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diff --git a/3813-h/3813-h.htm b/3813-h/3813-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a39a38e --- /dev/null +++ b/3813-h/3813-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12500 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lady of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify;} + p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Lady Of Blossholme</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. Rider Haggard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 21, 2001 [eBook #3813]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 15, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***</div> + + <h1> + THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By H. Rider Haggard + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + SIR JOHN FOTERELL + </h3> + <p> + Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey, set + upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to the + north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods, border + it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands, merging at last + into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal hills! Probably the + scene has not changed very much since the days of Henry VIII, when those + things happened of which we have to tell, for here no large town has + arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories built to affront the earth + and defile the air with their hideousness and smoke. + </p> + <p> + The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population, + for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its + aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do not + readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of the + doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are now + covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike. The + parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the old + rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water as they + have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for centuries + before. + </p> + <p> + Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far from + the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged with + three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying + diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still be + found in the middle of the Priests’ Green. These stand, it will be + remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars, and + surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned to the + shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion or coach-horn, + or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has vanished. The parish + book records that in the time of George I a boy broke it off, melted it + down, and was publicly flogged in consequence, the last time, apparently, + that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel still twists about as + manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous smith, fashioned and set him + up with his own hand in the last year of King Henry VIII, as it is said to + commemorate the fact that on this spot stood the stakes to which Cicely + Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained + to be burned as witches. + </p> + <p> + So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched but + lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain + identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few halls + in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they always stood. + The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to the sky, although + bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the parish church that was + there before it—having been rebuilt indeed upon Saxon foundations in + the days of William Rufus—yet lies among its ancient elms. Farther + on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which runs a brook through + meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that was subservient to the + proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in with galvanised iron + sheets and used as cow-sheds. + </p> + <p> + It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them in + a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who came to + be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell. + </p> + <p> + It was dead winter in the year 1535—the 31st of December, indeed. + Old Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years + of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great + house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought to + him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was done + any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and gentleman + of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the eighth + Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups of strong + ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession; he swore a + number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in the most + expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of Blossholme to + the gallows and his soul to hell. + </p> + <p> + “He claims my lands, does he?” he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the + direction of Blossholme. “What does the rogue say? That the abbot who went + before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good consideration, + but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this Secretary Cromwell, whom + they call Vicar-General, has declared that the said transfer was without + the law, and that I must hand over the said lands to the Abbey of + Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was Cromwell paid to sign that + order with no inquiry made, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking up + and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and addressed + it as though it were his enemy. + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all Spaniards + are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for a purpose. + You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme, and, if the + King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget yourself at + times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is in, the truth + is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year ago before me and + other witnesses of which I will remind you presently. Perhaps when + Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of my lands, and + mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I’ll go remind you of + them.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say + that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man + appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black hair. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?” he asked. “Must I wait your + pleasure from noon to night?” + </p> + <p> + “I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied to + a post and lashed.” + </p> + <p> + “Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you + need to do,” replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. “There be some men who + never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill and + lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I’ll do it if I can, and if not, do it + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall again. + </p> + <p> + “I like one who braves me to my teeth,” he said more gently, “and that was + ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have cause to + be.” + </p> + <p> + “The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the Abbey + but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, that’s it, that’s it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder crows’-nest, + and at once. Saddle me a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, master. I’ll saddle two horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?” + </p> + <p> + “I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of + Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on + wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he + keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir + John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have one + serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John looked at him shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “I called you fool,” he said, “but you are none except in looks. Do as you + will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window + but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Um,” grunted Sir John, “the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey + mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms well + made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost must be + laid, Jeffrey.” + </p> + <p> + “Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a + priest’s job, and when maids’ waists are willing, men’s arms reach far.” + </p> + <p> + “Be off, sirrah,” roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away, and + within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate, while + the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times were + rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew their + visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let down the + drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset. + </p> + <p> + Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot’s chamber, warming himself at the + great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his + long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut wood + and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked scenes from + the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of coloured + Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking, being + inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden crucifix, + a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a hanging + silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene by some + great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and beating + her fair breast. + </p> + <p> + Sir John looked about him and sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk’s cell or in some + great dame’s bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her + lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?” and he pointed to + the Magdalene. + </p> + <p> + “A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when she + was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the rest, I + could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine,” and he jerked his + thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. “Also, the fire burns + bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is made of dry oak + from your Sticksley Wood.” + </p> + <p> + “How know you that, Jeffrey?” asked Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “By the grain of it, master—by the grain of it. I have hewn too many + a timber there not to know. There’s that in the Sticksley clays which + makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little + lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley + oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is a + rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it.” + </p> + <p> + “First prove the crime, master, which won’t be easy; then talk of hanging, + which only kings and abbots, ‘with right of gallows,’ can do at will. Ah! + you speak truth,” he added in a changed voice; “it is a lovely chamber, + though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it, since such a + saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar yonder, as + doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones,” and, as though by + chance, he trod upon his lord’s foot, which was somewhat gouty. + </p> + <p> + Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day. + </p> + <p> + “Clumsy toad!” he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that + had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich + furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black + robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains. + </p> + <p> + “Benedicite!” said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two + fingers of his right hand in blessing. + </p> + <p> + “Good-day,” answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and + crossed himself. “Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night, + holy Father?” he added irritably. + </p> + <p> + “That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son,” answered the Abbot, + smiling; “and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud + quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?” + </p> + <p> + “A hard one of oak,” answered old Sir John sullenly. “My servant here said + those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I answered him + that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for it.” + </p> + <p> + “The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no + punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell + truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have + discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand until the + summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of friendship, + knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness of our poor + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the nakedness of your poor house”—and he glanced round the + sumptuous chamber—“that caused you to send me this letter saying + that you have Cromwell’s writ to seize my lands?” asked Sir John, rushing + at his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the + table; “or do you also mean to make payment for them—when your + summer rents come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed + of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in a time + of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the protest of + him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid the matter + before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to decide the suit + in favour of this Abbey.” + </p> + <p> + “To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!” exclaimed Sir + John. “My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will never + bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?” + </p> + <p> + “Since you ask it—something, my son. To save costs I laid before him + the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment: + Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling + eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and + doubtful.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s blood! Why?” asked Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “My son, I will tell you,” replied the Abbot gently. “Because within a + hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and there + is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation.” + </p> + <p> + “No record,” exclaimed Sir John, “when I have the indentured deed in my + strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham! No + record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them + which you now hold? But go on, holy priest.” + </p> + <p> + “My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not + utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant of + this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will relapse. Or + should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward to the Abbot + of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is, if there were + no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went white + as ashes. + </p> + <p> + “Show me that judgment,” he said slowly. + </p> + <p> + “It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope——But + you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air, perhaps. + Drink a cup of our poor wine,” and at a motion of his hand one of the + chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the long-necked + flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John. + </p> + <p> + He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the + silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered it + with the wood-tongs. + </p> + <p> + “It seems that you priests are my heirs,” said Sir John in a new, quiet + voice, “or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be short. + I’ll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken now, Sir + Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by bribes and other + means you have done your best to harm me behind my back up yonder in + London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or come foul, I + ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends, and we will + see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and I know that you + need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and satisfy the great + costs at which you live—and there are our famous jewels—yes, + yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to rob me, whom + you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your tale. + Perchance, fool priest,” he added slowly, “he had it in his mind to fat + this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck and + cooks it.” + </p> + <p> + At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two + impassive chaplains glanced at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! does that touch you?” asked Sir John Foterell. “Well, then, here is + what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do + you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like + the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you forget + the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you in my + hall——” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!” broke in the + Abbot. “You go too far.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you. Not + so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as a + traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but I + will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had gone, + that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the Pope + would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led you on, + ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people in these + parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who know and + love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain Cardinal + Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution of the Pope, + and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish Emperor?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” answered the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “And did I not,” went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, “did I + not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were traitorous, + and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house, I, as in duty + bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and have you not from + that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it all,” said the Abbot again. “These be but empty lies bred of + your malice, Sir John Foterell.” + </p> + <p> + “Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are all + written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you knew + naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them behind + my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, master,” answered the serving-man. “I chanced to be in the little + chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot home, + and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon the + writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is not + the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I might + be wronged.” + </p> + <p> + “It will serve my turn,” said the enraged knight, “though it is true that + I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King’s Council. + To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and then you + shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of his own.” + </p> + <p> + Now it was the Abbot’s turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured + cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about + his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his + chaplains and hung to it. + </p> + <p> + “Man,” he hissed, “do you think that you can utter such false threats and + go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I have + power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but strive to + defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir John,” and he + whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of one of his + chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “Now it seems that we are getting to business,” said Jeffrey Stokes, as, + laying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk + and the door. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it, Jeffrey,” cried Sir John. “Stop the rat’s hole. Look you, + Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the + King’s commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor, + and afterward answer for it if I win out.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old knight + before him. Then he said slowly— + </p> + <p> + “Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the + curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill.” + </p> + <p> + Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead, upon + it appeared something strange—a breath of foresight, an inspiration, + call it what you will. + </p> + <p> + “By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,” he + muttered. “Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the rest + of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have a brain + to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however much your + superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and again will + come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a more honest + sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right hand and say, + ‘Benedicite, my son,’ and ‘Your sins are forgiven you’; and just now the + God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell you what it is. I + stand near to death, but you stand not far from the gallows. I’ll die an + honest man; you will die like a dog, false to everything, and afterwards + let your beads and your masses and your saints help you if they can. We’ll + talk it over when we meet again elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me + to your gate, remembering that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those + carrion crow in front of you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am + your servant; march!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + THE MURDER BY THE MERE + </h3> + <p> + For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed + loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Jeffrey,” he called, “that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to + stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards, + as we lay dying, to salve his conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords + have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house seeing + the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told you that + old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should be saved + till bed-time.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, man?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and + played the fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you to teach me?” asked Sir John angrily. “I meant that he should + hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court + her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London upon + a certain errand?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I’ll be there before him.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that + priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please + you, we will take the longer path through the forest.” + </p> + <p> + “A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of us + are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three + serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a + guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there’s wealth + yonder which some may need more even than your lands,” he added meaningly. + “Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call up your + tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with twenty good + men at your back.” + </p> + <p> + “And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell’s ear, and through + him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with you, or, + if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken no harm.” + </p> + <p> + “None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or devil,” + answered the old soldier, colouring. “Your road has been good enough for + me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned you it was + not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for yours and that of + your house.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Sir John more kindly. “Take not my words ill, my temper + is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why! whose horse + has passed the gates before us?” + </p> + <p> + Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in + the new-fallen snow. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Christopher Harflete’s grey mare,” he said. “I know the shoeing and + the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom I have forbidden to him,” grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from + the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Forbid him not,” answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. “Christopher + Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that need + is nigh.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind your business, knave,” shouted Sir John. “Am I to be set at naught + in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his + broken fortunes?” + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me, I think so,” replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he led + away the horses. + </p> + <p> + Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the + stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along + galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which, since + her mother’s death, his daughter had used as her own, for here he guessed + that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the passage table, + he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and entered. + </p> + <p> + The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that burned + upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in shadow. + Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and here, seated + in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing fire falling + full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John’s only surviving child. She + was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned, + with a round and child-like face which most people thought beautiful to + look upon. Just now this face, that generally was so arch and cheerful, + seemed somewhat troubled. For this there might be a reason, since, seated + upon a stool at her side, was a young man talking to her earnestly. + </p> + <p> + He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut in + feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black eyes. + Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love with much + vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with the girl, + who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this moment, + indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from exhaustion, + perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more effective method of + attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his knees, he took the + unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several times; then, emboldened + by his success, threw his long arms about her, and before Sir John, choked + with indignation, could find words to stop him, drew her towards him and + treated her red lips as he had treated her fingers. This rude proceeding + seemed to break the spell that bound her, for she pushed back the chair + and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying in a broken voice—— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “May be,” he answered. “So long as you love me I care not what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well, but, + alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere he returns, + or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a nunnery where no + man may come.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit——” + </p> + <p> + Then at last Sir John broke out. + </p> + <p> + “To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!” he roared from the + darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though she + would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced by an + arrow. “First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and then, + when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!” and he rushed + at them like a charging bull. + </p> + <p> + Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover’s + arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to his + hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and tugged + at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away, at which + sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also. + </p> + <p> + “Leave go of the maid, sir,” he said in a low, fierce voice, “or, by God! + I’ll make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave go of the maid?” gasped Sir John. “Why, who holds her tightest, you + or I? Do you leave go of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, Christopher,” she whispered, “ere I am pulled in two.” + </p> + <p> + Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept his + hold of the brown tress. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Sir Christopher,” he said, “I am minded to put my sword through + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And pierce your daughter’s heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you + will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go to + the grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! father, father,” broke in Cicely, who knew the old man’s temper, and + feared the worst, “in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my heart is + Christopher’s, and has been from a child. With him I shall have happiness, + without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so he swears. Why, + then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of good lineage, and + name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour him much and let us + be together day by day? And now, when it is too late, you deny him. Oh! + why, why?” + </p> + <p> + “You know why well enough, girl. Because I have chosen another husband for + you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry you. + But this morning I had it under his own hand.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord Despard?” gasped Cicely. “Why, he only buried his second wife + last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has + grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but + never will I go to him alive.” + </p> + <p> + “And never shall he live to take you,” muttered Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son, and + should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within three + shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies. But + enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father’s + friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you + changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete I + was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the world’s + eye or in yours?” + </p> + <p> + “No, lad,” answered the old knight bluntly; “but since you will have it, + here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has + married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name, and + little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the hammer, + Christopher. You’ll never stow a bride in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the + Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is another—in + your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your daughter and she + loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or I, who am no fool, + will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up there at Court, where + I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe that I shall marry Cicely, + and earlier than you think, and I would have had your blessing with her.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Will you steal the girl away?” asked Sir John furiously. + </p> + <p> + “By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from hour + to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there—I think I + shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will, for + I’ll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not throw + your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel at once. + Look, and say you cannot do it,” and he pointed to the pathetic figure of + Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast, and a face + of agony. + </p> + <p> + The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw + something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest, and + though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times, he + loved his daughter more than all the world. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?” he + grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, “Hear me, now, Christopher + Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on a + somewhat risky business.” + </p> + <p> + “What business, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “If you would know—that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an + Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear of + that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and prove + him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now, is my + nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I’ll believe + you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have poached a + kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same before you + were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through the snows to + London at my heels.” + </p> + <p> + “You have it, sir,” answered Christopher. “If she needs my company she + must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I’ll not seek hers while you are + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then one gift for another. I’ll not answer my Lord of Despard’s + letter till I get back again—not to please you, but because I hate + writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night. Now, + have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty work.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such + slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you. + Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two—six or + eight, indeed—while yours are away with the wains.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years, + and can do so still. Also,” he added, with a flash of insight, “as you + say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you + might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl; + she’s not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow for + her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you stand + there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if I catch you + at more such tricks, you’ll spend your days mumbling at prayers in a + nunnery, and much good may they do you.” + </p> + <p> + “At least I should find peace there, and gentle words,” answered Cicely + with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had + departed. “Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth + of the Abbots of Blossholme.” + </p> + <p> + “Swell their wealth!” roared her father. “Nay, I’ll stretch their necks. + Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor.” + </p> + <p> + Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next to + Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she dared not + utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where presently she + was heard stumbling against some article of furniture. + </p> + <p> + “Show the maid a light, Christopher,” said Sir John, who, lost in his own + thoughts, was now gazing into the fire. + </p> + <p> + Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a hound + after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the door and + down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and once more, + without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms. + </p> + <p> + “You will not forget me, even if we must part?” sobbed Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sweet,” he answered. “Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part + for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean + all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften. + If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely. + Could you ride one if need were?” + </p> + <p> + “I have ever loved riding,” she said meaningly. + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog’s sty, for I’ll stick him + first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you + best?” + </p> + <p> + “They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will come + to seek us,” and they tore themselves apart. + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted,” he said rapidly; “also she + loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” she answered, “without fail,” and glided from him like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?” asked Sir John, glancing at + Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous + long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Sir John. “Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and such + partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of them?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand that you may say so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher,” he added, with + earnestness, but in a kindly voice. “Believe me, I like you well, and + would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I + have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you + have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for + your own safety’s sake and her children’s sake, must marry well. Yonder + Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may + come, if you still care for his leavings—perhaps in two years, + perhaps in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more + of the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the + liquor—drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope + is that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton.” + </p> + <p> + It was seven o’clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten his + breakfast, was girding on his sword—for Jeffrey had already gone to + fetch the horses—when the door opened and his daughter entered the + great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long + hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and + frightened. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now, girl?” he asked. “You’ll take your death of cold among + these draughts.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! father,” she said, kissing him, “I came to bid you farewell, and—and—to + pray you not to start.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to start? And why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I could + not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,” and she + paused. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but foolishness—coming + from the stomach.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to + tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew to + be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little pool + with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there—there, at the edge of + the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare + sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in + the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain. + Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I + dreamed it thrice.” + </p> + <p> + “A jolly good morrow indeed,” said Sir John, turning a shade paler. “And + now, daughter, what do you make of this business?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do + your business. Sir Christopher, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false. If + true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I heed + it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet I have + enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use your + mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for your + mother’s jewels, hide them,” and he turned to go. + </p> + <p> + She clasped him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “In that sad case what should I do, father?” she asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + He stopped and stared at her up and down. + </p> + <p> + “I see that you believe in your dream,” he said, “and therefore, although + it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In that case + you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man after my own + heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is played. Set your + own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot is at your heels. + Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness, and God’s blessing + and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they stand, the horses + will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me, I wear a chain + shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,” and he kissed her + on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone. + </p> + <p> + Thus did Cicely and her father part—for ever. + </p> + <p> + All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward + through the snow—that is, when they were not obliged to walk because + of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a + glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for + they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge + at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding + badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in on + them a little before five o’clock, bringing with it a cold, moaning wind + and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a faggot-built + woodman’s hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the clouds. Here they + fed the horses with corn that they had brought with them, and themselves + also from their store of dried meat and barley cakes, which Jeffrey + carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor meal eaten thus in the + darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and pass away the time. + </p> + <p> + At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut. + </p> + <p> + “She’s up,” said Sir John, “let us be going ere the nags grow stiff.” + </p> + <p> + Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses’ mouths + and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye + between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was a + dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by + patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard + oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to lop + the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away or so, at + the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by Nature, but by + man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition said that once, + hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle had been fought around + it in which a king was killed, and that his victorious army had raised + this mound above his bones to be a memorial for ever. + </p> + <p> + The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or + dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the + slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his horse + in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle. At least + it is true that the mount was called King’s Grave, and that people feared + to pass it after sundown. + </p> + <p> + As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master’s stirrup for him to mount, he + uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his outstretched + hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat, still as any + statue, upon a horse on the very point of King’s Grave. He appeared to be + covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet glittered like silver. + Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face of the moon, and when it + passed away the man and horse were gone. + </p> + <p> + “What did that fellow there?” asked Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow?” answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, “I saw none. That was the + Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the + forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in his + day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of + years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost of the + Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their horses’ + heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master.” + </p> + <p> + “What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come. + Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest reeve + or herdsman.” + </p> + <p> + “A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine + horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind! Well, + have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and + herdmen, for I think they hail from hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was a spy watching whither we go,” answered Sir John angrily. + </p> + <p> + “If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would sooner + meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better ride + back to Shefton.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who, + being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on + Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete’s father, was killed + at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard, yet + I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an axe + got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do so now?—though + it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the Highlanders beyond the + Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my part I care not when it + comes, who have little to lose in an ill world.” + </p> + <p> + So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they + went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its way + round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or through + brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since the snow + made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the oaks was + great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood had known + the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held safely to their + road. Well would it have been for them if they had not! + </p> + <p> + They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they rode + upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours, + since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a + mile ahead.” + </p> + <p> + Then Jeffrey broke out. + </p> + <p> + “Master, I like it not,” he said. “Battle-horses have gone by here, not + chapmen’s or farmers’ nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that we + had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn you, then,” grumbled Sir John indifferently. “I am cold and weary, + and seek my rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder,” muttered Jeffrey, + spurring his horse. + </p> + <p> + They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by the + hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find, and + the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them through + the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by forest, so wet + that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right lay a little + ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and there upon its + face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded willows, whereof the + tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in the forest farm near by. + Sir John looked at the place and shivered a little—perhaps because + the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered his daughter’s dream, + which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his teeth, and his right + hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse sniffed the air and + neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at hand. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought,” said Sir + John. + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them from + out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the bared + weapons in their hands. + </p> + <p> + “Thieves!” shouted Sir John. “At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to the + farm.” + </p> + <p> + The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common + robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he must + do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one + commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in his + stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the snow, + which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his horse so + that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of his sword, so + that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving feebly. + </p> + <p> + The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and + vanished again among the thorns. + </p> + <p> + “Now ride for it,” said Jeffrey. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” answered Sir John. “One of those knaves has hurt my mare,” and + he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast’s foreleg, + which it held up piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Take mine,” said Jeffrey; “I’ll dodge them afoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;” and, springing + from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not, + for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by + Jeffrey on his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Who are these rogues?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot’s men-at-arms,” answered Jeffrey. “I saw the face of him I + spitted.” + </p> + <p> + Now Sir John’s jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams + well.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke an arrow whistled by them. + </p> + <p> + “Jeffrey,” he went on, “I have papers on me that should not be lost, for + with them might go my girl’s heritage. Take them,” and he thrust a packet + into his hand, “and this purse also. There’s plenty in it. Away—anywhere, + and lie hid out of reach a while, or they’ll still your tongue. Then I + charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang that knave Abbot—for + your Lady’s sake, Jeffrey. She’ll reward you, and so will God above.” + </p> + <p> + The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket. + </p> + <p> + “How can I leave you to be butchered?” he muttered, grinding his teeth. + </p> + <p> + As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound, and + saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the throat; + saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal. Then he + hesitated no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Christ rest you!” he said. “I’ll do your bidding or die;” and, turning + his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away + like a deer. + </p> + <p> + For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of his + cover, shaking his sword above his head—ran into the open moonlight + to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for that + steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse’s neck, was + safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never caught him. + </p> + <p> + Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or + elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who + dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won down + to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on the sea. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + A WEDDING + </h3> + <p> + About noon of the day after that upon which Sir John had come to his + death, Cicely Foterell sat at her meal in Shefton Hall. Not much of the + rough midwinter fare passed her lips, for she was ill at ease. The man she + loved had been dismissed from her because his fortunes were on the wane, + and her father had gone upon a journey which she felt, rather than knew, + to be very dangerous. The great old hall was lonesome, also, for a young + girl who had no comrades near. Sitting there in the big room, she + bethought her how different it had been in her childhood, before some foul + sickness, of which she knew not the name or nature, had swept away her + mother, her two brothers, and her sister all in a single week, leaving her + untouched. Then there were merry voices about the house where now was + silence, and she alone, with naught but a spaniel dog for company. Also + most of the men were away with the wains laden with the year’s clip of + wool, which her father had held until the price had heightened, nor in + this snow would they be back for another week, or perhaps longer. + </p> + <p> + Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair + as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers + went, and found her peace. + </p> + <p> + To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the + manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad of + its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her foster-mother, + Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in her prime, for her + husband had been carried off by a fever when she was but nineteen, and her + baby with him, whereon she had been brought to the Hall to nurse Cicely, + whose mother was very ill after her birth. Moreover, she was tall and + dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her father had been a Spaniard of + gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy blood ran in her mother’s veins. + </p> + <p> + There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower cared—Cicely, + her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one Thomas Bolle, now a + lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the cattle. The tale was that + in their early youth he had courted her, not against her will, and that + when, after her parents’ tragic deaths, as a ward of the former Abbot of + Blossholme, she was married to her husband, not with her will, this Thomas + put on the robe of a monk of the lowest degree, being but a yeoman of good + stock though of little learning. + </p> + <p> + Something in the woman’s manner attracted Cicely’s attention, and gave a + hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch, which + was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a picture + in its frame. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Nurse?” asked Cicely in a shaken voice. “From your look you + bear tidings.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and + answered— + </p> + <p> + “Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick with them, Emlyn,” gasped Cicely. “Who is dead? Christopher?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding— + </p> + <p> + “Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, dear; you are an orphan.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked— + </p> + <p> + “Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his name.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle,” she whispered back. + </p> + <p> + “A friend of mine,” repeated the tall, dark woman, “told me that Sir John + Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a gang of + armed men, of whom he slew two.” + </p> + <p> + “From the Abbey?” queried Cicely in the same whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such as + they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some ship + that had her anchor up.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have his life for it, the coward!” exclaimed Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message. It + was that he did but obey his master’s last orders, and, as he had seen too + much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he would return + from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He prayed that + you would not doubt him.” + </p> + <p> + “The papers! What papers, Emlyn?” + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her broad shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London + and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber.” + </p> + <p> + Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain “deeds” + which he must take with him, and began to sob. + </p> + <p> + “Weep not, darling,” said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely’s brown hair + with her strong hand. “These things are decreed of God, and done with. Now + you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one remains.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely lifted her tear-stained face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Me!” she answered, with a quick smile. “Nay, of what use am I? Your + nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you before + he rode—about Sir Christopher? Hush! there’s no time to talk; you + must away to Cranwell Towers.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Cicely. “He cannot bring my father back to life, and it would + be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man in his + own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my father, + and,” she added proudly, “to avenge him.” + </p> + <p> + “If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery. + Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the + Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your + father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your + wardship, as once mine went under this monk’s charter. Before sunset the + Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for + safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy + Church.” + </p> + <p> + “Name of God! is it so?” said Cicely, springing up; “and the most of the + men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his + hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh! now I + understand what my father meant. Order horses. I’ll off to Christopher. + Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem shameless, and will + vex him.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not, + I’ll know the reason why,” she added viciously. + </p> + <p> + “A wife! To-night!” exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair. “And + my father but just dead! How can it be?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he’ll wish to wait + and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile, I + have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come to + learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till + nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and + lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the jewels + in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands, and with + them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl make a pack + of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry and will be + stirring. There is no time for talk.” + </p> + <p> + Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete, + watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow, + and knew them while they were yet far off. + </p> + <p> + “It is true, then,” he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of + Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. “I thought that fool of + a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?” + </p> + <p> + “Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady Cicely + here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is—what + will happen now?” and he glanced sideways at him. + </p> + <p> + “I know well if I can get my way,” answered Christopher, with a merry + laugh. “Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing, + could you marry us?” + </p> + <p> + “Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;” and again he + looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “And if there were no parents?” + </p> + <p> + “Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age.” + </p> + <p> + “And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?” + </p> + <p> + “Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church, + would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it, and, + as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very matter + of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and civil——” + </p> + <p> + But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old parson’s + lecture remained undelivered. + </p> + <p> + The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them + together. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, sweetest?” he asked. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Christopher,” she answered, weeping, “my poor father is dead—murdered, + or so says Emlyn.” + </p> + <p> + “Murdered! By whom?” + </p> + <p> + “By the Abbot of Blossholme’s soldiers—so says Emlyn, yonder in the + forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his ward + and thrust me into the Nunnery—that was Emlyn’s tale. And so, + although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have + fled to you—because Emlyn said I ought.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a wise woman, Emlyn,” broke in Christopher; “I always thought well + of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you are + a better friend than none at all, and—where else should I go? Also + my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with + you, bade me seek your help if there were need—and—oh! + Christopher, I came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it + seemed right. If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother + Matilda, is good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out + again, for the Abbot is her master, and <i>not</i> my friend. It is our + lands he loves, and the famous jewels—Emlyn has them with her.” + </p> + <p> + By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so, + without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle, + pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best answer. + A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and staring at + them curiously; and, leaning on her lover’s shoulder, Cicely passed + through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall, where a great + fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands, stood Father + Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As the pair + advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them. + </p> + <p> + “Mistress Cicely,” said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous + fashion, “I fear that you visit us in sad case,” and he paused, not + knowing what to add. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” she answered, “if all I hear is true. They say that my + father is killed by cruel men—I know not for certain why or by whom—and + that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and immure me + in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here to escape + him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me for this + deed.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my + superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since + this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I will + tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender that comes + to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard, one sent here + to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its wealth, stir up + rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for the benefit of + England’s enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends—their money buys them; + though mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor + father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be his + end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are the + morsel that tempts Maldon’s appetite. And now what is to be done? This is + a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover. + </p> + <p> + “Then what’s to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know not,” she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. “How can I + tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single friend—my + father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me in his way, + and I have obeyed his last counsel;” and, all her courage gone, she sank + into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head resting on her hands. + </p> + <p> + “That is not true,” said Emlyn in her bold voice. “Am I who suckled you no + friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher no + friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and here + it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before me I see + a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom. Also we can + rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health; and after that + let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you, Sir Christopher?” + </p> + <p> + “You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what say + <i>you</i>?” and he bent over her. + </p> + <p> + She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his neck, + laid her head upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is the will of God,” she whispered, “and why should I fight + against it, who am His servant?—and yours, Chris.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, Father, what say you?” asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think there is much to say,” answered the old clergyman, turning + his head aside, “save that if it should please you to come to the church + in ten minutes’ time you will find a candle on the altar, and a priest + within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot do at such + short notice.” + </p> + <p> + Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the hall + and out of the door. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them, + and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no fine + dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been time to + don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and, opening that box + of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of the Foterells—being + the rarest and the most ancient in all the countryside—she decked + her with them. On her broad brow she set a circlet from which hung + sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the story said, by her mother’s + ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land, where once they were the peculiar + treasure of a paynim queen, and upon her bosom a necklet of large pearls. + Brooches and rings also she found for her breast and fingers, and for her + waist a jewelled girdle with a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung + the finest gems of all—two great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom + when it begins to turn. Lastly she flung over her head a veil of lace most + curiously wrought, and stood back with pride to look at her. + </p> + <p> + Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke for + the first time, saying— + </p> + <p> + “How came this here, Nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been + told. Also once before I wrapped it about you—when you were + christened, sweet.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap; but how came it here?” + </p> + <p> + “In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I + brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would + be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come.” + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God + alone knows the end.” + </p> + <p> + “That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled in + due season.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me. In + truth, I feel as though death were near.” + </p> + <p> + “He is ever that,” replied Emlyn unconcernedly. “But so long as he doesn’t + touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I’ve Spanish and gypsy + blood in me with which go gifts, and so I’ll tell you something for your + comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay his bony hand on you + for many a long year—not till you are well-nigh as thin with age as + he is. Oh! you’ll have your troubles like all of us, worse than many, + mayhap, but you are Luck’s own child, who lived when the rest were taken, + and you’ll win through and take others on your back, as a whale does + barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I do,” and she suited the + action to the word, “and be happy while you may, and when you’re not + happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now follow me and, though + your father is murdered, smile as you should in such an hour, for what man + wants a sad-faced bride?” + </p> + <p> + They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher + stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was clad + in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his side, also + that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at her + glittering beauty confused, then said— + </p> + <p> + “Fear not this hint of war in love’s own hour,” and he touched his shining + armour. “Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy, and some + might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;” and bowing + before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house, Emlyn + walking behind them and the men with torches going before and following + after. + </p> + <p> + Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their + feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the steely + sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge of the + world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that bordered the + moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter evening song, while + about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the daws still wheeled. + </p> + <p> + The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no note, + always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of snow, the + inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the dull glow of + the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her lover’s mail, the + midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant hound, the black porch + of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong mounds which hid the + bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as infants, as + bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things that had been + men and women. + </p> + <p> + Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them like + a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short as had been + the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread about, for at + least a score of people were standing here and there in knots, or a few of + them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All these turned to stare + at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar where stood the priest in + his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind him the old clerk with a + stable-lantern held on high to enable him to read from his book. + </p> + <p> + They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a + clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign, + the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The + moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of them, + turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in marble + upon the tomb at their side. + </p> + <p> + All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated + eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes of a + long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and kindly + interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too small was + thrust upon her finger—all the rest of her life that ring hurt her + at times, but she would never have it moved, and then some one was kissing + her. At first she thought it must be her father, and remembering, nearly + wept till she heard Christopher’s voice calling her wife, and knew that + she was wed. + </p> + <p> + Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him, writing + something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of her birth and + her full name, which, as he had been present at her christening, she + thought strange. Then her husband signed the book, using the altar as a + table, not very easily for he was no great scholar, and she signed also in + her maiden name for the last time, and the priest signed, and at his + bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed too. Next, as though by + an afterthought, Father Roger called several of the congregation, who + rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses. While they did so he + explained to them that, as the circumstances were uncommon, it was well + that there should be evidence, and that he intended to send copies of this + entry to sundry dignities, not forgetting the holy Father at Rome. + </p> + <p> + On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do + with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the + nave and out of Cicely’s mind. + </p> + <p> + So it was done at last. + </p> + <p> + Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid it + away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from + Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked the + oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off through + the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and hot beer. + Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked silently + arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing the bride, + had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony to its + countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient church + behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves. + </p> + <p> + The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat + down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short + notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so + small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed + their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not + understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear + him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now + blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been + hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had + words to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Christopher,” she said, “you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that + ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man. Yet + such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this is + near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir + Christopher.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn,” he answered anxiously. “The knot that + was tied to-night may not be unloosed.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” broke in Father Roger. “Though the suddenness and the + circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament + celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both parties + and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I’ll send the record of + it to the bishop’s registry and elsewhere, that it may not be questioned + in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your lady’s + foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand.” + </p> + <p> + “It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven,” replied Emlyn solemnly, “yet + perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we should + all do well to travel as soon as may be.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night, surely, Nurse!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “No, not to-night,” she answered, with a faint smile. “Your wife has had a + weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is + impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you, I + think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her + father’s slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law.” + </p> + <p> + “That is good counsel,” said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words + seemed to be few, nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile,” went on Emlyn, “you have six men in this house and others + round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding + them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set a + watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command that + the drawbridge be triced.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you fear?” he asked, waking from his dream. + </p> + <p> + “I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little of + the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them as a + cover to evil deeds. He’ll not let such a prize slip between his fingers + if he can help it, and the times are turbulent.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! alas! it is true,” said Father Roger, “and that Abbot is a + relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many friends + both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never dare——” + </p> + <p> + “That we shall learn,” interrupted Emlyn. “Meanwhile, Sir Christopher, + rouse yourself and give the orders.” + </p> + <p> + So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they + looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said they + would do his bidding. + </p> + <p> + A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and + witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge was + hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to watch in + the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else, even of the + danger in which they were, sought the company of her who waited for him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + THE ABBOT’S OATH + </h3> + <p> + On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was + called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter. + </p> + <p> + “Whence came this?” he asked, turning it over suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Wife Cicely,” he called through the door, “come hither if you will.” + </p> + <p> + Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak, + and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “This, my darling,” he answered, handing her the paper. “I never loved + book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you who + are more scholarly.” + </p> + <p> + “I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris,” she + replied doubtfully, and paling a little. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her + strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It + ran thus— + </p> + <p> + “To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn + Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern. + </p> + <p> + “I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of Sir + John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves and outlaws, + sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship, according to my + prerogative established by law and custom, over the person and property of + you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My messengers returned saying that + you had fled from your home of Shefton Hall. They said further that it was + rumoured that you had ridden with your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to + Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for + the sake of your good name it is needful that you should remove from such + company at once, as there is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher + Harflete. I purpose, therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to + Cranwell Towers, and if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly + father, to command you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence + to the Nunnery of 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 of the brides of Christ. + </p> + <p> + “Clement, Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them stood + a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant trouble + for them all, till Cicely said— + </p> + <p> + “Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand— + </p> + <p> + “My Lord Abbot, + </p> + <p> + “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 his last + words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands of 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 of + Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not, + therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear + lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor + do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship + over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit. + </p> + <p> + “Your humble servant, + </p> + <p> + “Cicely Harflete.” + </p> + <p> + This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was given + to the Abbot’s messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off as fast + as the snow would let him. + </p> + <p> + They watched him go from a window. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Christopher, turning to his wife, “I think, dear, we shall do + well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I + doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so also,” said Emlyn. “Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to + see that the horses are saddled.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the door, + and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having arms and + beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short notice, though + others of his tenants and servants had already assembled at 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 brave and happy, Cicely + shivered a little as she saw it through the open door. + </p> + <p> + “We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet,” said Christopher uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “What matter, so long as we go together?” she answered in a gay voice that + yet seemed to ring untrue, “although,” she added, with a little choke of + the throat, “I would that we could have stayed here until I had found and + buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere in the + snows like a perished ox.” + </p> + <p> + “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, that I + forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals and + buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what joy 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.” + </p> + <p> + Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to + her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that + they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not to + be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to leave + the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from Cranwell, + suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with a monk’s hood + to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through the fence and + stood in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword. + </p> + <p> + “You’d know me well enough if my hood were back,” he answered in a deep + voice; “but if you want my name, it’s Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the + Abbey yonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Your voice proves you,” said Christopher, laughing. “And now what is your + business, lay-brother Bolle?” + </p> + <p> + “To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the + forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the + weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That’s my business, Sir + Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there,” and he nodded + towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, “with your leave I’ll + ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on a + dangerous journey.” + </p> + <p> + Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood to + chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man, called + out— + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few + sins to spare for a priest’s wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm + me.” + </p> + <p> + He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little + way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager + conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking round—for + they had ridden forward at a slow pace—saw Thomas Bolle leap through + the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the falling snow, + while Emlyn spurred her horse after them. + </p> + <p> + “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 take the + Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey.” + </p> + <p> + “I see no one,” said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below + them 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 best + mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any + lurked behind that wood. + </p> + <p> + So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but + anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for + the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses + galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came— + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be + taken!” + </p> + <p> + Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four men + and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through so + great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he gave a + sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they did so, + scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot’s horsemen appeared + plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and well for them + was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before ever they came + in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety yards behind. But + here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered nobly to whip and + spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who watched within the + house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they were within fifty + yards of the moat Cicely’s horse stumbled, slipped, and fell, throwing her + into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped on alone. Christopher + reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose, frightened but unharmed, put + out his long arm, and, lifting her to the saddle in front of him, plunged + forward, while those behind shouted “Yield!” + </p> + <p> + Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached the + bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it. + </p> + <p> + “Wind up,” shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid + hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of + the Abbot’s folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with + their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so that + it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down. + </p> + <p> + “Leave go, you knaves,” shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one of + them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the bridge, + and stood there, hanging to the chains. + </p> + <p> + Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the + arrow being already on the string, again shouted— + </p> + <p> + “Get off at your peril!” + </p> + <p> + In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord + Abbot. + </p> + <p> + Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had + dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he knew + well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but, aiming + swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could not miss. The + arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail beneath, and + pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead. The others, + scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the bridge, relieved of + the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their reach, and presently + came home and was made fast. + </p> + <p> + As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a + captain of the Abbot’s guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow + that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him + through 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. + </p> + <p> + Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while + Christopher 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 them fall + suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the corpse + that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway— + </p> + <p> + “How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first + throw of a long game, husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sweet,” he answered, “the second; the first was cast two nights gone + by King’s Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls for + blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” she answered, “blood calls for blood.” Then, remembering that she + was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she turned + and sought her chamber, weeping. + </p> + <p> + Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by the + sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he saw + three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards the Towers, + one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token of parley. Then + Christopher went up into the little gateway turret, followed by Emlyn, who + crouched down behind the brick battlement, so that she could see and hear + without being seen. Having reached the further side of the moat, he who + held the white cloth threw back the hood of his long cape, and they saw + that it was the Abbot of Blossholme himself, also that his dark eyes + flashed and that his olive-hued face was almost white with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my + doors, my Lord Abbot?” asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the + gateway. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?” answered the + Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. “Know you not that whoso + sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our ancient + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” repeated Christopher reflectively, “by man shall his blood be shed. + Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not one of + those who rode by moonlight round King’s Grave lately, and there chanced + to meet Sir John Foterell?” + </p> + <p> + 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 never passed + them. + </p> + <p> + “I know naught of the meaning of your talk,” he said presently in a + quieter voice, “or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John—may + God 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 + woman under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought + her to shame—a crime even fouler than this murder.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small honour + as may be the share of Christopher Harflete’s lawful wife. If there be any + virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God’s own hand has bound us fast + as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope who can loose that + knot.” + </p> + <p> + “Death!” repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very + curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, “Well, his + court 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 slain soldier. + “Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my servant, 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 Cicely Foterell——” + </p> + <p> + “Of Cicely Harflete,” interrupted Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be done to + her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his + Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in + this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” broke in Christopher scoffingly; “does the Abbot of Blossholme + announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce? Ere + now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the case + of Queen Catherine was in question.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed— + </p> + <p> + “Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant + here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as an + accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my offer—answer.” + </p> + <p> + “And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I + hold dearer than a thousand lives?” + </p> + <p> + “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 or + hereafter, on your own head be it.” + </p> + <p> + At this Christopher’s rage broke out. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and + foreign traitor,” he shouted, “whom all men know to be in the pay of + Spain, and using the cover of a monk’s dress to plot against the land on + which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in the + forest two nights gone? You won’t answer? Then I will. Because he rode to + Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and therefore 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 and luxury. You think you + have bought friends at Court, and that for money’s sake those in power + there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it may be for a while; but + wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor all ears deaf. That head of + yours shall yet be lifted higher than you think—so high that it + sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a warning to all who would sell + England to her enemies. John Foterell lies dead with your knave’s arrow in + his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away with the writings. And now do your + worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my wife, come take her.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word. His + swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The veins + upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance Christopher + could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance became twisted and + ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into one of his hearty + laughs. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the + two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they + carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the + house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But the + other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him to + stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore glanced + upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was unhurt, pulled + their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher, setting another + arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to his ear, covering + the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “Loose, and make an end of him,” muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind + the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried— + </p> + <p> + “Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + He took no heed who was also turning about. + </p> + <p> + “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 reared straight up and + fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Clement Maldon,” cried Christopher, “will you listen, or will you + bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If + you 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 your + fingers.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the + dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other. + </p> + <p> + “Speak,” he said in a muffled voice. + </p> + <p> + “My Lord Abbot,” went on Christopher, “a minute ago you tried to murder + me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life is + in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants of yours + are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or——” and he + lifted the bow. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at a + distance, but within earshot. + </p> + <p> + “You have a crucifix upon your breast,” continued Christopher. “Take it in + your right hand now and swear an oath.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Abbot obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Swear thus,” he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet, + prompting him from time to time; “I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, + in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of Christopher Harflete and + others upon earth,” and he jerked his head backwards towards the windows + of the house, where all therein were gathered, listening, “make oath upon + the symbol of the Rood. I swear that I abandon all claim of wardship over + the body of Cicely Harflete, born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of + Christopher Harflete, and all claim to the lands and goods that she may + possess, or that were possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or + by her mother, Dame Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit + in any court, spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the + said Cicely Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her + husband, nor seek to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the + bodies or the souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may + live and die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the + Rood and swear thus now, Clement Maldon.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek heart, + that he seemed to swell like an angry toad. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll shoot,” answered Christopher. “Come, pick up that cross.” + </p> + <p> + But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher aimed + and loosed, and so great was his skill—for there were few archers in + England like to him—that the arrow pierced Maldon’s fur cap and + carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath. + </p> + <p> + “The next shall be two inches lower,” he said, as he set another on the + string. “I waste no more good shafts.” + </p> + <p> + Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon + bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips + and kissed it, muttering— + </p> + <p> + “I swear.” But the oath he swore was very different to that which + Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to + meet guile with guile. + </p> + <p> + “Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on + to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go + about my business, Christopher Harflete?” he asked, with bitter irony. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Christopher. “Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle + with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my lady, + and we do not seek your company on the road.” + </p> + <p> + Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his + own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them + rode away over the rise towards Blossholme. + </p> + <p> + “Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely dare + to break,” said Christopher presently. “What say you, Nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “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 limbs + were cramped. “The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given + under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through his + heart, instead of playing boy’s pranks with his cap?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and one + of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay him, + 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 will hear it + straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for attack, and + never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits you there.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to Cranwell + Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a letter that was + tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the oak posts of the + outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had come. In the presence + of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read this second letter, as + she had read the first. It was short, and ran— + </p> + <p> + “Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may + concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, swore + to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been wrung + from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further, that a + report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to the 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, my ward, and + of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John Foterell, + deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on her behalf, + and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize you, Christopher + Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by means of notice + sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet you in your crimes + that they will do so at the peril of their souls and bodies. + </p> + <p> + “Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL + </h3> + <p> + A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note + had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered. Only + Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants + discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them + rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force, + which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village, and + even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came to close + quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was a disadvantage + to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual fighting, the dread of + which was ever present, but not its joy. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all + their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that + they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted, for + nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter of a + mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired and + burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off, they + knew not where. + </p> + <p> + So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the kitchen, + and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed with the + doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of the + attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there much of + this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked bacon, + together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they made into + cakes and bread. + </p> + <p> + On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to a + scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and hot + water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more to + burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on it. + Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they moved + about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they were, + could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which they + had. + </p> + <p> + Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so + much as a candle to light them. At four o’clock the darkness came down, + which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick, + until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time, + fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that + even sleep was denied them. + </p> + <p> + For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was + shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and + children hunted off to seek shelter where they might. + </p> + <p> + Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her + dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black hours + around the circle of the moat at her husband’s side, or from window-place + to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they cast themselves + down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the watch to others. Only + Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their companions did begin to + murmur. + </p> + <p> + One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon + Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake and + his lady’s, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no longer + freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from the house + or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that what they said + was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no + chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to + escape through the darkness?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yield, I think,” answered Cicely, choking back a sob. “If we yield + certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you + to your death and me to a nunnery.” + </p> + <p> + “That may happen in any case,” muttered Christopher, turning his head + aside. “But what say you, Nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “I say fight for it,” answered Emlyn boldly. “It is certain that we cannot + stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some among us whom + I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty, their hands are + blue, their wives and children are they know not where, and the heavy + curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things may be mended if + they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and slip away at dead + of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die, as many better folk + have done before.” + </p> + <p> + So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it could + not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready as best they + could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and although they were + stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and watered. On these they + proposed to ride, but first they must tell the truth to those who had + stood by them. So about three o’clock of the afternoon Christopher called + all the men together beneath the gateway and sorrowfully set out his tale. + Here, he showed them, they could bide no longer, and to surrender meant + that his new-wed wife would soon be made a widow. Therefore they must fly, + taking with them as many as there were horses for them to ride, if they + cared to risk such a journey. If not, he and the two women would go alone. + </p> + <p> + Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and his + father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these seemed + to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked them + shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and if he + proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight. + </p> + <p> + “God knows I would rather die,” he replied, with a swelling heart; “but, + my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it + has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us + and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since + yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here, + and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that I + compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man’s blood; also + I will give you a writing.” + </p> + <p> + So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and + their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But + there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who + thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher, had + been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers somewhat + against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher’s largest tenant, + to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young man, and even + during the siege, by means that need not be described, he had contrived to + convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling him that had it been + in his power he would gladly be in any other place. Therefore, as he knew + well, whatever had happened to others, his farm remained unharried. Now he + determined to be out of a bad business as soon as he might, for Jonathan + was one of those who liked to stand upon the winning side. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, although he said “Aye, aye,” more loudly than his comrades, as + soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the horses + and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at the back + of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter of a + cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had + taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and be + captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at length + they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life, as he + said, he found his tongue and told all. + </p> + <p> + “So, so,” said the Abbot when he had finished. “Now God is good to us. We + have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary’s at Blossholme + after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my reeve at + Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands.” + </p> + <p> + But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so + far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be + known, Jonathan’s maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk + in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so that + he was never heard of among them again. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with + Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to + them. + </p> + <p> + “This is a desperate venture,” he said to her, “nor can I tell how it will + end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we have + been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live on I am + sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught, we meet + again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and hunger and + darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child should come + to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw.” + </p> + <p> + Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept. + </p> + <p> + “If you die,” she sobbed, “surely I will do so also, for although I am but + young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is gone, + without you, husband, it would be a hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” he answered; “live on while you may; for who knows? Often out + of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it now, + sweet.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the + dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our + lives, together or separate, until God calls us.” + </p> + <p> + So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses. + </p> + <p> + Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard + hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable to + their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the + sou’-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that stood + about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as this they + were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen beneath + that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the gusts + would wash out the footprints of their horses. + </p> + <p> + They mounted silently, and with the four men—for by now all the rest + had gone—rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in + preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road + ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which + self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this + place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of + them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. “I hear men + moving.” + </p> + <p> + They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was a + faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes in the + darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was answered. + One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and struck it + savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh, it took the bit + between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there arose a great + clamour from the marl-pit in front of them—a noise of shoutings, of + sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of a dying man. + </p> + <p> + “An ambush!” exclaimed Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “Can we get round?” asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” he answered, “the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark! + they charge us. Back to the Towers—there is no other way.” + </p> + <p> + So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many horses + galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the bridge—the + women, Christopher, and the three men who were left. + </p> + <p> + “Up with the bridge!” cried Christopher, and they leapt from their saddles + and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot’s horsemen + pressed it down. + </p> + <p> + Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the trembling + bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be met by + Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow place were as + good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the darkness, and, as + it chanced, two of the Abbot’s people fell, whereon a deep voice cried— + </p> + <p> + “Come back and wait for light.” + </p> + <p> + When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher and + his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that it + would not stir. + </p> + <p> + “Some traitor has fouled the chains,” he said in the quiet voice of + despair. “Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will + bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield + yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you + can come to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not go,” she wailed; “I’ll die with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, you shall go,” he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an + arrow hissed between them. “Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot. Swift, + I say, swift, or God’s curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your arms, + wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I strike + you? Then, there and there!” + </p> + <p> + She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn, + who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared + horses galloped loose. + </p> + <p> + “Whither go we?” sobbed Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “To the central tower,” answered Emlyn; “it seems safest there.” + </p> + <p> + To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way. + Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it was + built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman days. + Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the roof, + for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they could see, + should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they crouched them + down and waited the end, whatever it might be—waited in silence. + </p> + <p> + A while passed—they never knew how long—till at length a + sudden flame shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the + wind caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that + presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom was + never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey, had + returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might be + forgotten in this great catastrophe. + </p> + <p> + “The house burns,” said Emlyn in her quiet voice. “Now, if you would save + your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame can + touch us.” + </p> + <p> + But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she + could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the smoke + away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the Abbey + guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three men with + drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly, screaming + in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women standing on the + top of the tower, then called out something to the Abbot, who sat on + horseback near to him. He looked and saw also. + </p> + <p> + “Yield, Sir Christopher,” he shouted; “the Lady Cicely burns. Yield, that + we may save her.” + </p> + <p> + Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled + round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames + burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it, + blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the place + became a furnace into which none might enter and live. + </p> + <p> + Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at the + figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and + wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into the + crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving, it + would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was a + dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many went + down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his feet. + Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall; it was those + in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe got behind him and + struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword dropped from Harflete’s + hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward, then stretched out his arms + and fell heavily to earth. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed. + </p> + <p> + “Dead,” repeated Emlyn, “and a gallant death!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it. + “Dead, dead!” and sank senseless on Emlyn’s breast. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts + and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting + her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was + little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew the + smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished, as + they thought withered in the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot,” cried a voice from the + darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; “but + not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot’s face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that + courtyard his teeth chattered. + </p> + <p> + “It is on the head of this woman-thief,” he exclaimed with an effort, + looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. “Take him up, that + inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the + house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!” + </p> + <p> + “Can any enter hell and live?” answered the same voice out of the smoke + and gloom. “Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there, Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead and + wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn itself to + ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there longer. + </p> + <p> + Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage at + Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was near + midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the night + been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding back to + Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with him, it + is true. Sir John Foterell was dead—slain by “outlawed men;” Sir + Christopher Harflete was dead—did not his body lie in the neat-house + yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other, was dead also, + burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the precious gems and + the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap without further trouble. + For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to snatch them from the powerful + Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a title to them—of a sort? + </p> + <p> + And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said—whose + voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar—the blood of + these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of + Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man’s blood + by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the + Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English + Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the + strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be + asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself + for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the + powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal ear—ah! + that was another matter. + </p> + <p> + The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood, + which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took + hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end + justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on to it + lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges, shouted + aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains. + </p> + <p> + Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his + hand—a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long + nose, and a clever face—and, bowing, asked his superior’s pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “My pleasure, Brother,” answered the Abbot, “is that you shut the door and + keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes, make up + the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it smokes. + There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams by to-morrow + morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of fires to-night, + and sit down to a cup of wine—nay, I forgot, you drink but water—well, + then, to a bite of bread and meat.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, my Lord Abbot,” answered Martin, “but I may not touch flesh; + this is Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “Friday or no we have touched flesh—the flesh of men—up at the + Towers yonder this night,” answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh. + “Still, obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be + midnight, and the meat can follow.” + </p> + <p> + The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it, + for he was almost starving. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious man + who has worked us so much harm and loss?” asked the Abbot presently. + </p> + <p> + The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said— + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was brave, + and it must be hard to see one’s new-wed wife burn like a witch. Also, now + that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was who did but + fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the marriage is + good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave to make it is a + point that might be debated through every court in Christendom.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in matters + that touched him so nearly. + </p> + <p> + “You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors, + though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I + bare my mind to you,” continued Brother Martin apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Speak on then, man. What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I do not like this business,” he answered slowly, in the + intervals of munching at his bread. “You had a quarrel with Sir John + Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows + the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did I not + hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and accused + you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again God knows the + truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his servant were armed + and won out, and next day the two of them rode for London with certain + papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was killed in the forest, + though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers. Now, who killed him?” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution. + </p> + <p> + “Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of our + House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living, but the + old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it ended + otherwise—to my sorrow.” + </p> + <p> + The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further + appetite. + </p> + <p> + “A dreadful deed,” he said, “for which one day you must answer to God and + man.” + </p> + <p> + “For which we all must answer,” corrected the Abbot, “down to the last + lay-brother and soldier—you as much as any of us, Brother, for were + you not present at our quarrel?” + </p> + <p> + “So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end of + it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder—nay, be not wrath, I + know no other name for it—and learning that you claimed her as your + ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that + very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church.” + </p> + <p> + “It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could my + ward be wed without my leave?” + </p> + <p> + “She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists, or + so she declared,” replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice. “I think + that there is no court in Europe which would void this open marriage when + it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife, and were so + received by those about them—no, not the Pope himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law,” broke in Maldon + sarcastically. “Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has voided + it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is finished.” + </p> + <p> + “No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which every + one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on earth. Oh! + I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so loving, brave, + and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our hands—for + what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or others may seize + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest words, + and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up courage, and + said— + </p> + <p> + “I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well as + mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were + without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely— + </p> + <p> + “Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new estate? + True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their revenues; + but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is threatened by + that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why, what is it now, + man?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England’s king called + a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those of + others—still, ‘son of Belial!’ Let his Highness hear it, and that + name alone is enough to hang you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are + threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine of + Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place. Even now + I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow poison; so + they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and More being + murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at the lesser + monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn will come. But + we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out all England shall + be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I—I will light the fire. Now you + have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead knight would have + done?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your + chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much + mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it not, + and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you of + Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and + subtle; moreover, his people love him.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I have + spoken to you so openly,” went on Maldon in a gentler voice. “Well, you + shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our side, as, + seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the wrongs of the + Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his agent here, and what + I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more money than he finds me, + and that is why I stirred in this matter of the Shefton lands. Also the + Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I fear greatly lest they + should have been lost in the fire this night.” + </p> + <p> + “Filthy lucre—the root of all evil,” muttered Brother Martin. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and of all good. Money, money—I must have more money to bribe + men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What + matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own? + Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your soul—aye, + and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in my arms, and even + her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart, although he always + mistrusted me, the Spaniard—and rightly. The knight Harflete, too, + who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one who would have + served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these blood-sheddings we + must find absolution.” + </p> + <p> + “If we can.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you know. + And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in England as + will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights, some arrows shot, a + fire and lives lost—what of that when it agitates betwixt powers + temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the sceptre in this + mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that may lead you to a + bishopric ere all is done, for that’s your mind and aim, and if you would + put off your doubts and moodiness you’ve got the brain to rule. That ship, + the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, which sailed for Spain some days ago, has been + beat back into the river, and should weigh anchor again to-morrow morning. + I have letters for the Spanish Court, and you shall take them with my + verbal explanations, which I will give you presently, for they would hang + us, and may not be trusted to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you + will follow the Emperor wherever he may be. You will go, won’t you?” and + he glanced at him sideways. + </p> + <p> + “I obey orders,” answered Martin, “though I know little of Spaniards or of + Spanish.” + </p> + <p> + “In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery + interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that + great Brotherhood. Well, ‘tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can; I + must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better. Bid + that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help dig his + grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I must write. + Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your faring, also my + secret messages.” + </p> + <p> + Brother Martin bowed and went. + </p> + <p> + “A dangerous man,” muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; “too + honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit peeps + beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well, he will + learn a trick or two in Spain, and I’ll make sure they keep him there a + while. Now for my letters,” and he sat down at the rude table and began to + write. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” asked the Abbot testily. “I said, ‘Come back in an + hour.’” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you might + like to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Out with it, then, man. It’s scarce now-a-days. Have they found those + jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares,” and he glanced + through the window-place. “What’s the news?” + </p> + <p> + “Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was praying + over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only stunned. You + are skilled in medicine; come, look at him.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of Christopher + where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the light of the + lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from which the + shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart and pulse. + </p> + <p> + “The skull is cut, but not broken,” he said. “My judgment is that though + he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live, being + so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will be dead + by morning, and perhaps he is better dead,” and he looked at Martin. + </p> + <p> + “That would be murder indeed,” answered the secretary. “Come, let us bear + him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet. Lift + you his feet and I will take his head.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather + as one who has no choice. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed with + ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he swallowed + although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said to Martin— + </p> + <p> + “You gave orders for this Harflete’s burial, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + The monk nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?” + </p> + <p> + “No one except yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin. + </p> + <p> + “I think the funeral should go forward,” he said presently. “Look not so + frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead man + lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier whom + Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two were of + much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none would know + one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew was buried + with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a knight’s + grave.” + </p> + <p> + “To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover, + be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?” asked Martin, + staring at him. + </p> + <p> + “For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher + Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has powerful + kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean——? If so, before God I will have no hand in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I said—seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?” answered the + Abbot, with irritation. “Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our + sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to + return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him, and + on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our + Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his + crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not be + for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater that + draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he pretends to + have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him should he find + his understanding.” + </p> + <p> + “A strange game,” muttered Martin. + </p> + <p> + “Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not, + but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath,” replied the Abbot in a + cold, hard voice. “That covered litter which was brought here for the + wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk’s + robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme as + one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn on to + the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, if he still lives. It lies near the quay + not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I will + overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with all + things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain ere he + weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty,” answered Brother Martin, + bowing his head humbly. “But what will be the end of all this business, + God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>very</i> dangerous man,” muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin + go. “He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I’ll see to it!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + EMLYN’S CURSE + </h3> + <p> + Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the + Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the + churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last + home. + </p> + <p> + “Whom do we bury in such haste?” asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had + delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the + sexton was fled away from these tumults. + </p> + <p> + “That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much + loss,” said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as the + clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of the + Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. “A sad story, a very sad + story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them, one in the + flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments are wonderful, and + woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed ministers!” + </p> + <p> + “Very wonderful,” answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took the + head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; “so + wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of them, + also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter than he + used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose. Why did + they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have saved me a + lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do you say, + Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance bricked up, + and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited till one could + be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who am I that I should + dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders, the lay-brother obeys, + for he also is wonderful—a wonderful abbot. + </p> + <p> + “There, he is tidy now—straight on his back and his feet pointing to + the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the + dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give me + your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the sinful + body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved, and to + let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired + rufflers, for monks don’t fight, because they wished to separate those + whom God—I mean the devil—had joined together, and to add + their temporalities to the estate of Mother Church.” + </p> + <p> + Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little of + this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts of it + which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the + cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should grow + and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to escape + from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell. + </p> + <p> + It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against + the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave, which, + so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with much vigour. + When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole under pretence of + trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the wind, sat himself + down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of reflections. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Christopher dead,” he muttered to himself. “I knew his grandfather + when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his + grandfather’s great-grandfather—say three hundred years of them—and + now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad ox + in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his wife’s + goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady Cicely + dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead—Emlyn, whom I have + hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her into + marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old Stower + all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard her. She + said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She said she + would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the moonlight + the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on his grave! + She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That’s her blood. If her mother + had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn’t have married a Spaniard when + every man in the place was after her for her beautiful eyes. Emlyn is a + witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I can’t think it, she + isn’t the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead, and that’s good for my + soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking? Get behind me, Satan, if + you can find room. A grave is no place for you, Satan, but I wish you were + in it with me, Emlyn. You <i>must</i> have been a witch, since, after you, + I could never fancy any other woman, which is against nature, for all’s + fish that comes to a man’s net. Evidently a witch of the worst sort, but, + my darling, witch or no I wish you weren’t dead, and I’ll break that + Abbot’s neck for you yet, if it costs me my soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling, + my darling, do you remember how we kissed in the copse by the river? Never + was there a woman who could love like you.” + </p> + <p> + So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse, + till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the darksome + hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle had thrown + back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a word that should + not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such thoughts should + not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task which he had + planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations—a somewhat + grizzly task. + </p> + <p> + Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the + grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body’s + head. + </p> + <p> + The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to + feel the face. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Christopher’s nose wasn’t broken,” he muttered to himself, “unless it + were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is + stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose.” + </p> + <p> + The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath him; + then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh. + </p> + <p> + “By all the saints! here’s another of our Spaniard’s tricks. It is drunken + Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight. Christopher + killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where’s Christopher?” + </p> + <p> + He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill + it in with all his might. + </p> + <p> + “You’re Christopher,” he said; “well, stop Christopher until I can prove + you’re Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your + betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps, + after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell + Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it.” + </p> + <p> + He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought + others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot, + Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who, + re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the <i>Great + Yarmouth</i>, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay + in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost did + Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell + brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend’s + favourite scent. + </p> + <p> + The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich, + whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing + wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed + influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon + this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the + very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious + letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then he + had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back by + fearful weather that nearly sank the ship. + </p> + <p> + Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to Spain + at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard. Among + them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a leather + jerkin, with spurs upon his heels—bloody spurs—that he seemed + to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in a skiff + after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift, offered good + money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and paid it down + upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with a doubtful + heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith, asking no + questions, since for this gold he need not account to the owners. + Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier’s jerkin, + set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know him, and + in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and useful, + though not a skilled sailor. + </p> + <p> + Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and had + he not been so short-handed and taken the knave’s broad pieces would have + liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the river, + especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about Blossholme, + and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest. Perhaps this + Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no affair of his, and + he could not spare a hand. + </p> + <p> + Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling up + his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been + bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be a + sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead. + </p> + <p> + Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear harness, + for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the ladder, + although monk’s shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he saw when + the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up with + bloody cloths? + </p> + <p> + Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter + while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to get + a very sharp answer. + </p> + <p> + “Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and does + obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will report + you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers. If you + would see Dunwich again, hold your peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Your pardon, my Lord Abbot,” said Goody; “but things go so upon this ship + that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts anchor + twice in the same port.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my + affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its curse + upon you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,” + answered Goody, who was very superstitious. “Do that and I’ll carry a + dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain shirts—for + penance.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words in Latin, + which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very comforting. As they + passed his lips the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> began to move, for the sailors + were hoisting up her anchor. + </p> + <p> + “As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well,” he said. “The + saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the + Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good + weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend + Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask account + of them when we meet again.” + </p> + <p> + I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish + Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as he + bowed him from the cabin. + </p> + <p> + A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with Martin, + began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own people, + was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so he glanced + back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as dense as + wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to hold the + ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped from the + slaying of Sir John—escaped with the damning papers that had cost + his master’s life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped + themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed + them an accident happened. + </p> + <p> + To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently + behind—so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers + in the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” called the captain, who heard the noise. + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which,” answered + Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. “At least he is safe + enough in the boat now,” and, turning, he vanished aft into the mist, + muttering to himself— + </p> + <p> + “A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off + another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope + round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying + mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!” + </p> + <p> + Bruised and sore as he was—and he was very sore—within little + over an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It + seemed strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart + would not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir + John Foterell was dead—a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the + knight lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own + life and those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who + knows what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had + always feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep, + although the ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with + heart and soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that + fate. + </p> + <p> + In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had + placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to the + side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful + enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only might he + himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the rebellion of + the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing. Yes, yes, that + deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the truth become known. + Till this morning he had hoped that it never would be known, but now + Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>. + </p> + <p> + Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something—could + it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered—had not struck + him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay + almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river! + Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man, + after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use his + knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from + England. + </p> + <p> + No papers had been discovered upon Sir John’s body, and no money. Without + doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey, who now + fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had put him on + board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete? + </p> + <p> + Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little + less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this + monk, though able, in such matters <i>was</i> a fool, with a conscience + that would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be + saved, Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed, + even if he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might + slip through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to + be prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the + first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that + might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir + Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished to + proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery because + of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he had not + wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had known from + a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill could bear, he + who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood. Still, Heaven had + killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be mended. Also, as she + was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall into his hands without + further trouble, for he—a mitred Abbot with a seat among the Lords + of the realm—had friends in London, who, for a fee, could stifle + inquiry into all this far-off business. + </p> + <p> + No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which + to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on—that great cause of the + threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic + would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him well, + would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy + Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself—yes, himself; had it + not been hinted to him?—enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal’s red + hat he coveted upon his head, and—oh, glorious thought!—perhaps + afterwards wearing the triple crown at Rome. + </p> + <p> + Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks and + half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but a + smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in the + midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam caused by the + falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its stonework the + flames had beat vainly. + </p> + <p> + “Why have we come here?” asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal + scene with a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them + Christian burial,” answered the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “After bringing them to a most unchristian death,” muttered the monk to + himself, then added aloud, “You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and + though she defied you, such is that noble lady’s due. As for the nurse + Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved, if + she be really dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What mean you?” asked the Abbot sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot be. + Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look, even the + tower is gutted.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it cannot be,” answered the monk; “so, since we shall never find + them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and + begone—the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look.” + </p> + <p> + “Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the + tower yonder, whereon we saw them last,” replied the Abbot, adding in a + low voice, “Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great price, + which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared, and + these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found; therefore + they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for common folk. + That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to the + serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot + leaning on his inferior’s arm, for he was in great pain from the blow in + the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the bruises + which he had received in falling to the boat. + </p> + <p> + First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find + that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that they + could make no entry—for it will be remembered that the house had + fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they + found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last + stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people, + leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping + on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce + garden at its back. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched + bushes that had been a bower. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the wreaths + of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there, standing + hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men beheld them + also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely and Emlyn. As + they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk towards them, + and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but in the flesh, + quite unharmed. + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked— + </p> + <p> + “Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?” + </p> + <p> + “Out of the fire,” she answered in a small, cold voice. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “God sent His angel to save us,” she answered, again in that small voice. + </p> + <p> + “A miracle,” muttered the monk; “a true miracle!” + </p> + <p> + “Or mayhap Emlyn Stower’s witchcraft,” exclaimed one of the men behind; + and Maldon started at his words. + </p> + <p> + “Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart + should break,” said Cicely. + </p> + <p> + Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of + every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could + not, but at the third effort his words came. + </p> + <p> + “The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your + ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell.” + </p> + <p> + She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then + said, in the same unnatural voice— + </p> + <p> + “You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the devil, + for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told me that, + though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the earth—yes, + and other things, many other things;” and she passed her hand before her + eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight of her enemy’s + face. + </p> + <p> + Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though at + that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had been + haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared. + </p> + <p> + “Some evil spirit has entered into you,” he said huskily. + </p> + <p> + She dropped her hand, pointing at him. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me.” + </p> + <p> + “Cicely,” he went on, “cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it + you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard.” + </p> + <p> + “What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then you + buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up against + you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up living and + give testimony against this devil in a monk’s robe, and afterwards—afterwards—” + and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell down and lay still. + </p> + <p> + Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps gypsy + blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon her high + bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened herself, and + her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead!” she screamed. “My dove is dead. She whom these breasts + nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady of + Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood of + mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly + foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by + King’s Grave—yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the + arrow in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand + is blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted + one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!” and + she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew + the meaning well. + </p> + <p> + Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins. + </p> + <p> + “This house is burned,” she cried; “well, mark Emlyn’s words: even so + shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a + flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you, and + yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you in, + for, priest, you’ll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury you, + and that’s the nearest you will ever get to heaven—in their filthy + crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as + his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot; how + can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their bridal + coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it shall, it + shall. Christopher Harflete’s seed shall sit where the Abbots of + Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last of them—the + Spaniard who plotted against England’s king and overshot himself.” + </p> + <p> + Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned + upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired + men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and lastly—greatest + crime of all—she cursed the Pope and the King of Spain, and called + to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to avenge her Lady + Cicely’s wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell, and the murder of + Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them, individually and + separately. + </p> + <p> + So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were + reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each + other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one of + them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had had + nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a journey + last night, and been called thither that morning. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up my lady + and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as becomes her + rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless jewels, for + which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her jewels; her + pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets of bright gems, + that were worth so much more than those beggarly acres—those that + once a Sultan’s woman wore. They are lost, though perhaps yonder Abbot has + found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to London for safe keeping, and + good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him in the forest, and an arrow + shot from behind pierced his throat. Those who killed him have the jewels, + and the dead bride must lie without them, adorned in the naked beauty that + God gave to her. Lift her, John Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral + chant; we’ll to the church. The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie + there before the altar—Clement Maldonado’s last offering to God. + First the father, then the husband, and now the wife—the sweet, + new-made wife!” + </p> + <p> + So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man + lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead, + opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “See,” screamed Emlyn; “did I not tell you that Harflete’s seed should + live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will bear + it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale? Cranwell is + down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen. Where shall we + shelter?” + </p> + <p> + “Thrust away that woman,” said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, “for her + witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her to + our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended.” + </p> + <p> + The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn, + hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear in + a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back from + her. + </p> + <p> + “I have changed my mind,” he said to the servants. “Mistress Emlyn reminds + me that between her and her lady there is the tie of foster-motherhood. + They may not be separated as yet. Take them both to the Nunnery, where + they shall dwell, and as for this woman’s words, forget them, for she was + mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she said. May God and His + saints forgive her, as I do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + THE ABBOT’S OFFER + </h3> + <p> + The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled house + set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall. Within this + wall lay also the great garden—neglected enough—and the + chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay. + </p> + <p> + Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had been + rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward, a certain + Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the world after + her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless, endowed it + with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her there, or + sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that it grew in + power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over twenty nuns + told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose upon the + opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope confirmed, + under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the Abbey of + Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual lord of its + religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to decline, since + under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its lands to swell + their own estates. + </p> + <p> + So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of this + Nunnery was but £130 a year of the money of the day, and even of this sum + the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that once had + been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in fact, a + servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in the fair + chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also on certain + feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and granted them + absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he would examine + their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a share of it to + serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress looked forward to his + coming with little joy. + </p> + <p> + It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and her + servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning. Indeed, + Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during three years or + more she had gone there daily to be taught by the Prioress Matilda, for + every head of the Priory took this name in turn to the honour of their + foundress and in accordance with the provisions of her will. Happy years + they were, as these old nuns loved her in her youth and innocence, and + she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the workings of fate, she was + borne back to the same quiet room where she had played and studied—a + new-made wife, a new-made widow. + </p> + <p> + But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had gone + by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her eyes to + the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking about her. + The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows, the faded + tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac’s throat with a butcher’s knife, and + Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his family + awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes, for the + simple artist had found his whale’s model in a stewpond. Well she + remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered + whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah’s wife, with the + outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband’s unexpected + arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid + fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded oak, + gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of sundry + noble prioresses. + </p> + <p> + Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme Priory, + which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places in which to put + them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell’s heiress, as her + schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child again, a happy, + careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the door opened and + Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a tray, on which + stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking Mother Matilda in + her black Benedictine robe and her white wimple, wearing the great silver + crucifix which was her badge of office, and the golden ring with an + emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being broken on the wheel—the + ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme had worn from the + beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could forget her sweet, + old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched nose, and the quick, + kind grey eyes! + </p> + <p> + Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom + during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo! she + fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the tray + with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about her, + began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice; and Mother + Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His blessed saints—though + why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Am I ill, reverend Mother?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not now, daughter, but you were very ill,” answered the Prioress in her + sweet, low voice. “Now we think that God has healed you.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have I been here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day—for + in such places time slips by—but long before she had finished Emlyn + replied quickly— + </p> + <p> + “Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight.” + </p> + <p> + Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the + wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her. + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” answered the nurse in a low voice. “I think she has that + which will not let her die”—a saying that puzzled the Prioress at + this time. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong and + well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered. Indeed, + she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning robe, for + now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she, the wife of + a week, widowed as well as orphaned. + </p> + <p> + Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness + of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no longer + quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with her. If she + lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would surely live. + One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the Prioress + Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a moment’s + silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my + daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your + heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God’s + altar and in presence of the congregation.” + </p> + <p> + “I care not what he says,” answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. “If I am + not a true wife, then no woman ever was.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear daughter,” answered Mother Matilda, “it is not for us unlearned + women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired + from on high.” + </p> + <p> + “If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His saints + teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my heritage, or to + hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations do not come from + above, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush!” said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; “your woes + have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there are so + many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could he do + wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk of these + matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued Emlyn of + yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly. I was about + to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your marriage good and + true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure and holy, and night by + night I will pray that it shall be crowned with Heaven’s richest + blessings.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, dear Mother,” answered Cicely, as she rose and left her. + </p> + <p> + When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face, began + to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had spoken + together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these tales were + false—and how could they be false?—this Abbot, whom her + high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish + monk was no saint, but a wicked villain. There must be some explanation. + It was only that <i>she</i> did not understand. + </p> + <p> + Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had loved + Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as to the + validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed, for had + it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to be born among + them—ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not happened for + quite two hundred years, when, alas!—so said tradition and their + records—there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day was + spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery, + whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of + which no evil could be said. + </p> + <p> + Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much + women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred them + to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they talked + of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with this + same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who hitherto + had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one of the + seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For Sister + Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children, both of whom + had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed, whereon, as + her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had no hope of + another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart was broken, + as she said, she entered into religion. + </p> + <p> + Now she constituted herself Cicely’s chief attendant, and although that + lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with + noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like a + storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the window. + </p> + <p> + That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was not, + indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded before, + since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more so. Soon + they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were, in fact, + prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners also. None + were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk who confessed + them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the Abbot, were they + suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever. + </p> + <p> + For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt + beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on them, + little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world, which, + had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that concerned + them and all other religious houses. + </p> + <p> + At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden beneath + a flowering hawthorn-tree—for now June had come and with it warm + weather—of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the Abbot + of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely turned faint, + and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left her, or if she + thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that she should suddenly + bawl it in her ear. + </p> + <p> + Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much afraid + of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window, began to + weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely, recovering, + soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait upon his + lordship. + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid of him, Mistress?” asked Emlyn, as they prepared to + follow. + </p> + <p> + “A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he not? + My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last fish + in the pool—a very narrow pool?” and she glanced at the high walls + about her. “I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he has + not done so already.” + </p> + <p> + “Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which would + ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he believes + that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day he may try + to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels will go with + me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had it they would + squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess you a nun, but + push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of it after your + child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother Matilda’s fresh + tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be no more nuns in + England.” + </p> + <p> + Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old + reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and + on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his + chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts. + </p> + <p> + “Whether you can spare it or no,” they heard him say sharply, “I must have + the half-year’s rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord are + threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who swear they + will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I’m but just from + London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her wanton head, I + tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir up rebellion, for + who can arm without it, and but little comes from Spain. I am in treaty to + sell the Foterell lands for what they will fetch, but as yet can give no + title. Either that stiff-necked girl must sign a release, or she must + profess, for otherwise, while she lives, some lawyer or relative might + upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to take her first vows? If not, I + shall hold you much to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered the Prioress; “there are reasons. You have been away, and + have not heard”—she hesitated and looked about her nervously, to see + Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. “What do you there, daughter?” she + asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed. + </p> + <p> + “In truth I know not, Mother,” answered Cicely. “Sister Bridget told us + that the Lord Abbot desired our presence.” + </p> + <p> + “I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber,” said the Prioress + in a vexed voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” broke in the Abbot, “it would seem that you have a fool for a + messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for + years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have fallen + on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is no use in + stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly garb, who + thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you entered the + holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between you and God. + What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not this woman, as I + trust,” and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered, in her steady voice— + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness, but + between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that + obstacle—which comes from God—if you so need.” + </p> + <p> + Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and + whispered in the Abbot’s ear words at which he sprang up as though a wasp + had stung him. + </p> + <p> + “Pest on it! it cannot be,” he said. “Well, well, there it is, and must be + swallowed with the rest. Pity, though,” he added, with a sneer on his dark + face, “since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a + bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears.” + </p> + <p> + “I know such brats are dangerous,” interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon full + in the eyes; “my father told me of a young monk in Spain—I forget + his name—who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such + matter. But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete, + widow of Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no lawful + child——” + </p> + <p> + “To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord + Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?” + </p> + <p> + Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this while, + broke in— + </p> + <p> + “Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me of + my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if you can. + In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one should be + born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you can break the + mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that you have a + she-wolf by the ear.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something + that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a + she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him to + change his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, daughter,” he said; “what is the good of vapouring of a child + that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we + will talk.” + </p> + <p> + “When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I’d rather that it went + unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood.” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand. + </p> + <p> + “There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you, my + daughter. When do you take your first vows?” + </p> + <p> + “We will talk of it after my child is born. ‘Tis a child of sin, you say, + and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to which, + moreover, you cannot force me,” she replied, with bitter sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth. + </p> + <p> + “The second matter is,” he went on, “that I need your signature to a + writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read, nor in + faith can I,” and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a crabbed + indenture and spread it before her on the table. + </p> + <p> + “What?” she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. “Have you remembered + that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if + such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for now + the title you can give is rotten as last year’s apples, and I’ll sign + nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower, that I have + signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, I am a + free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am a wanton. Where is + your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious? Unlock these gates + and let me go.” + </p> + <p> + Now he felt the wolf’s fangs, and they were sharp. + </p> + <p> + “Whither would you go?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would + have done last Christmas-time.” + </p> + <p> + It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to + growl—to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword. + </p> + <p> + “I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of falsehoods; + nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough, rebellion is in the + air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No, no; for your own sake + you bide here in safety till——” + </p> + <p> + “Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel who + spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?” + </p> + <p> + “A lying spirit, then; no angel.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure,” and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as she + had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. “Well, I prayed to God to help + me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep. He told me + to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case and however + near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to drop upon your + head. He showed it me; it was like an axe.” + </p> + <p> + Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the Abbot + leapt from his seat in rage—or was it fear? + </p> + <p> + “Wanton, you named yourself,” he exclaimed; “but I name you witch also, + who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire. + Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and make + report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a one + should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton, begone + to your chamber!” + </p> + <p> + Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little scornful + laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress. + </p> + <p> + But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome + face. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded,” she said + boldly. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot turned on her and reviled her. + </p> + <p> + “Woman,” he said, “if she is a witch, you’re the familiar, and certainly + you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to + call up the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her how + to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak, and the + birds of the air carry the matter!” + </p> + <p> + His face paled; then suddenly he asked— + </p> + <p> + “Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall go + free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” she answered. “Sir John took them to London, and if they + were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey + Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the + forest, find Jeffrey and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant + there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress’s + love-letters, which she would not leave behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where is the box, and where are those letters?” + </p> + <p> + “We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has her + man she doesn’t want his letters. Surely, Maldonado,” she added, with + meaning, “you should know that it is not always wise to keep old letters. + What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and that are <i>not</i> + burned?” + </p> + <p> + “Accursed spawn of Satan,” hissed the Abbot, “how dare you flaunt me thus? + When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems; I have it + from those who saw her decked in them—the necklace on her bosom, the + priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! oho!” said Emlyn; “so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom + but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no more. + She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your death-warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where are they?” he asked, striking his fist upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Where? Why, where you’ll never follow them—gone up to heaven in the + fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in her + chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes; you + might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in fire. + There, that’s the truth at last, and much good may it do to you.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not + help it; his bitterness burst from his heart. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves,” she + said. “Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and when + I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went before you + made me the Church’s ward, though I ever hated you, who hunted down my + father, you had softer words for me than those you name me by to-day. + Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall, and I know your + heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and must have, for + otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the jewels that you needed, + not the Shefton lands, which are worth little now-a-days, and will soon be + worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls placed among the Jews would buy + three parishes, with their halls thrown in. For the sake of those jewels + you have brought death on some and misery on some, and on your own soul + damnation without end, though had you but been wise and consulted me—why, + they, or some of them, might have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he + would have parted with a pearl or two, of which he did not know the value, + to end a feud against the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter. + And now, in your madness, you’ve burnt them—burnt a king’s ransom, + or what might have pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you’d + have hacked off the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the + gold you need is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will + fail, and you’ll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in + Cranwell.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience, + groaned again. + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever woman,” he said; “we understand each other, coming from + the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?” + </p> + <p> + “That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still I’ll + give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands, confess + your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on you and Henry + finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can gather, and bribe + the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada or elsewhere—not + near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you live honoured, and + one day, after you have been dead a long while and many things are + forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of Blossholme.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot looked at her reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be good, + but I play for higher stakes.” + </p> + <p> + “You set your head against them,” broke in Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my + shoulders it will wear an archbishop’s mitre, or a cardinal’s hat, or + perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a + heavenly crown of glory.” + </p> + <p> + “Your head? <i>Your</i> head?” exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he answered gravely. “You chance to know of some errors of my + youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is plentiful + forgiveness,” and he crossed himself. “Were it not so, who would escape?” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her + elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands. + </p> + <p> + “True,” she said, looking him in the eyes; “none of us would escape. But, + Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir John + Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance; my Lady + Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few other + matters?” + </p> + <p> + “Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins, seeing + that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own sake, + but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her + tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm.” + </p> + <p> + “And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple, + whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they + shall be yours.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn’s apt + illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Not Satan, but Satan’s Lord.” Then he paused a while, looked round the + chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were + alone, and went on, “Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage—more + than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world and + of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch, but + I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood, I + suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your father a + high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a pestilent + heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain.” + </p> + <p> + “To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and has + a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the heresy + of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after his + vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly + prospered.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further + that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt + him down and how you come to know certain things.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and he went on— + </p> + <p> + “So much for the heretic father—now for the gypsy mother. She died, + by her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law.” + </p> + <p> + “No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let’s have truth between old + friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she + had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them—as + I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?” he interposed blandly. “At least she + died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the + history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle’s son, or said + you did—that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at + the Abbey——” + </p> + <p> + “Or said I did,” she repeated. “At least he fell in love with me, and + perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was young + and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him after he + fell into <i>your</i> hands. Oh! have done with it,” she went on, in a + voice of suppressed passion. “The witch’s fair daughter was the Church’s + ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me into marriage + with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him, and he died, as I + warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and it died. Then with what + was left to me I took refuge with Sir John Foterell, who ever was my + friend, and became foster-mother to his daughter, the only creature, save + one, that I have loved in this wide, wicked world. That’s all the story; + and now what more do you want of me, Clement Maldonado—evil-gifted + one?” + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused—your + help, your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours—the + help of the knowledge that you have—no more. At Cranwell Towers you + called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I’ll speak truth, it weighs + heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be friends. + You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought Cicely + dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now it seems + that it will be so.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you give me?” asked Emlyn curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more—power, + and rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What + you desire shall be done in this realm—yes, and across the world. I + speak no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve, + which I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom—that + you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to + walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, two things—that you should find me those burned jewels and + with them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the + Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it. Her + life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little.” + </p> + <p> + “A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what <i>you</i> + promise—should you live. But what if I refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, “then death + for both of you—the witch’s death, for I dare not let you go to work + my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know that + you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who will + fear to speak—puppets that must dance when I pull the string—and + I’ll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between + death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes.” + </p> + <p> + On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it to + her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor. Then + she waited for the water to steady, saying— + </p> + <p> + “The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall find + its answer here.” Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she breathed + upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length she looked + up, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement Maldonado, + on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir Christopher, + and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs all these things, + I choose—death.” + </p> + <p> + There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Good! On your own head be it.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and + walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. “I have told you + that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I choose. + Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I’ll play mine, remembering that God + holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my rage at + Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you and all + with which you have to do.” + </p> + <p> + Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and watched + him go. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + EMLYN CALLS HER MAN + </h3> + <p> + One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their + prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they + could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was + drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the eyes + of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if she + thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though it was + clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the Prioress + alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind, and why her + lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against her will. + </p> + <p> + The old nun’s face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of + anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the + commands of her spiritual superior. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” burst out Emlyn, “I tell you that you do so at your peril. I tell + you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will call you + to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the prayer of the + helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was when as a girl + they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say that you have + the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. “The right is + very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may + think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls, but + of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then you’ll + not help me?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds,” she replied again. + </p> + <p> + “So be it, Mother; then I’ll help myself, and when I do, God help <i>you</i> + all,” and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked + away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn’s threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute even + a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as many a + captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua’s trumpet to + cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her. Now that her + husband was dead she took interest in one thing only—his child who + was to be. + </p> + <p> + For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with + whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been + taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that + child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and + she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was + languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were + free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very + kind to her; they loved her as she did them. + </p> + <p> + So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the + truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest that + news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her be, and + fell back on her own wits. + </p> + <p> + First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress + was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go? Then + rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The great men + in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are hard to come + at, even for the free. If she were free she might find means to make them + listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady at such a time. What + remained, then? So to contrive that they should be set free. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it might be done at a price—that of Cicely’s jewels, of + which she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity + against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover, + she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they knew + too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely’s child + would not be allowed to live—the child that was heir to all. What, + then, could loose them and make them safe? + </p> + <p> + Terror, perhaps—such terror as that through which the Israelites + escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the + plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot—those plagues with + which she had threatened him—but although she believed that they + would fall (why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent + to fulfil. + </p> + <p> + Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas + Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish! + </p> + <p> + This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn’s mind—Thomas + Bolle, who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She + strove in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that + he could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter + that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before her + eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the Nunnery + were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each other and + on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The priest who + celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could do nothing, + and no one else was allowed to approach the place except once or twice the + Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress, but spoke to her no + more. + </p> + <p> + Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a + barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of + her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within + five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made + her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding in her + bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her strong + soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding him to + listen, to obey, to come. + </p> + <p> + At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being + answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence. + Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a scuffle + going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas Bolle was + trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled by the + Abbot’s men who always watched there. + </p> + <p> + In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know that + she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom they + spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the Nunnery. + When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not know, but he + must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to herself, for + now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or in that he + would obey her summons and come. + </p> + <p> + Two days later Thomas came—thus. + </p> + <p> + The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely + resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the + supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There she + walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old chapel by a + side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not far from a + life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood here because + of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be built into the + masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested to the observant + Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that this was no likeness + of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St. Lucy. + </p> + <p> + While Emlyn mused there quite alone—for at this hour none entered + the place, nor would until the next morning—she thought that she + heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the + neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and departed; + but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently, without + moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of the setting + sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon the figure, + and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets were no longer + empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed. + </p> + <p> + Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with + herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her from + behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased. Or + perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but never + seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would sit where she + was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for presently a + voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered— + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, also in a whisper. “Who speaks?” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you think?” asked the voice, with a chuckle. “A devil, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it be a friendly devil I don’t know that I mind, who need + company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil,” answered Emlyn + stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for in those + days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good purposes. + </p> + <p> + The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very + unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time and + rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a corpse + in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure, clad in + a tattered monk’s robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery red hair and + beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes. Emlyn, whose heart + had stood still—for, after all, Satan is awkward company for a + mortal woman—waited till it gave a jump in her breast and went on + again as usual. Then she said quietly— + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have been + calling me, and so I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “By the old monk’s road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my + grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me + where it ran. It’s a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I + should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey + once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox’s is in the copse by the + park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to + play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than + cubs,” he added, with his cunning laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man,” she said fiercely, “will you do what + I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my + life, and for no reward?” + </p> + <p> + She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing the + image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack. + </p> + <p> + “If you have had no reward, Thomas,” she said in a gentle voice, “whose + fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young, did + I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not? Well, + who came between us and spoiled our lives?” + </p> + <p> + “The monks,” groaned Thomas; “the accursed monks, who married you to + Stower because he paid them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love—of + that sort—is behind us. I have been another man’s wife, Thomas, who + might have been yours. Think of it—your loving wife, the mother of + your children. And you—they have tamed you and made you their + servant, their cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the + half-wit, as they call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and + hold his tongue, the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of + your own stolen lands—you, whose father was almost a gentleman. + That’s what they have done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church’s ward—well, + I will not speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Do for them? Do for them?” gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this + recital of his wrongs. “Why, if I dared I’d cut their throats, every one, + and grallock them like deer,” and he ground his strong white teeth. “But I + am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess. You + remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have ridden to + London before the siege. Well, afterward—I must confess it—the + Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance. Before I had + done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back was like a red + osier basket. There’s only one thing I didn’t tell them, because, after + all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a corpse.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Emlyn, looking at him. “You’re not to be trusted. Well, I + thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I’ll find me a man + for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin + blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven! to + think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am shamed. + I’ll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your rat-run, + Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to me again. Also + forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my side—for that’s + witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your soul gain benefit. + God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas Bolle,” and she made as + though to go away. + </p> + <p> + He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming— + </p> + <p> + “What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can’t bear your scorn. Take it off me + or I go kill myself.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what you had best do. You’ll find the devil a better master than a + foreign abbot. Farewell for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay; what’s your will? Soul or no soul, I’ll work it.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment,” and she ran down the + chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as you + used to do twenty years ago and more. You’ll not confess to that, will + you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath. Nay, + listen to it before you swear, for it is wide.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it he + bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working woe to + the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement Maldon, in + payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in payment for the + murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete, and of the + imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of the one and + the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things which she + should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional nor, should + it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to breathe a word + of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his soul might pay the + price in everlasting torment, and of all these things he took Heaven to be + his witness. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow, + “will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the + innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk and + go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?” + </p> + <p> + He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him, + as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and + Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her + woman’s strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward + and whispered into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring day + down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed about + our feet—the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how we + swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the lives + that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to heaven? And + then—do you remember how that monk walked by—it was this + Clement Maldon—and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, ‘What do + you with the witch’s daughter? She is not for you.’ And—oh! Thomas, + I can no more of it,” and she broke down and sobbed, then added, “Swear + nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I’ll bear you no malice, + even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of monkcraft, how + could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come, get you gone + swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is besmirched. + Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child to the doom + Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas! for the + withered lilies!” + </p> + <p> + Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great + breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick + torrent. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not go, dearie; I’ll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your + lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching + woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in his + fires in hell. Come, come,” and he ran to the altar and clasped the + crucifix that stood there. “Say the words again, or any others that you + will, and I’ll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me + living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it.” + </p> + <p> + With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the + kneeling man and whispered—whispered through the gathering bloom, + while he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token. + </p> + <p> + It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted saint. + </p> + <p> + “So you are a man after all,” she said, laughing aloud. “Now, man—my + man—who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will—yes, + my husband, for I’ll pay, and be proud of it—listen to my commands. + See you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened + heart, and you are the angel—the destroying angel with the sword of + the plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey—such + fire as fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not + burn, nor all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the + storehouses, and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they’ll flame bravely + after this time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw + in their harvest? Will you do it, my man?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely. Have I not sworn?” + </p> + <p> + “Then away to the work, and afterwards—to-morrow or next day—come + back and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so wait + till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in + grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost, + such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more work + for you. Have you mastered it?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded his head. “All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I’ll not die + now; I’ll live to claim it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. There’s on account,” and again she kissed him. “Go.” + </p> + <p> + He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said— + </p> + <p> + “One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or wasn’t——” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she almost hissed at him. “In Christ’s name be quick; + I hear voices without.” + </p> + <p> + “They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw. + Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship—pest! I have + forgotten its name—the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessings on your head for that tidings,” exclaimed Emlyn, in a strange, + low voice. “Away; they are coming to the door!” + </p> + <p> + The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared + for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her heart. + Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and in the + porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun, and old + Bridget, who was chattering. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower,” said Mother Matilda, with evident + relief. “Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the + chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she?” answered Emlyn indifferently. “Then her luck’s better than my + own, who long for the sound of a man’s voice in this home of babbling + women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not + create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now you + speak of it, I think there’s something strange about that chapel. It is a + place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt there at + my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no sun, a + cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of whom so + many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away to fetch + my lady’s supper, for she eats in her room to-night.” + </p> + <p> + When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle + fashion— + </p> + <p> + “A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her + harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met with + sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the sister, “but I think also that she has met with the + ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that + once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda—I mean + the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the + monk, and died suddenly after the——” + </p> + <p> + “Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed—woman, + who left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit + still haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with + the voice of a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was the monk Edward’s voice that Bridget heard,” replied the + sister, “for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life, + if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind + ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch’s daughter, and has + a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother? + However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on bread + and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My back creeps + to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe walks too, and + gibbers round the font seeking baptism—ugh!” and she shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk,” said Mother Matilda again. + “Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us.” + </p> + <p> + That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to + Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were + aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to + the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey + roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister + Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived in + the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and the + meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme was + attacked by some army. + </p> + <p> + A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which, as + it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not easy to + understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the Abbey + burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last hour + had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement. + </p> + <p> + Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great + fire. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn, + said, in the hearing of them all— + </p> + <p> + “The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so, + yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire calls for fire,” answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked + at her with doubtful eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the + dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks + escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied together + and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently the roof of the + building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers, which lit upon the + thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the ricks built and building + in the stackyard, so that all these caught also, and before dawn were + utterly consumed. + </p> + <p> + One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight, + and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn sat on + at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun showed + above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her strong + face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the flames + were reflected, seemed to smile hardly. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas is a great tool,” she muttered to herself at length, “and the + first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come. You + will live to beg Emlyn’s mercy yet, Clement Maldonado.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS + </h3> + <p> + On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery, + and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall, + walking up and down its length with a troubled face. + </p> + <p> + “Cicely Foterell,” he said, without any form of greeting, “when last we + met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it matters + nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “Saying that he liked not the title?” suggested Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But + what need to ask——?” and he glowered at Emlyn. “Well, let it + pass, for now I have a paper with me that you <i>must</i> sign. Read it if + you will. It is harmless—only an instruction to the tenants of the + lands your father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden + of that property.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will + not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father + worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and every + fleece of wool were burned in the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me their + value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave you leave + to shear my sheep and harvest my corn.” + </p> + <p> + “You are pleased to be saucy, girl,” he replied, biting his lip. “I have + no time to bandy words—sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four + pieces and threw it to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I’ll be no + thief’s partner,” she said quietly. “Now, if you want my name, go forge + it, for I sign nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot’s face grew very evil. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, woman,” he asked, “that here you are in my power? Do you + not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a dark + dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten with the + rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things fall on + you?” + </p> + <p> + Cicely’s beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes filled + with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and she + looked at him boldly and answered— + </p> + <p> + “I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who + butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that there + is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow to lift + His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover, that I am + Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has ever yet + yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing,” and, turning, she left the room. + </p> + <p> + Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak, for + her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and to + threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as only + a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and she + broke in— + </p> + <p> + “Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every + cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not take + warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such + lessons?” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” he answered; “so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your + witchcraft was at work there.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of + Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands + bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell’s blood has turned to fire. Be + warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I’ll hear no more of your foul tongue. Lay + a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price,” and she too + turned and went. + </p> + <p> + Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda. + </p> + <p> + Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with + roughness, even to scourging, if need were—for her soul’s sake. Also + her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her—for her soul’s sake, + since without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the + birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her, + one who was accustomed to such cases—for her body’s sake and that of + her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them + through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful + loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others burned + and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things; but did she + understand? + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and + astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior. + </p> + <p> + She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested, + whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour, + entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion, had + suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to become a + mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness. For her + part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather than enforce + such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General in London, who, + she understood, was ready to look into such matters. Or at least she would + set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the gates and call upon the + charitable to assist them. Of course, however, if his Lordship chose to + send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her trouble, she could have no + objection, provided that this woman were a person of good repute. But in + the circumstances it was idle to talk to her of bread and water and dark + cells and scourgings. Such things should never happen while she was + Prioress. Before they did, she and her sisters would walk out of the + Nunnery and leave the King’s Courts to judge of the matter. + </p> + <p> + Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which, + being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon the + same after it has lambed and finds a new creature—one that, instead + of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all its + weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance has + that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep, born, as + it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run, panting and + discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the onslaught of + Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb—Cicely. With Emlyn he had + been prepared to exchange bite for bite—but Mother Matilda! his own + pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away, cursing all women and + their infinite variety, on which no man might build. Who would have + thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the earth! + </p> + <p> + So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible + threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times were + such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with “right of + gallows,” could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not shut + into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she scourged. + Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is true that the + Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established authority, and + when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed her, and called her + “her sweet child, her dove and joy.” + </p> + <p> + But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was constant + change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great flock of + eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the fell, + where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer drop of + forty feet. Never was lamb’s flesh so cheap in Blossholme and the country + round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind within ten miles + could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover, it was said and sworn + to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with horns and hoofs, and + mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the same lambs. + </p> + <p> + Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes + mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this dreadful + spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall, where it met + the Abbot’s caretaker—for the place was now shut up—as he went + to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few horses + ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey more + quickly than he did that night. + </p> + <p> + Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth Shefton + was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see from time to + time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover, the said ghost + travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it knocked upon the + doors of those that in its lifetime had been its tenants, and in a hollow + voice declared that it had been murdered by the Abbot of Blossholme and + his underlings, who held its daughter in durance, and, under threats of + unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to bring him to justice, and to pay + him neither fees nor homage. + </p> + <p> + So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of foot, + was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen it and + that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow and + believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it, at + which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these + things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them + where he had stood and where the ghost stood—yes, and the arrow, of + which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood seared + as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as this thing had + become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes, solemnly laid the + ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had passed. + </p> + <p> + This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the Abbot + and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went a + dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell, called + these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket—for now the + night was falling— + </p> + <p> + “Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder, summon + thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God.” + </p> + <p> + Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his + horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every one + and getting home the first, saying <i>Aves</i> as he went. + </p> + <p> + After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John’s ghost + was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot explained + matters differently. Other and worse things were seen, however. + </p> + <p> + One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that bellowed + and rushed about the field into which they had been turned after milking. + Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and a watchman—for + now no man would stir alone after sunset at Blossholme—went to see + what was happening, and presently fell down half dead with fright. For + there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them, was the foul fiend + himself—the fiend with horns and tail, and in his hand an instrument + like a pitchfork. + </p> + <p> + How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that + after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them + slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered. + </p> + <p> + Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially the + chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was praying + there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which rolled up + and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man’s head, that seemed to + try to talk to her, but could not. + </p> + <p> + Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn if + she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she + thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew + Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher + Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At + least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose, and + so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a great + deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure of was + that it seemed to be trying to give her some message. + </p> + <p> + Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew’s body, + the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so + terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to be + alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She + answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good or + ill. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, “you do not dread them, woman, + because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from these + wizardries until the fire has you and your company.” + </p> + <p> + “If so,” replied Emlyn coolly, “I will ask dead Andrew for his message to + you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you himself.” + </p> + <p> + So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of all. + It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was set open, + was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and repeatedly + called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see. He and others + rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was very dark and + rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search was rewarded, for + there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and staring straight into + the window of his Lordship’s sleeping-room, from which it was but a few + yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew Woods! + </p> + <p> + Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the monks, + who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the cows, only + shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of Andrew should be + opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at length, although, + for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of the violation of the + dead. + </p> + <p> + Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious + journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood stuffed + out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket. For the + real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be remembered, in + another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir Christopher Harflete. + </p> + <p> + From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang + with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which a + proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew + perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it for + love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his + sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the + monks—it was thought from the drinking of sour beer—these + bedevilments were abated. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was + thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church, + and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the + suppression of the monasteries—some, in fact, had already been + suppressed—and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires + of York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from + home. + </p> + <p> + One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and amongst + the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress, over which he + pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter from Spain, which + he studied eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Some nine months had passed since the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i> sailed, + and during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never + reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she had + foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had borne with + resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his letters, which + were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons whom he wished + to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and Sir John + Foterell’s serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to carry with him + certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary and chaplain, Brother + Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a character better suited to + heaven than to an earth where the best of men must be prepared sometimes + to compromise with conscience. + </p> + <p> + In short, the vanishing of the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was the wise decree + of a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks from + his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and thorny + road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the ghost of + Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew on his pinnacle + seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher Harflete and Jeffrey + Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could bring no awkward charges, + and left him none to deal with save an imprisoned and forgotten girl and + an unborn child. + </p> + <p> + Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his hand + told him that the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> had not sunk, since two members of + her crew who escaped—how, it was not said—declared that she + had been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away + through the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he + had survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and + so might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely, for + probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed + Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the + Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead, or as + good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing dangers. + All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the Church, and + a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an unborn child, + and—yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child would not + live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as she + deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that he had + time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he grieved + for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to the stake. + Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda’s message told him, this matter of the child + was urgent. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word to a + woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten minutes + she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close at hand. + </p> + <p> + This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a “wise woman,” was a + person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a + flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had + caused her to be nicknamed “the Flounder.” She greeted the Abbot with much + reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and having + received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to vanish + beneath her bulk. + </p> + <p> + “You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place for + the services of those of your trade,” began the Abbot, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, my Lord,” answered the woman; “I’ve heard it is to wait upon Sir + Christopher Harflete’s wife in her trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife,” said the + Abbot, with a sigh. “But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress + Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but a + bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame.” + </p> + <p> + Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue. + </p> + <p> + “It is sad, very sad, your Holiness—no, that’s wrong; but never + mind, it will be right before all’s done, and a good omen, I say, coming + so sudden and chancy—your Lordship, I mean—not but what + there’s lots of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a—I + mean everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I + know well from my own three—not but what, of course, I was married + fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so, + sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at + the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,” + and she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to rail + at the decree of Heaven—provided, of course, that the infant has + lived long enough to be baptized,” he added hastily. + </p> + <p> + “No, your Eminence, no. That’s just what I said to that Smith girl last + spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and + woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing + like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, ‘Mary, this + isn’t me; it’s Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my burden + has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for next to + nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that’s natural with the + first, but don’t come here flying in the face of Heaven with your + railings, and gates, and posts—especially the rails, for Heaven + hates ‘em.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” asked the Abbot, with mild interest, “and pray what did Mary do + then?” + </p> + <p> + “Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, ‘Is it rails you’re talking of, + you pig-smothering old sow? Then here’s a rail for you,’ and she pulled + the top bar off my own fence—for we were talking by the door—oak + it was, and three by two—and knocked me flat—here’s the scar + of it on my head—singing out, ‘Is that enough, or will you have the + gate and the posts too?’ Oh! If there’s one thing I hate, it is railing, + ‘specially if made of hard oak and held edgeways.” + </p> + <p> + So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the + Abbot stared at the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will + happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges, + will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns? + Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our + house, your skill shall be well paid.” + </p> + <p> + The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up + suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl, + and asked— + </p> + <p> + “And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my + fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still get + that pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” the Abbot answered, with a smile—a somewhat sickly smile—“then + I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your + sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill.” + </p> + <p> + “Now that’s noble trading,” she replied, with an evil leer, “such as one + might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is + haunted, and I can’t face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without ‘em, + Mother Flounder doesn’t mind, but ghosts—no! Also Mistress Stower is + a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of crinks + and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it.” + </p> + <p> + “The inn there at the ford—your Lordship, will need a tenant next + month. It’s a good paying house for those who know how to keep their + mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil + slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn’t what it was. Now if + I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time to + work up the trade——” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair and + said sharply— + </p> + <p> + “I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverend Mother is + advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the progress + of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?” for she had suddenly slid to + her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy hands. + </p> + <p> + “Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing—<i>pax + Meggiscum</i>, and the rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Absolution? There is nothing to absolve.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will absolve + <i>you</i> for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that + sometimes won’t let me sleep, and that’s why I can’t stomach ghosts. I’d + rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face even + a still-born ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “Begone!” said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet + and went, unblessed and unabsolved. + </p> + <p> + When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it + wide, although the night was foul. + </p> + <p> + “By all the saints!” he muttered, “that beastly murderess poisons the air. + Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot she ply + her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are you sunk + that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And yet there + is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord! The great + plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring, for money. + Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North will be up, + and within a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and the Princess + Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope for watchdogs. + That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die, and then I’ll + twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn—on the rack, + if need be. Those jewels—I’ve seen them so often; why, they would + feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim to + them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall give me + absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my Patron, but for + the Church!” and flinging himself to the floor before the holy image of + his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and wept. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST + </h3> + <p> + Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was established + as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is true, had not + been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman’s repute, and + suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here the Prioress + intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained, did not like + this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and talked so fast. Yet + she had made inquiries and found that she was extraordinarily skilled in + matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said that she had succeeded in + cases that were wonderfully difficult which the leech had abandoned as + hopeless, though of course there had been other cases where she had not + succeeded. But these, she was informed, were generally those of poor + people who did not pay her well. Now in this instance her pay would be + ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had promised her a splendid fee out of her + private store, and for the rest, since no man doctor might enter there, + who else was competent? Not she or the other nuns, for none of them had + been married save old Bridget, who was silly and had long ago forgotten + all such things. Not Emlyn even, who was but a girl when her own child was + born, and since then had been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no + choice. + </p> + <p> + To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of the + fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for very + fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not, who could + know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her mistress? + Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her beer and made + her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk unmurmuringly. + </p> + <p> + The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into the + world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a little + basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother Matilda and + all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for fear of accident + (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been baptized at once by + a priest who was waiting, under the names of John Christopher Foterell, + John after its grandfather and Christopher after its father, with Foterell + for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow that it should be called + Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born? + </p> + <p> + So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two + hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest, + nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice and + movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the + Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its + hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of + spiced ale to its health and long life? + </p> + <p> + But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she was + very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been for a + device of Emlyn’s. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder, shaking + her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to her eternal + ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress’s cold hand. + </p> + <p> + “Darling,” she said, “hear me,” but Cicely did not stir. “Darling,” she + repeated, “hear me, I have news for you of your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely’s white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes + opened. + </p> + <p> + “Of my husband?” she whispered. “Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be. What + news of him?” + </p> + <p> + “That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore I + have hid it from you.” + </p> + <p> + The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with + wondering joy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk, I + want it now. I’ll listen. I promise you I’ll not die till you have told + me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find him?” + </p> + <p> + So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher + had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and that + he had been taken wounded aboard the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, of the + fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as + they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did they + not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had been dead + and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to mend. + </p> + <p> + When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed, + she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she who + had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did who + fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed, knowing + that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all might let + the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster, but one who + was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if it were done + quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing was not so easy as + it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that babe. + </p> + <p> + When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her fiercely, + and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the creature’s drunken + habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith infant and others, + gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the mother was too weak to + have it with her, the boy was laid in a little cot at her side. And always + day and night one or more of the sweet-faced nuns stood at the head of + that cot watching as might a guardian angel. Also it took only Nature’s + food since from the first Cicely would nurse it, so that she could not mix + any drug with its milk that would cause it to sleep itself away. + </p> + <p> + So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart of + Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One fine + evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened not in + the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned the place + after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her, asked Emlyn + to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the babe was given + to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to take it to walk + in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off and the afternoon + was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there presently was met + by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but had followed her, a + person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much afraid. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing with my babe, old fool?” she screeched at her, + thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun’s. “You’ll let it fall + and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose for + you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone.” + </p> + <p> + In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then, + recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned, hid + herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched. + </p> + <p> + Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that she + was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her bolt the + door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very frightened, + she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel window and, + climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked through it. This is + what she saw. + </p> + <p> + Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first, to say + her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun showed it + all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that this she-devil + was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for already it grew + black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely. So horror-struck + was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry. + </p> + <p> + Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of a + man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing her + finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The man, who + said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess screamed— + </p> + <p> + “The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me. Spare + me for Christ’s sake!” and so saying, she rolled on to the floor in a fit, + and there turned and twisted until she lay still. + </p> + <p> + Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed his + sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and cried, + marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget became + aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms, holding it out + to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was down, but he spoke + in a hollow voice, saying— + </p> + <p> + “This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for one + devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping.” + </p> + <p> + Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that moment + the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side door, headed + by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the Foterell + cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak to them, + only passed behind some trees and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was + stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt, they + questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she did + was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel + window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the + barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she + saw, and fell back fainting. + </p> + <p> + An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of its + tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother’s breast. Bridget, having + recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save + Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the + screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot + had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of a + thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it with + a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked of the + woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they supposed, + still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Come, let us see,” said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door + locked as Bridget had said. + </p> + <p> + Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring rain + and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches and + tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They came + to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down the + torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn and fly, + calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother Megges had not + been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her——! + </p> + <p> + It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the + guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns, + and with them Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Witchcraft!” shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, “black + witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside and + have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested themselves——” + </p> + <p> + “By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to + doom,” broke in Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Sorceress,” shouted the Abbot. “Get thee behind me, Satan. I + know you and your familiars,” and he glared at the Prioress. + </p> + <p> + “What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?” asked Mother Matilda, bridling up. “My + sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you call that + witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John Foterell + appeared here—we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did the + spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it rescued + the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke out its pure + life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did the wretch + mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because she was poor + and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my Lord Abbot? None + in this house, I’ll swear. And who changed Sir John Foterell from flesh to + spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put + such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The + judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to + leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you + shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,” he + added slowly, “fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in the + woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go.” + </p> + <p> + “Do as it pleases you,” answered the enraged Mother Matilda. “When you set + out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you take + what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill company + and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of this + Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and those + that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first Edward, and + the appointment of every prioress since his day has been signed by the + sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of the eighth Henry. + You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to the King. Fare you + well, my Lord,” and, followed by her little train of aged nuns, she swept + from the room like an offended queen. + </p> + <p> + After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of her + babe to her unharmed, Cicely’s recovery was swift. Within a week she was + up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than ever she + had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though all knew + that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content to enjoy + the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand. + </p> + <p> + But in Cicely’s awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more of + what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of death. + Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she knew 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 from death. 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 draw from his own lips + every detail and circumstance that she could gather concerning + Christopher. + </p> + <p> + For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such a + meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she gave + way. + </p> + <p> + At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in the + chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return thanks + for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the altar, and + while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which were the signal + of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them with other knocks, + which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden image turned and Thomas + appeared, dressed as before in Sir John Foterell’s armour. So like did he + seem to her dead father in this familiar mail that for a moment Cicely + thought it must be he, and her knees trembled until he knelt before her, + kissing her hand, asking after her health and that of the infant and + whether she were satisfied with his service. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed and indeed yes,” she answered; “and oh, friend! all that I have + henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a + prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon you, + you gallant man.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank me not, Lady,” answered the honest Thomas. “To speak truth it was + Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for + many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the + Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that I + came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going about + my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to arm 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in all + this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are other things + whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said—ah! she said my husband, + whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and not buried, + but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting nothing, but + swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from your own lips.” + </p> + <p> + So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he had + seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir Christopher + had been shipped abroad upon the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, sorely wounded but + not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and the monk Martin. + </p> + <p> + “That’s ten months gone,” said Cicely. “Has naught been heard of this + ship? By now she should be home again.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas hesitated, then answered— + </p> + <p> + “No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it + even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came + another story——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that other story?” + </p> + <p> + “Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they have + shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd who is + half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he learned that + the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was set upon by two Turkish pirates and captured + after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others were killed. + This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted to and fro till + they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which landed them at Hull. + That’s all I know—save one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men saw + 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 one of + their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows.” + </p> + <p> + Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with + questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound + caught his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Look at the window!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring at + them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it other + faces. + </p> + <p> + “Betray me not, or I shall burn,” he whispered. “Say only that I came to + haunt you,” and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “What now, Emlyn?” + </p> + <p> + “One thing only—Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. + Is it our fault if your father’s ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember, + your father’s ghost, no other. Ah! here they come.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot and + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Cicely’s terror passed from her and she faced them boldly. + </p> + <p> + “What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but + now, and whither has it gone?” + </p> + <p> + “The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the + murderess. It wore my father’s armour, but its face I did not see. It has + gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?” + </p> + <p> + “It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King’s Grave Mount and + of those who wrought it,” and she looked at him steadily until his eyes + fell before hers. + </p> + <p> + “What else?” + </p> + <p> + “It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you + put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will + return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by + the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father’s servant, and + the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or + seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” answered the Abbot, “Satan, with whom you hold converse, is always + among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches, + self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you shall + answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of Blossholme, + have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches and let them + be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court Ecclesiastic for + their trial.” + </p> + <p> + So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As they + 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 the tumult in the + chapel. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now, Cicely?” asked the Prioress. + </p> + <p> + “Now we are witches, Mother,” she answered, with a sad smile. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” broke in Emlyn, “and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered + Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, why?” exclaimed the Prioress. “If the spirit of a woman’s father + appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor + Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to + her?” + </p> + <p> + “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 to + the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them,” and he + glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye. + </p> + <p> + So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded by + monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their confinement, + there was little change in their condition. The child was allowed to be + with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her. + </p> + <p> + Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were aware, + and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that they were about + to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene charges; namely, + that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature called the Enemy of + Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had power to call to their + counsel and assistance. To them who knew well that this being was Thomas + Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could not be denied that the said + Thomas at Emlyn’s instigation had worked much evil on the monks of + Blossholme, paying them, or rather their Abbot, back in his own coin. + </p> + <p> + Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas to + some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share, + although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the other, + and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive. + </p> + <p> + “This is a coil that we cannot untangle,” said Cicely. “Let us betray no + one, but put our trust in God. I am sure,” she added, “that God will help + us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall not + attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the + whole evil world bears witness,” said Emlyn doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “May be,” answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, “perhaps because they did + not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will walk + in it—to the fire if need be.” + </p> + <p> + “There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I wonder?” + replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow this faith of Cicely’s was put to a sharp test. The Abbot + came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song— + </p> + <p> + “Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your mistress, + vile witches though you are. If not, you burn.” + </p> + <p> + As before she denied all knowledge of them. + </p> + <p> + “Find me the jewels or you burn,” he answered. “Would you pay your lives + for a few miserable gems?” + </p> + <p> + Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with + her mistress. + </p> + <p> + He bade her do so. + </p> + <p> + “I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where + they are?” asked Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I + give them up to save you.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms, + then laughed aloud and answered— + </p> + <p> + “Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have told + you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or whether I am + saved, he shall not have them.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Emlyn, “that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,” + and she went out and told the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + He came into Cicely’s chamber and raged at them. He said that they should + be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely, whom he had + thought to frighten, never winced. + </p> + <p> + “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 am sure + that the end shall be far other than you think.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” said the Abbot, “has the foul fiend been with you again that you + talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,” + and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress. + </p> + <p> + “Put these women upon bread and water,” he said, “and prepare them for the + rack, that they may discover their accomplices.” + </p> + <p> + Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered— + </p> + <p> + “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 my + guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Said I not that they had accomplices?” sneered the Abbot, and went his + way. + </p> + <p> + But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an + ill sound in his ears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + DOOMED + </h3> + <p> + It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people + hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen making + preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight one of the + nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and white; she only + spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as though she knew she + was being watched. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered— + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God help + you, my sisters; God help us all!” and she fled away. + </p> + <p> + Now for a moment Emlyn’s heart failed her, since before such a tribunal + what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser; the + strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the + ecclesiastic spoken of as the “Old Bishop” was well known as perhaps the + cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics—that is, before + heresy became the fashion—a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a + time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the use, + seeing that soon she would learn all? + </p> + <p> + They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength. + Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn’s arms, knelt down + to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a procession + appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the Abbot’s guard, + then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of the beautiful + young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men though they + were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of the monks cried + brutally— + </p> + <p> + “Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with + you,” at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her arm. + </p> + <p> + But Cicely rose and faced him, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go.” + </p> + <p> + So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the nuns, + with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the large hall, + but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was made for them. + Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that day. The lofty, + arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of years before by + hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the beams of which the + bright light of morning played so clearly that she could see the spiders’ + webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn wasp caught fast. The mob of + people gathered to watch her public trial—faces, many of them, that + she had known from childhood. + </p> + <p> + How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her + sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had been + prepared to condemn her—that she could see and hear, for did not + some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of “Witch!” as they had + been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one + of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent + beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till + the hardest faces grew pitiful—full of resentment, too, some of + them, but not against her. + </p> + <p> + Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the + monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed “Old Bishop” in his + gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling behind + him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed Prior, + from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black gown with a + girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon, Abbot of + Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced, foreign-looking, + his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears catching every word + and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop that caused him to + smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped space and guarded by a + soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who was gabbling words to + which no one paid any heed. + </p> + <p> + The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way up the + hall something red attracted Cicely’s attention, and, glancing round, she + saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met, and his were + full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded lest he should + be betrayed and given over to some awful doom. + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing,” she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or perhaps + Emlyn’s glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of relief broke + from him. + </p> + <p> + Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there. + </p> + <p> + “Your name?” asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the + feather of his quill. + </p> + <p> + “All know it, it is Cicely Harflete,” she answered gently, whereon the + clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to + the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still + Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child. + </p> + <p> + Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many + questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where matters + of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just enough. At + length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally that if half + he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last been called in + life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her down as Cicely + Harflete or Foterell. + </p> + <p> + Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget’s was written without + question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and + technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely made + out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and of + having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of a + monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father’s ghost. When it was + finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or rather + Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that could not be + followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one took any more + heed of what she said. + </p> + <p> + Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question, and + when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they were + stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have saved + trouble. Again he asked if the witch’s marks had been found on them—that + is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies, on which, as was + well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even suggested that the + trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked all over with a nail + to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point to save time. + </p> + <p> + A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted that + the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to have + consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been rescued + from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and given to the + nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said Bridget. If she + was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought not they to burn + together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil One was obviously + damned? + </p> + <p> + The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately + decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of + the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul + fiend would claim his own ere long. + </p> + <p> + Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to + defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite + unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates—Satan + himself. + </p> + <p> + “True, my Lord,” said Cicely, looking up, “we have the best of all + advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our + advocate, and in Him I trust.” + </p> + <p> + “Blaspheme not, Sorceress,” shouted the old man; and the evidence + commenced. + </p> + <p> + To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for + it took many hours. First of all Emlyn’s early life was set out, much + being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed + suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition, + an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot + himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one seemed + to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge and be the + principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely’s wild words + after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she and her + familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the aid of which + it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn’s threats to him + after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the dreadful things + that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no doubt these witches + had brought about—here he was right—though how he knew not. He + told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance which she presented + afterwards—a tale that caused his audience to shudder; and, lastly, + he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John Foterell holding converse + with the two accused in the chapel of the Nunnery, and its vanishing away. + </p> + <p> + When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him, but + this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes had no + right to cross-examine. + </p> + <p> + Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for + the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse still, + Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that audience, + who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because Emlyn and some + of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen. + </p> + <p> + When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was + entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old Bishop + grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges went on to + put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of questions of a + nature so abominable that after denying the first of them indignantly, + they stood silent, refusing to answer—proof positive of their guilt, + as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly, these hideous + queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had anything to say. + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat,” she answered; “but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no + witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits as + my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father’s lands—which + lands I believe he now holds—and cruelly murdered my said father by + King’s Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make + complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his + Council——” + </p> + <p> + “It is a lie, witch,” broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely went + on— + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband, + Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to slay—I + know not which—my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he + imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove to + force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child’s property to + him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my + trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft are + stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong enough + to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and appeal to + the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my wrongs, and + maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people all, hear my + words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I entrust my + cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son, whom the + Abbot sent his creature to murder—his vile creature, upon whose head + fell the Almighty’s justice, as it will fall on yours, you slaughterers of + the innocent.” + </p> + <p> + So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery, + sank to the floor—for all these hours there had been no stool for + her to sit on—and crouched there, still holding her child in her + arms—a piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious + hearts of the crowd who watched her. + </p> + <p> + Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old Bishop, + who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening, caught + some of his words, such as— + </p> + <p> + “On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and + shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of the + sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to it.” + </p> + <p> + “So spoke Pilate,” broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in + the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of words. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she began, “who and what is this Spanish priest who sits to + judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from + Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of + Isabella the nun, who was my father’s cousin, and her end and that of her + companions. Ask him of——” + </p> + <p> + At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped + behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her + strong hands, and screamed out— + </p> + <p> + “He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can prove + it, and that’s why Foterell died—because he knew——” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named + Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself + loose, and, turning towards the people, called— + </p> + <p> + “Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in + Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some.” + </p> + <p> + Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her on + the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and + gasping, to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop sprang + up, and as darkness gathered in the hall—for the sun had set—pronounced + the sentence of the Court. + </p> + <p> + First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next he + excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to their + master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to be burnt, + without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a clear voice + spoke, saying— + </p> + <p> + “You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!” + </p> + <p> + A tumult followed, in which some cried “Aye” and some “Nay,” and when at + length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot—for + none could see who spoke—exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his.” + </p> + <p> + “He will, he will,” answered the same voice. “The Pope is in his bag. + Monks, your day is done.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or rather + the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon the bench, + like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night, the black-browed + Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and shouting this and + that, the secretary calling for candles, and when at length one was + brought, making a little star of light in that huge gloom, putting his + hand to his mouth and roaring— + </p> + <p> + “What of this Bridget? Does she go free?” + </p> + <p> + The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the + forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back— + </p> + <p> + “Burn the hag with the others,” and the secretary wrote it down upon his + brief. + </p> + <p> + Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the + frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his + companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle—it was + that Ambrose who had choked Emlyn—marched in procession down the + hall to gain the great door. + </p> + <p> + Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose, + and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light had + vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for help. + These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that none + wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there, buffeted, + bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost naked, while + by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently across his own + head. Worst of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a pillar; his feet + seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for his neck was + twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his + people— + </p> + <p> + “Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and + its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in + them I find no luck,” and he glanced at his broken staff. + </p> + <p> + Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches. + </p> + <p> + Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since there + was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room, but + guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn knew + well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside the + Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or food to + eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a mile. + Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave, and, after + all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel. Therefore it was + that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and fear, for she could see + no hope. All was black as the night about them. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the + curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle that + made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding it up + and looking about her, something came into Emlyn’s mind. Perhaps she would + help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of hope, with + her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to meet her, her + finger on her lips. + </p> + <p> + “She sleeps; wake her not,” she said. “Have you come to tell us that we + burn to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a week. + He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not been + for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of Brother + Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all, for fear of + trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears that he was set + upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who loosed them shall not + live. Emlyn, <i>who</i> killed Father Ambrose? Was it men or——?” + </p> + <p> + “Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish + dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady—the greatest lady of all these + parts and the most foully treated—should have friends left to her? + Why, if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that + Abbey stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn,” said the Prioress again, “in the name of Jesus and on your soul, + tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if not, what + is its meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did + these things; I’ll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from + you. A man wore Foterell’s armour, and came here by a secret hole to take + counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and the + stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and dragged + the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his hand also + that twisted Ambrose’s neck because he struck me.” + </p> + <p> + The two women looked each other in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Prioress. “I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you choose + rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me.” She paused a + moment; then went on, “Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the Fiend’s finger + was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my path clear, and + will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you all or die.” + </p> + <p> + “What path, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have. + Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both, make + war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods, turning + the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace sends Royal + Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both. They were coming + here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own, who was not born + meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them off. One of these + Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day, makes inquisition at + the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some eighty miles away, of which + my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter reached me this morning, is the + Prior. Emlyn, I’ll go to this rough man—for rough he is, they say. + Old and feeble as I am, I’ll seek him out and offer up the ancient House I + rule to save your life and Cicely’s—yes, and Bridget’s also.” + </p> + <p> + “You will go, Mother! Oh! God’s blessing be on you. But how will you go? + They will never suffer it.” + </p> + <p> + The old nun drew herself up, and answered— + </p> + <p> + “Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall not + travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now that + proud priest’s servants would have forbidden me to enter your chamber in + my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget. Also I have + horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who am not too + strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world, where I have + scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me of that + red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though foolish, he is + a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he understands horses + and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that Thomas Bolle will be + my companion on this journey, with leave from the Abbot, or without it?” + and again she looked her in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in my + youth,” answered Emlyn. “Moreover, his forefathers have served the + Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and + doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get + at him.” + </p> + <p> + “No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But, + woman, what token?” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was + set a cornelian heart. + </p> + <p> + “Give him this,” she said, “and say that the wearer bade him follow the + bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer’s life and another’s. He + is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe that + he will go.” + </p> + <p> + Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she walked + to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her breast. + Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and protection + of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart. + </p> + <p> + Emlyn caught her by the robe. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” she said. “You think I do not understand; but I do. You are giving + up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House, which has + been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep will be + scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has sheltered + them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I understand + full well, and she”—pointing to the sleeping Cicely—“will + understand also.” + </p> + <p> + “Say nothing to her,” murmured Mother Matilda; “I may fail.” + </p> + <p> + “You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall + reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that + you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away—wealth worth many + priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that Commissioner + shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small store to pay him + for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would rob him of it. + Now, my Lady Margaret—for that, I think, used to be your name, and + will be again when you have done with priests and nuns—bless me also + and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and holy.” + </p> + <p> + So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately fashion, + and the oaken door opened and shut behind her. + </p> + <p> + Three days later the Abbot visited them alone. + </p> + <p> + “Foul and accursed witches,” he said, “I come to tell you that next Monday + at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who, were it + not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also till you + discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have many.” + </p> + <p> + “Show me the King’s warrant for this slaughter,” said Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it be + too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon + the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity + on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” answered Cicely. “God gave it; God save it. In God I put my + trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him,” and she turned and + walked away. + </p> + <p> + Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face. + </p> + <p> + “Do we really burn on Monday?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet,” he added slowly, + “if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over, the case + might be remitted to another Court.” + </p> + <p> + “And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will + never be found.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then you burn—slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of + late and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or + hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done—of + that and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay, + nay, I do not threaten after your fashion—it shall be so. Meanwhile + I ask the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see—the + Prioress Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and + Thomas Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself + to me in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours.” + </p> + <p> + “They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is + not,” answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that to + them she might tell what she had refused to him—the hiding-place of + the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out. + </p> + <p> + “Why not, my Lord Abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her + own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I know not where. If they, or + either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them.” + </p> + <p> + “And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards,” replied Emlyn, + with a shrug of her shoulders. “What does it matter? Fare you well till we + meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + On the Sunday—that is, the day before the burning—the Abbot + came again. + </p> + <p> + “Three days ago,” he said, addressing them both, “I offered you a chance + of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are, you + refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power—not + life, indeed; it is too late for that—but a merciful death. If you + will give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before + the fire bites—never mind how. If not—well, as I have told + you, there has been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat + green.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely paled a little—who would not, even in those cruel days?—then + asked— + </p> + <p> + “And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our + guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall + never have it, though we burn by inches.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who + confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more—the rich + jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes of + the Church.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood. + </p> + <p> + “Never, never!” she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. “Torture and + slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not where + these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie till my + heirs find them, or they rot.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot’s face grew very evil. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who answered— + </p> + <p> + “What my mistress says, I say.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it!” he exclaimed. “Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in the + devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “God will help us,” replied Cicely in a quiet voice. “Remember my words + when the time comes.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + THE STAKE + </h3> + <p> + It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of + the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the + morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer + the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of + Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held a + crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo that, + and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old, the days of + chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were tormented and + burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at least a + tangible devil and his works. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he had + other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did believe + that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that they had + conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him, and + therefore were too foul to live. The “Old Bishop” believed it also, and so + did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people who lived + around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in Blossholme. + Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns and hoofs and tail + driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met the ghost of Sir John + Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in another shape? Oh, these + women were guilty, without doubt they were guilty and deserved the stake! + What did it matter if the husband and father of one of them had been + murdered and the other had suffered grievous but forgotten wrongs? + Compared to witchcraft murder was but a light and homely crime, one that + would happen when men’s passions and needs were involved, quite a familiar + thing. + </p> + <p> + It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most of it + she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed, except + once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot’s head, for her + whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she and her + beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on triumphant + and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed, as though + some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was well + enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed. + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn,” said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come, after + at length she had soothed it to rest, “do you think that Mother Matilda + will be able to help us?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road is + rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a great + venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why, perhaps + the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen, or perhaps + he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two witches a + hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full upon the + carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her.” + </p> + <p> + “At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which + may Heaven’s blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but daren’t + kick,” answered Emlyn viciously. “Never speak to me of Thomas Bolle. Had + he been a man long ago he’d have broken the neck of that rogue Abbot + instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting his cows.” + </p> + <p> + “If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,” + replied Cicely, with a faint smile. “Perhaps he made a mistake in the + dark.” + </p> + <p> + “If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did + the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad + spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on the + half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!” + </p> + <p> + Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not + to inquire, said— + </p> + <p> + “Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful + hag.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and + his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for + argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely + spoke once more through the darkness— + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my hand + as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and ah! it + hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would have died, + but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the spirit is + willing though the flesh be weak.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on— + </p> + <p> + “But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will be over + and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if Christopher + should really live, how he will mourn when he learns——” + </p> + <p> + “I pray that he does,” broke in Emlyn, “for then ere long there will be a + Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell.” + </p> + <p> + “And the child, Emlyn, the child!” she went on in a trembling voice, not + heeding the interruption. “What will become of my son, the heir to so much + if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They’ll murder him also, + Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how otherwise will + they get title to his lands and goods?” + </p> + <p> + “If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in + heaven,” Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. “The boy and you in heaven midst + the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score there + with the devil for company, that’s all I ask. There, there, I blaspheme, + for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it up in bitter + words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you are good and + gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him; ask for light, + He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the Towers, when we + crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead, you said you saw + His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to Him, Cicely, and + if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of death about me. Ask not + what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and strike, blame me not here + or hereafter, for it will be love’s blow, my last service.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the + least she took no heed of them. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll pray again,” she whispered, “though I fear that heaven’s doors are + closed to me; no light comes through,” and she knelt down. + </p> + <p> + For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and + Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Let her sleep,” she murmured to herself. “Oh! if I were sure—she + should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it, but + there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer such a + thing. I’d have paid the jewels, but what’s the use? They would have + killed her all the same, for else where’s their title? No, my heart bids + me wait.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely awoke. + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn,” she said in a low, thrilling voice, “do you hear me, Emlyn? That + angel has been with me again. He spoke to me,” and she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, what did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, Emlyn,” she answered, confused; “it has gone from me. But, + Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but with + Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the babe + also,” and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into a + flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed it, + laid herself down and slept sweetly. + </p> + <p> + Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms to + it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed away + as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely and for + a while her heart was at peace. + </p> + <p> + When about eight o’clock that morning the door was opened to allow a nun + to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with amazement. + Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all in the + Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her knee, and + with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer for her, for + Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She had expected + to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with fear, but behold! + there they sat together in the window-place, dressed in their best + garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one of them—it + was Cicely—laughed a little at something that the other had said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning to you, Sister Mary,” said Cicely. “Tell me now, has the + Prioress returned?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at + least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her + ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,” said Cicely; “but I think that I shall be the bearer of my + own messages.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe upon + woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall talk + with her again.” + </p> + <p> + Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close + prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not + observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Wear these at the last, both of you,” she whispered. “Whatever they say + we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime. + Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious + treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel, + and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you are + really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not burn + or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent.” + </p> + <p> + “That last would be the greatest miracle of all,” broke in Emlyn, with + grim humour. “Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the relics + if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you. Farewell, + and all blessings be on your gentle heads.” + </p> + <p> + Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and + fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that + they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and + moaned in her cell below. + </p> + <p> + Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they + would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again by + the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people, mounted + and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front of the + Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of trees. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Emlyn presently. “It is hard to say, but it may be that + your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a + few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of + those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on, + if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul—the + nuns, perhaps—will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them + in days to come.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely thought a while, then answered— + </p> + <p> + “Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He + spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing + that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your + breast.” + </p> + <p> + “Great is your faith,” said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration. “Well, + I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two.” + </p> + <p> + The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices + below. + </p> + <p> + “They come for us,” said Emlyn; “the burning is set for eleven, that after + the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now summon that + great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes, since mine + grows faint.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the officer + of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking, Cicely + throwing her cloak about her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be warm enough without that, Witch,” said the man, with a hideous + chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she answered, “I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are + parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need to + lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s truth, the girl has spirit!” muttered the officer to his + companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered— + </p> + <p> + “Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently.” + </p> + <p> + A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary months, + they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was waiting to + join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of sheet, for + her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her grey locks hung + loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head and screamed + prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her, which indeed was + dreadful. + </p> + <p> + “Peace, good Bridget,” she said as they passed, “being innocent, what have + you to fear?” + </p> + <p> + “The fire, the fire!” cried the poor creature. “I dread the fire.” + </p> + <p> + Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of + Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her + lamentations behind them. + </p> + <p> + It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing a + melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard of + twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be present, + while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles round, a crowd + without number. They crossed the footbridge, where stood the Ford Inn for + which the Flounder had bargained as the price of murder. They walked up + the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the autumn rains, and through + the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle’s secret passage had its exit, and so + came at last to the green in front of the towering Abbey portal. + </p> + <p> + Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three + fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such as + no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind of bower + of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung new wagon + chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his apprentice, who + carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold welding of those + chains. + </p> + <p> + At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from + the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by + acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned + women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their + sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words, + they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them for + the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their guilt, + that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh for their + hideous crime of sorcery. + </p> + <p> + To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being + innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget + gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she was + a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She described, + while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn Stower had + introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and looked like a + black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair hanging from his + nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews with this same fiend. + </p> + <p> + Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the + Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need of + him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn + Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil’s, will, and + enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told + her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed) + sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be + seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and + that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell to + save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord’s Prayer + backwards, and that she must bring it up “in the faith of the Pentagon.” + </p> + <p> + Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe + wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it, all + of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might be + pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible. + Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell so + many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd roared + with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to absolve her, + changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her stake, which was + done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice and his portable + anvil. + </p> + <p> + Still, her “confession” was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who + were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial of + their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy’s face + and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured. Also she + bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and asking + them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, “No,” but a monk roared, + “What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?” Then he snatched the infant + from Cicely’s arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that had been + placed there to receive it, crying out— + </p> + <p> + “Let this child live or die as God pleases.” + </p> + <p> + Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, “Death + to the witch’s brat!” but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old + Sir John’s tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him + such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest of + his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his face. + Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know, because of + what befell him on this day, went in after life by the nickname of + Christopher Oak-stump. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot’s men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they + laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the + yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Lady,” answered the great man, bending his knee; “I have served the + grandsire and the sire, and so I’ll serve the son,” and throwing aside the + stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll where the + infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they saw other men + of a like sort ranging themselves about him. + </p> + <p> + Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Man,” she said to him, “I have seen you shoe many of my father’s nags. + Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon + his daughter!” + </p> + <p> + On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools + and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed, but + him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was chained up + also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible act of the + drama. + </p> + <p> + Now the head executioner—he was the Abbey cook—placed some + pine splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting + for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a + good wind and that the witches would burn briskly. + </p> + <p> + The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some of + them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could not be + picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously that + among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was done ere + their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult, he thought + to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn and asked + her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret of the + jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that they should + die mercifully and not by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Let the mistress judge, not the maid,” answered Emlyn in a steady voice. + </p> + <p> + He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied— + </p> + <p> + “Have I not told you—never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go, + repent your sins ere it be too late.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were + almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy + himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such + haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her + strength, which even then he tried to satisfy. + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?” he asked. “Do you not know how + fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know and I shall never know,” she answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some + promise of your master, Satan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and I + build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people + around— + </p> + <p> + “This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to + her. Do you not, Witch?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all,” replied Cicely + in clear and ringing tones. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll see,” shouted the Abbot. “Man, bring flame, and let Heaven—or + hell—help her if it can!” + </p> + <p> + The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy, + and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit for + the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that + multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted, + cried no more, a bull’s voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill, + roaring— + </p> + <p> + “<i>In the King’s name, stay! In the King’s name, stay!</i>” + </p> + <p> + All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse, + its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped towards + them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and holding + in his hand a woodman’s axe. + </p> + <p> + “Fire the faggots!” shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by nature + brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp ground. + </p> + <p> + By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot. With + great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider leapt from + its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength was done. + </p> + <p> + “It is Thomas Bolle!” exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again— + </p> + <p> + “Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!” and a soldier ran to fetch another + brand. + </p> + <p> + But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he smote + downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the soldier + and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he smote— + </p> + <p> + “You sought fire—take it!” + </p> + <p> + The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some one + dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a grilled + herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now Thomas + Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and repeating, + “In the King’s name, stay! In the King’s name, stay!” + </p> + <p> + “What mean you, knave?” exclaimed the furious Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I’ll split your crown.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on— + </p> + <p> + “A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten their + bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who’ll stand with + me against Maldon and his butchers?” + </p> + <p> + “I,” answered voices, “and I, and I, and I!” + </p> + <p> + “And I too,” hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, “only I watch the + child. Nay, by God I’ll bring it with me!” and, snatching up the screaming + babe under his left arm, he ran to him. + </p> + <p> + On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that. + </p> + <p> + “Break the chains,” roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands did + it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their hacking + at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from the + yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to do, for + now the Abbot’s men-at-arms were coming on. + </p> + <p> + “Ring the women round,” roared Bolle, “and strike home for Foterell, + strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest’s dog, in the King’s name—this!” + and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had + told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak. + </p> + <p> + Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there may + have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three green + oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget, still + tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her loose. + These were attacked by the Abbot’s guard, thirty or more of them, urged on + by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his victims and full + of fear lest Cicely’s words should be fulfilled and she herself set down + henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess favoured by God. + </p> + <p> + On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and thrice + they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle’s axe was terrible to face and, + now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman lads who + stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out among the + hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some the other, so + that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones and fists, even the + women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like bagged cats. The scene + was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked city, for many were hurt and + all gave tongue, while shrill and clear above this hateful music rose the + yells of Bridget, who had awakened from her faint and imagined all was + over and that she fathomed hell. + </p> + <p> + Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third + were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel. + </p> + <p> + “Bring bows,” he cried, “and shoot them, for they have none!” and men ran + off to do his bidding. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Emlyn’s wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his + red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could + they fight against arrows, she answered— + </p> + <p> + “If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way + through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or in + the Nunnery.” + </p> + <p> + “Women’s counsel is good sometimes,” said Bolle. “Form up, Foterells, and + march.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” broke in Cicely, “loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her + after all; I’ll not stir else.” + </p> + <p> + So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom + there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running + fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have + been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them, had + not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of trees with + the Abbot’s fierce fellows, some of whom were French or Spanish, hanging + on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway ran, appeared a + horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane with both hands, + and after her many armed men. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Emlyn, look!” exclaimed Cicely. “Who is that?” for she could not + believe her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Who but Mother Matilda,” answered Emlyn; “and by the saints, she is a + strange sight!” + </p> + <p> + A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that was + ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees, the + rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat + against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short, + never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she came + on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its Blossholme + stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying as she sped— + </p> + <p> + “For God’s love, stop this mad beast!” + </p> + <p> + Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that, its + rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the yeoman + who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as Mother + Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did she know + what comfort there was to be found in man. + </p> + <p> + When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood + her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her + wandering eyes fell upon Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse,” she exclaimed, + and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some prayer of + thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined up in front, + and the Abbot’s soldiers with the accompanying crowd had halted behind, + not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that Bolle and his party + with the women were now between the two. + </p> + <p> + From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous air + as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured + voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil + meant. + </p> + <p> + “Ask the Abbot of Blossholme,” said some one, “for it is his work.” + </p> + <p> + “Abbot of Blossholme? That’s the man I want,” puffed the fat stranger. + “Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you + fellows,” he added to his escort, “range up and be ready, lest this said + priest should prove contumacious.” + </p> + <p> + Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the + horseman up and down, said— + </p> + <p> + “Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?” + </p> + <p> + “A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent, + traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about him + a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King’s peace and slay loyal + English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I’ll tell you who I am. I am Thomas + Legh, his Grace’s Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect the Houses + called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by yonder + Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with certain of his + Highness’s subjects whom, she says, you have accused of witchcraft for + purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am, my fine fowl of + an Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon’s face was + replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and + understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, “In the King’s + name!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE MESSENGER + </h3> + <p> + “Who makes all this tumult?” shouted the Commissioner. “Why do I see blood + and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these women, one + of whom by her mien is of no low degree?” and he stared at Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “The tumult,” answered the Abbot, “was caused by yonder fool, Thomas + Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and + shouting ‘In the King’s name, stay.’” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King’s name one to be mocked + at? Know that I sent on the man.” + </p> + <p> + “He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull’s voice and great + axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon + the three foulest witches in the realm.” + </p> + <p> + “Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant for + your justice? If so, show it me.” + </p> + <p> + “These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges + being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment were + about to suffer for their sins by fire,” replied Maldon. + </p> + <p> + “A Court Ecclesiastic!” roared Dr. Legh. “Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then, + toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for + attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King, or by + his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I thought + as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn that eyes + have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would usurp the + King’s prerogative besides——” and he checked himself, then + went on, “Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of + this business.” + </p> + <p> + Now some of the Commissioner’s guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own + men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and + were frightened by this talk about the King’s warrant. + </p> + <p> + Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said— + </p> + <p> + “You are Sir John Foterell’s only child, are you not, who allege yourself + to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder Prioress? Now, + what was about to happen to you, and why?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” answered Cicely, “I and my waiting-woman and the old sister, + Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge of + sorcery. Although it is true,” she added, “that I knew we should not + perish thus.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame were + near enough together,” and he glanced towards the stakes and the scattered + faggots. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, she swore that at the stake,” exclaimed a voice, “and we thought her + mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Now can you deny that she is a witch?” broke in Maldon. “If she were not + one of Satan’s own, how could she see visions and prophesy her own + deliverance?” + </p> + <p> + “If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all Holy + Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery,” answered Legh. “Then the Blessed + Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should have been + burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams until a more + convenient time.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” went on Cicely, “we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that I + will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to + yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh! + listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell my + tale. Have I your leave to speak?” + </p> + <p> + The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning, so + sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the concourse + of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word, and even Dr. + Legh’s coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an hour or more + she spoke, telling of her father’s death, of her flight and marriage, of + the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such it were; of her + imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot’s dealings with her and Emlyn; of + the birth of her child and its attempted murder by the midwife, his + creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being innocent, and of all + they had endured that day. + </p> + <p> + “If you are innocent,” shouted a priest as she paused for breath, “what + was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at + Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of the + trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came out into + the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like frightened + sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took the bits + between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all, Satan himself + strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his back hung down a + tail, his body was shaggy like a beast’s, and his face hideous and of many + colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork with a long handle. This + way and that rushed the throng, only the Commissioner, who had dismounted, + stood still, perhaps because he was too afraid to stir, and with him the + women and some of the nuns, including the Prioress, who fell upon their + knees and began to utter prayers. + </p> + <p> + On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King’s Visitor, bowing to + him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some strings + and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas Bolle! + </p> + <p> + “What means this mummery, knave?” gasped Dr. Legh. + </p> + <p> + “Mummery do you call it, sir?” answered Thomas with a grin. “Well, if so, + ‘tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry + England. Come, good people, come,” he roared in his great voice, “come, + see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns,” and he held them up, “once + they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson’s billy-goat. Here’s his tail, + many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here’s his ugly + mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here’s his dreadful fork + that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole + stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too + among the bag of tricks; you’ll make the best of brimstone and a little + oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and naught + to pay.” + </p> + <p> + Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which he + held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Laugh not,” shouted Bolle. “Is it a matter of laughter that noble ladies + and others whose lives are as dear to some,” and he glanced at Emlyn, + “should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad in skins + to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played this trick. + I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I entered the Priory + chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder babe from murder and + scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the sham devil to the true. + Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent and scourge the wicked in + his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent and the innocent said + nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them, and——O God, + you know the rest! + </p> + <p> + “It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I’m not the half-wit I’ve + feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe, and + there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie yonder + show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they wear + strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,” and he + pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the dishevelled + Prioress, adding: “And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that I have done in + the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the King’s grace and + majesty as I wore old Nick’s horns and hoofs, since otherwise the Abbot + and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters of King and people, + will murder me for this as they have done by better men. Therefore pardon, + your Mightiness, pardon,” and he kneeled down before him. + </p> + <p> + “You have it, Bolle; in the King’s name you have it,” replied Legh, who + was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the + cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. “For all + that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his Grace, + declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal or civil + shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you in writing. + Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan’s plumes no more lest you should + feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock. Bring hither that + Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him.” + </p> + <p> + Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The guards + swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all ran before + the devil, yet certainly he was gone. + </p> + <p> + “The knave has given us the slip,” bellowed the Commissioner, who was + purple with rage. “Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall + be your warrant. Draw the wood. I’ll to the Abbey, where perchance the fox + has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy + traitor.” + </p> + <p> + Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the + crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three “witches,” + Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost + alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay + about. + </p> + <p> + “Let us to the Priory,” said Mother Matilda, “for by the sun I judge that + it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder us.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, good friend,” she exclaimed, with energy, “while I live no more of + that evil beast for me. Henceforth I’ll walk till I am carried. Keep it, + Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I done well, Emlyn?” Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered, looking at him sideways. “You played the cur + at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well, you + found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and + yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we’ll say no + more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore + task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell to + come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and let me + lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It’s weary work standing at a stake.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely’s recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy + and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took + small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving. She + remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St. Catherine + assuring her, as she received them back with care, that these and these + alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She remembered eating + food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she remembered no more + till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into that same room whence + on the previous day they had been led out to suffer the most horrible of + deaths. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as + she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in the + sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not the + terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a very + evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and she + shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her heart + she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose and + thanked God for His mercies, which were great. + </p> + <p> + Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle’s had failed one short + five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily, + would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left + her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at the + place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved + sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful to + its Giver. + </p> + <p> + After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who + desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find + that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and + found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely + ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon her + head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the reins. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Cicely,” she said, smiling, “it is I who should kneel to you, + were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it + seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from + on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so, Mother,” she answered briefly, for this was a matter of which + she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, “but the + fulfilment came through you.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still let + the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it afterwards, + and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your deliverance has + been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that yonder coarse and + ungodly man, the King’s Visitor, told me as we rode that this Nunnery must + be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and I and my sisters turned + out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring him here at all I was + forced to petition that it might be so in a writing that I signed. See, + then, how great is my love for you, dear Cicely.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” she answered, “it cannot be, it shall not be.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who + commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods of + poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one or two + of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my own, but I + spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had seized, and of + late to satisfy his extortions,” and she wept a little. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly, but + Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me from my + mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the stake, since + the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it was too late to + save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I forbade Emlyn to + yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do so, now I know why. + Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your lands, and mayhap buy + also permission from his Grace the King for the continuance of your house, + where you and yours shall worship as those who went before you have done + for many generations. I swear it in my own name and in that of my child + and of my husband also—if he lives.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you I + will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me and + our son, would give it you and all else he has besides—nay, would + pay it as an honourable debt.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cicely, in God’s name and my own I thank you, and we’ll see, we’ll + see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure. But + where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it is well + that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is past.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, speak, Emlyn,” said Cicely, “for though I never asked before, + fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the + burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I + carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night, + and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone that + time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that hollow I + hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my robe. Then + I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and replaced the + stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the third stone + counting from the eastern angle in the second course above the floor line. + There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this day, for unless the + tower is pulled down to its foundations none will ever find them in that + masonry.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by + Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King’s Visitor demanded to speak with + the Prioress. + </p> + <p> + “Show him here since I cannot come to him,” said Mother Matilda, “and you, + Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to have + witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries, + gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “To business, to business,” he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge the + greetings of the Prioress. “Your convent is sequestrated upon your own + petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual inquiries, + and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good repute, for + none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all too old for + such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands and your + rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve the + sisterhood.” + </p> + <p> + “I will send for them, Sir,” answered the Prioress humbly; “but, + meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty + years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my + sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall + we go?” + </p> + <p> + “Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease + snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions—by the way, + forget not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical + emblems in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of + which my secretaries will take account—and go out into the world. + Marry there if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what + you will there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of + silly vows and from the circle of a convent’s walls.” + </p> + <p> + “To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand your + work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during all + those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and ministered + to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and what wealth + came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of the pious we have + dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for ourselves. The poor by + multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we have nursed, their + children we have taught; often we have gone hungry that they might be + full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish. If that is the will of + God, so be it, but what must chance to England’s poor?” + </p> + <p> + “That is England’s business, Madam, and the poor’s. Meanwhile I have told + you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to make + report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of whose + villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a + messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds.” + </p> + <p> + Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine. + Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to the + Visitor and his secretaries. + </p> + <p> + “Good wine,” he said, after he had drunk, “a very generous wine. You nuns + know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in your + inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot would have + burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or Dame Harflete, + with whom I desire a word.” + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service, Sir,” said Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as + near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still, + you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that + condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons + you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Sir,” said Cicely, “if the good nuns who have befriended me are to + be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say I + must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My + husband’s hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide here, + in this way or in that he will have my life.” + </p> + <p> + “The knave has fled away,” said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you know + these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh, Sir, I + crave the protection of the King for my child’s sake and my own, and for + Emlyn Stower also.” + </p> + <p> + The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin. + </p> + <p> + “You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?” he asked at + length. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” broke in Emlyn, “enough to hang him ten times over, and so can I.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady,” he said, with more deference in his voice, “step aside with me, I + would speak with you privately,” and he walked to the window, where she + followed him. “Now tell me, what was the value of these properties of + yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about £300 a + year.” + </p> + <p> + His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such wealth + was great. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get + it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King’s Commissioners are not + well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters that you + come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft pronounced + against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to pay me one + year’s rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I must incur on + your behalf?” + </p> + <p> + Now it was Cicely’s turn to think. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” she answered at length, “if you will add a condition—that + these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his fat head. + </p> + <p> + “It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell + would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” went on Cicely, “if you will promise that one year of grace + shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future.” + </p> + <p> + “That I can do,” he answered, nodding, “on the ground that they are of + blameless life, and have protected you from the King’s enemy. But this is + an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form will + be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of £300 to be + repaid with interest when you recover your estates.” + </p> + <p> + “Draw it up and I will sign, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will + accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We’ll not ride + to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light.” + </p> + <p> + “Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe, and + Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we were + condemned was but his trickery.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you, + perchance, any money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, about £50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn’s robes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in + these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I will + keep to mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly, no + man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and you’ll + give me that £25 in charge.” + </p> + <p> + Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the Lady + Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have dealt so + well by her I have promised in the King’s name that you and your nuns + shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day, after which you + must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom I will beg that + you shall be pensioned.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, Sir,” the Prioress answered. “When one is old a year of + grace is much, and in a year many things may happen—for instance, my + death.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank me not—a plain man who but follows after justice and duty. + The documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the + way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow, + Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At + three of the clock I wait upon you.” + </p> + <p> + The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously as + they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother + Matilda and Emlyn what had passed. + </p> + <p> + “I think that you have done wisely,” said the Prioress, when she had + listened. “That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger + than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for what + may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in London + than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of £300 to gain that + Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your + cause.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless some one promises him the greater sum of £1000 to scotch it,” + interrupted Emlyn. “Well, there was but one road to take, and paper + promises are little, though I grudge the good £25 in gold. Meanwhile, + Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find + Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer + prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that + perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our + sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things.” + </p> + <p> + In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour’s house, + for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested long. + When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him a beer-tub + and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she provoked him to + answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she would be but + ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told them their needs, + and that he must ride with them to London. To this he replied that good + horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew where to lay hands on + them, since some were left in the Abbot’s stables that wanted exercise; + further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme for a while, where he + had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends yet lay wounded or + unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his ear, to which he + nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be ready. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully + armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on the + morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got them?” asked Cicely, when they were together in their room. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” she answered, “every one; but some stones have fallen, and it was + hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for Thomas + Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done it. + Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch of + the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all’s well. I’ll sew + half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share the risk. In + case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to us, for I paid + him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry openly in pouches + upon our girdles. They’ll not search further. Oh, I forgot, I’ve something + more besides the jewels, here it is,” and she produced a packet from her + bosom and laid it on the table. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this?” asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth + in which it was wrapped. + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the + Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the + rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I said + Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to give it + to the Lady Harflete, and was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “It has an over-seas look about it,” murmured Cicely, as with eager, + trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a + sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little + packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the back + of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and Blossholme + by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed. Also there + was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and at the foot + of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton and of Jeffrey + Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said— + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with + him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot’s claim, and with them + the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes, + this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in + the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon a + strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table. + </p> + <p> + “This may tell us,” she said. “Read, if you can; it has words on its inner + side.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read with + ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran— + </p> + <p> + “My Lady Harflete, + </p> + <p> + “These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell. + They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away + across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is + well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on + their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither, + believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are reasons + why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since my duty + calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I still live. + If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think it will. + </p> + <p> + “One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, cruel, cruel!” she sobbed, “to tell so much and yet so little. Nay, + what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I also + live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead.” + </p> + <p> + “By my soul,” said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, “that cloaked man is a + prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I’d have had all + the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar’s wife to Joseph. Well, + well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish, also this + is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you most wanted + them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring the traitor + Maldon to the scaffold.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + JACOB AND THE JEWELS + </h3> + <p> + Cicely’s journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before had + travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a child + spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went in + ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling, and + for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some good + inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or perhaps in + a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened monks had to + offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor folk was + cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing them of + crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had no + mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if these + were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also he got + hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and lying + stories told against those whose bread they ate. + </p> + <p> + Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this proud, + avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a cloak of + virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words about God and + the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity, learned to hide her + heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could ruin her, and forced + Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same. Moreover, there were worse + things than that since, being beautiful, some of his companions talked to + her in a way she could not misunderstand, till at length Thomas Bolle, + coming on one of them, thrashed him as he had never been thrashed before, + after which there was trouble that was only appeased by a gift. + </p> + <p> + Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King’s Visitor or + those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his + health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and full + of interest. + </p> + <p> + At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she + thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of + houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the + narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a + great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew of + a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place, where + she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they carried + secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a cousin of her + mother’s of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till within a year or two + before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she said that they would seek + him out. + </p> + <p> + Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor’s clerks, not he whom + Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search, found a + dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted three + balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door being + open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with horn + spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own, since + the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them. + </p> + <p> + What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man + came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a + long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he + understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for over + thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings, which, + as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they would pay + the price. + </p> + <p> + Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver + shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would be + stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he took, + biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to inspect + the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them clean and + commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him, after which they + dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh, who had promised to + advise them so soon as he could put their business forward. + </p> + <p> + When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith’s apprentice, had + led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his + manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent + his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready + food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which he + made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he + explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations + living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London + sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place + fifty years before, and had known Cicely’s grandfather and played with her + father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after question, + some of which they thought it wise not to answer, for he was a merry and + talkative old man. + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” he said, “you would prove me before you trust me, and who can blame + you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all than you + think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things. For + instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down at + Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that the + famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot. They + were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two pink + pearls worth a king’s ransom—or so I have heard. Great pity that + they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and + much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my old + eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet, for that + which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your dinner; eat, + eat, we’ll talk afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their + host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among his + neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore an + excellent name and was trusted by all. + </p> + <p> + “Then why should we not trust him also?” asked Cicely, “who must find + friends and put faith in some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Even with the jewels, Mistress?” + </p> + <p> + “Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would be + safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the thought + of them haunts me night and day.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us wait a while,” said Emlyn, “for once they were in that box how do + we know if we should get them out again?” + </p> + <p> + On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no + cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared that as + the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the King stood, or + would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of Blossholme, and + therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender them. Moreover, + money was so wanted at Court just then, and here Legh looked hard at them, + “that there could be no talk of parting with anything of value except in + return for a consideration,” and he looked at them harder still. + </p> + <p> + “And how can my Lady give that,” broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared + lest Cicely should commit herself. “To-day she is but a homeless pauper, + save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her own + again, as your Worship knows, her first year’s profits are all promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Doctor sadly, “doubtless the case is hard. Only,” he added, + with cunning emphasis, “a tale has just reached me that the Lady Harflete + has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother; trinkets of + value and such things.” + </p> + <p> + Now Cicely coloured, for the man’s little eyes pierced her like gimlets, + and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so with Emlyn, + who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Sir,” she said, with a secret air, “you have heard true. There + were some things of value—why should we hide it from you, our good + friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them. + He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them back + from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she’ll give you half of them, will + you not, my Lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Cicely. “The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most + welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from the + Abbot Maldon,” and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat. Moreover, + she knew herself to be the colour of a peony. + </p> + <p> + Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he put + them down to grief and anger. + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot Maldon,” he grumbled, “always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a + wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple + first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor, too. + Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north? Well, + I’ll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of those + movables, Madam?” + </p> + <p> + Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory. + </p> + <p> + “Good; I’ll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear + not, I’ll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my + rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back. + Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away to deal + with other priests almost as wicked,” and he departed, still muttering + objurgations on the Abbot. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith,” said Emlyn, when + the door closed behind him, “for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor is + certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects us. + Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we desire + to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock the door + behind you.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on the + table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The Carfax gems,” he muttered, “the Carfax gems of which I have so often + heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having sacked + them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still. A + sultan’s wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New Jerusalem + and were an angel’s gauds. And do you say that you two women have carried + these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as I have seen, you + throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh, fools, fools, even + among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers with Dr. Legh also, who + would rob a baby of its bauble.” + </p> + <p> + “Fools or no,” exclaimed Emlyn tartly, “we have got them safe enough after + they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin Smith.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “This is an upper floor,” he explained, “and the door is locked, yet some + one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I should + know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things here. + Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour,” and going to the + wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to open and + reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels, among which + he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went to other + panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the holes behind + these he distributed the rest of the treasure. + </p> + <p> + “There, foolish women,” he said, “since you have trusted me, I will trust + you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless thought + I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief in London, for + they have searched them twice and gained some store of pewter; I remember + that some of it was discovered again in the King’s household. But behind + these panels all is safe, though no woman would ever have thought of a + device so simple and so sure.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her + indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly— + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I + have heard of such things, and then—in a hurry, you know——” + </p> + <p> + Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “To think,” he said, “that I should live to learn wisdom out of the mouth + of babes and sucklers——” + </p> + <p> + “Sucklings,” suggested Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing—women,” he replied + testily; then added, with a chuckle, “Well, well, my Lady, you are right. + You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of fire, though + it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out with my bed and + forgot all about the gold and stones. I’ll have new hiding-places made in + the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would hurt. Ah! you women would + never have thought of that, who carry treasure sewn up in a nightshift.” + </p> + <p> + Now Emlyn could bear it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?” she asked indignantly. + “Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do I remember my + mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and that your saint + must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to London and showed + you how to earn a living there, or else that you had married a woman of + excellent intelligence—though it is plain now she has long been + dead. Well, well,” she added, with a laugh, “cling to your man’s vanities, + you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give us of your wisdom, + for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have rescued those very + jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in a vault.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of the + case,” said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. “So, daughter of man, set + out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from my + mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked. Now, + have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should + breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole matter + from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her tale was + done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying little, save + now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when they had finished, + he exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “Truly women are fools!” + </p> + <p> + “We have heard that before, Master Smith,” replied Cicely; “but this time—why?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week of + time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you chose to + tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted. Well, to be + brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue.” + </p> + <p> + “O Solomon, to have discovered that!” exclaimed Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of which + you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he has got + wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that such things + cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot underground, still + they would shine through the solid earth and declare themselves. This is + his plan—to strip you of everything ere his master, Cromwell, gets a + hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what chance has your suit + with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of all—save one?” + </p> + <p> + “We understand,” said Emlyn; “but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine? I don’t know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do. + Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court—when + money is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be + in arms in Yorkshire—and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you + care to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I + might serve you as cheaply as another.” + </p> + <p> + “At what charge?” blurted out Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + The old man turned on her indignantly, asking— + </p> + <p> + “Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should insult + me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your jewels, and + seek some other helper!” and he went to the panelling as though to collect + them again. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, Master Smith,” said Cicely, catching him by the arm; “be not + angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard school, + with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust you, so + forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my troubles, + which are many,” and as she spoke the great tears that had gathered in her + blue eyes fell upon the child’s face, and woke him, so that she must turn + aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do. + </p> + <p> + “Grieve not,” said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; “’tis I should + grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right; + even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take a + lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I’ll try to + show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you want + from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you’ll get for nothing, if his + Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against him. No + need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title to your large + inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more difficult, since + the King claims through him. At best, money must be paid for it. A + declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born in lawful + wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment of the + sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed it. Is + there aught more?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me—I would save + their house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it + can be done.” + </p> + <p> + “A matter of money, Lady—a mere matter of money. You will have to + buy the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if + fortune goes with me,” and he took pen and paper and began to write down + figures. + </p> + <p> + Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. “Two thousand pounds,” he + groaned; “a vast sum, but I can’t lessen it by a shilling—there are + so many to be bought. Yes; £1000 in gifts and £1000 as loan to his + Majesty, who does not repay.” + </p> + <p> + “Two thousand pounds!” exclaimed Cicely in dismay; “oh! how shall I find + so much, whose first year’s rents are already pledged?” + </p> + <p> + “Know you the worth of those jewels?” asked Jacob, looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Nay; the half of that, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us say double that, and then right cheap.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if so,” replied Cicely, with a gasp, “where shall we sell them? Who + has so much money?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn,” he added + sarcastically, “you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half their + value, and the rest I keep.” + </p> + <p> + “In your own words: go to!” said Emlyn, “and keep your gibes until we have + more leisure.” + </p> + <p> + The old man thought a while, and said— + </p> + <p> + “It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some air. + That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while I am + gone, and for mercy’s sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay; you + must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I can + think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow evening + I’ll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit unscorched in + the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes. I have some furs + in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own fault, and in my + youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more, no more,” and he + was gone, nor did they see him again that night. + </p> + <p> + On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith + appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the + weather—for it rained—the toughness of the ham, which he said + was not to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and + the likeness of the baby boy to his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, no,” broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them; “he + is his father’s self; there is no look of me in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” answered Jacob; “well, I’ll give my judgment when I see the father. + By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man brought to + Emlyn.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an + indifferent voice— + </p> + <p> + “The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been + recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among them + was one ‘Huflit,’ described as an English señor, and his servant. I wonder + now——” + </p> + <p> + Cicely sprang upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! cruel wretch,” she said, “to have known this so long and not to have + told me!” + </p> + <p> + “Peace, Lady,” he said, retreating before her; “I only learned it at + eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is + not this same day, and therefore ’tis the other day, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did the writing say?” + </p> + <p> + “I am trying to think—my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will + find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the + writing?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news, for—did + I tell you this was a letter from his Grace’s ambassador in Spain? and, + oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not—it said that + this ‘Sir Huflit’—the ambassador has put a query against his name—and + his servant—yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant too—well, + that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had met with + from the infidel Turks—no, I forgot to add there were three of them, + one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry, they + stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till the end + of that campaign. There, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “How little is your all!” exclaimed Cicely. “Yet, ‘tis something. Oh! why + should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor ignorant + Turks?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should he not?” interrupted Emlyn, “when he deems himself a widower, + as does your lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead, if + he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will kill + him,” and she began to weep. + </p> + <p> + “I should have added,” said Jacob hastily, “that in a second letter, of + later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor’s war against the + Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with + him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this + time he gives no names.” + </p> + <p> + “All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or without + fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he lives, + though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off + elsewhere, or stay and wed again.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” said old Jacob, bowing to her; “having called you wife—impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” echoed Emlyn, “having such a score to settle with yonder + Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried. But + as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he’ll come + home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride.” + </p> + <p> + There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat + painful, hastened to break, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here + already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad + one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have + known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to + martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will + tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than it + does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many + dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of which, + as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him, purposing + to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet to his + master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the Abbot, + with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and asked + straight out—How much? + </p> + <p> + “I told him £1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back + again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me—that is, to + you—of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said + Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he agreed, + on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to himself. + I replied £500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of which no + account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after the + jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the bones; I, + who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to dismiss me. + At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl that he, who + loved jewels, might like to see—a pink pearl worth many abbeys. He + said, ‘Show it;’ and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over her first + love-letter. ‘If there were two of these, now!’ he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “‘Two, my Lord!’ I answered; ‘there’s no fellow to that pearl in the whole + world,’ though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of its + twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if in + anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow + myself out. + </p> + <p> + “‘Jacob,’ he said, ‘you are an old friend, and I’ll stretch my duty for + you. Leave the pearl—his Grace needs that £1000 so sorely that I + must keep it against my will,’ and he put out his hand to take it, only to + find that I had covered it with my own. + </p> + <p> + “‘First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it + set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.’ + </p> + <p> + “He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as regards + acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into by the + King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed, undertaking + to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal hand upon + payment of £1000. Being able to do no better, I said that would serve, and + left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move his Majesty to + receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the sake of the + £1000. Have I done well?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, yes,” exclaimed Cicely. “Who else could have done half so well——?” + </p> + <p> + As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of the + house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a + messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were + the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that he + bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at three + o’clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together with Emlyn + Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty concerning a + certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her and them, + which summons she would neglect at her peril. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I will be there,” answered Cicely; “but tell me, do I come as a + prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” replied the herald, “since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace + has trust, has consented to be answerable for you.” + </p> + <p> + “And for the £1000,” muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he showed + the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold piece + into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + THE DEVIL AT COURT + </h3> + <p> + It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in her + arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found herself in + the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was full of + people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom messengers + and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, “Way! In the King’s + name, way!” So great was the press, indeed, that for some time even Jacob + could command no attention, till at length he caught sight of the herald + who had visited his house in the morning, and beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete,” the man + said, bowing to her. “You have an appointment with his Grace, have you + not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of folk + bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords and + councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money. In + short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled; he can + see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it between + his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, noble herald,” he said. “Still, do you think that you could + find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle——” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try, Master Smith,” he answered, stretching out his hand for the + piece of money. “But what is the message?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay + hands upon £1000 without interest.” + </p> + <p> + “A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer—nowhere,” said + the herald, “yet I’ll find some one to deliver it. Step within this + archway and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently.” + </p> + <p> + They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and + Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well, + should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching + the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was + strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one + with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning + individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit. + </p> + <p> + As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at a + crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she + might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of her + life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that she + dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught availed. + Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob’s tale were true, after passing many + dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his health. Yet in those + times death came quickly, leaping like the lightning from unexpected + clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who could say? Besides, he believed + her gone, and that being so would be careless of himself, or perchance, + worst thought of all, would take some other wife, as was but right and + natural. Oh! then indeed—— + </p> + <p> + At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and she + looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them. A coarse + fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in liquor, had + amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red hair, and + asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native fields. + </p> + <p> + Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question: whether + he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to light their + fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him, and noticing the + child in Cicely’s arms pointed it out to his friends, inquiring whether + they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then Thomas’s rage burnt + up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough. + </p> + <p> + “You low, London gutter-hound!” he exclaimed; “I’ll learn you to insult + the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes,” and stretching out his big fist + he seized his enemy’s purple nose in a grip of iron and began to twist it + till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would have + arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King’s palace. Indeed, + arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do to + save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the crowd + that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a quick, + clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap and gown. + </p> + <p> + Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after + the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that of + her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth, + small as a woman’s, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close + together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look, + and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he + seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he had + been bribed to be her father’s, would show her no more pity than the + spider shows a fly. + </p> + <p> + Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and + sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp, + forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider still. + </p> + <p> + “What passes here?” Cromwell said in a sharp voice. “Men, is this the + place to brawl beneath his Grace’s very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it + you? Explain.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lord,” answered Jacob, bowing, “this is Lady Harflete’s servant and he + is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being quick-tempered, + her man, Bolle, wrang his nose.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle, + leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no + value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the pump + for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back again set + him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served. Master + Smith, follow me with your party.” + </p> + <p> + Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that + was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber. + Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially + Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, Master Smith,” he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping his + hands clean with the rushes from the floor, “this is the man that you told + me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play the fool also. + In another minute there would have been a tumult and you would have lost + your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps, since he has + determined to ride from London to-morrow morning northwards, though it is + true he may change his mind ere then. This rebellion troubles him much, + and were it not for the loan you promise, when loans are needed, small + hope would you have had of audience. Now come quickly and be careful that + you do not cross the King’s temper, for it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had + it not been for the Queen, who is with him and minded to see this Lady + Harflete, that they would have burnt as a witch, you must have waited till + a more convenient season which may never come. Stay, what is in that great + sack you carry, Bolle?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil’s livery, may it please your Lordship.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil’s livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it + may make his Grace laugh, and if so I’ll give you a gold piece, who have + had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye,” he added, with a sour grin, “and + of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when you are + spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you.” + </p> + <p> + They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where the + guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a word + from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a fire burned + upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge, proud-looking man + with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox’s skull, as Thomas Bolle said + afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff and wore a velvet + cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand, and before him on the + other side of an oak table sat an officer of state in a black robe, who + wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were many scattered about on + the table and the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Knave,” shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, “you have cast + up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served by none + but fools!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, your Grace,” said the secretary in a trembling voice, “thrice + have I checked them.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer,” bellowed the King again. “I tell + you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by £1100 of that + which I was promised. Where are the £1100? You must have stolen them, + thief.” + </p> + <p> + “I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack skill. + Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under the best + of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you gone and take + your scribblings with you.” + </p> + <p> + The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly + collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his irate + Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he turned. + </p> + <p> + “My gracious Liege,” he began, “the casting of the count is right. Upon my + honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with truth + in my eye——” + </p> + <p> + Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a ram + mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all his + strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched scribe + upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and felled him + to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Now there is more in your eye than truth,” shouted the King. “Be off, ere + the stool follows the inkpot.” + </p> + <p> + Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed, for + to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and laughed a + little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and shrugged his + shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed Thomas Bolle, + who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his great voice— + </p> + <p> + “A bull’s eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, fool,” hissed Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Who spoke?” asked the king, looking towards them sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle.” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot.” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of the + missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I’ll bet you a + gold noble to a brass nail that you’ll not do as well within an inch. Why, + the fellow’s gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay, this is no time + for fooling. What’s your business, Thomas Bolle, and who are those women + with you?” + </p> + <p> + Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to explain + something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies became + suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty woman, + splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have been + burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful child. + A boy, I’ll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can tell that + a queen has nursed you,” and she stretched out her arms. + </p> + <p> + As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the + Queen’s pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems that she + wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite contentedly + to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle him with + delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying— + </p> + <p> + “See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us + such a son as this!” + </p> + <p> + The King glanced at the child, then answered— + </p> + <p> + “Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him, + nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you + brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?” + </p> + <p> + The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King, wearying + of him, called out— + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Master Smith.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these + papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me £1000 without + interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this £1000?—for + I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them, + Master Smith.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets + drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Here they are, your Grace,” he said quietly. “If you should wish for them + they can be weighed and counted.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should + happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the + Thames and sink.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even,” he + added meaningly, “with your Highness’s name added.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t sign,” said the King doubtfully, “all the ink is spilt.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he + carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it on + the table. + </p> + <p> + “In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for a + mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet again + at a more leisured season.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the first + of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Cromwell, come hither,” said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in + forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell.” + </p> + <p> + “My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon, Abbot + of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John Foterell, + and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has it that the + latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item: the said Abbot has + seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have inherited from her + father, and demands their restitution.” + </p> + <p> + “By God’s wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give it + her,” answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table. “No + need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, ‘tis the same Spanish + knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell’s broth in the north. Well, he + shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long. What more?” + </p> + <p> + “A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between Christopher + Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good and lawful + although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an indemnity for the + deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot attacked and burnt the + house of the said Christopher Harflete.” + </p> + <p> + “It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also, + but let that pass. What more?” + </p> + <p> + “The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of + the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of £1000 advanced to + your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith.” + </p> + <p> + “A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all + their tenements and timber they would fetch £1000 in gold.” + </p> + <p> + “Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed. + Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame + Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and + his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of so + much talk.” + </p> + <p> + “But one thing more, your Grace,” put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was + already rising from his chair. “Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn + Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a Court + Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot + alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was pleader and judge in one?” + </p> + <p> + “That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were bound + to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the prerogative + of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and loosed them, but + not without fighting, for certain men were killed and wounded. Now they + humbly crave your Majesty’s royal pardon for their share in this + man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who seems to have + done the slaying——” + </p> + <p> + “Well can I believe it,” muttered the King. + </p> + <p> + “And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and of + their innocence of the foul charge laid against them.” + </p> + <p> + “Innocence!” exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last + point. “How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if Dame + Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of or + seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell.” + </p> + <p> + “I crave your Grace’s patience for one short minute. There is a man here + who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle.” + </p> + <p> + “What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a + sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief.” + </p> + <p> + “Now all is finished,” murmured Emlyn to Cicely, “for assuredly fool + Thomas will land us in the mire.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace,” said Bolle in his big voice, “I obey in four words—I + was the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it.” + </p> + <p> + “How could you do otherwise if you lived there?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show your Grace,” and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely, + Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to + clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the hideous + mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the widow’s + billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and in his + hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he capered + before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had a wire in + it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!” exclaimed his Majesty, clapping + his hands. “If I had met thee I’d have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep + you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there.” + </p> + <p> + The Queen obeyed and, returned, said— + </p> + <p> + “There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark, + with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then we’ll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan, go + you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring, + driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will be + bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?” + </p> + <p> + Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat. + </p> + <p> + “Now open the door and stand on one side,” said the King. + </p> + <p> + Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall beyond + there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the bishop + panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and last of all + the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown, could not run so + fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed. No heed did they take + of the King’s Majesty or of aught else, whose only thought was flight as + they tore down the chamber to the farther door. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, noble, noble!” hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter. + “Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork,” and having the royal + command Bolle obeyed with zeal. + </p> + <p> + In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone, only Thomas + in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not laughed + for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for witchcraft. + Now,” he added, changing his tone, “off with that mummery, and, Cromwell, + go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere tales fly round + the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time for all things. + Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen’s arms, + where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with him. + </p> + <p> + “You are asking much of us,” he said suddenly, searching her with a shrewd + glance, “relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or your face, + which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap more than + others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and a brave, he + fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if he still + lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy, Maldon, is + ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for he would set + her beneath the heel of Spain. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away + strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the + fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows he + has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as after + all why should he not since it is a dull world? You’ll say, too, that he + takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay before him + with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that’s the lot of + monarchs who have but one man’s brain and one man’s time; who needs must + trust their slaves until these become their masters, and there is naught + left,” here his face grew fierce, “save to kill them, and find more and + worse. New servants, new wives,” and he glanced at Jane, who was not + listening, “new friends, false, false, all three of them, new foes, and at + the last old Death to round it off. Such has been the lot of kings from + David down, and such I think it shall always be.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, “I know + not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that young + though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick heart. + Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you might + think, and I forget nothing—that’s my gift. Dame Harflete, you are + richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much of me. + Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it; but these + wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have befriended + you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for others who had + shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of a sentence + passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return for a loan of + a pitiful £1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete, one would think that + your father had been a chapman, not rough John Foterell, you who can drive + so shrewd a bargain with your King’s necessities.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire, Sire,” broke in Cicely in confusion, “I have no more, my lands are + wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband’s hall is burnt by his soldiers, my + first year’s rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised——” + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “To whom?” he thundered. “Answer, Madam.” + </p> + <p> + “To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it, + the snuffling rogue.” + </p> + <p> + “The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that £1000, and + I have no more.” + </p> + <p> + “A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell? He + did not bring you here for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Liege, my Liege,” said Cicely, sinking to her knees, “ask not a + helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore + and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more + than I know.” + </p> + <p> + “And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us, + have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now, + Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Sire,” said Jacob, “that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady’s + jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire, there + is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please the Queen + to wear. Here it is,” and he laid it upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a lovely thing,” said Jane; “never have I seen its like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we cannot + pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve the + liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it is no + time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and sell it, + Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and add the price + to the £1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now, Dame Harflete, + you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever else may, I’ll not + lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been long.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself in + hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless he’ll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham + devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have made + examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of them. + Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all for + nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered how you + grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. <i>He</i> took + bribes, Cromwell!” + </p> + <p> + “My Liege,” he answered in a low voice, “this case was cruel, it moved my + pity——” + </p> + <p> + “As it has ours, leaving us the richer by £1000 and the price of a pearl. + There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the Lady + Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong or + omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This is our + command—note it, Cromwell—that all things be done quickly as + occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and patents + which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room. Also, + that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from the Lady + Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we create and + name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child, as to any of + these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt thereof, shall pay + into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete may have promised to + him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that our words are carried + out, lest it be the worse for you.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the King’s + eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen the + coveted pearl disappear into Jacob’s pocket, thrust back the child into + Cicely’s arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the King, + followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door behind + her. + </p> + <p> + “Her Grace is cross because that gem—your gem, Lady Harflete—was + refused to her,” said Henry, then added in an angry growl, “‘Fore God! + does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am + troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and + she’d let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king’s fancy and + a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again, head + and all, if it stick too tight. And then where’s your queen? Pest upon + women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete, you’d + not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I think, + or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well for you, + and that’s why you are gentle and loving.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have + suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of marriage + I am wife or widow.” + </p> + <p> + “Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a + nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult. + Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to + comfort you and serve his King. At least he’ll be no Spaniard’s tool and + Pope’s plotter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my murdered + father did.” + </p> + <p> + “We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those + writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two with + her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can hold a + sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide here and + let others do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Bide here, your Grace,” answered Thomas promptly. “‘Twixt Wash and Humber + is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at night, + none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for a horse + on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why, they’d + laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England with a girl + child on its throne?” and he stared hard at Cromwell’s back. + </p> + <p> + “Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin,” muttered the + King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on his + writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. “Thomas Bolle, I said + that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is there + aught you would have in payment for your counsel—save money, for + that we have none?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of + Blossholme, and leave to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “To marry whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Her, Sire,” and he pointed to Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay, + woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom and + her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when the + chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us, you + are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you also, + my fair Lady of Blossholme.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE VOICE IN THE FOREST + </h3> + <p> + The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after the + deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command. + </p> + <p> + “Have we done well, have we done well?” asked Jacob, rubbing his hands. + </p> + <p> + “It would seem so, Master Smith,” replied Cicely, “thanks to you; that is, + if all the King said is really in those writings.” + </p> + <p> + “It is there sure enough,” said Jacob; “for know, that with the aid of a + lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord Cromwell’s + office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we worked with + no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late by the clock, + for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I’ll read them through + again, and if aught is left out we will have it righted, though these are + the same parchments, for I set a secret mark upon them.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” said Cicely, “leave well alone. His Grace’s mood may change, + or the Queen—that matter of the pearl.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But there + was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our honour is + on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for if the most of + your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and other things. + Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin Stower has got a + husband——” + </p> + <p> + Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in wrath—— + </p> + <p> + “Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot at + yonder King’s bidding?” she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at Bolle, + who stood in the corner. “Who gave you the right, Thomas, to demand me in + marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years ago, + down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of Blossholme + Priory before I began to play the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the + King’s presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and + never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by + his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh, if + ever we do marry, I’ll prove his words.” + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best stay + so,” answered Thomas calmly. “Yet, why you should fret because you must + keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave to + marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for you and + your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill, seeing that + now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and comfort. If you + are not content, why then, the King was right, and I’m a fool, and so + good-bye, I’ll trouble you no more in fair weather or in foul. I have + leave to marry, and there are other women in the world should I need one.” + </p> + <p> + “Tread on their tails and even worms will turn,” soliloquized Jacob, while + Emlyn burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the + room. + </p> + <p> + Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound of + a voice crying— + </p> + <p> + “In the King’s name! In the King’s name, open!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s Commissioner Legh,” said Thomas. “I learned the cry from him, and + it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob shovelled + the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the Commissioner, to + whom some one had opened. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this I hear?” he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a + turkey cock’s. “That you have been working behind my back; that you have + told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that I + am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench, would + to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus.” + </p> + <p> + “If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely all + of us will soon burn,” said Jacob suavely. “The Lady Harflete said nothing + that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was present, and + among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole? Come, come, drink a + cup of wine and be calm.” + </p> + <p> + But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be + calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially + Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length + he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who all + this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the neck. + </p> + <p> + “In the King’s name!” he said, “nay, complain not, ‘tis your own cry and I + have warrant for it,” and he knocked Legh’s head against the door-post. + “In the King’s name, get out of this,” and he gave him such a kick as + never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the passage. + “For the third time in the King’s name!” and he hurled him out in a heap + into the courtyard. “Begone, and know if ever I see your pudding face + again, in the King’s name, I’ll break your neck!” + </p> + <p> + Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due + course she paid him her first year’s rent, nor ever asked who took the + benefit. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas,” said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that + farewell kick, “the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill + thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,” and she + gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the supper. + </p> + <p> + While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came + another knock. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Thomas,” said Jacob, “and say we see none to-night.” + </p> + <p> + So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a + cloaked man, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny,” whereon they all rose, thinking + in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost as mighty + in England for a while—the Lord Cromwell. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, “and if you + will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I need + them, who have been hard-worked to-day.” + </p> + <p> + So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of many + things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the + Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he + believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels after + all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when he had + done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and said— + </p> + <p> + “Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this day, + for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace’s temper + has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that you did + not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put to you + urgently.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lord,” said Cicely, “you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed me + further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,” and she + told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending. + </p> + <p> + “A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,” + replied Cromwell. “Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with a + bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I’ll not forget your + faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a + slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as + great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may, + not knowing who will gather.” + </p> + <p> + He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh— + </p> + <p> + “The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may yet + die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a bond that + will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King’s hands to give. A black + storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret, the fury of it + may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away with you to any + land where you are not known, for then after this day’s work here a rope + will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike Anne who is gone, is + a friend to the party of the Church, and though she affects to care little + for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and therefore against you, + its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could spare which I might take + to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master Smith here swore to me was + not to be found in the whole world when he showed me its fellow, it must + be sold as the King commanded,” and he looked at Jacob somewhat sourly. + </p> + <p> + Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with a + brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small + rubies. + </p> + <p> + “Take her this with my duty, my Lord,” said Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as well + as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and where to + cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you that + perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher + Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Lord,” she cried, “then where is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed, from + Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him fast at + Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of their + company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a letter to + the King’s captain in those parts, which has reached me this night. Here + it is, do you know the writing?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye,” gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and + worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the + evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “To the Captain of the King’s Forces outside Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + “This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all others, + that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes, his servant, + when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from Spain, were + taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here to Lincoln. + These men would win me to their party because the name of Harflete is + still strong and known. So violent were they that we have taken some kind + of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only did to save my life, + having no heart that way who am a loyal man and understand little of their + quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to me who have lost wife, lands + and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged upon the murderous Abbot of + Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my breath in me and to escape. + </p> + <p> + “I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within fifty + miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but if so, + say to the King, that Harflete died faithful. + </p> + <p> + “Christopher Harflete. + </p> + <p> + “Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lord,” said Cicely, “what shall I do, my Lord?” + </p> + <p> + “There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best. + Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter + to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master + Smith.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell thought. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said presently. “Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all of + that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good names + yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye, that I can do,” broke in Bolle. “In a week I will have a + hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and + name me captain and you’ll see.” + </p> + <p> + “The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at this + house by nine of the clock to-morrow,” answered Cromwell. “The money you + must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob Smith. Yet + pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the risk,” she answered, “but what do I care for risks who have + taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?” + </p> + <p> + “An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,” remarked + Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote <i>vera copia</i> for his Lordship’s + signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher’s letter, shook his + head sadly. + </p> + <p> + In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the + two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger + matters waiting his attention. + </p> + <p> + Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith she + never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been + concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning and + his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later the + Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter and his + other decorations off his person and he was haled from the Council to the + Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy, to perish a + criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well, for he kept all + his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also was to send her back + the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe from Jacob Smith, with a + message to the effect that he was sure it would become her more than it + had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a better fortune. + </p> + <p> + When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were + leaving his house upon the morrow. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not said so?” she asked, with impatience. “Knowing what I know how + could I stay in London? Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of twenty + marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need money for + our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin.” + </p> + <p> + “Our journey?” said Cicely. “Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?” + </p> + <p> + “With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no shilling + left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven. Also I need + a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme, where I was + born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow I have much to + do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in pawn must be set + in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies should be made, and + that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So at what hour do we + ride on this mad errand?” + </p> + <p> + “At eleven of the clock,” answered Cicely, “if the King’s safe-conduct and + commission have come by then.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for + there’ll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to the + stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed.” + </p> + <p> + On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to + do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come + to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of dreams, + dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of Cromwell, + who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner Legh, who + dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe. + </p> + <p> + But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was + so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands + of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead. + </p> + <p> + From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears. Could + it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate waited + to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to lean on, + that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile, she was sure + that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell or to + Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as fast as + horses could carry her. + </p> + <p> + Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of + Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left undone. + The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they were a party + of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to London as to an + inheritance in which they were interested, especially Cicely, who posed as + a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which they varied from time + to time according to circumstances. In some ways their minds were more at + ease than when they travelled to the great city, for now at least they + were clear of the horrid company of Commissioner Legh and his people, nor + were they haunted by the knowledge that they had about them jewels of + great price. All these jewels were left behind in safe keeping, as were + also the writings under the King’s hand and seal, of which they only took + attested copies, and with them the commission that Cromwell had duly sent + to Cicely addressed to her husband and herself, and Bolle’s certificate of + captaincy. These they hid in their boots or the linings of their vests, + together with such money as was necessary for the costs of travel. + </p> + <p> + Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came + unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there. + Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that it + would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in despair, + for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the King’s horse + arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever he might lie in + Lincolnshire. + </p> + <p> + To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King’s commission, + revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace’s officers + and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said that he would + give them escort until their roads separated. So next day they went on + again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom there were about + a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been warned that he who + insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged, they did them no harm. + It was well, indeed, that they had their protection, for they found the + country through which they passed up in arms, and were more than once + threatened by mobs of peasants, led by priests, who would have attacked + them had they dared. + </p> + <p> + For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the + evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an + inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that + Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he + had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were citizens + of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful, perhaps because + so few people lived in them, started forward by themselves under the + guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through that country, buying or + selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was it to travel in also in that + wet autumn, seeing that in many places the floods were out and the tracks + were like a quagmire. The first night they spent in a marshman’s hut, + listening to the pouring rain and fearing fever and ague, especially for + the boy. The next day, by good fortune, they reached higher land and slept + at a tavern. + </p> + <p> + Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of rebellion, + sought to know their business. For a while things were dangerous, but + Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that they were scarcely to + be feared who travelled with two women and a babe, adding that he was a + lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a serving-man for dread of + the King’s party. Jacob Smith also called for ale and drank with them to + the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as their revolt was named. + </p> + <p> + In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another. Moreover, + they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained undisturbed, + although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey and stored it + with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the revolt in the + neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he might have a strong + place to fall back on. + </p> + <p> + So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger + passed by. + </p> + <p> + Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by + sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not to be, + for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay about two + miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had to ride + many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it was already + well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of forest in which + the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the woodland road, + towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen. Weary as she was, + Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar. + </p> + <p> + “I know this place,” she said. “Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill dream + I had on that day I lost my father.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not wonderful,” answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying the + child, “seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him. Look, + yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black mane.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Lady,” broke in Bolle, “and there he lies also where he fell; they + buried him with never a Christian prayer,” and he pointed to a little + careless mound between two willows. + </p> + <p> + “Jesus, have mercy on his soul!” said Cicely, crossing herself. “Now, if I + live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme + church and build a fair monument to his memory.” + </p> + <p> + This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument + remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with + the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while + round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away. + </p> + <p> + While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for + the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his + ears. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Horses galloping—many horses, master,” he answered; “yes, and + riders on them. Listen.” + </p> + <p> + They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse’s hoofs and the + shouts of men. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, quick,” said Bolle, “follow me. I know where we may hide,” and he + led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew about + two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four tracks + crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are young, as + every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and winter, this + place was very close, and hid them completely. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light of + the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had + followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King’s Grave + Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour + mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin + mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance of + not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of + pursuers. + </p> + <p> + “Escaped prisoners being run down,” muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no + heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey + horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her. + </p> + <p> + She leaned forward on her beast’s neck, staring with all her eyes. Now the + two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned his + face to his companion and called cheerily— + </p> + <p> + “We gain! We’ll slip them yet, Jeffrey.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely saw the face. + </p> + <p> + “Christopher!” she cried; “<i>Christopher!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher—for it was + he—had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made + quick by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him + shout to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance. + They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then + perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at his + heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too late! + Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they were + surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords flashed + in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on an outrun + fox. They went down—they vanished. + </p> + <p> + Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others + held her back. + </p> + <p> + At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to + look. Ten minutes later he returned. + </p> + <p> + “All have gone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he is dead!” wailed Cicely. “This fatal place has robbed me of father + and of husband.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” answered Bolle. “I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of a + man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven + that women could learn when to keep silent!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR + </h3> + <p> + The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and + mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates of + Blossholme Priory. + </p> + <p> + “Pray God the nuns are still here,” said Emlyn, who held the child, “for + if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think that + she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a wall.” + </p> + <p> + Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was + opened and a trembling woman’s voice asked who was there. + </p> + <p> + “That’s Mother Matilda,” said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she ran + to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns came, + and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the gardener + either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it into the + courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really come again, + there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak, so they made + her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room, where sleep of + some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the clock. Emlyn, + looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking with Mother + Matilda. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, “has aught been heard of + my husband?” + </p> + <p> + They shook their heads, and the Prioress said— + </p> + <p> + “First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which + is little.” + </p> + <p> + So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress + herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only + confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey was + fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the north + or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away. + </p> + <p> + Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that he + had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night, but + of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the heavy rain + that was still falling had washed out all traces of them. Moreover, in + those times people were always moving to and fro in the dark, and none + could know if this troop had anything to do with the band they had seen in + the forest, which might have gone some other way. + </p> + <p> + When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda’s + private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Harflete,” said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to + lose, “things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we have + the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn it at the + Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not defensible. + Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there it seems is a deep + moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton, therefore, you must go at + once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has been there already, and + spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can trust, who are now hard at + work preparing and victualling the place, and passing on the word to + others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty strong men to defend it, and + within three days a hundred, when your commission and his captaincy are + made known. Come, then, for there is no time to tarry and the horses are + saddled.” + </p> + <p> + So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she + had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five + minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and riding + through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three miles away. + Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory unobserved, for in + that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at the Abbey, if there were + any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So thankfully enough they came + unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton, which Cicely had last seen when + she fled thence to Cranwell on the day of her marriage, oh, years and + years ago, or so it seemed to her tormented heart. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over the + drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to the + familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom Bolle + had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen willing + women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there was + plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people, + who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To + these at once Jacob read the King’s commission, showing them the signet + and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a captain + with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed to put a + great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the support of + authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and their lady, + Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he were dead, his + child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off, this way and that, + to gather men in the King’s name, while the rest stayed to guard the Hall + and work at its defences. + </p> + <p> + By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts + loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could be + killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names upon + a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in. Indeed + that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of many + more. + </p> + <p> + By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and the + smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single spy + appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to return + an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried a banner + on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage of Grace. These + men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall, apparently with the + object of attacking it, then seeing that the drawbridge was up and that + archers with bent bows stood on either side, halted and sent forward one + of their number with a white flag to parley. + </p> + <p> + “Who holds Shefton,” shouted this man, “and for what cause?” + </p> + <p> + “The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause of + the King,” called old Jacob Smith back to him. + </p> + <p> + “By what warrant?” asked the man. “The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of + Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery.” + </p> + <p> + “By warrant of the King’s Grace,” said Jacob, and then and there at the + top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the envoy + had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a while they + hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end rode away + and were seen no more. + </p> + <p> + Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the + cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into some + ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place + defenceless. + </p> + <p> + So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much + strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the + Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a + few monks, for most of these had fled. + </p> + <p> + That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper + room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher + paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a + hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become + him very ill. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this, friend?” asked Jacob. + </p> + <p> + “An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is weary + of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King’s comfort and pardon, + which I have made bold to promise to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Jacob, “I’ll enter his name, and if he remains faithful your + promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he bears tidings.” + </p> + <p> + Now something in Bolle’s voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to + look up sharply and say— + </p> + <p> + “Speak, and be swift.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lady,” began the man in a slow voice, “I, who am named Basil in + religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to the + King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just + returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know not + what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his servant + Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they were + brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them and + afterwards rode on.” + </p> + <p> + “Prisoners!” exclaimed Cicely. “Then he is not dead or wounded? At least + he is whole and safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it is + eaten.” + </p> + <p> + The blood left Cicely’s cheeks. In her mind’s eye she saw Abbot Maldon + turned into a great cat with a monk’s head and patting Christopher with + his claws. + </p> + <p> + “My fault, my fault!” she said in a heavy voice. “Oh, if I had not called + him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” answered Brother Basil. “There were others watching + for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came + to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save + him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know that I live?” asked Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for news. Yet + the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir Christopher told + him that he had been undone by some ghost which called to him with the + voice of his dead wife as he rode near King’s Grave Mount.” + </p> + <p> + Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by + Emlyn, for she could bear no more. + </p> + <p> + But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many + matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under + guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans + with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time. + </p> + <p> + Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it + seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay. + </p> + <p> + “But my husband lies there,” she answered in distress, “and then they will + kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “So I fear they may if we do not attack,” replied Jacob. “Moreover, Lady, + to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For instance, + the King’s cause and honour, which we are bound to forward, and the lives + and goods of all those who through us have declared themselves for him. If + we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to the north and within a + few days bring down thousands upon us, against whom we cannot hope to + stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has already sent. But if they hear + that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will scarcely come for revenge alone. + Lastly, if we sit with folded hands, our own people may grow cold with + doubts and fears and melt away, who now are hot as fire.” + </p> + <p> + “If it must be, so let it be. In God’s hands I leave his life,” said + Cicely in a heavy voice. + </p> + <p> + That day the King’s men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and + invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely, who + would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her + quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to her, + its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He was set + to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour so hard + before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that he did not + lack for tasks that were mean and heavy. + </p> + <p> + Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking + their heads, for without cannon—and as yet they had none—the + great building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot + indeed was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and + farm steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been + built up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the + Abbey wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry + that several rods of it had fallen forward into the water. + </p> + <p> + For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double + palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams of the + old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade, protected as + it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the windows and the + corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it could be done at + all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One thing they had + learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in the Abbey there + was but small store of food to feed so many: three days’ supply, said + Basil, and none put it at over four. + </p> + <p> + That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was determined + to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if their spies + reported to them that the rebels were marching to its relief. + </p> + <p> + “But,” urged Cicely, “then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,” + whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that they + were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake. + </p> + <p> + The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell + Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the + walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of the + besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly they let + down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a sortie, but + when they perceived the scores of Bolle’s men waiting bow in hand and + arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up again. + </p> + <p> + “They grow hungry and desperate,” said the shrewd Jacob. “Soon we shall + have some message from them.” + </p> + <p> + He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a + man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the + moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog, and + advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey green + out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak with dread + and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that had never been + removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for witchcraft. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that man?” said Emlyn to her. + </p> + <p> + Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one + that is sick. + </p> + <p> + “I know not—yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!” + </p> + <p> + “Jeffrey it is and no other,” said Emlyn, nodding her head. “Now what news + does he bear, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such a + heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his brands + to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken eyes fell + upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making his face look + even more long and hollow than it had before. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, speaking to himself, “many wars and journeyings, months in + an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and a + bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse, turn + men’s brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight ghost in + homely Blossholme, who never met with one before.” + </p> + <p> + Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added, “Lay-brother + or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days, if you’re not a + ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of bread, for I’m + empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to speak, who would + stick upon this scurvy earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeffrey, Jeffrey,” broke in Cicely, “what news of your master? Emlyn, + tell him that we still live. He does not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you still live, do you?” he added slowly. “So the fire could not burn + you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there’s hope for every one, + and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon’s knives cannot kill Christopher + Harflete.” + </p> + <p> + “He lives, then, and is well?” + </p> + <p> + “He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days’ fast in a + black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here’s a writing on the matter for + the captain of this company,” and, taking a letter from the folds of the + white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as + he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought + the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat + and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great gulps + and devouring the food almost without chewing it. + </p> + <p> + “By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey,” said a yeoman who stood by. + “Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take + harm,” and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows, + read it aloud. It ran thus— + </p> + <p> + “To the Captain of the King’s men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme. + </p> + <p> + “By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey + and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell is + your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man she + calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child, a + prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a writing + signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King for me and + those with me for all that we may have done against him and his laws, or + privately against her, and freedom to go where we will without pursuit or + hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that to-morrow at the dawn we + put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in punishment of the murders + and other crimes that he has committed against us, and in proof thereof + his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If otherwise we will leave + him unharmed here where you shall find him after we have gone. For the + rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we send to you with this + letter. + </p> + <p> + “Clement, Abbot.” + </p> + <p> + Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to some private place and consider this matter,” said Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” broke in Cicely, “it is I, who in my lord’s absence, hold the + King’s commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man + under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir + Christopher Harflete I’ll put every living soul within the Abbey walls to + death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King. Set it in + writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King’s commission for + my warrant. At once, let it be done at once.” + </p> + <p> + So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house, + where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by + Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This paper, + together with a copy of the King’s commissions, Cicely with her own hand + gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who departed, + carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his doublet, for + fear of treachery. + </p> + <p> + When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments + and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us all,” said Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your + worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of + his murder——” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” interrupted Cicely, “that may stand, we have no time. My lord + and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were taken in + the forest?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard + and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though + without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust + us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water, + we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale.” + </p> + <p> + “How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?” + </p> + <p> + “Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards + unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls in + the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the camp + of the King’s party to offer Christopher Harflete’s life against the lives + of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had brought ink and + paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do well to write a + letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since otherwise he would + certainly die at dawn.” + </p> + <p> + “And what said my husband?” asked Cicely, leaning forward. + </p> + <p> + “What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first he + would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon roughly + enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But as the door + closed he shouted after me, ‘Tell the King’s officers to burn this rats’ + nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who desires to die!’” + </p> + <p> + “Why does he desire to die?” asked Cicely again. + </p> + <p> + “Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that in + the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh God! oh God!” moaned Cicely; “I shall be his death.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” answered Jeffrey. “Do you know so little of Christopher Harflete + that you think he would sell the King’s cause to gain his own life? Why, + if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you away, + saying, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it, and I am proud,” muttered Cicely. “If need be, let Harflete + die, we’ll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to curse us. Go + on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have, + and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he + lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore + that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken, + Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow’s dawn, adding, + though I knew not what he meant, ‘I think you’ll find one yonder who will + listen to that reasoning.’ Now he was dismissing me when a soldier said— + </p> + <p> + “‘Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he is + alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and will + bear evidence.’ ‘Aye,’ answered Maldon, ‘I had forgotten who in this press + remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still, perhaps it + would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence this fellow + at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove to escape and + was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence and let me hear + no more.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man + may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him + prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off, Brother + Martin—do you remember him? he was our companion in some troubles + over-seas—stepped forward out of the shadow and said, ‘Of what use + is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John + Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any one + of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he’ll not hark back + to Foterell’s death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that matter.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You speak roughly, Brother,’ answered the Abbot; ‘and acts of war are + not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to save + your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there’s wisdom in your words. + Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the moat to + swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living, and + now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete’s life is worth so + much,” and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat. + </p> + <p> + Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him—this gaunt, fierce man + who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a + black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black + bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of them, + who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon at the + dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey’s munching to break it, grew painful, + so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger whom they had + sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run fast, and + somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking in his back, + or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped them. + </p> + <p> + “Speak,” said old Jacob Smith; “what is your answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Look behind me, master, and you will find it,” replied the man. “They set + a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest tripped + to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a voice hail + me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon standing + there, with a face like that of a black devil. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hark you, knave,’ he said to me, ‘get you gone to the witch, Cicely + Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and excommunicate + from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch for the first + light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they’ll see Christopher + Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!’ + </p> + <p> + “On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back— + </p> + <p> + “‘If so, ere to-morrow’s nightfall you shall keep him company, every one + of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be quartered + at Tower Hill and Tyburn.’ Then I ran and they shot at me, hitting once or + twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am I, unhurt except + for bruises.” + </p> + <p> + A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and Emlyn + Stower sat together taking counsel—very earnest counsel, for the + case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside for + this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other emptily. + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn,” exclaimed Cicely at last, “in past days you were wont to be full + of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?” for all the + while Emlyn had sat silent. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas,” said Emlyn, looking up, “do you remember when we were children + where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, woman,” he answered; “but what time is this for fishing stories of + many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no + hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked—I’ve tried + it. If we had a week, perhaps——” + </p> + <p> + “Let her be,” broke in Jacob; “she has something to tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you remember,” went on Emlyn, “that you told me that there the + carp were so big and fat because just at this place ‘neath the drawbridge + the Abbey sewer—the big Abbey sewer down which all foul things are + poured—empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I would eat + none of those fish, even in Lent?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I remember. What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier’s van, of a hundredweight + each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon + has not come—for the King’s folk had none—it is of no use.” + </p> + <p> + “A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two + hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate, a + slow-match and a brave man to fire it—taken together with God’s + blessing, these things might do much,” mused Emlyn, as though to herself. + </p> + <p> + Now at length they took her point. + </p> + <p> + “They’d be listening like a cat for a mouse,” said Bolle. + </p> + <p> + “I think the wind rises,” she answered; “I hear it in the trees. I think + presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back + where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to + attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would try + our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder—he to roll and I to + fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I + understand how to humour brimstone.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and, in + the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the towering + screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey rolled the + kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the mouth of the big + drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the gateway towers! + Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the spigots out of + holes that they had made in them, and in their place set the slow-matches. + Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and handed it to Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Now get you gone,” she said; “I follow. At this job one is better than + two.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. “Run!” she + said. “Run for your life; there’s death behind!” + </p> + <p> + He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the + gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see what + passed. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Storm! storm!</i>” she cried. “<i>Up with the ladders! For the King and + Harflete! Storm! storm!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Then she too turned and fled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + OUT OF THE SHADOWS + </h3> + <p> + Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire + illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale + there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder. Then + after a moment’s pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with them + the limbs of men. + </p> + <p> + “The gateway’s gone,” shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. “Out + with the ladders!” + </p> + <p> + Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all, + athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves they + scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the + courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were + dead or maimed. + </p> + <p> + “Light the lanterns,” shouted Bolle again, “for it will be dark in + yonder,” and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him. + </p> + <p> + Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory, which + stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass of + Maldon’s people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had been + gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For a + moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed a wild + and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they fought + furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red flicker + of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew each other upon + the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen crucifix, and next + moment himself was brained with its broken shaft. + </p> + <p> + “For God and Grace!” shouted some; “For the King and Harflete!” answered + others. + </p> + <p> + “Keep line! Keep line!” roared Bolle, “and sweep them out.” + </p> + <p> + The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained, a + red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew + friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the blaze + ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted, the + Abbot’s folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by their + foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the doorway + and were cut down there or on the stair beyond. + </p> + <p> + While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and + screamed into his ear— + </p> + <p> + “Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped.” + </p> + <p> + In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare + that it was Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “What do you here?” he cried. “Get gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool,” she answered in a low, fierce voice, “I seek my husband. Show me + the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a + lantern, a lantern!” + </p> + <p> + Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with him + Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen man, + Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the moat. + </p> + <p> + “I may not leave,” muttered Thomas Bolle. “I seek Maldon.” + </p> + <p> + “On to the dungeons,” shrieked Emlyn, “or I will stab you. I heard them + give word to kill Harflete.” + </p> + <p> + Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey’s hand, and crying “Follow me,” + rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to + stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran + underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little + walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders in + the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful + sight. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide, + revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond—those who are + curious can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this + dungeon was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at + his chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway, + stood a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was + wounded, for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword + with both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down. + As Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the + priest’s blows, and another took his place, shouting— + </p> + <p> + “Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you.” + </p> + <p> + “We die or live together, murderers,” answered the priest in a thick, + gasping voice. + </p> + <p> + At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound of + the rescuers’ footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and was + running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern fell + upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck at him + with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He also + struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Seize him,” screamed Emlyn. “Seize Maldon, Jeffrey,” and at the words + Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the dark + passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining men-at-arms + as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and the sword of the + priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still fighting, who knew + they had no hope of quarter. + </p> + <p> + It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the silence + of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who remained + alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his red sword + drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted, rested his + weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement, swaying as + though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain men, one of + whom still moved a little. + </p> + <p> + Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till she + stood face to face with the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Come nearer and I will dash out your brains,” he said in a hoarse voice, + for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought to be but + another of the murderers. + </p> + <p> + Then at length she found her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Christopher!” she cried, “Christopher!” + </p> + <p> + He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand. + </p> + <p> + “The Voice again,” he muttered. “Well, ‘tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I + come, I come!” and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes. + </p> + <p> + She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his + poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened. + </p> + <p> + “Death might be worse,” he said, “but so I knew that we would meet.” + </p> + <p> + Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches + from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on + Cicely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Christopher,” she cried, “I am no ghost, but your living wife.” + </p> + <p> + He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and + stroked her hair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh God,” he exclaimed, “the dead live!” and down he fell in a heap at her + feet. + </p> + <p> + They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who + thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they + broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and bore + him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead as guard and + Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn supporting the + wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had saved the life of + Christopher. + </p> + <p> + As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise. + </p> + <p> + “Fire!” said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the light + of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey was + ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell. + </p> + <p> + “Did I not prophesy that it would be so—yonder at Cranwell burning?” + asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Follow me!” shouted Bolle. “Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps + us.” + </p> + <p> + On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for + them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which + they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from + above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even a + minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were + through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those who + fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the + breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted + till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised + to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at last + they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him once + again. + </p> + <p> + For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him to + the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it still + beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that Portugal + wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by spoonful she + poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his eyes, though only + to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had taken a hold of his + starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour Cicely sat by him, + only rising from time to time to watch the burning of the great Abbey + church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and farm-steading. + </p> + <p> + About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery + molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a + fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak Emlyn + came to her, saying— + </p> + <p> + “There is one who would speak with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see him,” she answered, “I bide by my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you should,” said Emlyn, “since but for him you would now have no + husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and desires + to bid you farewell.” + </p> + <p> + Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with the + flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they had. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to thank you,” she murmured, who knew not what else to say. + </p> + <p> + “Thank me not,” he answered faintly, pausing often between his words, “who + did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared in + awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was set to + watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my help he was + borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels, and + afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys. There + I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who brought + you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower. My vows + still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their bonds, for + when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran down before the + murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a priest, till at + length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my Country, my King and + you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad to do who find this + world—too difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell him if he lives,” sobbed Cicely. + </p> + <p> + He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’ll live, he’ll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for the + creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know.” + </p> + <p> + Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till of + a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones— + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot—show him mercy—if you can. He is wicked and cruel, + but I have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end—by + an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King’s lawful wife. To seize the + monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees + otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I have + helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!” and he + raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “I promise,” answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his + face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment + later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished. + </p> + <p> + Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a + bowl of broth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my husband, my husband,” she said, casting her arms about him. Then + she took her son and laid him upon his father’s breast. + </p> + <p> + Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the + shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost + recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which joy + and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and + beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench + he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale + worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that is + still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a book, + though this it would seem was never done. + </p> + <p> + He told her of the great fight on the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, when + they were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father + Martin bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good + fortune Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell + sick of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where + they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four + months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell, through + God’s mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves, after + which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John’s writings to be + delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead. + </p> + <p> + But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to + fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so + sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England, not + knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the Spanish + Abbot of Blossholme, and—well, she knew the rest. + </p> + <p> + Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it was + chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher laughed + at her, and answered— + </p> + <p> + “Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot to + sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound which + I had of Maldon’s men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious for me + here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father Martin, + for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us together, + perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days that + scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars, while + infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with their + whips of hide. Yes,” he added slowly, “they thrashed us as though we were + oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God! to think of it,” she murmured; “you, a noble Englishman, beaten + by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it, Christopher?” + </p> + <p> + “I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man’s + form, the priest Martin—peace be to his noble soul—that angel + who thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains + against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors to + kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But Martin + taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission, saying that I + did not suffer for nothing—of his own miseries he never spoke—and + that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things worked together + for good to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I’ll build a shrine + to that saint Martin.” + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether, dear. I’ll tell you true; I lived for vengeance—vengeance + on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who wrought me all this ill, + and, being yet young, made me old with grief and pain,” and he pointed to + his scarred forehead and the hair above, that was now grizzled with white, + “and vengeance, too, upon those worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes; + though Martin reproved me when I made confession to him, I think it was + for that I lived, and the saints know,” he added grimly, “afterwards at + the sack, and elsewhere, I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen + the last meeting of Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and + his officers who had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it, + for it was fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind—for during + all his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew + gloomy for hours, and even days—Cicely said hurriedly— + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been + close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for + all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in + the fire, Christopher.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh murders—perhaps + our own and our boy’s. Oh!” he added savagely, “till my hands are about + his throat and my dagger is in his heart there’s no peace for me, who have + a score to pay and you both to guard.” + </p> + <p> + Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it was + hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and, like + herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their winter + chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead leaf drop + to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from the set sun + struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth. In the light + of that ray Christopher’s trained eyes caught the gleam of something white + that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they sat. Like a tiger he + sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell on + it. “Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw him, and + here he is at last—at last!” + </p> + <p> + “The Abbot!” gasped Cicely. + </p> + <p> + The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured + countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow skin, + in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large. His tonsure + and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had become weak + and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a woman dead of + some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged with dirt. The + mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes was gone, and the + toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a living misery. + </p> + <p> + “Deliver your arms,” growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier shakes + a rat, “or you die. Do you yield? Answer!” + </p> + <p> + “How can he,” broke in Cicely, “when you have him by the throat?” + </p> + <p> + Christopher loosed his grip of the man’s windpipe, and instead seized his + wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost choked, + and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication. + </p> + <p> + “I came to you for mercy,” he said presently, “but, having overheard your + talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who showed + none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I fought and + lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a gentleman, and + therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to be drawn, hanged + and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can say that I attacked + you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no arms, but you may set + a dagger in my hand.” + </p> + <p> + Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Who would believe me?” he asked; “though, indeed, who would question, + seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that is + a matter of which the King’s Justices shall judge.” + </p> + <p> + Maldon shivered. “Drawn, hanged and quartered,” he repeated beneath his + breath. “Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never served!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Christopher. “You have played a cruel game, and lost.” + </p> + <p> + He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying— + </p> + <p> + “How came you in such a case? We thought you fled.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady,” he answered, “I’ve starved for three days and nights in a hole in + the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me. At + last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking, and + thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” said Cicely. “Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not + English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot + against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve for + three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to + massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him + wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill my + babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots, and + bind me, the mother, to the stake—a food for fire? Did you not shoot + down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you traitor, and + after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks to work evil + and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm dressed up as + God’s priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?” + </p> + <p> + “I said I <i>came</i> to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless + hunger drove me, who <i>now</i> seek only death. Insult not the fallen, + Cicely Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill,” + replied the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a + laugh that sounded like a groan, “Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a + sword, and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife—if + such she be—said it but now.” + </p> + <p> + “Cicely,” said Christopher, “go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes. + Emlyn will know where to find him.” + </p> + <p> + “Emlyn!” groaned the Abbot. “Give me not over to Emlyn. She’d torture me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Christopher, “this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may + chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife.” + </p> + <p> + But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her + feet. + </p> + <p> + “I bid you go,” repeated Christopher. + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll not obey,” she answered. “Do you remember what I promised Martin + ere he died?” + </p> + <p> + “Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?” exclaimed the + Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. “Happy Martin, to be + dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should + fall into our power, and mercy he shall have.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England, + Wife.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched us + well heretofore, and I think,” she added, with one of her bursts of + triumphant faith, “will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen + Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that + there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or + mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm. + Get you there, and I’ll send you food and wine and new clothing by one who + will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow’s dawn you will be + refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree, and so + away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you afterwards, + know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or of God, with + Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as I do, Who knows + all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say nothing. There is + nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once you obey me, not I + you.” + </p> + <p> + So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and + looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will + ever learn. + </p> + <p> + Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round, was + once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward, whence + came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen no more, and + for a while it was believed that although he never took sanctuary at + Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then Emlyn, who + heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that he was foremost + among those who stirred up sedition and war along the Scottish border. + </p> + <p> + “I can well believe it,” said Cicely. “The sow must to its wallowing in + the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the + end.” + </p> + <p> + “Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head,” answered Emlyn grimly. + “Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose again to + prey on England and on us!” + </p> + <p> + “I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I + thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your + father well and loved not the infidel galleys,” answered the fierce Emlyn. + </p> + <p> + “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” murmured Cicely in a + gentle voice. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man’s blood by man shall his blood + be shed. Why, I’ve heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at Cranwell + Towers.” + </p> + <p> + “So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that cruel + blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my house, for + after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover, I had + promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring trouble on us + all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill thoughts for your + wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes which Jacob Smith has + sent from London, since the clergyman will be at Blossholme church by + four, and I think that Thomas has waited long enough for you.” + </p> + <p> + Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering + something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it, as + Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another room. + </p> + <p> + She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher to + the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much aged + by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful. + </p> + <p> + “See, Sweet,” he said, “we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who + has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know not. + Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours yet, nor + Henry’s either, though doubtless he will have them soon. Neither have any + rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when they come they are + promised up in London, while the Abbot’s razor has shaved my own poor + parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother Matilda and her nuns + must be kept till we can endow them with their lands again. One day we, or + our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it comes there are hard times for + all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so hard as some we have known, Husband,” she answered, laughing, “for + at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will borrow + from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have written to + him and he will not refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?” + </p> + <p> + “They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it, + Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can, while + Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn’s wedding dress. What’s more, I + think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich indeed, so + rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready for this + marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on your mail, + for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my mind look + best in anything you chance to wear.” + </p> + <p> + Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms in + Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord of the + Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder Megges, + she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the sunlight, + danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely’s heart was merry. + </p> + <p> + There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, for + of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came to it + like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint of + happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got + about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming + men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her + will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as a + fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind + skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as + indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be. + </p> + <p> + People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot, + and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off + his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given + the commission of the King, and, as his Grace’s officer, shown himself no + fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and rescued Sir + Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her mistress, had + been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning by this same + Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable events whereof + the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at last after all + these adventures they came together to be wed, and who was there for ten + miles round that would not see it done? + </p> + <p> + The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he + who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances, + and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot of + Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his great + congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle age, Emlyn in + her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his yeoman’s garb of + green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years before he put on + the monk’s russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair at the altar. Or so + folk thought, though some friend of the monks, remembering Bolle’s devil’s + livery and Emlyn’s repute as a sorceress, cried out from the shadow that + Satan was marrying a witch, and for his pains got his head broken by + Jeffrey Stokes. + </p> + <p> + So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the King’s + order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to the + ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and the + pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were to + dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends and + well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of + woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and + lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused a + moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle— + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember this place?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, Wife,” he answered, “it was here that we plighted our troth in + youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak, + and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it + yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its + memory made me mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it,” answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle voice, a + new voice to him. “Well, now let its memory make you happy, as, + notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can,” and swiftly she bent + towards him and kissed him, adding, “Come on, Husband, they press behind + us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore the + King’s colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance. + Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through + the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the + gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces of + them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there by + Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey Stokes, + and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening light, and + all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black + object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower. + </p> + <p> + Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing. + </p> + <p> + It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard. + </p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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