OF THE GALLERY OF THE GRIFFINS' HEADS
Bitterest remorse winged the young knight's feet; apprehension became
the mother of audacity; and without any ceremonious ado he made for
that part of the castle which he knew was apportioned to the exclusive
uses of Lady Anna. Like a hawk winging its predatory flight against a
covey of unprotected and gentle doves, he swooped down upon the lady's
retinue of serving-maids.
The contact, however, was as fugitive as it was tempestuous
and violent, and beyond leaving them all of a-flutter, weeping
hysterically, and earnestly protesting that this was an hour of the
morning during which their mistress forbade the slightest interruption
or disturbance, he accomplished not a single point in the behalf of his
friend.
While impatiently awaiting Lady Anna's appearance, he fell to
wandering through the wide, thronged halls, and narrow, lonely, and
deserted galleries. In opening a door leading from one of these, he
stumbled upon a blind passageway, which, to all appearances, was
devoted to no other purpose than that of a vantage-point, whence were
to be had a view of the open glades and forests, and the towers,
turrets, barbecan, and walls commanding them. Gloomily he stood gazing
through one of the deep embrasures, which pierced the outer wall of
the gallery from end to end, upon the half drawn bridge. It seemed to
him ages gone since de Claverlok and he had thundered side by side
above its moldering planks. "What a brave, unselfish fellow he was,"
mused Sir Richard, "to cast his fortunes along with mine, when, by the
simple tugging of a rein, he might have ridden among his companions and
into safety. Well, ... I'll have him free. I vow I'll have him set at
liberty. Or, by my soul, I'll lay my thoughtless, selfish head beside
his generous one upon the block."
Yet how good it was to live, Sir Richard thought: to be free; to mark
the bright sunshine; to watch the sparkling hoar-frost disappearing in
floating pennants of silvery mist against the purple shadows lurking
within the background of the firs. By thus enumerating to himself some
of the joys of life he was not meaning to qualify the integrity of his
oath. He was sincere at the moment in his determination to free de
Claverlok, or suffer the penalty of death along with him.
Sir Richard was leaning heavily against the outer wall, yielding to a
host of melancholy reflections; his shoulder disconsolately pressing
against the casement of the embrasure. Quite by chance his eyes fell
upon a row of bronze griffins' heads, each occupying the center of
a line of deep oaken panels, which extended along the opposite wall
from the doorway through which he had entered to the end of the sealed
passageway. Doubtless it was the repellant hideousness of their
faces that arrested and fixed his attention. Their curled tongues
protruded in a series of abhorrent grimaces that tended to fascinate
the observer. The young knight singled out the head just across from
him and fell to studying it minutely. He grew sensible of a boyish
desire to attempt to distort his features in a manner similar to it,
to which desire he finally yielded, and talked to it, moreover, as
though its bronze ears were possessed of the power to take in his vain
expostulations.
Not infrequently does it fall out that an inane action is the parent of
a most happy result. This was true in the present case, for, through
looking so long and intently upon the weird head of the griffin, Sir
Richard remarked that its tongue appeared to be more free within its
distended maw than those of its neighbors. He stepped across and laid
his finger upon it. It moved. He tugged at it. There was the sound as
of the lifting of a latch, and the griffin's head, which was secured to
the woodwork by a hinge, swung instantly free of the oaken panel.
Within the circular recess thus disclosed appeared a brass knob, which,
upon being turned, released another fastening. The entire panel then
slid freely to the left, discovering a narrow, crevice-like passageway
that stretched away beyond the range of the young knight's vision.
More with the aim of seeking a momentary distraction from his rueful
thoughts than in the hope of making any new or startling discoveries,
he closed the griffin's head and clambered through the paneled opening.
Upon assuring himself that there was a way of thrusting back the secret
door from inside, he made everything fast and crept cautiously ahead in
the direction of a row of lights, which shone dimly through openings
upon his left hand and splashed against the wall to his right, thus
serving vaguely to illuminate the dusty, cobwebby place.
The lights proved to emanate from mere slits of windows set with
many-colored glass. He peered through the first, which was sufficiently
transparent to disclose to his view a room and everything that was
transpiring within.
The walls of this chamber were covered with the richest of hangings.
Round about were scattered many massive cases filled with books.
Indeed, Sir Richard noted that its furnishings were all patterned after
an exquisite fashion, and arranged, withal, in an uncommonly tasteful
and pleasing manner.
In front of a cheerful fire burning briskly within the wide
chimney-place sat a fair-haired boy. He was reclining at ease upon a
deep-seated chair, and the firelight, playing upon his ruffled, snowy
linen upper garment, his pallid, handsome, aquiline features, and long,
curly, yellow hair, set before the young knight one of the prettiest
pictures he had ever looked upon.
Seated upon a stool beside the youth's knee was Lady Anna, who was
engaged upon reading to him out of a manuscript. That which she was
reading, Sir Richard thought, appeared to hold immeasurably less of
interest for her distinguished looking auditor than the reader thereof,
so greedily was his gaze devouring her. If ever love and devotion shone
through the eyes from the heart, they were shining in that room and
upon that woman then. The young knight became conscious of a feeling of
guilt. It was as though he had profaned a consecrated temple.
Since, however, an accident had brought him there, he regretted that
he was unable to hear what Lady Anna was reading. But he remained,
gathering different impressions of the scene by looking through the
various colored panes, till she arose to leave. This sentence, then,
spoken aloud and firmly from her station beside the youth's chair, came
distinctly to his ears:
"To you," she was saying, "there shall be no such person in all the
world as Warbeck. You must forget even that there was ever such a name.
Your future----"
Her concluding remarks were lost to Sir Richard's hearing. Lady Anna
then brushed aside the drapery and disappeared out of the room. For
many minutes thereafter the youth's eyes remained fixed upon the
swinging draperies, motionless and longingly, whilst down his pallid
cheeks coursed many a bitter tear.
Leaving him to his sorrow, which would have been more poignant had he
been enabled to look into that future that Lady Anna was holding before
him as a lure, Sir Richard continued warily on his journey along the
pinched passageway. By the squares of light thrown at long but regular
intervals against the right wall, he divined that the secret exit was
pierced with windows throughout its entire length. Through each of
these he stole a look as he advanced, being obliged to stand always on
tip-toe to make his brief surveys. He gathered the information that
a suite of six large rooms had been set aside for the uses of the
handsome youth. There was an entrance giving upon the last from the
secret passageway. The young knight made no attempt to open it then,
but crept onward and looked through the next window. Between the floor
of the last room and the floor of the spacious hall into which he was
now looking there was a sheer drop of thirty feet; perhaps even more.
From the long table standing in its center and the chairs arranged
in tiers round about, he took it to be a council hall, a place of
formal meetings of state. It was surmounted by a lofty, domed ceiling,
decorated with multi-colored glass, corresponding with the panes
through which he was having a view of the chamber.
Pursuing his way onward past the row of windows opening upon the hall,
he arrived soon at the end of the passageway, which was marked by a
yawning vent-hole, with the opening at his feet dropping into abysmal
depths of darkness, and the one above his head gaping like a sooty
flue. Iron rungs set securely into the masonry of the wall furthest
removed from him disappeared into the swart obscurity above and below.
Consumed with curiosity and a desire to push his explorations to the
end, he stepped across, set his foot upon the ladder, and clambered
skyward. A trap-door, securely battened from within, stopped his
progress at the top. Surmising that it opened upon a runway of one of
the many embattled towers, he started downward. Past the floor of the
passageway he lowered himself, down, down, till it seemed to him that
he was penetrating into the very belly of the earth. At the bottom he
came upon a kind of square room, with a massive, barred door opening
from one of its sides. The air here was excessively damp, chill, and
fetid with noisome odors.
So noiselessly as might be he shot back the rusty bolts and made shift
to open the heavy door. Slowly it yielded to his violent exertions,
its unused hinges shrilly protesting every inch of the way. When he
had swung it sufficiently wide to admit the passage of his body, he
was confronted by the flare of a single candle. Even this faint light,
upon emerging from such dense darkness, completely dazzled his blinking
eyes, rendering them momentarily sightless.
"Well, ... by the rood!" the most welcome of voices then rang in
his ears. "I was looking to see a grisly phantom shape come gliding
through yon creaking door to devour me! And certes 'tis your own good
self, Sir Dick, ... eh? Give you a very good-morrow, ... or a very
good-even.... I' faith, I know not down here the hours of the passing
day. Everything, as 't were, being of a similar color. But fillip me
for a fat toad, an you're not a most pleasing apparition, Sir Dick; ...
a most welcome ghost, ... eh!"
Sir Richard strode forward and took de Claverlok's hand in a firm grip.
"I'll wager, my boy," said the grizzled knight with his usual hearty
laugh, "that you've fair turned this castle upside down in your
endeavors to unearth me, ... eh? But for long have I been conducting
a quiet truce with Heaven, where, Sir Dick, I fancied that you had
some days since preceded me. How comes it that you're still alive, and
looking as hearty, by my faith, as a prancing yearling. Did you deliver
the paper, ... eh?"
"Certes did I deliver it," replied Sir Richard. "And let us for all
time, my friend, drop the subject of King Henry's message between us.
You can see that you have been led into a sad error as to its contents.
I am now biding in Yewe as Douglas's guest till the business of my
sovereign be completed."
"Guest, Sir Dick? God's sake!" blurted out de Claverlok. "An you're not
as much prisoner as I, though in somewhat of a better case, I'll barter
my knighthood for a battered farthing, ... eh! Tell me, has nothing
untoward happened during your stay?" he added, earnestly. "Sit you down
upon the feathery side of this stone and tell me your story--'tis the
best seat I have to offer, Sir Dick."
"Well, beyond the duels," Sir Richard rather reluctantly admitted,
seating himself beside the grizzled knight upon the stone, "there has
been nothing unusual to mar a most pleasant visit, saving, of course,
your own disappearance from my side," he hastened to add. "I bethought
me though that you had long since fared southward to join your company."
"What--and leave you, Sir Dick? Not any! My knightly vow fetters me
fast to your side. But when did you find out that I was still here, ...
eh?"
"Only this morning. It was through a most fortunate train of accidents
that I have stumbled upon your cell. I have been guilty of an
unpardonable sin in thus long neglecting you, my friend."
"Nay--not so, Sir Dick. Am I not old enough to care for myself, ... eh?
But how about these duels? I would hear you tell of them."
"I will, de Claverlok," agreed Sir Richard, "and a certain matter
besides that I have guarded even from your knowledge. 'Tis of a cutting
of cloth that I got me in the Red Tavern." Whereupon he proceeded to
tell, much to the grizzled knight's amusement, the tale of the piece of
saffron velvet. "And about the duels," the young knight concluded, "I
am somewhat puzzled to know why they have been brought about. Though
I believe that it is because of the many favors that Lady Douglas
continues ever to shower upon me. She is, in truth, a wonderful woman,
my friend--and well worth fighting for. A wonderful woman!"
"Ah!" laughed the grizzled knight. "When love enters, wits leave, ...
eh? But explain more in detail the circumstance of these duels. 'Tis
this that interests me, Sir Dick."
"Oh! 'tis a small enough matter at best, de Claverlok," protested Sir
Richard with a modest carelessness. "But ever since my tarry within
these walls I have had always to keep my sword to the grit-wheel. What
with the spilling of the wine over the table, and the rough jostling of
them against me through the halls and galleries, it has been 'Come out
with me, sirrah, into the castle yard,' from gray morning to twilight
eventide. There was hazard of breaking old fox here on the tough Scot's
head of 'em. And I swear to you, my good friend, that my right arm
has been kept full sore with the swinging of it against their flinty
noddles."
"Pricked you them sore or easy, Sir Dick? Marry, but you must have
a-many an enemy in Yewe, ... eh?"
"Well, I gave it them as easy as might be," replied Sir Richard, "and
it perplexes me much to observe that each of them is now my friend.
Never had I divined, de Claverlok, that there could transpire such a
round of mysterious events. My brain has been fair addled ever since my
coming into Scotland."
"Fret not, Sir Dick," said de Claverlok encouragingly, "these mysteries
will clear away soon enough. But you had better betake yourself now
whence you came. 'Twill eftsoons be time for them to bring me my bread
and sour tipple. Ug-gh! Such food as I've been bestowing within my
belly, Sir Dick. 'Tis unfit for swine, ... eh! But, get you gone, boy,
and deliver me from this dank hole when you can do it in safety to
yourself. There must be two passageways hither, as yon door through
which you came has not before been used. 'Tis through this other that
they bear me food. Good-bye and good luck to you, Sir Dick."
Upon the grizzled knight's reaffirmation of his assurances that he
would possess himself in patience till Sir Richard could hit upon a
safe means of bringing him again into the daylight of freedom, and his
belief that his young friend was as much a prisoner as was he, the
young knight parted from him, secure in the belief that no harm could
befall the veteran till the return of Douglas, before which time, he
swore to himself, he would contrive to have him free.
Once Sir Richard had emerged into the upper and outer gallery he made
everything secure, observing the precaution of counting the number of
griffins' heads intervening between the sliding panel and the door,
whereupon he hurried down to the inner bailey and commanded an equerry
to saddle and bring him his stallion.
"God!" the hostler exclaimed, reddening to the line of his stubby hair,
"an' 'a canna do such for 'e, Sir Richard. Snip, snap! would 'a head
go ... here," touching his neck, "an' 'a did. 'Tis the lord's orders,
worshipful knight, ... the lord's orders. Anything else would 'a do for
'e, sir knight. God wot, an' 'a----"
Sir Richard did not wait to hear the conclusion of the hostler's
apologies, but tossed him a coin and took his way back into the castle.
De Claverlok had been right, after all. The young knight was, like his
friend, a prisoner in Yewe.
Without stopping to plan out a wise course of action, he rushed
straightway into the presence of Lady Anna and impetuously claimed his
right to know the reason for his forcible detention.
"How doth the moth flutter," said she, laughing gaily, "when the
glittering, golden home doth suddenly become a cage! Marry--marry!"
she added, changing her tone, and bestowing upon Sir Richard the most
languishing of glances, "are you tired of my company, dear Richard?"
she asked.
If it had not been for the picture of the fair-haired youth impressed
indelibly upon the young knight's mind, she would doubtless soon have
won him over to her again. As it was, however----
"'Tis not that, Lady Anna," he answered firmly; "but I am dooms weary
of playing the wooden pawn upon the squared board--with no kind of
conception of where or why I am being moved this and that way about!
Yea--or even the kind of game in which I am playing such a stupid and
involuntary part."
"Say not thus, Sir Richard," Lady Anna murmured softly, laying her warm
hand upon his. "Tell me, I pray you, and what becomes of the pawn after
it be advanced from square to square above the breadth of the board to
the farther rank? Tell me, what becomes of it, I say?"
"But scant knowledge have I of the game of chess," Sir Richard
grumbled. "I' faith, madam, I neither know nor care."
"Ah! But you should both know and care, dear friend," Lady Anna
pursued. "Let me tell you then that it gains power according to the
wish of the mind that picked out its zig-rag course. Even it may
become a royal piece, Richard. Have patience yet a little while, ...
but have patience. Worse predicaments there are than that of playing
the moving pawn, I give you warrant."
So far as any definite understanding of his position was concerned,
this was the beginning and the end of everything he was able to achieve
through Lady Anna. He tried his bravest before leaving her to impress
upon her the idea that he was willing to reconcile himself with the
circumstances of his surroundings. Indeed, he entertained something
of a shrewd suspicion that this was not far from true. His position
certainly partook of a most fascinating admixture of unreality and
romance that came near to capturing his imaginative fancy. He was now
inclined to regard the entire series of events as something in the
nature of a gay lark, to which each exciting incident was contributing
its separate thrill of enjoyment. To effect the release of de Claverlok
and make his own escape would furnish a capital finish to the whole.
In order to carry out these purposes he determined in the future
to conduct himself with the utmost circumspection. "An it is to be
a game," he said to himself, "I'll take a hand in the playing of it
myself."
After leaving Lady Anna he strolled carelessly into the tilting-yard,
for the ostensible purpose of viewing the elaborate preparations for
the approaching tournament, which were now nearly completed. He made a
mental calculation of the height of the eastern tower, which was the
one accessible from the secret passageway. He estimated it roughly to
be nearly one hundred and fifty feet.
A line over the battlements would be the only way down. It would be
manifestly impossible to carry a rope of that length through the halls
and galleries. So he hit upon the scheme of concealing lengths of it
beneath his cloak and splicing them together after reaching the secret
exit. By allowing the knotted ends to dangle down the well leading to
de Claverlok's dungeon, he concluded that they would be safe enough
from discovery.
He accordingly started his pilfering expeditions on the next morning
at the hour when Lady Anna was engaged with her pupil. Day after day
Sir Richard kept at his task, and always he would see her beside the
boy, at the same hour and in the same attitude; and always he would
steal a long glance within the room as he crept cautiously by. Twice
during this time he lowered himself down the ladder to visit with de
Claverlok, taking with him a flagon of wine and a few dainties from the
Douglas's table. But the grizzled knight warned him to discontinue his
subterranean excursions, as there was danger of running into the guard
regularly administering to his needs.
Following out the veteran's advice, Sir Richard made, after that, but
one trip in the day, carrying each time something like ten feet of
stout hemp. On but one occasion did he come near to being discovered,
and his escape was then of the narrowest.
While he was in the ordinance room one morning he was startled by
its tubby little keeper coming suddenly upon him just after he had
hidden a rather more generous length of rope than usual beneath his
shoulder-cape. Sir Richard made out to be examining one of the brass
cannons.
"That are a bonnie piece, worshipful knight," said the keeper proudly.
"A right bonnie piece, Sir Richard. She'll a-come you through a
two-foot wall, sir, as smooth as a tup-ny whistle-pipe." Here he
paused, scratching his bullet head, and taking up the end of the coil
of rope from which Sir Richard had cut the piece inside his cape. "'Tis
a muckle strange thing how the good hemp do vanish," he pursued in a
puzzled way, "a muckle strange thing. Once 'a be a-thinkin' as what
every rogue in the castle were a-stealin' o' rope's-ends to choken
their knavish throats. But every rag-tailed son of 'em do answer to the
daily roll. Not one of 'em be a-missin'; not one, sir."
"Mayhap you'll be in trouble for not keeping a closer watch," observed
Sir Richard. "Here will be money enough to buy you a new coil the next
time you get you into Bannockburn."
It was on the morning that the young knight was carrying up the last
splicing of rope but one that he missed Lady Anna from her accustomed
place beside the youth's knee. Hastily knotting and securing the rope
around a rung of the iron ladder he hurried back along the passageway.
Pausing beside the youth's room he again looked through the window.
The boy was still alone, and pacing back and forth across the room
in that which seemed to be a paroxysm of grief and anger, clenching
his blue-veined hands, throwing pillows madly about the floor, and
soliloquizing with a bitter and impassioned vehemence. Experiencing an
indescribable sort of fascination, Sir Richard stopped to listen.