ON THE WAY TO CASTLE YEWE
The ceremony attending the departure of Sir Richard upon his singular
errand was quickly over; and well within the limits of that day the
massive pile of ivy-grown walls, crenelated towers and copper-tipped
turrets of Kenilworth Castle had dipped beneath the undulating masses
of autumn tinted foliage behind the young knight and John Belwiggar,
whom the King had nominated to be Sir Richard's squire and attendant.
Within Henry's mind the expedient of dispatching the young knight
as bearer of his own death warrant had been conceived in a spirit
of absurd bravado. So far as his calculating and selfish character
permitted, he was fond of him. But if he suffered a regret, it was
wholly personal, and because of circumstances that had compelled him to
part from one in whose companionship he had derived a great deal of
pleasure. In respect of any feeling of genuine sorrow, the entire scene
enacted between himself and Stanley had been a complete farce. Though
he had invested that doughty warrior with many and distinguished honors
and great power, he had never entertained on the behalf of his chief
official that feeling of confidence so essential to the complaisance of
mind of any ruler. It was his intention to set before that individual
an example of integrity and devotion that the King fancied would be
well worthy of emulation. As an additional safeguard, however, he
caused secret spies of his own selection to be dispatched in the
train of Sir Richard. In adopting this course he believed himself
to be keeping the situation well in hand; at once guarding against
any interruption of the final delivery of the unusual warrant, and
providing him with the means of testing Lord Stanley's devotion to his
cause.
Thus, had not Sir Richard taken it into his head to follow an itinerary
entirely different from either the one suggested by Henry, or that
secretly transmitted to him beside the portcullis by Lord Stanley,
some state problems of vast magniture and importance might then have
been solved. As it subsequently transpired, all along and between the
roads that it was definitely supposed the young knight and his squire
would make their pilgrimage, King's emissaries were constantly meeting
and receiving entertainment of Stanley's lieutenants, as well as the
other way about. Obviously, neither the one side nor the other dared
to hint of its purpose of espionage or destination; nor yet dared to
display any undue haste in parting to pursue its secret way. It also
became necessary for them to observe every possible precaution in the
matter of covering up their trails, one from another; and, in this way,
the innocent cause of this rather amusing game of cross-purposes was
permitted to go unmolested upon his way.
The route that Sir Richard had chosen rendered it necessary for himself
and squire to tread paths and by-ways used chiefly by peasant farmers
and sheep-herders. At times, after a heavy fall of rain, such of these
as wound through the low lying valleys would become wholly impassable,
making it needful for our pilgrims to await the draining of the flood
into the rivers, or to make long detours to come upon the other side.
For this reason, it had reached well along into October before they had
passed through the Liberties of Berwick and set foot upon Scottish soil.
It was growing late in the afternoon of their second day in Scotland,
and while they were skirting the edge of a rock-tarn lying in gloomy
seclusion in the middle of a desolate moor, that Sir Richard was
murderously deprived of the services of his squire and brave attendant.
There had been no hint of the approach of the tragedy; no clue as to
the identity or purpose of the cowardly perpetrators following its
occurrence.
Mounted upon his mettlesome charger, which, though uncommonly powerful,
was somewhat fatigued because of the many miles put behind him that
day, the young knight was riding slowly along some two hundred yards
in advance of Belwiggar. The sky was heavy, gray, and lowering; and
the boulder-strewn, monotonously level expanse of moor affording no
pleasant aspect or interesting contrasts to the eye, Sir Richard's
gaze remained fixed upon the nodding head of his stallion. So near the
brink was the narrow path winding along the waters of the tarn, and so
unruffled was its surface, that steed and armored rider were mirrored
faithfully, point for point, beneath.
Hearing a sharp rattling of steel-shod hoofs behind him, and vaguely
marveling as to the cause of this unexpected and unusual burst of
energy upon the part of his squire, the young knight turned, with a
smile upon his face, to greet Belwiggar's approach. To his horrified
surprise he was but just in time to see the honest fellow writhing in
an agony of death, while the horse that he had so lately bestrode in
the prime vigor of rugged health whisked blindly ahead of the young
knight along the road, till, crashing against a huge boulder upreared
within its path, it stumbled, seemed to hang for an instant in mid-air,
and then, neighing with wild affright, disappeared with a tremendous
splash beneath the surface of the tarn.
Apprehending some immediate danger to himself, Sir Richard, upon the
instant, drew his visor close. Just as he had accomplished this move
a bolt struck fair upon the joint of his neck-guard; and, though it
did him no harm beyond causing his head to ring with the force of the
impact, it was the cunning of his armorer alone that had saved him from
a death similar to that of Belwiggar.
Having no means of knowing the exact direction from whence the arrows
had been sped, and the nature of the ground precluding the possibility
of sending his horse over it, the young knight made no attempt to seek
out and punish his assailant. He shot a glance of the keenest scrutiny
from boulder to boulder, but there was no sign of a living being upon
the moor. Satisfied that Belwiggar's death must go unavenged for the
time, he rode back to where he lay with a feathered shaft, still
quivering, protruding from his broad breast.
He dismounted beside the body, tethering his horse in the hollow
between two rocky promontories through which the path swung. He stood
looking around him for a space, uncertain what to do. So overwhelmingly
appalling and strange were the circumstances attending the tragedy,
and to that degree was Sir Richard oppressed by his melancholy
surroundings, that he became filled with a feeling of unspeakable
dread, an almost uncontrollable desire to throw himself upon the back
of his steed and gallop swiftly away. Torn by such emotions, it was
no light task to remain upon the scene for the purpose of making such
disposition of poor Belwiggar's body as his limited means would permit.
By employing the dead warrior's battle-ax in lieu of mattock, however,
he contrived to hollow out a sufficient space to lay him decently
away. Then, piling up a mound of loose stones above the shallow grave,
Sir Richard remounted and pursued his solitary way northward toward
Bannockburn and Castle Yewe.
As he journeyed onward the young knight made many determined efforts to
whistle and sing away a feeling of deep melancholy that persisted in
setting somberly down upon him. In the manner of a gloomy procession
passing in review before his mind's eye, he recalled all of the wild
folklore with which his ears had been beguiled since his advent into
Scotland.
"Scour ye'r hoorse ower the Sauchieburn Pass," a toothless and horrible
old hag had whispered into his unwilling ear upon the morning of that
very day. "Dinna ye ken," she had croaked, "that the deil flees there
at fall o' nicht?" and the bare thought that he would be obliged to
pass the night there alone, with nothing between his head and the
limitless heavens but a possible shelving rock, caused icy shivers of
fear to creep along his back.
There was one weird tale in particular that he had heard repeated with
a stubborn insistence that gave to it some semblance of verity. It was
that concerning a certain red tavern, which, according to the peasant's
lively imaginations, appeared suddenly along lonely and unfrequented
roadways, as though set there by the Evil One. After a time, then, it
was reported to vanish as suddenly and mysteriously as it had appeared,
taking along with it into the Unknown any luckless wayfarer that had
chanced to seek shelter beneath its phantom roof.
"Now, I am free to own," Sir Richard argued with himself, "that there
are certain strange phenomena of which the human mind can give no
proper accounting. But when it comes to tales of gibbering ghosts,
shadowy, phantom shapes and flying taverns--why, by 'r Lady! I'll set a
barrier of common sense against my credulity and refuse to believe."
He was quite aware, moreover, that none of his countrymen had ever
journeyed through Scotland without being bedeviled by somewhat of
these same gruesome tales. While it was true that the wily Lord Bishop
Kennedy had succeeded in effecting a truce of seven years' duration
between England and Scotland, it was obviously beyond him to beguile
the yeomanry into viewing an Englishman with anything approaching
favor. Nor yet, by any possible chance or subterfuge, could he have set
a truce to their wagging tongues. Legends and superstitions were a part
of their daily existence, and in proportion as they were fearsome they
enjoyed spreading them about.
Revolving these matters within an uneasy mind, Sir Richard gave small
heed to his surroundings. By now, he had laid the moor well behind
him. Through a slight rift in the rolling cloud-pall peered the last
segment of the setting sun; and away to the westward could be caught an
occasional glinting of the sea as the waves billowed through its golden
reflection.
Just ahead of him the road dipped into a valley. Along its bowl-like
bed lay a morass, which gave off continuously a heavy, bluish, and
probably poisonous vapor. To the north of the morass the road ascended
in easy gradients till it clipped the sky line at the distance of a
league and a half, or thereabouts, from where he rode.
At the precise point where the road showed bold and clear against the
clouds he fancied that he saw the expiring rays of the sun gleaming
against a point of vivid color. As he descended into the valley to
where the road divided the morass, the point of color disappeared
from view, and all of the landscape resumed its gray and monotonous
appearance.
Not wishing to inhale the miasmic vapor, in which, he feared, might
lurk some dire fever, Sir Richard drank long and deep of untainted
air. So much so indeed that the flesh of his back and breast impinged
strong upon his steel harness. Then, setting spurs to his stallion, he
galloped through the dank cloud without a breath of it reaching into
his nostrils.
As he drew near the northern reaches of the valley and rounded a
gigantic boulder that stood sentinel to the upper plain, he came
full upon a tavern that he at once surmised to be the same of which
he had heard so much. Upon the instant that he did so, he reined in
his steed to a dead stand. Aside from its brilliant though somewhat
weather-beaten coat of scarlet, it differed in many respects from the
taverns then commonly to be seen along the highways. Saving at the very
apex of its steep gable, its front was unpierced by windows. Above its
single, narrow door, which opened beneath the jut of the upper story,
hung a signboard bearing upon its surface the device of a vulture
feeding its young. Withal, however, it appeared to be material enough,
and this made it impossible for Sir Richard to account for a feeling of
unutterable dread that took complete possession of his mind.
Once he had almost decided upon riding straight to its entrance to beat
upon the rude panels of the door for admittance within. But before he
could summon sufficient courage to carry out his half-formed design,
a mortal terror returned strong upon him, and forthwith he sent his
stallion past it at a furious gallop.
It stood a full quarter of a league at his back before the ungovernable
fear within him gave ground to shame. He pulled up sharp, then
wheeled, and rode slowly back to its sinister door.
As he knocked with the scabbard of his sword upon the heavy planks a
drop of rain splashed against his helmet, trickled down over his closed
visor, and dripped through one of its orifices upon his chin.