Lantern growled in his throat. “I haven’t had much smooth in _my_ life.It owes me a little smooth.”
The moon rose. It showed them on either hand a rolling country, andbefore them a village. The road ran through this; therefore, for thetime being, they would leave the road. They crept through a hedgeand found themselves in a rough and broken field. Crossing this theypierced a small wood and dipped down to a stream murmuring past amill. The great wheel rose before them, the moon making pearls of thedripping water. The stream had a footbridge. They hesitated, but allwas dark and silent. They crossed, and as they stepped upon the beatenearth on the farther side, two dogs sprang upon them from the shadowof the mill. They came barking furiously—the refugees snatched whatstick or stone they could reach and beat them back. One was cowardlyand stood off and barked, but the other, a great black beast, sprangupon the first in his path. It chanced to be Joan. She caught him byhis own throat before he could reach hers, but he was fierce and strongand tore from her grasp. His teeth met in the cloth of her jerkin, hedragged her to the ground. Aderhold’s hands were at his throat, chokinghis jaws open, pushing him backward. Over the physician’s bent shoulderLantern’s arm rose and fell, the moon making the dagger gleam. The dogloosened his grip, howled, and gave back with a slashed and bleedingmuzzle.
Out of a hut, built beside the mill, came a man’s voice, roughlythreatening. “Who’s there? Who’s there? Ill-meaning folk take warning!”
As they did not answer, the owner of the voice burst from the hut andcame toward them, shouting to the dogs to hold fast and swinging agreat thorn stick. The moon showed a half-dressed, stout rustic, boldenough but dull of wit, and still heavy, besides, with sleep. Behindhim came a half-grown boy.
“Call off your dogs!” cried Gervaise. “We are seamen ashore, makingfrom the port to the town of —--. They told us there was a villagehereabouts, and we kept on walking after night, thinking to cometo it. But we think it’s bewitched and walks as we walk. Call yourdogs off! We’re harmless men, used to the sea and crossing a strangecountry. Put us right, friend, and thank you kindly!”
“What have you done to Holdfast? He’s frighted and bleeding.”
“He pulled one of us down and nothing else served to make him loosengrip. ’Twill heal and no harm done!”
But a controversy gathered in the eyes of the miller’s man. “That dog’sworth all the ’gyptians and vagrants and seamen between here and Londontown! If you think you’re going round murdering dogs—”
“I think,” said Gervaise, “that I’ve in my pouch a crown piece whichI got of a gentleman for a parrokeet and an Indian pipe. Let’s see if’t won’t salve that muzzle.” He drew it forth and turned it to and froin the moonlight. “Ask the dog. Hark’ee! He says, ‘Take it, and letharmless sailor folk pass!’” He slid it into the peasant’s hand, whostood looking down upon it with a dawning grin. “Cross this bridge,”asked Gervaise, “and we’ll be in the path to the village?”
“Aye, aye,” answered the fellow. “If you be harmful folk, let them findit out there!—Be you sure this piece is good? You ben’t coiners orpassers?”
“We ben’t,” said Gervaise. “The piece is as good as the new breeches itwill buy.”
They recrossed the bridge, stepping from it into the wood alreadytraversed. The boy’s shrill voice came to them from across the stream.“Father, father! They’re four, and ’twas four the man told us brokegaol! They ben’t sailors—they be the witches!” His voice took abewildered tone. “Only one of them was a woman—and they’re goingtoward the town—”
“What I be going to do,” answered the man, “is to go up t’ the houseand waken miller—”
The dogs were still barking. The boy’s voice rose shriller andshriller. “I know they’re witches! They had glowing eyes and they weretaller than people—”
The four plunged more deeply into the wood. The confused sound diedbehind them. They went up the stream a mile, came upon a track that randown to stepping-stones, crossed the water for the second time, andonce more faced seaward; then after a time turned at right angles andso struck the road again, the village well passed. But the détour hadcost them heavily in time. Moreover, even in the night-time, there grewa feeling of folk aware, of movement, a fear of eyes, of a sudden shoutof arrest.... They heard behind them a trampling of horses’ hoofs,together with voices. There was just time to break into a friendlythicket by the roadside, and crouch there among the hazel stems, out ofthe moonlight. There came by a party of men, some a-horseback, some onfoot.
“Four,” said one distinctly.
“Shall we beat that thicket?”
“They couldn’t have gotten this far.”
“I’ll ride through it to make sure—”
Man and horse came into the thicket. They passed within ten feet ofthe four lying flat, but touched them not and saw them not.... Whenall were gone the sorcerer and the witch and their companions cameforth and
again pressed seaward. The dawn appeared, the sky unearthlycold and remote behind the clean black line of the earth. It showeda homeless country for them. With the first grey gleam there began atraffic upon the road. They were passed in the dimness by a pedlar withhis pack, a drover with sheep. They saw coming a string of carts, andthey left the road again, this time for good. They lay now amid heatherupon a moor, and in the pale, uncertain light considered their course.The miles were not many now before them, but they were dangerous miles.They decided at last to break company and, two and two, to strive forthe port. Say that, so they arrived there, then would they come as wellto an inner ring of dangers.... But they all strove for cheer, or grimor bright, and Gervaise appointed for rendezvous an obscure small inncalled The Moon, down by the harbour’s edge. It was kept by a man knownto Sir Richard. Get to The Moon, whisper a word or two which Gervaisenow furnished, and the rest would probably go well. The problem was toget there.
It was also to decide, if they divided, who would go with whom.Gervaise looked at Aderhold. “Will you, sir, take Humphrey Lantern, andJoan go with me?” There was a silence, then Aderhold spoke, “You haveproved yourself the best of guides and guards. But life has taught me,too, to watch for dangers and in some measure has given me skill. Andshe and I are the heinous ones and the desperate.” He turned his eyesto Joan. “Shall we not keep together?”
She nodded. “Very good.... The sky is growing red.”
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