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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. + +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 The parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps +that have superseded the old rollers and buckets, still serve the +place with drinking-water as they have done since the days of the +first Edward, and perhaps for centuries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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?" he asked. "Must I wait your +pleasure from noon to night?" + +"I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?" + +"Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied +to a post and lashed." + +"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." + +Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall +again. + +"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." + +"The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the +Abbey but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess." + +"Aye, that's it, that's it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder crows'- +nest, and at once. Saddle me a horse." + +"Good, master. I'll saddle two horses." + +"Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?" + +"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." + +Sir John looked at him shrewdly. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Be off, sirrah," roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went. + +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. + +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. + +Sir John looked about him and sniffed. + +"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. + +"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." + +"How know you that, Jeffrey?" asked Sir John. + +"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." + +Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath. + +"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." + +"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. + +Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day. + +"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. + +"Benedicite!" said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the +two fingers of his right hand in blessing. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"God's blood! Why?" asked Sir John. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went +white as ashes. + +"Show me that judgment," he said slowly. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two +impassive chaplains glanced at each other. + +"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----" + +"Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!" broke in the +Abbot. "You go too far." + +"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?" + +"Never," answered the Abbot. + +"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?" + +"I deny it all," said the Abbot again. "These be but empty lies bred +of your malice, Sir John Foterell." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Now it seems that we are getting to business," said Jeffrey Stokes, +as, lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between +the monk and the door. + +"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." + +The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old +knight before him. Then he said slowly-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MURDER BY THE MERE + +For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed +loudly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"What do you mean, man?" + +"I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand +and played the fool." + +"Who are you to teach me?" asked Sir John angrily. "I meant that he +should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor." + +"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?" + +"Why not? I'll be there before him." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly +in the new-fallen snow. + +"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." + +"Whom I have forbidden to him," grumbled Sir John, swinging himself +from the saddle. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"If you ask me, I think so," replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he +led away the horses. + +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. + +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. + +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---- + +"Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong." + +"May be," he answered. "So long as you love me I care not what it is." + +"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." + +"Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----" + +Then at last Sir John broke out. + +"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. + +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. + +"Leave go of the maid, sir," he said in a low, fierce voice, "or, by +God! I'll make you." + +"Leave go of the maid?" gasped Sir John. "Why, who holds her tightest, +you or I? Do you leave go of her." + +"Yes, yes, Christopher," she whispered, "ere I am pulled in two." + +Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept +his hold of the brown tress. + +"Now, Sir Christopher," he said, "I am minded to put my sword through +you." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"And never shall he live to take you," muttered Christopher. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"What! Will you steal the girl away?" asked Sir John furiously. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What business, sir?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Swell their wealth!" roared her father. "Nay, I'll stretch their +necks. Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor." + +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. + +"Show the maid a light, Christopher," said Sir John, who, lost in his +own thoughts, was now gazing into the fire. + +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. + +"You will not forget me, even if we must part?" sobbed Cicely. + +"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?" + +"I have ever loved riding," she said meaningly. + +"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?" + +"They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will +come to seek us," and they tore themselves apart. + +"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." + +"Aye," she answered, "without fail," and glided from him like a ghost. + +"Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?" asked Sir John, glancing +at Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned. + +"Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most +wondrous long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them." + +"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?" + +"I understand that you may say so, sir." + +"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." + + + +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. + +"What is it now, girl?" he asked. "You'll take your death of cold +among these draughts." + +"Oh! father," she said, kissing him, "I came to bid you farewell, and +--and--to pray you not to start." + +"Not to start? And why?" + +"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. + +"Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but foolishness-- +coming from the stomach." + +"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." + +"A jolly good morrow indeed," said Sir John, turning a shade paler. +"And now, daughter, what do you make of this business?" + +"I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to +do your business. Sir Christopher, for instance." + +"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. + +She clasped him by the arm. + +"In that sad case what should I do, father?" she asked eagerly. + +He stopped and stared at her up and down. + +"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. + +Thus did Cicely and her father part--for ever. + + + +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. + +At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut. + +"She's up," said Sir John, "let us be going ere the nags grow stiff." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What did that fellow there?" asked Sir John. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then he was a spy watching whither we go," answered Sir John angrily. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"What is it?" asked Sir John. + +"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?" + +"Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a +mile ahead." + +Then Jeffrey broke out. + +"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." + +"Turn you, then," grumbled Sir John indifferently. "I am cold and +weary, and seek my rest." + +"Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder," muttered +Jeffrey, spurring his horse. + +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. + +"Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought," said +Sir John. + +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. + +"Thieves!" shouted Sir John. "At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to +the farm." + +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. + +The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and +vanished again among the thorns. + +"Now ride for it," said Jeffrey. + +"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. + +"Take mine," said Jeffrey; "I'll dodge them afoot." + +"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. + +"Who are these rogues?" he asked. + +"The Abbot's men-at-arms," answered Jeffrey. "I saw the face of him I +spitted." + +Now Sir John's jaw dropped. + +"Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams +well." + +As he spoke an arrow whistled by them. + +"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." + +The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket. + +"How can I leave you to be butchered?" he muttered, grinding his +teeth. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III + +A WEDDING + +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 bout 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What is it, Nurse?" asked Cicely in a shaken voice. "From your look +you bear tidings." + +Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and +answered-- + +"Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet." + +"Quick with them, Emlyn," gasped Cicely. "Who is dead? Christopher?" + +She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding-- + +"Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?" + +"Aye, dear; you are an orphan." + +The girl's head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked-- + +"Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die." + +"A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his +name." + +"I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle," she whispered back. + +"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." + +"From the Abbey?" queried Cicely in the same whisper. + +"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." + +"I'll have his life for it, the coward!" exclaimed Cicely. + +"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." + +"The papers! What papers, Emlyn?" + +She shrugged her broad shoulders. + +"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." + +Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain +"deeds" which he must take with him, and began to sob. + +"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." + +Cicely lifted her tear-stained face. + +"Yes, I have you," she said. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"A wife! To-night!" exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair. +"And my father but just dead! How can it be?" + +"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." + + + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;" and again +he looked at him. + +"And if there were no parents?" + +"Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age." + +"And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?" + +"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----" + +But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old +parson's lecture remained undelivered. + +The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them +together. + +"What is it, sweetest?" he asked. "What is it?" + +"Oh! Christopher," she answered, weeping, "my poor father is dead-- +murdered, or so says Emlyn." + +"Murdered! By whom?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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 /not/ my friend. It +is our lands he loves, and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with +her." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father." + +"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?" + +"Nay," answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover. + +"Then what's to be done?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what +say /you/?" and he bent over her. + +She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his +neck, laid her head upon his shoulder. + +"I think it is the will of God," she whispered, "and why should I +fight against it, who am His servant?--and yours, Chris." + +"And now, Father, what say you?" asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair. + +"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." + +Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the +hall and out of the door. + +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. + +Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke +for the first time, saying-- + +"How came this here, Nurse?" + +"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." + +"Mayhap; but how came it here?" + +"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." + +"Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof +God alone knows the end." + +"That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled +in due season." + +"Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about +me. In truth, I feel as though death were near." + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 have never 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. + +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. + +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. + +So it was done at last. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn," he answered anxiously. "The knot +that was tied to-night may not be unloosed." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Not to-night, surely, Nurse!" he exclaimed. + +"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." + +"That is good counsel," said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom +words seemed to be few, nodded his head. + +"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." + +"What do you fear?" he asked, waking from his dream. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"That we shall learn," interrupted Emlyn. "Meanwhile, Sir Christopher, +rouse yourself and give the orders." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE ABBOT'S OATH + +On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was +called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter. + +"Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously. + +"A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered. + +"Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will." + +Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur +cloak, and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the +matter. + +"This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never loved +book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you +who are more scholarly." + +"I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," she +replied doubtfully, and paling a little. + +"The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn. +"Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls." + +So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her +strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. +It ran thus-- + + + "To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn + Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern. + + "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. + +"Clement, Abbot." + + +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-- + +"Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot." + +So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand-- + + + "My Lord Abbot, + + "In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble + father (whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me + with 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. +"Your humble servant, +"Cicely Harflete." + + +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. + +They watched him go from a window. + +"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." + +"I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go +to see that the horses are saddled." + +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. + +"We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword. + +"You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a +deep voice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve +to the Abbey yonder." + +"Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what is +your business, lay-brother Bolle?" + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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-- + +"The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be +taken!" + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and +the arrow being already on the string, again shouted-- + +"Get off at your peril!" + +In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord +Abbot. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the +first throw of a long game, husband." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Of Cicely Harflete," interrupted Christopher. + +"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." + +"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." + +The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed-- + +"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." + +"And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I +hold dearer than a thousand lives?" + +"Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force, +Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or +hereafter, on your own head be it." + +At this Christopher's rage broke out. + +"Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest 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." + +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. + +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. + +"Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter +behind the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried-- + +"Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you." + +He took no heed who was also turning about. + +"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of +yours;" then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the +arrow fly. The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck +it sped, cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast +reared straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the +snow. + +"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." + +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. + +"Speak," he said in a muffled voice. + +"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. + +The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, +at a distance, but within earshot. + +"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take +it in your right hand now and swear an oath." + +Again the Abbot obeyed. + +"Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet, +prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot 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." + +The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek +heart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad. + +"Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?" he asked at +length. "I'll not swear," and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow. + +"Then I'll shoot," answered Christopher. "Come, pick up that cross." + +But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. 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. + +"The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on +the string. "I waste no more good shafts." + +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-- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely +dare to break," said Christopher presently. "What say you, Nurse?" + +"I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be," +answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her +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?" + +"I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse." + +"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." + +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-- + + + "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. + +"Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme." + + + +CHAPTER V + +WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"That may happen in any case," muttered Christopher, turning his head +aside. "But what say you, Nurse?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses. + +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. + +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. + +"Halt!" whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. "I hear +men moving." + +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. + +"An ambush!" exclaimed Christopher. + +"Can we get round?" asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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-- + +"Come back and wait for light." + +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. + +"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." + +"I'll not go," she wailed; "I'll die with you." + +"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!" + +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. + +"Whither go we?" sobbed Cicely. + +"To the central tower," answered Emlyn; "it seems safest there." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Yield, Sir Christopher," he shouted; "the Lady Cicely burns. Yield, +that we may save her." + +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. + +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. + +The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side. + +"Dead!" he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it +seemed. + +"Dead," repeated Emlyn, "and a gallant death!" + +"Dead!" wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it. +"Dead, dead!" and sank senseless on Emlyn's breast. + +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. + +"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!" + +The Abbot's face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that +courtyard his teeth chattered. + +"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!" + +"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." + +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. + + + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I thank you, my Lord Abbot," answered Martin, "but I may not touch +flesh; this is Friday." + +"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." + +The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at +it, for he was almost starving. + +"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. + +The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said-- + +"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." + +The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in +matters that touched him so nearly. + +"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. + +"Speak on then, man. What do you mean?" + +"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?" + +The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution. + +"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." + +The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further +appetite. + +"A dreadful deed," he said, "for which one day you must answer to God +and man." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how +could my ward be wed without my leave?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were +without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely-- + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Filthy lucre--the root of all evil," muttered Brother Martin. + +"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." + +"If we can." + +"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 /Great Yarmouth/, 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. + +"I obey orders," answered Martin, "though I know little of Spaniards +or of Spanish." + +"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." + +Brother Martin bowed and went. + +"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. + +Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered. + +"What is it now?" asked the Abbot testily. "I said, 'Come back in an +hour.'" + +"Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you +might like to hear." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but +rather as one who has no choice. + +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-- + +"You gave orders for this Harflete's burial, did you not?" + +The monk nodded. + +"Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?" + +"No one except yourself." + +The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it." + +"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." + +"A strange game," muttered Martin. + +"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 /Great Yarmouth/, 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." + +"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." + +"A /very/ 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!" + + + +CHAPTER VI + +EMLYN'S CURSE + +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. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 /must/ 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." + +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. + +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. + +The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to +feel the face. + +"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." + +The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath +him; then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh. + +"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?" + +He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to +fill it in with all his might. + +"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." + +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 +/Great Yarmouth/, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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 /Great Yarmouth/ began to +move, for the sailors were hoisting up her anchor. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What is it?" called the captain, who heard the noise. + +"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-- + +"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!" + + + +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. + +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 +/Great Yarmouth/. + +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. + +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? + +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 /was/ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +"Why have we come here?" asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal +scene with a shudder. + +"To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them +Christian burial," answered the Abbot. + +"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." + +"What mean you?" asked the Abbot sharply. + +"I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"Look," said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched +bushes that had been a bower. + +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. + +For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked-- + +"Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?" + +"Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice. + +"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?" + +"God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small +voice. + +"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!" + +"Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of the men +behind; and Maldon started at his words. + +"Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his +heart should break," said Cicely. + +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. + +"The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your +ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell." + +She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, +then said, in the same unnatural voice-- + +"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. + +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. + +"Some evil spirit has entered into you," he said huskily. + +She dropped her hand, pointing at him. + +"Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me." + +"Cicely," he went on, "cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell +it you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder +churchyard." + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said-- + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE ABBOT'S OFFER + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 whimple, 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! + +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. + +"Am I ill, reverend Mother?" she asked. + +"Not now, daughter, but you were very ill," answered the Prioress in +her sweet, low voice. "Now we think that God has healed you." + +"How long have I been here?" she asked. + +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-- + +"Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight." + +Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the +wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I care not what he says," answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. "If I +am not a true wife, then no woman ever was." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I thank you, dear Mother," answered Cicely, as she rose and left her. + +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 /she/ did not understand. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Are you afraid of him, Mistress?" asked Emlyn, as they prepared to +follow. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"In truth I know not, Mother," answered Cicely. "Sister Bridget told +us that the Lord Abbot desired our presence." + +"I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber," said the +Prioress in a vexed voice. + +"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-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no +lawful child----" + +"To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my +Lord Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?" + +Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this +while, broke in-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +He waved his hand. + +"There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you, +my daughter. When do you take your first vows?" + +"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. + +Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth. + +"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. + +"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." + +Now he felt the wolf's fangs, and they were sharp. + +"Whither would you go?" he asked. + +"Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father +would have done last Christmas-time." + +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. + +"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----" + +"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?" + +"A lying spirit, then; no angel." + +"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." + +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? + +"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!" + +Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little +scornful laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress. + +But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome +face. + +"You've lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded," she said +boldly. + +The Abbot turned on her and reviled her. + +"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." + +"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!" + +His face paled; then suddenly he asked-- + +"Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall +go free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you." + +"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." + +"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." + +"True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress's +love-letters, which she would not leave behind." + +"Then where is the box, and where are those letters?" + +"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 /not/ burned?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then where are they?" he asked, striking his fist upon the table. + +"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." + +The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not +help it; his bitterness burst from his heart. + +Emlyn laughed at him. + +"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." + +The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in +patience, groaned again. + +"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?" + +"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." + +The Abbot looked at her reflectively. + +"If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be +good, but I play for higher stakes." + +"You set your head against them," broke in Emlyn. + +"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." + +"Your head? /Your/ head?" exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn's +apt illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently, +saying-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +She nodded, and he went on-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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 /your/ 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?" + +"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." + +"What would you give me?" asked Emlyn curiously. + +"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." + +"Nothing more?" + +"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." + +"A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what /you/ +promise--should you live. But what if I refuse?" + +"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." + +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-- + +"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-- + +"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." + +There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said-- + +"Good! On your own head be it." + +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. + +"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." + +Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and +watched him go. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +EMLYN CALLS HER MAN + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds," she replied again. + +"So be it, Mother; then I'll help myself, and when I do, God help +/you/ all," and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she +walked away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful +Thomas Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Two days later Thomas came--thus. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!" + +"Yes," she answered, also in a whisper. "Who speaks?" + +"Who do you think?" asked the voice, with a chuckle. "A devil, +perhaps." + +"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. + +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-- + +"What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?" + +"That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have +been calling me, and so I came." + +"Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?" + +"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. + +"Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man," she said fiercely, "will you do +what I tell you?" + +"That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my +life, and for no reward?" + +She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing +the image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack. + +"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?" + +"The monks," groaned Thomas; "the accursed monks, who married you to +Stower because he paid them." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, +exclaiming-- + +"What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can't bear your scorn. Take it +off me or I go kill myself." + +"That's what you had best do. You'll find the devil a better master +than a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever." + +"Nay, nay; what's your will? Soul or no soul, I'll work it." + +"Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment," and she ran down +the chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted +saint. + +"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?" + +"Surely. Have I not sworn?" + +"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?" + +He nodded his head. "All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I'll not +die now; I'll live to claim it." + +"Good. There's on account," and again she kissed him. "Go." + +He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said-- + +"One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or +wasn't----" + +"What do you mean?" she almost hissed at him. "In Christ's name be +quick; I hear voices without." + +"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." + +"Blessings on your head for that tidings," exclaimed Emlyn, in a +strange, low voice. "Away; they are coming to the door!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her +gentle fashion-- + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + + + +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. + +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. + +Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the +great fire. + +Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on +Emlyn, said, in the hearing of them all-- + +"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." + +"Fire calls for fire," answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around +looked at her with doubtful eyes. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS + +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. + +"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." + +"Saying that he liked not the title?" suggested Cicely. + +"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 /must/ 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." + +"Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four +pieces and threw it to the floor. + +"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." + +The Abbot's face grew very evil. + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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. + +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-- + +"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?" + +"Oho!" he answered; "so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your +witchcraft was at work there." + +"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. + +Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother +Matilda. + +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? + +Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and +astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior. + +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. + +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! + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder, +summon thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God." + +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 /Aves/ as he went. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Some nine months had passed since the ship /Great Yarmouth/ 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. + +In short, the vanishing of the /Great Yarmouth/ 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. + +Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his +hand told him that the /Great Yarmouth/ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Oh, no, my Lord," answered the woman; "I've heard it is to wait upon +Sir Christopher Harflete's wife in her trouble." + +"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." + +Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.'" + +"Ah!" asked the Abbot, with mild interest, "and pray what did Mary do +then?" + +"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." + +So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the +Abbot stared at the ceiling. + +"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." + +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-- + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with +it." + +"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----" + +The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair +and said sharply-- + +"I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverent 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. + +"Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing--/pax +Meggiscum/, and the rest of it." + +"Absolution? There is nothing to absolve." + +"Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will +absolve /you/ 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." + +"Begone!" said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her +feet and went, unblessed and unabsolved. + +When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it +wide, although the night was foul. + +"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 without 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. + + + +CHAPTER X + +MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST + +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. + +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. + + + +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? + +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? + +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. + +"Darling," she said, "hear me," but Cicely did not stir. "Darling," +she repeated, "hear me, I have news for you of your husband." + +Cicely's white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes +opened. + +"Of my husband?" she whispered. "Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be. +What news of him?" + +"That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though +heretofore I have hid it from you." + +The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with +wondering joy. + +"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?" + +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 /Great +Yarmouth/, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"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. + +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-- + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +"Come, let us see," said the Abbot, and they went there to find the +door locked as Bridget had said. + +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----! + + + +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. + +"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----" + +"By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess +to doom," broke in Emlyn. + +"Silence, Sorceress," shouted the Abbot. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I +know you and your familiars," and he glared at the Prioress. + +"What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?" asked Mother Matilda, bridling up. +"My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do 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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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 /Great Yarmouth/, sorely +wounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and +the monk Martin. + +"That's ten months gone," said Cicely. "Has naught been heard of this +ship? By now she should be home again." + +Thomas hesitated, then answered-- + +"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----" + +"Ah! that other story?" + +"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 /Great Yarmouth/ 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." + +"One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Look at the window!" he exclaimed. + +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. + +"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. + +"What now, Emlyn?" + +"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." + +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!" + +Cicely's terror passed from her and she faced them boldly. + +"What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?" she asked. + +"We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you +but now, and whither has it gone?" + +"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." + +"Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?" + +"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. + +"What else?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"What is it now, Cicely?" asked the Prioress. + +"Now we are witches, Mother," she answered, with a sad smile. + +"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "and the charge is that the ghost of the +murdered Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the +other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive. + +"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." + +"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the +whole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully. + +"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." + +"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I +wonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders. + +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-- + +"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your +mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn." + +As before she denied all knowledge of them. + +"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your +lives for a few miserable gems?" + +Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak +with her mistress. + +He bade her do so. + +"I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know +where they are?" asked Cicely. + +"Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and +I give them up to save you." + +Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her +arms, then laughed aloud and answered-- + +"Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I 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." + +"Good," said Emlyn, "that is my mind also, I only spoke for your +sake," and she went out and told the Abbot. + +He came into Cicely's chamber and raged at them. He said that they +should be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely, +whom he had thought to frighten, never winced. + +"If so, so let it be," she replied, "and I will bear all as best I +can. I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are +mine, not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, +for I am sure that the end shall be far other than you think." + +"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. + +"Put these women upon bread and water," he said, "and prepare them for +the rack, that they may discover their accomplices." + +Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered-- + +"It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law, +and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are +my guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on +you." + +"Said I not that they had accomplices?" sneered the Abbot, and went +his way. + +But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had +an ill sound in his ears. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +DOOMED + +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. + +Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered-- + +"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. + +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? + +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-- + +"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. + +But Cicely rose and faced him, saying-- + +"Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there. + +"Your name?" asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the +feather of his quill. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Blaspheme not, Sorceress," shouted the old man; and the evidence +commenced. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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----" + +"It is a lie, witch," broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely +went on-- + +"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." + +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. + +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-- + +"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." + +"So spoke Pilate," broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him +in the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent. + +Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of +words. + +"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----" + +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-- + +"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----" + +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-- + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +"You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!" + +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-- + +"The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his." + +"He will, he will," answered the same voice. "The Pope is in his bag. +Monks, your day is done." + +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-- + +"What of this Bridget? Does she go free?" + +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-- + +"Burn the hag with the others," and the secretary wrote it down upon +his brief. + +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. + +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. + +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. Worse 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. + +The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his +people-- + +"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. + +Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches. + + + +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. + +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. + +"She sleeps; wake her not," she said. "Have you come to tell us that +we burn to-morrow?" + +"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, /who/ killed Father +Ambrose? Was it men or----?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +The two women looked each other in the eyes. + +"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." + +"What path, Mother?" + +"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." + +"You will go, Mother! Oh! God's blessing be on you. But how will you +go? They will never suffer it." + +The old nun drew herself up, and answered-- + +"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. + +"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." + +"No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. +But, woman, what token?" + +Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which +was set a cornelian heart. + +"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." + +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. + +Emlyn caught her by the robe. + +"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." + +"Say nothing to her," murmured Mother Matilda; "I may fail." + +"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." + +So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately +fashion, and the oaken door opened and shut behind her. + + + +Three days later the Abbot visited them alone. + +"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." + +"Show me the King's warrant for this slaughter," said Cicely. + +"I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it +be too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you." + +"Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?" + +"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." + +"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. + +Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face. + +"Do we really burn on Monday?" she asked. + +"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." + +"And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels +will never be found." + +"Well, then you burn--slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of +late and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Why not, my Lord Abbot?" + +"Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of +her own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I knew not where. If they, +or either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them." + +"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." + + + +On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came +again. + +"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." + +Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days?--then +asked-- + +"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." + +"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." + +Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood. + +"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." + +The Abbot's face grew very evil. + +"Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?" he asked. + +She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who +answered-- + +"What my mistress says, I say." + +"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." + +"God will help us," replied Cicely in a quiet voice. "Remember my +words when the time comes." + +Then he went. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE STAKE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well +not to inquire, said-- + +"Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that +hateful hag." + +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-- + +"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." + +Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on-- + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at +the least she took no heed of them. + +"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. + +For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and +Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep. + +"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." + + + +Cicely awoke. + +"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. + +"Well, well, what did he say?" + +"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. + +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. + + + +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. + +"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely. "Tell me now, has the +Prioress returned?" + +"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." + +"I thank you," said Cicely; "but I think that I shall be the bearer of +my own messages." + +"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?" + +"No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall +talk with her again." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Cicely thought a while, then answered-- + +"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." + +"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." + +The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices +below. + +"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." + +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. + +"You'll be warm enough without that, Witch," said the man, with a +hideous chuckle. + +"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." + +"God's truth, the girl has spirit!" muttered the officer to his +companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered-- + +"Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently." + +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. + +"Peace, good Bridget," she said as they passed, "being innocent, what +have you to fear?" + +"The fire, the fire!" cried the poor creature. "I dread the fire." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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-- + +"Let this child live or die as God pleases." + +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. + +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-- + +"Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you +again." + +"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. + +Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Let the mistress judge, not the maid," answered Emlyn in a steady +voice. + +He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied-- + +"Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go, +repent your sins ere it be too late." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I do not know and I shall never know," she answered quietly. + +"Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some +promise of your master, Satan?" + +"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." + +He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people +around-- + +"This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to +her. Do you not, Witch?" + +"Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all," replied +Cicely in clear and ringing tones. + +"Well, we'll see," shouted the Abbot. "Man, bring flame, and let +Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!" + +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. + +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-- + +"/In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!/" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"It is Thomas Bolle!" exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again-- + +"Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!" and a soldier ran to fetch +another brand. + +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-- + +"You sought fire--take it!" + +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!" + +"What mean you, knave?" exclaimed the furious Abbot. + +"What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I'll split your crown." + +The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on-- + +"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?" + +"I," answered voices, "and I, and I, and I!" + +"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. + +On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a +third were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel. + +"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men +ran off to do his bidding. + +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-- + +"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." + +"Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle. "Form up, Foterells, +and march." + +"Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn +her after all; I'll not stir else." + +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. + +"Look, Emlyn, look!" exclaimed Cicely. "Who is that?" for she could +not believe her eyes. + +"Who but Mother Matilda," answered Emlyn; "and by the saints, she is a +strange sight!" + +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-- + +"For God's love, stop this mad beast!" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Ask the Abbot of Blossholme," said some one, "for it is his work." + +"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." + +Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the +horseman up and down, said-- + +"Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated +Abbot?" + +"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." + +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!" + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MESSENGER + +"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. + +"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.'" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant +for your justice? If so, show it me." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said-- + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep +last night." + +"Aye, she swore that at the stake," exclaimed a voice, "and we thought +her mad." + +"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 prophecy her own +deliverance?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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! + +"What means this mummery, knave?" gasped Dr. Legh. + +"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." + +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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up. + +"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." + +"Have I done well, Emlyn?" Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths. + +"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." + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Mother," she answered, "it cannot be, it shall not be." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes, speak, Emlyn," said Cicely, "for though I never asked before, +fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries, +gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I am at your service, Sir," said Cicely. + +"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." + +"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." + +"The knave has fled away," said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin. + +"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." + +The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin. + +"You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?" he +asked at length. + +"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "enough to hang him ten times over, and so can +I." + +"And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?" + +"I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station." + +"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?" + +"I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about £300 a +year." + +His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such +wealth was great. + +"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?" + +Now it was Cicely's turn to think. + +"Surely," she answered at length, "if you will add a condition--that +these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery." + +He shook his fat head. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Draw it up and I will sign, Sir." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have +you, perchance, any money?" + +"Yes, Sir, about £50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn's robes." + +"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?" + +"With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I +will keep to mine." + +"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." + +Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and +said-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + + + +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. + +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. + +"Have you got them?" asked Cicely, when they were together in their +room. + +"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. + +"What's this?" asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail- +cloth in which it was wrapped. + +"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." + +"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-- + +"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?" + +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. + +"This may tell us," she said. "Read, if you can; it has words on its +inner side." + +Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read +with ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran-- + + + "My Lady Harflete, + + "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. + +"One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also." + + +Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping. + +"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." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +JACOB AND THE JEWELS + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 was not to answer, for he was a merry and talkative old man. + +"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." + +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. + +"Then why should we not trust him also?" asked Cicely, "who must find +friends and put faith in some one." + +"Even with the jewels, Mistress?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Now Cicely coloured, for the man's little eyes pierced her like +gintlets, 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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he +put them down to grief and anger. + +"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?" + +Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to +his pocket. + +"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. + +"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." + +For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her +indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly-- + +"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----" + +Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild +astonishment. + +"To think," he said, "that I should live to learn wisdom out of the +mouth of babes and sucklers----" + +"Sucklings," suggested Cicely. + +"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." + +Now Emlyn could bear it no longer. + +"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." + +"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." + +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-- + +"Truly women are fools!" + +"We have heard that before, Master Smith," replied Cicely; "but this +time--why?" + +"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." + +"O Solomon, to have discovered that!" exclaimed Emlyn. + +"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?" + +"We understand," said Emlyn; "but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?" + +"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." + +"At what charge?" blurted out Emlyn. + +The old man turned on her indignantly, asking-- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +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." + +"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Cicely in dismay; "oh! how shall I +find so much, whose first year's rents are already pledged?" + +"Know you the worth of those jewels?" asked Jacob, looking at her. + +"Nay; the half of that, perhaps." + +"Let us say double that, and then right cheap." + +"Well, if so," replied Cicely, with a gasp, "where shall we sell them? +Who has so much money?" + +"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." + +"In your own words: go to!" said Emlyn, "and keep your gibes until we +have more leisure." + +The old man thought a while, and said-- + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an +indifferent voice-- + +"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----" + +Cicely sprang upon him. + +"Oh! cruel wretch," she said, 'to have known this so long and not to +have told me!" + +"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?" + +"Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?" + +"How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said----" + +"Well, what did the writing say?" + +"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----" + +"Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the +writing?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Why should he not?" interrupted Emlyn, "when he deems himself a +widower, as does your lord?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Impossible," said old Jacob, bowing to her; "having called you wife-- +impossible." + +"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." + +There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat +painful, hastened to break, saying-- + +"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? + +"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. + +"'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. + +"'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. + +"'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.' + +"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?" + +"Indeed, yes," exclaimed Cicely. "Who else could have done half so +well----?" + +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. + +"Sir, I will be there," answered Cicely; "but tell me, do I come as a +prisoner?" + +"Nay," replied the herald, "since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his +Grace has trust, has consented to be answerable for you." + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE DEVIL AT COURT + +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. + +"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." + +Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it +between his fingers. + +"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----" + +"I'll try, Master Smith," he answered, stretching out his hand for the +piece of money. "But what is the message?" + +"Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can +lay hands upon £1000 without interest." + +"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." + +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. + +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---- + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"The devil's livery, may it please your Lordship." + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"Pardon, your Grace," said the secretary in a trembling voice, "thrice +have I checked them." + +"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." + +"I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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----" + +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. + +"Now there is more in your eye than truth," shouted the King. "Be off, +ere the stool follows the inkpot." + +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-- + +"A bull's eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter." + +"Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn. + +"Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply. + +"Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle." + +"Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may +be?" + +"Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant +shot." + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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. + +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-- + +"See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send +us such a son as this!" + +The King glanced at the child, then answered-- + +"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?" + +The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King, +wearying of him, called out-- + +"Come here, Master Smith." + +Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still. + +"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." + +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. + +"Here they are, your Grace," he said quietly. "If you should wish for +them they can be weighed and counted." + +"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." + +"Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even," +he added meaningly, "with your Highness's name added." + +"I can't sign," said the King doubtfully, "all the ink is spilt." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Cromwell, come hither," said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in +forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table. + +"Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen +also, but let that pass. What more?" + +"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." + +"A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?" + +"Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all +their tenements and timber they would fetch £1000 in gold." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Then he was pleader and judge in one?" + +"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----" + +"Well can I believe it," muttered the King. + +"And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, +and of their innocence of the foul charge laid against them." + +"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." + +"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." + +"What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good +a sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief." + +"Now all is finished," murmured Emlyn to Cicely, "for assuredly fool +Thomas will land us in the mire." + +"Your Grace," said Bolle in his big voice, "I obey in four words--I +was the devil." + +"The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?" + +"Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it." + +"How could you do otherwise if you lived there?" + +"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. + +"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." + +The Queen obeyed and, returned, said-- + +"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." + +"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?" + +Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat. + +"Now open the door and stand on one side," said the King. + +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. + +"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. + +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-- + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +"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----" + +"To whom?" + +She hesitated. + +"To whom?" he thundered. "Answer, Madam." + +"To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh." + +"Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell +it, the snuffling rogue." + +"The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that £1000, +and I have no more." + +"A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell? +He did not bring you here for nothing." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Oh, what a lovely thing," said Jane; "never have I seen its like." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. /He/ took bribes, Cromwell!" + +"My Liege," he answered in a low voice, "this case was cruel, it moved +my pity----" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my +murdered father did." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of +Blossholme, and leave to marry." + +"To marry whom?" + +"Her, Sire," and he pointed to Emlyn. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE VOICE IN THE FOREST + +The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after +the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command. + +"Have we done well, have we done well?" asked Jacob, rubbing his +hands. + +"It would seem so, Master Smith," replied Cicely, "thanks to you; that +is, if all the King said is really in those writings." + +"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." + +"Nay, nay," said Cicely, "leave well alone. His Grace's mood may +change, or the Queen--that matter of the pearl." + +"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----" + +Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in +wrath---- + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Tread on their tails and even worms will turn," soliloquized Jacob, +while Emlyn burst into tears. + +Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the +room. + +Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the +sound of a voice crying-- + +"In the King's name! In the King's name, open!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. + +While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came +another knock. + +"Go, Thomas," said Jacob, "and say we see none to-night." + +So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a +cloaked man, saying-- + +"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. + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh-- + +"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. + +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. + +"Take her this with my duty, my Lord," said Cicely. + +"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." + +"Oh, my Lord," she cried, "then where is he now?" + +"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?" + +"Aye, aye," gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and +worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar. + +"Then I'll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply +the evidence." + + + "To the Captain of the King's Forces outside Lincoln. + + "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. + + "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. + +"Christopher Harflete. +"Jeffrey Stokes, † his mark." + + +"My Lord," said Cicely, "what shall I do, my Lord?" + +"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." + +Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell +thought. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high," +remarked Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote /vera copia/ for his +Lordship's signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher's +letter, shook his head sadly. + +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. + +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. + + + +When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were +leaving his house upon the morrow. + +"Have I not said so?" she asked, with impatience. "Knowing what I know +how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?" + +"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." + +"Our journey?" said Cicely. "Do you, then, accompany us, Master +Smith?" + +"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?" + +"At eleven of the clock," answered Cicely, "if the King's safe-conduct +and commission have come by then." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger +passed by. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What is it?" asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face. + +"Horses galloping--many horses, master," he answered; "yes, and riders +on them. Listen." + +They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse's hoofs and the +shouts of men. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +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-- + +"We gain! We'll slip them yet, Jeffrey." + +Cicely saw the face. + +"Christopher!" she cried; "/Christopher!/" + +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. + +Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others +held her back. + +At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out +to look. Ten minutes later he returned. + +"All have gone," he said. + +"Oh! he is dead!" wailed Cicely. "This fatal place has robbed me of +father and of husband." + +"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!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR + +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. + +"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." + +Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was +opened and a trembling woman's voice asked who was there. + +"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. + +"Oh!" cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, "has aught been heard +of my husband?" + +They shook their heads, and the Prioress said-- + +"First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, +which is little." + +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. + +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. + +When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda's +private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who holds Shefton," shouted this man, "and for what cause?" + +"The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause +of the King," called old Jacob Smith back to him. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who is this, friend?" asked Jacob. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Because he bears tidings." + +Now something in Bolle's voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, +to look up sharply and say-- + +"Speak, and be swift." + +"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." + +"Prisoners!" exclaimed Cicely. "Then he is not dead or wounded? At +least he is whole and safe?" + +"Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before +it is eaten." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Does he know that I live?" asked Cicely. + +"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." + +Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by +Emlyn, for she could bear no more. + +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. + +Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it +seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay. + +"But my husband lies there," she answered in distress, "and then they +will kill him." + +"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." + +"If it must be, so let it be. In God's hands I leave his life," said +Cicely in a heavy voice. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"They grow hungry and desperate," said the shrewd Jacob. "Soon we +shall have some message from them." + +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. + +"Who is that man?" said Emlyn to her. + +Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one +that is sick. + +"I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!" + +"Jeffrey it is and no other," said Emlyn, nodding her head. "Now what +news does he bear, I wonder?" + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," broke in Cicely, "what news of your master? Emlyn, +tell him that we still live. He does not understand." + +"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." + +"He lives, then, and is well?" + +"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. + +"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. + +Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious +brows, read it aloud. It ran thus-- + + + "To the Captain of the King's men, from Clement, Abbot of + Blossholme. + + "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. + +"Clement, Abbot." + + +Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened. + +"Let us go to some private place and consider this matter," said +Emlyn. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Tell us all," said Cicely. + +"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----" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?" + +"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." + +"And what said my husband?" asked Cicely, leaning forward. + +"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!'" + +"Why does he desire to die?" asked Cicely again. + +"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." + +"Oh God! oh God!" moaned Cicely; "I shall be his death." + +"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!'" + +"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." + +"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-- + +"'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.' + +"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.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +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. + +"Speak," said old Jacob Smith; "what is your answer?" + +"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. + +"'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!' + +"On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back-- + +"'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." + + + +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. + +"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. + +"Thomas," said Emlyn, looking up, "do you remember when we were +children where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?" + +"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----" + +"Let her be," broke in Jacob; "she has something to tell us." + +"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?" + +"Aye, I remember. What of it?" + +"Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?" + +"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." + +"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. + +Now at length they took her point. + +"They'd be listening like a cat for a mouse," said Bolle. + +"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." + + + +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. + +"Now get you gone," she said; "I follow. At this job one is better +than two." + +A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. "Run!" +she said. "Run for your life; there's death behind!" + +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. + +"STORM! STORM!" she cried. "UP WITH THE LADDERS! FOR THE KIND AND +HARFLETE! STORM! STORM!" + +Then she too turned and fled. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +OUT OF THE SHADOWS + +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. + +"The gateway's gone," shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. +"Out with the ladders!" + +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. + +"Light the lanterns," shouted Bolle again, "for it will be dark in +yonder," and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him. + +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. + +"For God and Grace!" shouted some; "For the King and Harflete!" +answered others. + +"Keep line! Keep line!" roared Bolle, "and sweep them out." + +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 are on the stair beyond. + +While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and +screamed into his ear-- + +"Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped." + +In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare +that it was Cicely. + +"What do you here?" he cried. "Get gone." + +"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!" + +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. + +"I may not leave," muttered Thomas Bolle. "I seek Maldon." + +"On to the dungeons," shrieked Emlyn, "or I will stab you. I heard +them give word to kill Harflete." + +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. + +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-- + +"Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you." + +"We die or live together, murderers," answered the priest in a thick, +gasping voice. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till +she stood face to face with the prisoner. + +"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. + +Then at length she found her voice. + +"Christopher!" she cried, "Christopher!" + +He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand. + +"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. + +She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his +poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened. + +"Death might be worse," he said, "but so I knew that we would meet." + +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. + +"Oh, Christopher," she cried, "I am no ghost, but your living wife." + +He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and +stroked her hair. + +"Oh God," he exclaimed, "the dead live!" and down he fell in a heap at +her feet. + +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. + +As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise. + +"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. + +"Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?" +asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh. + +"Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps +us." + +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. + + + +Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him +once again. + +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. + +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-- + +"There is one who would speak with you." + +"I cannot see him," she answered, "I bide by my husband." + +"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." + +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. + +"I have come to thank you," she murmured, who knew not what else to +say. + +"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." + +"I will tell him if he lives," sobbed Cicely. + +He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered-- + +"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." + +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-- + +"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. + +"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. + +Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking +a bowl of broth. + +"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. + + +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. + +He told her of the great fight on the ship /Great Yarmouth/, 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. + +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. + +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-- + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I'll build a +shrine to that saint Martin." + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +He shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"The Abbot!" gasped Cicely. + +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. + +"Deliver your arms," growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier +shakes a rat, "or you die. Do you yield? Answer!" + +"How can he," broke in Cicely, "when you have him by the throat?" + +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. + +"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." + +Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and +laughed. + +"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." + +Maldon shivered. "Drawn, hanged and quartered," he repeated beneath +his breath. "Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never +served!" + +"Why not?" asked Christopher. "You have played a cruel game, and +lost." + +He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying-- + +"How came you in such a case? We thought you fled." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I said I /came/ to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless +hunger drove me, who /now/ 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." + +"Cicely," said Christopher, "go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes. +Emlyn will know where to find him." + +"Emlyn!" groaned the Abbot. "Give me not over to Emlyn. She'd torture +me." + +"Nay," said Christopher, "this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what +may chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife." + +But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at +her feet. + +"I bid you go," repeated Christopher. + +"And I'll not obey," she answered. "Do you remember what I promised +Martin ere he died?" + +"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." + +"I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely." + +"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." + +"Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in +England, Wife." + +"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." + +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. + + + +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. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse." + +"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. + +"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord," murmured Cicely in +a gentle voice. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?" + +"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." + +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. + + + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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-- + +"Do you remember this place?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"What is that?" said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black +object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower. + +Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing. + +It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard + |