THE NIGHT RIDE IN THE FOREST
Once within the shelter of the forest, Engel placed Margaret's mother
carefully at the root of one of the giant oaks and on the sheltered
side, so that neither wind nor rain could harm her.
"We will wait here a little while," he said quietly, "and that will
give you time to recover a bit from all the exertion and pain to
which our adventures have put you, Mistress Byrckmann."
"No, let us not stay!" she exclaimed, taking her husband's hand, and
by an effort which surprised him drawing herself on to her feet,
where she stood with her hands on his arm. "Let us go forward. They
will find that we have left our home, and they will say that we must
have left the city; then they will come here to search for us."
Shuddering at the thought, and weak though she was, she drew her
husband forward.
"Then you shall take my arm; or, better still, since I am fresh and
Engel is not, I will carry you!" exclaimed Herman; and before she
could say a word by way of protest, he had her frail body in his arms.
"Go ahead," he said, when Engel protested that he was equal to three
or four miles more. "Show the way, since no one knows the forest as
you do."
More than once, when the wind howled among the trees and made the
going dangerous because great branches sometimes broke away and
crashed to the ground, the travellers thought they heard the cries of
men, and they paused to know whether they were being pursued. When
an hour had gone, and Margaret's mother had twice changed bearers,
the forester said they were nearing a farm where he thought he could
hire some horses. He was going to point to a clearing where the
house was standing when the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard, in
spite of the swish of the forest leaves in the storm.
"They are after us!" said Margaret, in awestricken tones, and she
looked around, dark though it was, to know if any place offered for
their hiding.
"Come this way!" the forester exclaimed, and, having just given up
his burden to Herman, he caught at Margaret's hand. He drew her, and
the others followed, among the bushes, away from the road, and waited
in hiding to know what the sounds meant.
The horse came on, regardless of the road, and in the darkness he was
making for the bush behind which they waited. The creature came
close to them, not seeing where he went in his evident terror, or
else spurred on by his rider, but he stumbled at a hidden root, made
doubly treacherous by the rain, and fell heavily. His rider crashed
against a tree, and fell without a groan and lay still, while the
horse, scrambling to his feet, dashed away into the darkness and was
no more seen.
The forester ran to the rider, and, bending over him, lifted him in
his arms; but he laid him down again.
"He is dead," he said quietly. "His neck is broken."
Horror-stricken at the tragedy, they moved on, leaving the dead man
where he lay, and did not stop until they reached a spot where the
bushes were so dense that even in broad daylight they would scarcely
be seen.
"I'll leave you here while I go to a farm near by and wake up the
master. He has horses he can lend me if I pay the price." He
paused. "I doubt whether he will let me have them without the money
down," he added hesitatingly. "I haven't enough with me."
"'Tis my charge, Engel," said Byrckmann. "Take my purse, and use it
as you deem best."
"Ah, now I can get them easily!" the forester exclaimed, with
elation. "Keep well in the shelter here, and neither Cochlaeus nor
all the City Guard will see you if they bring a hundred lanterns to
light up the forest."
He went away, and for a long hour they waited for his coming, hearing
all the sounds of the forest, the moaning wind, the cracking of roots
like the rattle of musketry as some great tree was torn up and fell
with a crash. Even the animals who had their home there were too
startled to trouble themselves about those who were coming by night
into their domain, and the fugitives could hear them whimpering in
their terror.
The hour seemed never ending. The moments were leaden-footed, and
more than once Margaret's mother expressed her fear that Engel had
left them to get through the forest how they could.
"Don't say that--don't even think it--of Otto Engel," Herman
protested. "He is the soul of honour. The farmer must be a heavy
sleeper, hard to awake; or there may be some difficulty in getting as
many horses as we need all ready for the journey. And Engel would
insist on their having a good meal of corn. All takes time."
Half an hour more went by, with longer moments still in it, it seemed
to the anxious watchers, but then they heard some neighing horses,
and the tramp of hoofs, sounding more plainly because the fierceness
of the storm had passed.
"Where are you?" came the sonorous cry of the forester, and Herman
called back; so that he was soon with them, leading a string of five
horses, saddled and ready for hard travelling. One of them had a
pannier, so arranged that Margaret's mother, when the forester lifted
her into it, was able to ride in comfort.
"It was that which took up the time," Engel explained. "It took an
amount of contriving, but the farmer was willing enough; and, if
Master Byrckmann doesn't begrudge the money, I gave him five extra
golden crowns to keep discreet silence if any questions were asked.
But I'd trust Brune without the bribe, for he loves Cochlaeus no more
than I, and has a grudge against him and those who follow his lead."
Herman lifted Margaret into her saddle, and, helping her father into
his, he sprang into his own seat, and the company rode on through the
forest.
"We must go in single file," said the forester, when they came to a
path made faintly visible because the rain had ceased, and although
the clouds were spread along the sky, the moon had begun to make
herself felt. "Herman, bring up the rear. I want to get first of
all to my hut, and then I'll tell you what is working in my mind."
They were moving now among the trees, and the forester from time to
time spoke back a word of warning, when to bend and avoid the trees.
"Trust to me!" he exclaimed once, when all seemed wrong. "I am like
a cat in the dark, and I am going the way I want to go, and a way I
know."
His sturdy confidence robbed his companions of their fears. Grown
accustomed to the darkness, they could see his thick frame, the
well-set head on the broad, square shoulders. At times, as the
darkness grew less dense, they could see his body bend, and they,
too, without his words, though he sent them back to them, lowered
their heads to pass the branches. But even thus Margaret more than
once, when an occasional gust of wind came, felt the branches whip
her face, making it smart with pain.
Unexpectedly the forester dropped out of his saddle.
"This is my house," he said, coming to Margaret's side to help her
dismount. He lifted her mother out of her pannier as though she was
little more than a child, while the printer, unused to the saddle,
felt himself standing on his feet almost before he knew.
"Tie up the horses, Herman, over there, where 'tis in the dark. Then
come to the hut. We must have something to eat, and I want, as well,
to take my dog with me. I may be away a few days, and the dear
fellow would starve if I left him here."
Half an hour later they were in the saddle again, the horses, as well
as themselves, the better for a meal. Before he moved on he
explained his purpose. "I want to work our way round Schouts'
castle, where the path is little more than a sheep walk; but we can
do it. I can't conceive that anyone would be out on such a night as
we have had, so that we need have no fear that the robber lord's
retainers will bar our way."
A thrill of fear passed through the others, but they had confidence
in him, and followed his lead without demur; but when they had gone
some distance the forester called a halt, and the company grouped
about him, wondering what was wrong.
"We're too near the robber's den," said Engel quietly. "I can see
the castle lights. And would you believe it? There are torches
moving on the slope, and Schouts and his men are out for their savage
work," he muttered. "Follow me. I'm going farther into the forest
before we ride direct to our destination. I had no idea that there
would be piracy on such a night, and at this mad hour!"
Turning his back on the castle and the river, he rode on into the
darkest part of the forest, frightening some of the creatures who had
already feared the storm. When he had gone a mile or more, he turned
sharply round, and presently they came to an open glade, which they
could clearly see, in contrast with the dense wood through which they
had been riding.
"We must cross that bit of grass, and from that moment you may all
dismiss your fears," said the forester, in a lighter tone than he had
used that night. "I have gone through the forest a hundred times and
never saw anything human in it yet in these parts. And what is more,
there is no path, so that I must pick my way, and you must follow."
The forester went forward like a man with an easy mind. Any fears
which the others had, dropped away from them when they heard him
talking to his horse, or whistling a song which the Protestants sang
in their secret forest meetings. Margaret rode at Herman's side, so
much at ease with this new confidence that she could talk with him.
They rode on for a couple of hours, and then the dawn came. Almost
insensibly they halted to watch the beauty of the morning after such
a night of storm. The sun came up in silvery splendour above a
wooded hill, and a radiance seemed to rest as on a cushion of the
mist. Trees and undergrowth, forest path and fallen branches, were
all hidden until the daylight conquered, and the great orb of day,
riding above the wooded depths, sent forth his light, so that there
was no more night, and no more mist.
But with the glory of the new day, and the songs of the birds, there
came a thrill of fear. A forest clearing was before them, and beyond
it they saw the great river rolling by. In the midst of the clearing
was a hut, and already some blue smoke was curling from its solitary
chimney.
Margaret's eyes fastened on the place, and her eyes betrayed her fear.
"Is it not dangerous to be so near that house?" she asked, turning
her anxious face to the forester. He laughed at her words.
"Fritz Schiller is as true a Protestant as any man in the land. Ask
him for a Lutheran Testament, and he will show you one. Let anyone
ask him for you if you are sheltering in his home, and if he has
promised to hide you he would die rather than betray you. I had
thought at one time of bringing William Tyndale here, but took him
instead to the mere near my father's house, but not because I did not
trust this man."
"Fritz!" the forester shouted, his stentorian voice startling the
birds that were near, as soon as he had dropped out of his saddle.
Crossing the clearing, he shouted again, and banged at the door of
the hut. It opened presently, and a man stood in the doorway whom
Margaret and her father had seen in the streets of the city, but did
not know.
"What art doing here, Engel?" asked the grey-bearded man, who held a
hatchet in one hand and a block of wood in the other.
They heard so much, but what followed they did not know, until the
forester called on them to come forward and bring his own horse with
them.
"We're to stay here till it is safe to go forward," said Engel. "The
river is too wild to cross, and we may wait here for a day or two,
but there is nothing now to fear. You can rest in sweet content,
Mistress Byrckmann, and as soon as we can manage it, you will be
safely over the river, and out of danger."