THE PAVILION OF PURPLE AND BLACK
It was a trifle past midnight when de Claverlok and the men he had
commissioned to bring with him halted in the highroad before the door
of the Red Tavern. Coincident with their arrival the hitherto deserted
and lonely appearing hostelry was magically metamorphosed into a
hive of buzzing industry. The near vicinity of the building became
brilliantly illuminated with the flare of many links, the iron pikes of
which had been struck into the earth from the roadway to the entrance
of the inn. That the scene was one of martial activities could in no
wise be mistaken, for the yellow light of the torches was reflected
and repeated against a goodly number of steel cuirasses and polished
bucklers.
Beside Tyrrell, near the doorway, stood a thin and rather under-sized
man, wearing an intricately plaited coat of light chain mail, over
which was drawn a white linen tunic, with a crimson Maltese cross
emblazoned upon the breast, after the fashion of the ancient Crusaders.
This individual, conspicuous alone because of the simplicity of his
dress when contrasted with those about him, was the famed diplomatist,
warrior, statesman, shrewd conspirator, and eminent churchman, Lord
Bishop Kennedy, to whom Tyrrell looked ever for council and advice,
and who, in reality, had been the brains and backbone of the movement
that had been designed to set the youthful Duke of York upon the throne
of England. Here was a man possessing that strength of character
that permitted him to remain always in the background. From whence
he was wont to view the vast schemes in which he became involved as
a whole, much as the successful general might select a high eminence
from which to overlook and direct the maneuvres of his army. While
indolence was at times attributed to him, on account of a certain
reserve and unobtrusiveness of manner, to those who knew him well he
was known to be indefatigably energetic. It was said of him, indeed,
that he never slept, saving with an open eye to his tent-flap, or
doorway. In Sir James Tyrrell, Bishop Kennedy had achieved a notably
brilliant confederate--a man of ideas, a born inventor, but visionary
to a perilous degree. Tyrrell was not suffered to be awakened out of
his dream that he was the real leader; though, in point of truth, he
was but nominally such. If, however, the block were to claim its tithe
of vengeance, Tyrrell's head, and not Lord Kennedy's, would have been
among those selected. Kennedy regarded politics as he did a game of
chess, and was marvelously proficient in playing both. "A knight, or
even a despised pawn," he was known to have said, "may say 'check' to
a king, but it is a wise precaution to have a bishop stationed on the
long diagonal."
"Thou art certain beyond all peradventure," he was saying to Tyrrell,
"that thou canst not be mistaken as to the identity of thy find?"
"Aye--marry, am I, my lord," Tyrrell confidently replied. "I could
scarce be amiss in my recognition of the unusual birthmark. Besides,
good bishop, did not the youth make confession of his lack of knowledge
of his progenitors?"
"Yea. But 'tis a common ignorance--that, friend Tyrrell. Of a truth,
the stroke seemeth too timely and well-favored to be genuine," said
Kennedy, who was never ready to accept the semblance of a fact for
the fact itself. "Here hath the earth had scarce time to grow cold
above the young duke, when up crops another candidate every whit
as legitimate and proper. 'Twould appear, my friend, as though an
incipient monarch were being reared in every wayside hovel. Yet--as
thou hast said--thou couldst scarce have been mistaken in the
birthmark. If proven true, 'tis indeed a most providential stroke. But
this very day have I learned that Lord Douglas is meditating a move
like unto thine. Already have I laid plans to gather more intimate
particulars--for thy express benefit, understand me. But I can lesson
thee now that some hint of the young prince's existence and death
hath flown into his yawning ear. Keep a firm hold upon thy wits and
tongue, for there is surely a traitor abroad, Sir James. More; I have
it that Douglas doth lay open claim to the possession of the living
person of the genuine heir, and that there is now a gathering of the
clans for the purpose of raising the counterfeit claimant to the
throne. Emissaries from Castle Yewe will come here to treat with thee
for the combining of thy forces with Douglas's. An this youth of thine
be indeed the Earl of Warwick, son of George, Duke of Clarence, thou
canst laugh in Douglas's teeth. An it were not so, friend Tyrrell, thou
couldst do naught wiser than amalgamate issues. For thy life would be
worth no more than a leaden farthing from the fury of thine own troop,
an they were to be disbanded without chance of giving battle to Henry."
At this juncture four men drew beside the speakers, through the door,
carrying Sir Richard, who had been rendered unconscious through the
medium of Friar Diomed's narcotic. As gently as their rough hands could
accomplish it, the young knight was placed in the covered litter, which
had been standing along the highway awaiting his reception.
"I beg of thee, Sir James," said Lord Kennedy then, "procure for
me from this young knight's wallet the warrant of which thou wert
speaking. I would I might know well its contents." The keen politician
might easily have taken it himself, as it was his intention to travel
northward with the horsemen and litter-bearers, but he desired to
assure himself that the document would not remain behind in Tyrrell's
keeping. The time was likely to come when this piece of parchment would
be an invaluable political perquisite.
When the warrant had been secured and surrendered into his hands,
Bishop Kennedy made quick work of breaking the seal that Tyrrell had
so deftly mended. By the light of one of the links he read it slowly
through, nodding his head the while.
"'Tis well," he said when he had finished; "and I doff my bonnet to
thee, Sir James, for a most fortunate and successful general."
Whereupon he folded up the parchment and thrust it carelessly within
his bosom. Then, grasping Tyrrell's hand, he bade him adieu, swung
himself upon his horse and started in the train of the cavalcade, which
had already begun its march from the inn.
In the light of the single torch remaining, Tyrrell stood beside the
door till the noise of the moving company had dwindled to silence
in the distance, after which he extinguished the blazing link and
disappeared within the lonely tavern.
It was nearing daybreak when the cavalcade, led by de Claverlok and
Lord Bishop Kennedy, filed past the sentinel outposts within the area
of the encampment. The bivouac had been set along the shore, within
sight and sound of the sea, and not above a dozen miles from the Red
Tavern; but, because of the litter-bearers, the men had been put to
the necessity of moving in a slow and deliberate manner, which fact
accounted for their tardy progress in effecting the distance.
As Sir Lionel de Claverlok is destined to play a most important part in
this narrative of tangled conspiracies, it would doubtless be well now
to introduce him to the reader.
To begin with, he was a man who was loved and admired by his enemies,
which, though it may appear anomalous, was nevertheless true. He was as
refreshing as a shower in spring; as open in his manner as a wind-swept
plain. Saving in the arts of warfare, however, of all of which he had
proven himself to be a surpassing master, he was uneducated. Every
rugged feature displayed between the shaggy thatch of his wiry,
silver-shot hair, and the thick tangle of his disordered, curly beard
bespoke at once the good fellow and indomitable warrior. Whilst,
intuitively, one would take him for a person of gentle extraction,
there was about him little, if anything, of the polished courtier.
He had been too industriously engaged upon the business of his life,
which was to conquer a complete understanding of war-craft, to yield
thought or time to the cultivation of the softer attainments of the
court gallant. As to his physical attributes, he was stockily set up,
not above the average in height, and in the noontide of a vigorous and
healthful manhood.
"Men," said Bishop Kennedy as he drew up before his tent, "raise me the
silken pavilion of purple and black upon yonder hill. When thou hast
done, set up the bed thou didst bring with thee, and dispose the young
knight, now asleep in the litter, within. Bid the Renegade Duke to set
a close guard above his slumbers. Haste thee, go!" Then, turning to de
Claverlok, "attend me within my tent, Sir Lionel," he added, "I would
have a moment's speech of thee."
Whereupon they dismounted, gave their horses into the charge of
waiting equerries and went inside.
"This fanciful plan of our dreamy friend of the flying inn," he
pursued when they had seated themselves, "to keep the Earl of Warwick
in the grip of Friar Diomed's decoction is both impracticable and
dangerous. 'Twould be a good three days ere he could be brought to our
main stronghold in the mountains." So saying, he took from his wallet
the phial that Tyrrell had entrusted to his keeping and emptied its
sparkling contents upon the ground.
"I would, my lord," said de Claverlok soberly, "that I could pour a
phial of it within my tent--eh! Mayhap 'twould put the blessed ants to
sleep, and keep them from crawling beneath my gorget ... eh!"
Bishop Kennedy acknowledged the grizzled knight's sally with a mere
suspicion of a smile.
"Lay our commands upon the Renegade Duke," he pursued, "that he shall
permit the prisoner, for as such we must for the present regard him,
to rest till such time as he may naturally awaken from his stupor. I
desire, de Claverlok, that thou shalt say but little to the duke of
the haps of this night. By all means, keep from his knowledge the
identity of the young earl. My reasons for this are most urgent, I
would have thee to know. Meanwhile, keep a close eye to the prisoner
thyself. We may deem it expedient later to give him wholly into thy
charge. And now, good sir, to thy cot--and may pleasing visions await
thee there."
When de Claverlok issued from Lord Kennedy's tent he glanced upward
toward the knoll whereupon the folds of the purple and black pavilion
were billowing gracefully in the crisp morning air. Betaking himself up
the slope, he waited there till the unconscious Sir Richard had been
comfortably disposed beneath its silken roof, the same, by the way,
which had been intended as a covering for the dead prince.
Then, when he had done with appointing and setting the guard, the
grizzled warrior made in the direction of the renegade duke's tent for
the purpose of imparting to him Lord Kennedy's instructions.