caught the light of courage and purpose in the soft, dark eyes. Her own
kindled beneath the glance.
"Little one, art thou brave enough, and discreet enough to be entrusted
with a secret?" asked Katharine, "or wouldst thou rather remain in
ignorance until the final moment? There is safety sometimes in
ignorance; and thou art little more than a child."
The colour was coming and going in Eva's face; the look of purpose in
her eyes deepened each moment.
"Tell me," she whispered, her eyes beginning to shine, "is it that there
is hope for us? Can it be that help can reach us, even within these
grim, strong walls?"
Katharine glanced round her to be certain that the door of the cell was
fast shut. She even moved to it, and looked down the bare corridor, as
if to assure herself that there was no spy within hearing. Who could
tell, in such a community as that, whether it would not seem the bounden
duty of any passing nun to play the eavesdropper, should she harbour for
a moment a suspicion that all was not well with her fellow sisters? Who
could tell whether or not the Reverend Mother had got wind of the
discontent of some of her nuns? Probably she knew somewhat about it,
since the appeal of certain of their number to their friends had been
made. Might she not have set traps and devices in order to discover
whether or not the answers they had received would be sufficient to
quiet their discontent, and induce them to settle contentedly in their
cloistered home? Would she not be intensely alert to discover if any
other phase of revolt were passing in the minds of the imprisoned nuns?
"Thou art brave enough to know the truth and not to betray it?"
"I will die sooner!" cried Eva. "Ah, sweet Katharine, tell me! Is there
indeed some hope for us?"
"I trust so. I believe so. We have done what we can. We have made appeal
to Martin Luther himself!"
Eva's hands were clasped closely together. Her breath came and went in
an ecstasy of excitement and hopeful expectation. The elder woman spoke
on in a carefully lowered voice.
"It hath been done through Margaret and Katharine von Zeschau. Thou
knowest that their relatives are friends of this Luther's, and that
although their parents are still beneath the thrall of the old beliefs,
others of their house are beginning to break through the toils. They
have the letter, and will place it safely in the hands for whom it is
meant. Word came through a safe channel to-day, that we might be assured
of this; Martin Luther will never turn a deaf ear to such an appeal. He
will rest not until he has answered us, and won for us our liberty!"
A look of ecstasy transfigured Eva's face. She threw her arms about
Katharine's neck; her voice quivered as she cried:
"Oh, Katharine!--to be free--to be free! To drink in the pure air of
heaven! To see one's life opening before one amid the sweet surroundings
of home! To have brothers, sisters, a father and mother once more!
But----" and here she paused, and a look of anxiety crossed her face.
"But what if our parents refuse to receive us when we are free?"
Katharine's calm face expressed full comprehension. She drew Eva towards
her, and they sat close together on the narrow pallet bed. The elder nun
supported the quivering frame of her girl companion, as she sought to
make her understand the situation.
"There are many things to think of, little one," she said; "and thou
must not embark upon such an enterprise not knowing all its risks. First
there is the peril to ourselves should this thing get wind before we are
safe without the walls."
Eva shivered a little, and clung more closely to Katharine.
"What would they do to us?" she asked in a whisper.
"Nay, I know not. There are many frightful tales of the punishment
inflicted upon nuns who have been 'unfaithful to their vows,'" answered
Katharine steadily; "thou dost know the bricked-up niche in the crypt
beneath the chapel, where they say such an one was walled-up to perish
by hunger and thirst."
"Katharine," said Eva suddenly, "is it right to be unfaithful to our
vows? We are not doing that which is abhorrent?"
"I think not--and truly believe not," answered Katharine, her eyes
glowing and dilating; "and I have spent many a night in prayer and
fasting, asking to be led and guided. These vows were forced upon us ere
we understood their meaning. They wrapped up the real truth in such a
way that we were much deceived. There is a terrible side to convent life
which is never breathed beyond the walls. There is a wide-spreading
corruption going on that shows to me the system is not Heavenly. God
will understand that, in the spirit, our vows to be His for ever will be
kept, as far as poor frail flesh can keep them, albeit the letter be
broken. I fear not to cast myself upon His mercy in this thing. I know
that were I to remain here they could not be kept as truly as they shall
and can be without!"
Eva felt a shiver run through Katharine's frame. She only partly
understood; but she knew enough to cause her to spring to her feet and
cry, although in the instinctively hushed tones that soon become natural
to the convent-bred girl:
"Then take me, take me too! I will do anything, I will dare anything, to
escape from these terrible walls! I would even face that terrible fate;
for is it not a living death to be for ever here without the prospect of
release?"
After that the days seemed to go by strangely in the convent. It was
Lent; the celebration of the Lord's Passion was drawing very near. The
nuns were engrossed in their appointed hours and religious exercises;
they grew thin and pale from vigil and fasting; but there was another
reason why some of them looked white and careworn. The looked-for answer
to their appeal had not reached them yet. Could it be that the thing was
too hard for this bold advocate of liberty to attempt?
Good Friday had come. The long exhausting services had been gone through
with rigorous exactitude; and the Reverend Mother had now retired to her
own room, the nuns being bidden each to her cell, to spend the interval
in meditation. Eva felt a light touch upon her arm as she was leaving
the chapel. Katharine's voice in her ear spoke in the softest whisper:
"Come to my room."
A sudden hope flooded Eva's heart. She dared not lift up her eyes lest
they should betray her. She continued her soft walk with drooping head
and hushed footfall; but there was a clangour in her temples of the
young blood coursing there, and she was asking herself a thousand eager
questions as she slipped like a ghost past her own door, and to the
apartment of Katharine von Bora, where, to her amazement, there were
gathered together the whole party of those nuns who desired escape, a
look of strained expectancy upon all faces.
When Eva entered, Katharine closed and locked the door, and flung the
key through the open window into the courtyard below. There was
something in her aspect so resolute and tense, that Eva's heart leapt up
within her, and she cried:
"Katharine--tell me--ah, tell me!"
"They have promised to come for us to-night," answered the other
Katharine. "We are to wait here for the signal. When it comes we are to
drop noiselessly into the court below, and they will have means to
convey us over the wall and away! It seemed a good day; all the world
resting and exhausted after the day's exercises. Suspicion dulled, we
trust. We may hear the signal at any moment now. Pray heaven it comes
speedily!"
They were all trembling with excitement and a nervous terror that was
inevitable in their reduced condition. Katharine von Bora looked round
upon the ring of white faces, and said:
"If we have been betrayed;--if the thing is known--and who can be
certain that it is not? Spies abound within cloister walls, as women
have found to their cost ere now;--if it be known we shall be captured,
and our punishment will not be light. If any is afraid, there is yet
time to turn back. Let none who is faint-hearted seek the perils of
flight!"
Her eyes dwelt chiefly upon the tender flower-like face of Eva. Her love
for the youthful novice was deep and tender. She longed for her to
escape from the terrible bondage of the convent; but what if they should
be discovered and brought back? She could bear the thought for herself;
but for Eva----
But there was no fear in Eva's face as she read the thought in the eyes
of her friend. The pulsations of her heart seemed to become quiet and
regular; her gaze was steady and fearless. She was the youngest and
tenderest of all that band; but there was no tremor in her tones as she
said:
"Heaven will help us, I am sure of it. Have we not been asking it? But
even if not, let me go with you. Far better is death itself, than a
living death within these pitiless walls."
"The signal! the signal!" cried a strangled voice from the window; and
Magdalene von Staupitz, who had been leaning out with straining ears,
held up her hand to enforce instant silence.
They all heard it then; the rumble of wheels, and the careless whistling
by the driver of a familiar tune, agreed upon as the signal of
approaching help.
The room in which they were assembled was quite dark, save for the dying
twilight of the April evening. The bars of the casement had been
carefully filed through before, and could be removed noiselessly now
with a single wrench. The courtyard was not far below; and the sisters
helped each other to drop silently down into it, having selected this
particular window on the north side of the convent, as being most remote
from danger of observation.
Eva was the last to descend; she was so light and bird-like in her
movements, that having helped to lower the others, she found no trouble
in hanging by her hands from the sill, and dropping lightly into the
arms of her sister nuns, as she fancied. To her astonishment, and for a
moment to her terror, she found herself confronted by a goodly youth of
fine proportions, but, of course, a perfect stranger to her, who set her
gently on her feet with the reassuring words:
"Your pardon, sweet maid; but time presses, and your companions are
being hurried over the wall to the waggon. They tell me you are the
last. So let us lose not another moment."
He took her hand and led her across the courtyard, the beating of her
heart sounding in her ears like the clangour of an alarm-bell in the
tower overhead. Suppose this was a trap? Were they walking blindfold to
their destruction? For a moment her feet faltered; but a strong hand
upheld her, and a voice spoke in her ear with masculine reassurance:
"Fear not, sweet lady. Having so far succeeded, we will not give you up
without such a struggle as shall set all Germany in a blaze!" He looked
at the fair face beneath the nun's coif, and added with sudden fire and
chivalry: "I would lay down my life to save you from all hurt!"
Eva felt herself quivering and tingling all over. The blood was racing
through her veins as it never seemed to do within those stagnating
cells. The next instant she found herself being helped up a ladder to
the top of the wall, and immediately a pair of strong arms lifted her,
and she was placed beneath the friendly covering of a waggon, where she
felt, rather than saw, that her friends were all packed together.
"Ladies," spoke the voice of the elder man, "we must ask you, for awhile
at least, to consent to somewhat cramped quarters. There are a dozen big
barrels in the waggon. Each is roomy enough to hold a human being. The
only safe way in which we can convey you through the country we have to
traverse is by concealing you in these barrels. I trust you will not
find the captivity a very oppressive one."
Instantly there was willing bustle and confusion, as the nuns joyfully
concealed themselves within the great casks, which were sufficiently
roomy to permit of their squatting down upon the thick layer of straw
considerately provided, whilst the air-holes previously bored gave them
ample breathing space when the tops were fastened down.
Eva was helped into her cask by the youth who had caught her on her
descent from the window, and whom she heard the elder man address
sometimes as "Leonard." He picked up a rug from his own seat upon the
box, and tucked it about her to make her nest softer; and when she
looked up with a grateful smile, and asked:
"Whither are we going, fair sir?" he answered eagerly:
"We take you first to Dr. Martin Luther, who has arranged all this. But
afterwards you will be housed and sheltered by some of the good citizens
of Wittemberg, till it be seen whether or not your parents will receive
you back. But even if not, methinks there will be other happy homes
speedily open to you. My mother is even now hoping to house and shelter
some of you. Wilt thou be willing to trust thyself to my mother's gentle
care?" And as he spoke young Leonard leaned a little nearer, and just
touched Eva's hand with his.
She felt a strange thrill run through her frame. She was half-terrified,
half-delighted. It was like a strange dream, this tent-like waggon, with
its heavy cover, and the gleam of the lantern that lighted up the rows
of casks with their living occupants, and shone upon the flushed and
eager face of the handsome youth, and the grave bearded countenance of
his father. It recalled to her a thousand blissful dreams of childhood,
when she had revelled in the romances and stories of knights errant and
bold heroes. As the light was shut out from her eyes, and she felt the
heavy waggon begin to move on, she realised that the first and worst of
the peril was past. They had escaped! They were outside the convent
walls! They had broken the chain which bound them!
Peril might still menace them for awhile; but at least they had achieved
something. Eva had a feeling, which she was almost afraid to analyse too
closely, that "Leonard" would fight a very grim and determined battle
before he would let her be carried back to the gates of the cloister.
Many were the halts and interruptions of the journey; and many times did
Eva's heart seem almost to stop beating, as a voice would ask close in
their ears, as it seemed:
"What have you here in this waggon?"
"Barrels of herrings," was the reply, made in a grumbling tone from the
driver; "barrels of herrings, and a very slack market for them since
Easter is so nigh. I should have had them before; but there was delay,
and now nobody wants our wares."
Eva had fallen asleep, and her sleep was so sound that she was startled
at last on waking suddenly, to find the sunlight illuminating the bright
world. The head had been taken from her cask, and the tall, handsome
youth was looking eagerly down upon her, saying with a smile and a
blush:
"Mistress Eva, you are safe now. Dr. Martin Luther wishes to welcome you
with the rest. And when you have refreshed yourself, and changed your
attire, my father and I are to have the honour of welcoming you and
Mistress Katharine von Bora under our humble roof, there to await the
result of such representations as will be made by you to your parents."
Eva never forgot that memorable breakfast taken in presence of the great
man, whose name was becoming a household word throughout the length and
breadth of the land.
She remembered less clearly the drive to Torgau with Councillor Koppe
and his son Leonard. It was like a dream to sit in a coach, attired in
the ordinary garb of a citizen maiden, and to be in conversation with a
handsome youth like Leonard, whose devotion never allowed her a moment's
anxiety or a single ungratified wish.
But the motherly kindness of Frau Koppe was worth all the rest to Eva,
when that worthy matron opened her arms and folded her in a loving
embrace. And when it came out at last that her offended parents
declined to receive her home, Eva could meet the disappointment bravely;
for had she not found a second home and second mother in Torgau; and
what was to hinder her speedy marriage with Leonard, when both knew
their own hearts so well?
EMMA FITZ-OSBORN
"The King forbids the marriage!"
Raoul de Gael sprang from his seat beside his betrothed, and stared with
incredulous astonishment into the face of the bearer of this piece of
strange tidings.
The beautiful Emma lifted her head and gazed wonderingly into the dark,
stern face of her brother.
"The King forbids the marriage!" repeated Roger Fitz-Osborn, a dark
flush gathering upon his cheek, as his anger slowly kindled and rose;
"he has sent a special courier across the sea with his Royal mandate,
but no word of reason to explain his tyranny. Are we to be the slaves
and chattels of the man we have made?"
"The King forbids the marriage?" repeated Emma, in her clear, ringing
tones; "and by what right does the King forbid it? Does he not owe to
our father the crown that he wears so proudly upon his head? And are we
to become the slaves of the man in whose cause our father
spent his blood and money, and at last his life itself? Oh,
shame!--shame!--shame!"
A thunder-cloud rested on the brow of the bridegroom-elect; that swarthy
Breton face was capable of expressing the extreme of haughty passion and
resentment. He paced the long apartment to and fro like a wild beast in
its cage. Then he went up to Emma and took her hand in his.
"Dost thou fear the anger of this King, who, but a few short years ago,
was but the Duke of Normandy? whose title to the broad realm of England
would never have been won but for the aid of thy noble father, and of
men like ourselves, who have fought and conquered by his side? Dost thou
fear his Royal displeasure?"
Emma threw back her head, and looked into her lover's eyes. The blood of
a soldier race ran in her veins.
"I fear nothing," she answered, with simple sincerity.
"Spoken like a Fitz-Osborn!" cried her brother, whose pride and
self-esteem had been stung to the quick by the haughty mandate from the
Conqueror, and who had himself favoured the marriage of his beautiful
sister to his brother-in-arms and chiefest friend, and had completed
every arrangement for the ceremony, which was to take place almost
immediately.
Roger Fitz-Osborn was Earl of Hereford by right of sword, as Raoul de
Gael was Earl of Norfolk. Both had distinguished themselves by their
bravery in the war which had made William of Normandy King of England,
and had received these earldoms in recognition of their services.
William the Conqueror was at this time in his own native land, having
left the Primate Lanfranc in temporary charge of England. During this
breathing space the warriors had had time to think of other matters than
the excitement of arms. Raoul had paid a visit to Roger in his new and
stately castle, and the beauty and grace of Emma had so completely won
his heart that they had become affianced in a few weeks' time, and he
was already urging on an immediate marriage.
Such a marriage was entirely to the mind of the brother, and as for
Emma, her heart had been won by the attractions and manly beauty of
Raoul, whose fierce temperament seemed to find its complement in her
lofty courage.
Such a thing as any opposition upon the King's part never once entered
the minds of any of the parties concerned. Nor has it ever been made
clear why the Conqueror raised this objection, and by his haughty
mandate alienated the allegiance of some of his most faithful followers.
Had there been time for the journey to and fro, perhaps the brother
might have crossed the sea and returned with the Royal assent, and the
subsequent tragedy might have been averted; as it was, the mandate only
reached them a few days before the wedding was to be celebrated. They
were already assembled at Norwich Castle, where (in spite of its being
the bridegroom's home) the ceremony was to take place, guests were even
now flocking in to witness the marriage and attend the subsequent feast.
To be forced to give out that the bridal could not take place owing to
the prohibition of the King was a thing abhorrent to the proud spirits
of Roger and Raoul, whilst the equally high spirit and courage of Emma
revolted against the imperious intermeddling of the King, who but a
short while since had been nothing but a noble himself, and whose recent
sudden rise in power was greatly owing to the support of the very
families whose happiness he now sought to mar.
It wanted but a little to arouse in many hearts a sense of revolt and
anger against the absent William. No man can rise so suddenly to such
power without raising up a host of enemies amongst those who begin to
feel the iron hand of monarchy, where once was only the clasp of a
friend. The genius of the Conqueror had won him a kingdom, supported by
the loyal assistance of the Norman and Breton nobles; but he had not
always been careful to conciliate his friends, even though he had not
been backward in bestowing upon them broad lands and new titles.
Sometimes the very wealth and power thus placed within their reach
became, in some sort, a snare to them. Dreams of ambition are ever quick
to rise when angry men get together, and are heated with wine; and
during the days which intervened between the arrival of the King's
message and that fixed for the marriage ceremony, there were fierce and
eager discussions between hot-headed nobles, young and old; and a wave
of rebellious hatred seemed to be sweeping them along as they discussed
the tyranny of the newly made monarch, and spoke together in angry,
threatening tones, or in still more dangerous whispers of the
possibility of bringing about a better state of affairs in the country,
and one more distinctly advantageous to themselves. If William had so
easily conquered the kingdom and established his own power, perchance
that power might again be easily displaced.
The spirit of anger and discontent is easily aroused, and Raoul and
Roger resolved to defy the King; yet, half afraid of the consequences of
their defiance, knowing well the implacable nature of the man with whom
they had to deal, they were eager to win to their way of thinking all
those nobles who were assembling to do honour to bride and bridegroom;
and certainly it seemed as though the spirit of disaffection were not
hard to wake.
"If Waltheof would but join us we might rouse all England against the
Conqueror!" whispered Raoul into the ear of his betrothed upon the
night before their nuptials, as he spoke his fond farewell; and Emma's
eyes glowed, for she knew Earl Waltheof well as a great and warlike man,
whose popularity with his own countrymen would render him an invaluable
ally, supposing that this sudden wave of rebellious impulse were to
break forth into actual insurrection. Girl though she was, she had lived
in an atmosphere of strife, and the sound of battle or the clash of arms
had no terrors for her. Anger was in her heart against the King, and she
cared little if her brother and her future lord chose to take up arms
against him. Sooner than submit to his tyrannous decree, she would fight
with her own hands, and shed the last drop of her blood. For what was
life without Raoul?
Very lovely was the face of the young bride beneath its drooping veil,
as, in the midst of a stately gathering, she plighted her troth to the
man of her choice.
The deed was done. The King's mandate had been defied. A subject was in
open revolt. The realisation of this came home to all those present as
the fatal words were spoken. William was not a man either to forget or
to forgive. The gauntlet had been thrown down--what next?
The wedding guests sat at the long tables in the great banqueting hall.
Bride and bridegroom, together with all the nobles and men of high
degree, sat at the table on the raised daïs, the others of lesser
degree at the tables in the body of the hall. Normans and Bretons were
there, together with a sprinkling of English, Earl Waltheof, who had
married the Conqueror's niece, the afterwards infamous Judith, being one
of them. But his wife was not with him, else perchance even the boldest
had not dared to speak so openly.
It was as if (after the wine cups had gone round many times, and men's
hearts were inflamed by good cheer and by the whispers that had been
circulating with the cups) some sudden impulse came upon them, for a
murmur arose, and the murmur waxed louder and more fierce, and suddenly
a cry seemed to shake the rafters of the hall:
"Down with the Usurper! Who is he that he should reign over us? What is
he better than others? Down with him! Let us divide the realm, and
choose Kings of our own!"