OF THE END OF THE RED TAVERN AND ITS FITTING EPITAPH
A score of times during the next morning Sir Richard berated the
sun for a laggard orb. When he was not stationed in front of his
narrow window gazing out upon the reddening sky, the filmy rags of
undulating mist floating above the moor, and the round summits of the
downs blushing rosily above them, he would be polishing up his gear
and industriously brushing the kinks out of his horse-hair plume. In
lieu of a Venetian glass, he trimmed his beard to a proper point by
reflecting his image against his glittering breast-plate, which he hung
from a nail in the wall beside the window.
Zenas was but just kindling a fire when Sir Richard came down into the
main room, the while the hunchback was cursing roundly at Harold for
refusing to bring in more logs. It was their habit to begin quibbling
the moment they clapt eyes upon each other. Being in the merriest
of tempers, the young knight soon contrived to straighten out their
quarrel, posting the foot-boy, happily whistling, in quest of an
armload of wood. He even succeeded in enticing somewhat of a grin into
the sullen visage of the crook-back.
"An thou canst keep me in this gallant humor, sire," said he, "thou
mayst buy me a garb of motley and call me thy fool. See! this twisted,
gnarled form ... these masque-like features ... and the yellow
fang-teeth, all loose and tottering.... By'r Lady! sire, they were a
right famous complement of the cap and bells, quoth 'a."
"An I am king, good, my Zenas," said Sir Richard, "why, thou shalt even
play the fool."
"An thou be ever a king ... with a proper throne," said he, grinning
and rubbing his hands together, "then I _am_ a fool. These be parlous
undertakings, sire ... parlous, deadly undertakings. An I mistake not,
there'll be a pretty row of poled heads on London Bridge to mark the
end."
The young knight had it on his tongue to tell him that there'd be
no heads lopped off on his behalf, but he thought better of it and
remained silent.
"And the appetite ... the appetite, prithee," Zenas went on croaking,
as Sir Richard sat beside the loaded table, idly dreaming. "'Tis a
right savory pasty, this," said he, cutting through its brown covering.
"I'll have naught of sup now, Zenas," the young knight said. "But keep
it warm ... mayhap later I'll be an hungered."
Downing a goblet of canary, to calm his shaking inwards, the young
knight went outside. Ordering his stallion instantly to be made ready,
he galloped madly then against the face of the rising sun, hoping in
this manner to cool his heated temples.
The light air coming into his nostrils, the swift moving against the
wind, made him soon feel like a puffed giant upon a pigmy land; an
enchanted prince upon a magic road.
Sir Richard must have ridden after this fashion something above two
leagues. Then he came suddenly within sight of the sea, which rolled
vast above him, like a shimmering green curtain hanging pendant from
the sky. Hull down on the vague horizon, he saw a ship that seemed to
be making from the coast.
Upon the beach there remained less than a score of tents to mark the
encampment of an armed host. One after another, as he looked, they were
sinking between the white sand dunes. Black spots, reminding him much
of scurrying sand-crabs, were moving hurriedly in and about them.
The young knight rode down to meet a solitary horseman approaching
along the road. Presently, by the red cross flaming out of a white
tunic, he made out that it was Lord Bishop Kennedy. "Give thee a
good-morrow, sire," the Bishop called out to Sir Richard as they drew
within hailing distance. "Thou art early abroad, I see?"
The young knight returned his salutation and made answer: "Yes."
"Our forces here," pursued Kennedy, as Sir Richard wheeled and rode
beside him, "are now withdrawing for the purpose of massing above the
forest. In a fortnight Sir James will belike be able to sit horse;
whereupon we shall at once begin our march southward. After to-night,
but a pile of charred timbers will remain to tell the tale of the Red
Tavern. And right happy am I withal that the enterprise doth draw
to a point of focus. 'Twill mark the end of intrigue, jealousy, and
treachery; the beginning of war-like action."
Conversing in this wise, they drew, at length, within sight of the
doomed tavern. The young knight glanced upward as he rode toward the
door and saw Rocelia flash away from the window as she observed that
Sir Richard was not riding alone. A wave of ineffable emotion surged
over him as he divined that she had been awaiting his return. It seemed
an age before Harold came to relieve him of his horse.
When he came inside Sir Richard saw that the table was as he had left
it.
"Lord Kennedy will take sup with thee," Zenas told him, smiling
craftily and rubbing his hands together the while.
"I care not to eat," said the young knight. "Where's Lord Kennedy?"
"He begged of thee to yield him but a moment till he had speech of the
ladies, sire."
Wearing a countenance as impassive as that of a graven image, Lord
Kennedy came down presently and said that the maiden was suffering of a
slight indisposition and would not walk with Sir Richard that morning.
There was an appreciable air of constraint about him which revealed to
the young knight instantly that something was gone wrong. He noted,
moreover, Zenas' smile of cunning triumph, and guessed that he had been
the cause thereof.
"I'll have it from her own lips," suddenly declared Sir Richard, his
hand upon the hilt of his blade.
"Sire!"
"Avaunt with thy empty titles!" he cried. "Dost hear me?... I have
said!"
"'Tis impossible," said Lord Kennedy, sternly, albeit his manner was of
the quietest.
"Was that truly her message?" asked Sir Richard.
"It was," said Kennedy, opening him coolly an egg.
"Setting thy bishop's mitre aside," said the young knight quietly, "I
say that thou liest in thy throat, an this be the maiden's answer!"
With a bound, which overturned his chair and brought the litter of the
table-top crashing upon the floor, Lord Kennedy was on his feet, his
naked blade flashing before Sir Richard's eyes.
Kennedy, with the play of blades, was like a child in the hands of the
young knight. There were scarce above a half dozen passes before his
sword went humming through the window, taking glass and sash with it to
the ground.
Sir Richard turned upon hearing a sharp cry in the direction of the
stair door. Rocelia, all white and trembling was framed within its
casements. Thinking alone of her, he started for the steps.
"Sire," Lord Kennedy called to him.
The young knight wheeled. With tunic split from chin to skirt, Bishop
Kennedy was standing in the middle of the floor; grave-faced, ashen,
but wonderfully calm.
"I have turned traitorous sword against my king," he said. "Thou owest
me a death, sire."
"Then I'll remain ever in thy debt," Sir Richard made answer. "'Twas
the fault of my unruly tongue. I ask thy forgiveness, Lord Kennedy.
And now, come, Rocelia," he said to the frightened maiden, "we'll have
earned our walk."
Thereupon he went over to where she was standing, placed her yielding
arm within his and together they walked through the outer door.
"One word with thee, sire," Lord Kennedy called after them when they
had started for the forest.
"Thou meanest fair by that maiden?" he said, when Sir Richard came back
to the door. "She is the bonniest in all Scotland, sire," he added,
with a great sincerity of tone.
"Thou hast spoken truth, Lord Kennedy," the young knight answered,
reaching out his hand. "And, sir, by the cross of this, my sword, I
would liefer have her than any proffered kingdom atop of earth."
"And thou wouldst certes be the gainer," Kennedy answered. "God wot how
this may end, sire," he added, shaking his head. Then, grasping Sir
Richard's hand for a moment, he turned sadly back into the tavern room.
Before setting out upon their walk the young knight summoned Harold to
him and laid injunction upon him to trap his stallion, the jennet, and
a third palfrey for a lady.
"It will be for a long journey, mayhap. Lead them so quickly as may
be," he told him, "along the road where I first came upon you, and
await there my coming."
A little corner within the wood there was which Rocelia and Sir Richard
had come to look upon as all their own. Thither in silence they took
their way. Upon reaching there she sat down upon a log, leaning her
back against a tree; whilst the young knight disposed himself upon the
moss at her feet.
Rocelia's eyes bore plain evidence that she had been weeping. Indeed
she seemed in the most melancholy of moods; and, when Sir Richard made
bold to comfort her, would not suffer him even to take her hand. Then
with many halts and sighs she repeated to him what Bishop Kennedy had
said to her. Which, in effect, was, that it would be wrong for them
to be another time alone together. That Sir Richard, being the lawful
heir to the crown, must have a care of the proprieties, and seek
companionship among those who were his equals. All this and much more
Rocelia told him, bravely, with her soft eyes looking sad into his; her
sweet lips never once faltering from the difficult task imposed upon
them.
"But," said Sir Richard, "did I not swear to you last night, Rocelia,
that I would never be king? I am seeking now, and in you, dear, a
companion through life. Whether you say me yea or nay, 'twill be all
the same. I mean to leave upon this very day. Will you not trust----"
"Ah! Richard," she said, sweetly, "speak not that word. All trust do I
impose in you. It is not that, dear," laying her hand lightly upon his
bared head; "no, 'tis not that. It is that I--I love you too well and
dearly to assist in this sacrifice of your splendid future. No--no! you
must not, Richard ... indeed, you must not. I may never lay lips upon
yours, dear. But, mayhap, you will remember me for a while as a simple
maid who dared to tell you that she loved you; and who, loving you,
surrendered you to her country ... and begged you, prayed you to assert
your rightful position within its boundaries."
"But I cannot, Rocelia," Sir Richard protested. "Got wot an I despise
not the whole vile conspiracy. An you'll not go with me, I'll go alone
... and with a heart fair breaking for love of you. Come!" he pleaded;
"let me bear you away out of this turmoil-ridden land to a place of
safety, and peaceful quiet, and contentment."
"Ah! and how sweet it would all be, my dear," said she, allowing Sir
Richard to take and keep her hand, but keeping him firmly at a distance
withal. "I am so tired of it all. Naught have I known but strife and
danger since I came out of girlhood. But, ah, no! it may never be. 'Tis
your duty, Richard, to claim your own; and mine to prevail upon you not
to abandon it. Never let it be said that my champion was a deserter of
his colors."
"I held faithfully to the saffron color," declared Sir Richard, "and,
i' faith, I'll hold to it still."
She smiled sadly, stroking his hair.
"But these other colors, Richard," said she, "were marked upon your
escutcheon at your birth. You may not desert them."
Sir Richard had been all along looking up into Rocelia's face. He
dropped his head disconsolately when she set him in the light of a
deserter. He never knew what he would have answered. He knew only that
she shrieked suddenly aloud and drew him swiftly close to her bosom.
"For the love of God, dear heart, turn!" she cried. "'Tis Zenas with a
poniard!"
The young knight wheeled in time to see the murderous crook-back
plucking his long blade from the earth, where it had buried itself to
the very hilt under the impetus that was meant to have been expended
upon Sir Richard's body.
In another moment the young knight had grappled with him; and then they
went rolling and threshing over the ground in the throes of a deadly
encounter. "God! what a strength is there in this grossly misshapen
body!" Sir Richard thought, and though he kept tight hold of the
hunchback's knife hand, every moment Sir Richard feared that he would
succeed in turning the blade and driving it home in his neck. So narrow
was the margin between the young knight and death withal, that once the
keen point traveled across his throat and opened a slight scratch.
"You will kill my hound? you damned sword-and-buckler knight!" Zenas
kept hissing in Sir Richard's ear. "You abominable puppet, you would
cheat my good brother of his head to set you on a throne!--you fustian,
lack-linen pretender!--you flap-dragon tippler!--I'll send you whirling
straight to hell, an I get me this poniard home!"
It happened by the merest stroke of fortune that, in their furious
tumbling about, the hunchback's head struck with a great violence
against the log whereupon Rocelia had been sitting. His forbidding form
grew instantly limp and insensible, and the young knight leaped quickly
to his feet. A drop or two of blood was trickling down his breast-plate
from the scratch across his neck.
The moment that Sir Richard was fairly up Rocelia was in his arms, with
her lips laid close upon his. Then, thrusting him impulsively from her,
she tore open her cloak, ripped a quantity of lace from her gown, and
began binding it around his neck.
"You'll not be very much hurt, Richard ... dear Dick?" said she,
kissing him again.
He did not say her too strong a nay (for which he was soon forgiven!),
for Sir Richard discovered that when he but so much as hesitated he
had another kiss.
"Oh, Richard, my love," said Rocelia, "take me away. I understand it
all now--this murderous treachery, this stabbing in the back ... these
fearsome, dark conspiracies! But take me, dear, to that place of rest,
and peace, and sweet contentment. Even now I am ready."
Thus, with his arm clasped tight about her, they sought the road and
their waiting horses. Eftsoons they were on their way, taking the
narrower road to the left, which would lead them the more directly to
the hut where the young knight had left de Claverlok.
It was late that evening when they drew out of the deep forest, far
above and to the northwest of their starting point.
Many leagues behind them, and rising high into the heavens, they could
see a lurid splotch of light, glowing red and yellow in the mystic
darkness.
"'Tis the end of the Red Tavern," said Sir Richard.
"Well," whispered Rocelia, "it brought you to me, dear Richard."
"And to me, sweet Rocelia," said the young knight earnestly, "it
brought you."
"Have I thy permission to speak, Sir Richard?" begged Harold, who was
standing by.
"Certes, you have, my boy," replied Sir Richard.
"Then let me wish that all of thy troubles shall be as the smoke of
it," said Harold earnestly.
"'Tis a fitting epitaph," Rocelia said, her hand stealing within that
of the young knight.
Then, for a little space, they stood there upon the summit of the hill,
watching the glare of the burning tavern fading and dying away.
"Yes ... a most fitting epitaph," Sir Richard made answer. Whereupon
they resumed their journey lightsomely, happily, northward.