OF A NIGHT IN THE RED TAVERN
As Sir Richard glanced above the jutting cornice he noted that the
clouds had turned to a murky green. Ragged tentacles were trailing
ominously earthward as the storm raged down upon the sea. Appreciating
the need of immediate shelter, and having as yet heard no answering
sounds from within, he sent another fusillade of blows against the door.
Almost upon the instant there followed a loud clanking of iron chains
and bolts. Then, as the door swung slowly inward, there stood revealed
within the open space a singularly odd and striking figure of a man. So
extraordinarily tall was he that he was obliged to stoop to make way
for his head beneath the lintel as he set his foot upon the step. He
vouchsafed no word of welcome or good cheer, but stood silent, waiting
for the traveler to speak.
With his sparse hair streaming in the augmenting wind, his keen eyes
burning within the shadow of a thicket of brows; his veritable beak
of a nose--vying with that of the crudely painted vulture above his
head--and his thin, bloodless lips, he appealed to the young knight
like anything but a picture of a hospitable inn-keeper. It being
habitual to associate with these highway entertainers a certain
rotundity of figure and jollity of demeanor. The one confronting Sir
Richard was attenuated to the last degree, though in despite of this
the breadth of his wrist, and the clutch of his bony fingers upon the
latch, betrayed his possession of a more than usual measure of physical
strength.
"Hast thou peace and provender for a wayfaring knight and horse?" our
astonished pilgrim made out to inquire.
Even then the landlord did not trouble himself to speak. Bowing assent,
however, he signed Sir Richard to dismount and enter. As he complied,
another man, with features very much resembling the first, but whose
figure was grossly misshapen, squat, hunchbacked, and long-armed,
emerged from the obscurity of the room and led away his horse. This
move was not accomplished without a considerable effort upon the
hunchback's part, for the spirited animal pricked up its ears, champed
its bit, and hung back on the bridle at sight of the apparition tugging
at the other end.
It was not without an inward sense of fear that the young knight moved
toward the glowing blaze, after he had seen his horse safely led,
though stubbornly contesting every inch of the way, around the corner
of the building. As he approached the chimney-side, a huge wolfhound
lying upon the hearth half rose upon its haunches.
In the bright light of the fire Sir Richard could see the stiff, wiry
gray hairs elevating along its spine, and the gleaming of white fangs
as it curled its lips from off them and emitted a savage growl.
"Crouch, Demon!" commanded the inn-keeper in a voice which, though low,
seemed by far more menacing than the savage grumble of the beast.
The hound instantly obeyed, resuming its recumbent attitude and
regarding the intruder furtively the while out of the tail of its
yellow eyes.
By now the wind had risen to the strength of a hurricane; whining and
shrieking dismally, it was dashing the rain with tremendous violence
against the northern and eastern walls of the tavern. With an inward
acknowledgment of his indebtedness to a kind providence for having set
a haven of refuge of any description along the highway, the traveler
took his place in a deep-seated bench beside the fire, unloosed the
fastenings of his helm and removed his gauntlets. He made as if to
unlock his greaves, but desisted upon a vivid recollection of the sharp
fangs of the wolfhound.
"By the rood, my good man, but how it doth blow," said he, rubbing his
benumbed hands in front of the warm and cheery blaze. "A stoup of red
wine or runlet of canary would scarce come amiss upon such a night, i'
truth."
With his foot touching the muzzle of the dog, the inn-keeper had taken
his station before the fire; and, whilst the lower portion of his tall
body was bathed in its ruddy glare, his head towered among the shadowy
beams above. By the dim semi-light that barely laid itself against his
pallid cheek, Sir Richard could see that his host was measuring him up
point by point; and in a manner so insolently intent that he became
possessed of a mad itching to attempt a chastisement of his tormentor.
But two words, and these spoken to the hound, had the landlord uttered
since the young knight had dismounted before the door.
"Well!" exclaimed our pilgrim, rapping impatiently upon the table
before him, "an thou hast finished with thy inventorying, man; bring on
a stoup of wine. And be good enough to see to it, sir, that the drink
be advance guard to a bit of supper."
Thereupon the inn-keeper bent the incensed Sir Richard a bow that Lord
Cardinal Bourchier himself might properly have envied.
"Saidst thou not something, sir knight," he returned in the smoothest
of tones, "of a runlet of canary?"
His manner was faultlessly deferential, but the modulations of
his voice conveyed a world of ironical badinage that was wellnigh
intolerable. The young knight was tired, lonely, and, if the truth
be said, half fearful; and for these reasons proved no match at all
for the extraordinary tavern-keeper at that soft game. Losing for the
moment all control of his temper, he sprang petulantly to his feet and
rapped angrily upon the wooden bench with the scabbard of his sword.
"Devil fly away with the canary, sirrah!" he retorted, threateningly.
"I tell thee now, it were the better suited to thy health that thou
shouldst do my bidding, man."
"This tavern, good my knight," said the inn-keeper, apparently not in
the least ruffled, and wholly ignoring his guest's display of anger,
"boasts but a meager fare. Plain venison, I fear me much, must needs
pass muster with thy dainty palate in lieu of larks and pigeons."
A nature prone to sudden disarrangement of poise is usually amenable
to swift reasoning and control. By this time, Sir Richard, repenting
of his burst of passion and appreciating the imbecility of a resort
to violence, had determined in his mind to do his utmost to meet the
inn-keeper upon his own ground. He arose, thereupon, and swept toward
mine host his most profound curtesy.
"Venison from thy cupboard," said he, smiling in a good humor that was
not altogether assumed, "would stand substitute for even Karum-pie."
With a grim chuckle the inn-keeper then took himself off. The hunchback
returned presently bearing upon a broad platter a warmed over venison
pasty and a stoup of wine; which, upon tasting, Sir Richard found to
be of a most excellent vintage. He was disappointed in one particular,
however; for, from the moment of the landlord's exit from the room,
the young knight had entertained the hope that his supper might be
served through the offices of a comely maid. In that event, as was the
habit of the times, he would have enjoyed her companionship through the
hour of eating. He could accordingly scarcely conceal his vexation and
chagrin upon beholding the lugubrious hunchback.
"The Fates defend us!" he exclaimed beneath his breath. "Merely to look
at the fellow doth steal away mine hunger."
Well within the zone of pleasing warmth of the fire, and with the not
untuneful beating of the wind and sleet against the hollow clapboards
singing in his ears, Sir Richard, after he had partaken of his supper,
remained beside the table, his elbows resting upon its top, his head
reclining against his hand. A delightful drowsiness was stealing over
him, causing his head to nod lower and lower. Then, with a relaxation
of every muscle of his body, he fell forward into a deep sleep.
The air of absolute confidence with which the inn-keeper presently
entered the room; the deliberate manner in which he went about
unfastening and intruding his hand within the traveler's wallet seemed
adequately to indicate that the entire circumstance had grown out of
a well meditated plan of action. As he withdrew King Henry's warrant
and clapped his eyes upon the great red seal his eyebrows went up in
token of astonishment. With extreme deliberation he broke the seal and
proceeded to acquaint himself with its purport.
"'Tis a passing strange and untoward business, this," he muttered,
after having read and read again the contents of the singular document.
"Aye, a passing strange business. Is it but an idle frolic of a king?
some cruel wager, conceived in wanton jest? Certes, and this youth
were an enemy to the throne, his fair head, ere this, had fallen beside
the tower block. I would that we could attach men as stanch, devoted
and incorruptible to our great cause. But now, since the young prince
is dead, what cause have we?" Folding carefully the parchment, he
vented a deep sigh. "The labor of these seven years is gone for naught.
Aye, for naught. And the great army that is bivouaced here to-night in
Scotland is like unto an avenging Juggernaut with none to guide its
course. A beast of prey bereft of a head wherewith to devour its enemy."
Concluding his meditations, the inn-keeper, moving toward the fire,
took up a blazing splinter and addressed himself to the task of mending
the broken seal. Having accomplished this to his apparent satisfaction,
he returned the parchment whence it had been taken, seated himself
beside the table opposite to the sleeping young knight and resumed the
thread of his gloomy thoughts.
"'Tis passing strange that I--I, James Tyrrell--wearing the stigma of a
murderer, expatriate and outlawed from my country, should feel toward
this comely youth a sentiment akin to pity. Even would I make attempt
to save him, and I could. But, I fear me, 'tis impossible. The very
nature of his errand furnishes such proof of his stubborn integrity
that 'twere but folly to make trial of dissuading him from going on.
An I had awakened him to display the violated parchment, he would have
had at me with his sword for an arrant traitor. Even as he bent me that
pretty bow, I could see the fighting-man in his gray eye. An I caused
him to be trussed up as he sleeps to hold it before his conscious eyes,
he would dub me liar and base imitator of King Henry's signature to my
very teeth. Reluctant though I am thus to do, I must perforce allow him
to fare away upon his pilgrimage to death."
With that Tyrrell arose, leaning, for a brief instant, upon the table
above the sleeping knight. Upon the instant that he did so his manner
underwent a marked transformation from passive contemplation to that
of intent and earnest scrutiny. Bending his eyes upon the point where
the young man's neck escaped from his steel shoulder-guards, he stood
for some time regarding two small and blood-red moles, which were
curiously joined together by a slender filament of raised flesh. In
any other but the recumbent position that the sleeping man's head had
naturally assumed, the birth-mark would have been hidden from view
beneath the masses of golden-brown hair growing in a profusion of
ringlets behind his delicately modeled ears.
Then: "'Tis a glorious dispensation of Divine Providence," declared
Tyrrell solemnly, straightening to his full height and upraising his
right hand, whilst his left remained upon the unconscious knight's
shoulder. "And we thank thee, merciful God, for thy kindness in thus
sending another to take the place of one whom thou didst see fit to
take away."
Thereupon, with many a halt, and many a backward glance, he stole
quietly from the room.
His advent into another, wherein four armed men were amusing themselves
over a game of cards and conversing together in guarded undertones, was
dramatic in the extreme.
He took his stand in the center of the floor, the flare of a single
torch speeding waves of light and shadow along his tall figure.
"Noble gentles," said he, "fellow conspirators: Know ye all that a
just God hath this night deigned to smile upon our cause. That even
now, in the room without, steeped in sweet slumber 'neath the influence
of one of Friar Diomed's harmless potions, there is a fit and proper
candidate for a throne in which now sits a base usurper."
"Ay--marry, is this true, eh? Well, he is a good enough looking young
fellow. But, 'tis no more than fair that the traveler should well
requite us for thus depriving us of the comforts of a cheery room--eh!"
muttered a bearded warrior, who, because of a conspicuous absence of
stools or chairs, was obliged to take what ease he could upon the
floor. "I would that friend Zenas might fetch bench or stool," he
added, "so that I might listen to thy tale in seemly comfort--eh!"
"Have done with thy grumblings, de Claverlok," spoke up another member
of the quartet. "Pray, Sir James, keep not longer from us the identity
of this God-given substitute. We are all ears to hear."
"Ay, so must we be," de Claverlok interrupted. "But one great ear, for
'tis from a great height we must listen--eh!"
"First," resumed Tyrrell, unheedful of the interruption, "I would hear
thy separate oaths registered that no hint shall escape thee of that
which I am about to tell. This oath of secrecy, noble gentlemen, doth
most of all include the solitary traveler now asleep in the outer
room. Until such time as I shall give thee warrant, him must we keep
in ignorance of our purpose. It is my firm resolve to bring him within
view of our great armed force, before laying bare our plans. Zenas, my
good brother," Sir James pursued, turning to the dwarf, "do thou, for
a time, stand sentinel above our honorable guest. I charge thee, guard
him zealously from harm till I am ready to join thee."
After Zenas had closed the door behind his retreating figure, the
inn-keeper, turning toward the three men remaining, divulged to them at
great length and with fine regard to details our traveler's true name
and titles, as well as the nature of his errand to Douglas.
"My good wife, gentles," he said, concluding the explanation of the
source of his knowledge, "was nurse and godmother to the suckling
infant. Full oft did we, in secret, discuss the significance of these
marks that I have but this moment again looked upon. And, now, Friar
Diomed," he said, addressing himself to the churchman, "art thou
skilled enough in the assembling of herb and root to prepare me a
sleeping potion that for three days or more will not lose its hold upon
the senses?"
"Aye--that can I," replied the monk cheerfully. "An you but set it
to the nostrils thrice in the day 'twill sleep a man safely the week
through."
"Then do thou have it ready betwixt this hour and midnight. De
Claverlok, do thou, with all dispatch, ride to our nearest encampment.
Bring back with thee a dozen mounted men and a covered litter. Whilst
awaiting Sir Lionel's speedy return, we will give our time to the
further discussion of plans and expedients."
By now the storm had abated. The wind, no longer a shrieking tornado,
had died away to a plaintive sighing about the eaves. The rain had
entirely ceased, and in the dead solitude of the night the hoofbeats
of de Claverlok's charger, as he galloped away upon his errand, were
plainly audible to those within the tavern; to all saving Sir Richard,
who, still sleeping beside the fire, was all unconscious of an eye,
a patient, gleaming, malevolent eye, which remained fixed upon the
interior through a narrow window set high in the eastern wall of the
room.