Not John Cobb but Thomas Bettany, who knew whom here he could trust,
sat on a Wednesday afternoon in gaoler’s room, drank ale with Godfrey
and once more petitioned for one look at the witch.
“Nay, nay!” said Godfrey and shook his huge head. “Rule is rule! Time
was I wouldn’t ha’ minded pleasuring you, Master Thomas, but word has
come and a downright word, too, from powers. ‘Look you, Godfrey, that
you do not open that door to any save Father Edmund who preaches to
witch so that it may not be said she goes to hell without preaching!’
So I do not so. You are not the first gallant who hath come and said,
‘Godfrey, let me have a look at the witch!’ But no, says I to all. Rule
is rule!” He set down his can. “I could tell you, but I won’t. Not
just young will-o’-wisps like you, but one that’s older and should be
weightier! But I won’t call name.”
“I can call it for you,” thought the other. “It was Somerville.”
“Coming by night, too!” said Godfrey.
Young Master Thomas Bettany made a pettish movement. “Saint John!
What’s the use of carrying that great bunch of keys if you cannot turn
them at your will! Let me weigh them now!”
Godfrey, smiling broadly, laid the bunch on table. He was a giant, and
Thomas Bettany had been known to him since he was urchin and went by to
school. “Great key--inner ward--key you turn on her?”
Godfrey nodded. “Eh, eh! She has been a fair woman, has she not, and
danced lightly? Marsh fire, will-o’-wisp! Now she lies all her length
on cold ground, and when I open the door she saith, ‘Is’t Friday?’”
“Hark ye! Some one’s knocking.”
Godfrey turned head. “It sounds as they were!” Rising from table, he
went to the door. “Nay, only noise in the street.”
“I thought it was the other door.”
Godfrey stepped from the room and walked a little way down the stone
passage. He returned. “‘Tis nothing! And William sits there to answer.”
“If William wakes now how doth he keep awake by door yonder at night?”
“He gets sleep enough. Prowling around, sometimes I find him sleeping
when he should be waking! But there be few in prison and little
trouble. In old times, when the kings were fighting together, it was
different!”
He took up the keys and fastened them at his belt. “If any could bring
witch to confession you’d think it would be Father Edmund, wouldn’t ye?
But she’s like a block!”
“Confess what?”
“Just all the story of how the devil came to her and she sold him her
soul for ease and triumph. But he’s not a bargain-keeper--never was!
And how he flew with her through air and stone wall, and set her in
Brother Richard’s cell, in place of Queen of Heaven. What she said and
did, and how the devil, all of a sudden seeing that heaven had struck
Brother Richard with the knowledge, ‘This is not the Queen, this is not
the true bright one!’ went about to confuse all Brother Richard’s wits,
turning him into worse than Doubting Thomas, for now he doubts all
things both before and after. But she sticks to saying, ‘It was I from
the first, and the devil was Prior Matthew, Abbot Mark consenting.’ And
Father Edmund preacheth again. Eh, but Friday cometh and she will soon
be but a story! Morgen Fay and the devil.”
Thomas Bettany rode once more with merchant’s pack to Wander forest,
having first gone to Golden Ship by the water side, where he met
Diccon Wright and bought him with love. It was again rose dawn. To one
who at edge of town stopped and questioned him, he said that he was
riding to Somerville Hall.
“Do you not know Sir Robert has gone to London? He rode away yesterday
with three behind him.”
“Oh, aye! But there was message left for me. One day I’ll travel
myself! View Rome and Constantinople and Cambalu.”
“It’s in my mind that he did not wish to see Morgen Fay burn.”
“Maybe so! I’d rather myself see fairies by moonlight or a fair still
garden.”
Ruined farm and David and Margery to whom gentlemen were gentlemen,
whatever strange things they wished, and rose nobles were rose nobles.
“Oh, aye! Who is there for us to tattle to save it be Dobbin and the
cow? There’s naught doing like that Joan who turned to be a witch named
Morgen? We might ha’ had trouble there, but Somerville stepped in and
turned it aside. So you’ll ha’ to do, Master Bettany, if there’s any
mistaken doing here--”
“Aye, I will. But there’s none.”
This was a day of gold dust, still, warm, a haze and floating
stillness. Ruined farm and forest hereabouts might have had a hedge
around them like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. No ears heard
fine smithwork, for Philemon and Baucis were deaf, and went beside to
planted field. The fairies might have heard.
Mid-afternoon Thomas Bettany returned to town. Near the old wall, now
on the high road, he overtook a string of pilgrims footweary and dusty.
The leader hailed him, handsome young burgher riding a fine horse.
“Canst tell us, master, what inn is best for us?”
“Try the Joyful Mountain. Whence do you come?”
From Minchester, it seemed. To Saint Leofric and Silver Cross. “And
we’ve just heard news about a fearful witch and that she’ll be burned
to-morrow. We shall see that first. Thank ye, and our blessing, master!”
Thomas Bettany gave to his family the supper hour and showed himself
during it affectionate son and brother. “Eh, Thomas!” thought the old
merchant, and like the pilgrims he, too, gave him blessing, though an
inner one.
Marian, his sister, who was a mouse for quietness, said suddenly, “Oh,
I would that to-morrow were gone by! If I were Morgen Fay to-night--”
Master Eustace Bettany rated her. “Say naught like that even in jest!”
“I was not jesting.”
“Thou’rt so far from Morgen Fay that thou shalt not say, ‘If I were
Morgen Fay--’”
“She is woman.”
“Witches have left womanhood. Be silent!”
Table was taken away. Eustace Bettany disappeared through the door
which led to countinghouse. Marian came to Thomas in the deep window.
“Stay awhile, Thomas, and read with me ‘Romaunt of the Rose!’ Cousin
hath sent us, too, ‘The Grey Damsel and Sir Launfal.’”
But Thomas could not stay. He kissed her and went forth into the
sunset. By town cross they were piling wood. Saint Ethelred’s bells
rang. The young man stood and prayed.
Dusk came over all like brooding wings. Stars brightened above the
castle. Up there Montjoy, seated in his great chair, listened to Prior
Matthew of Westforest.
“Not to hear of it till now--!”
“It is not yet three nights ago, Montjoy. And it seemed, and still
seemeth best to seek quietly. We have had, to my mind, too much indeed
of buzz and clatter! I wish for quiet to descend upon us.”
“Ah, I also!” sighed Montjoy. “So the soul may return to her proper
work! But open--all things should be open!”
“In reason, aye! But the world is idle and will make scandal if it may.”
Montjoy pressed back of clasped hands over eyes. “The world is thistle
and precipice! I have fearful dreams at night. Welcome will it be to
me, oh Christ, when I may go my pilgrimage!” Rising from his chair he
walked to and fro, then returning to the table, laid touch upon a great
and splendidly bound book, fine work upon fine parchment, illuminated
head letters and borders. He touched it reverently. “See you, so
beautifully done, two hundred years ago! Chronicle of Silver Cross.
I have been reading as I have read a hundred times! Miracles then
a-plenty, and such goodness, such spiritual men, that all seemed grown
pure Nature! I thought the gloss and freshness were all back, but I do
not know--I do not know--I do not know!”
Prior Matthew said quietly, “Until this madness Brother Richard was a
good and holy monk. How else should Heaven have found him as glass to
shine through? And now if, as we think, he lies drowned in Wander, it
does not seem to us self-murder. The mad are not accountable there.
Again, he may have slipped and fallen. So now Our Lord may clear his
mind, and his purgatory done, he will again be wise and holy.”
“Purgatory lasteth long!” said Montjoy. “Thistle and mire pit, thirsty
desert, precipices! And what if he did not drown but roams at large,
telling with flaming eyes and tolling voice and large gesture his story
of not one but many Satans?”
“The whole region knows that he is mad. Were he so abroad, how long
before we should have known it? Oh, we have questioners and seekers
out, but quietly! Hour by hour Wander grows to us the more certain.
Yesterday we dragged, but the water runs swiftly and may have carried
him down.”
“Death. Well, who should tremble at that unless he be sold to
wickedness?”
Through open windows they heard compline bell. “To-morrow draws on.
There will be a great concourse. Saint Leofric and Silver Cross and
Westforest, country folk and all the town, seamen and pilgrims. And
what to see? A woman burning.”
The Prior spoke serenely, invisibly his hand making final move,
providing mate. “Nay, Montjoy, Good vindicated, Ill consumed, Warning
spread!”
Thomas Bettany absented himself from Middle Forest.
Dark night, clear and dark. Lights twinkled in tall houses, lantern
and torch twinkled and flared in narrow streets. Glowworm points
from those belated moved over the bridge. Night deepened. Lights went
out one by one, cluster by cluster. Now there were great spaces of
naught between twinklers and flarers. Dark space widened, twinklers
and flarers growing lonely, separated afar from one another. Ships
below the bridge had lanterns, but the ships were few. Lights lessened,
lessened, until you might say Middle Forest was in darkness. Lanterns
of the watch went slowly about, but wary eye might know where watch had
been and where it was now and where it would presently be. Cautious
foot might tread among the three. Of course, if shout were raised,
watch hearing it would come running.
Midnight and after.
Godfrey had good wine to-night, brought him by Master Thomas Bettany.
Godfrey thought, “Brought for present to soften me to let him look at
the witch!” He grinned and took the wine but kept to “Rule is rule!”
“Very fine Jerez sack,” explained the young merchant, “out of a lot
bought in London. And will you give a stoup to William and Diggory?
Diggory is a great fellow of his inches! I saw him Sunday wrestling in
long meadow.”
Godfrey drank the Jerez wine with his supper, and he poured a great
cup for William and for Diggory. They drank. “Aye, aye! Bettany knows
how to choose the best!”
Deep night.