THE ELEVENTH HOUR
Although Cochlaeus and his riders had galloped away, leaving the road
apparently clear towards Worms, the forester was doubtful as to its
safety. He was afraid to travel on it lest the Churchman, in his
eagerness to capture Tyndale, had already sent some armed horsemen
forward to intercept him.
"The longest way is the quickest and the safest, Master Tyndale,"
said the forester, who had been the first to mount into the saddle,
and had, indeed, gone forward at a canter to look along the road
beyond the bend.
"I think so, too!" exclaimed Byrckmann; but he looked anxiously at
his wife, and wondered as she sat in her rough-and-ready pillion how
long her strength would last after a day of hard travelling and many
dangers, and the sleepless night. It was the only way, however; for
with Cochlaeus or his minions riding in the country, it was best to
take the smaller risk, go as gently as they dared, and keep well out
of the beaten paths.
"Just as you think," said Tyndale quietly. "I am in your hands--and
God's," he added, a moment later. "But I fear me Mistress Byrckmann
will find the longer way too much for her little store of strength."
"I can go as far as need calls," the sick woman answered bravely. "I
am so comfortable here that a few miles more or less cannot harm me,"
she said; but there was a tremulousness in her voice which made
Margaret watch her mother anxiously, and she drew closer to her side,
leaning in her saddle to lay her own on the thin, transparent hand.
"It will be all rest, mother, when we get to our journey's end, and
we will not travel fast to shake you," she said tenderly. "Will you
bear that in mind, Master Engel?
"I will," came the good-natured answer from the man who had become
the natural leader of the little cavalcade. "We're going to leave
this dusty and too open road and make for the river, and then for
miles we shall be in forestland. Isn't it so, Herman? You know as
well, perhaps better than I do."
"It is so," said Herman, who was going to ride in the rear, alert for
every sound, lest by any ill-chance the Churchman and his riders had
changed their course, and had not ridden on to Hautcoeur.
"How long, think you, will it take Cochlaeus to get to the Castle of
Hautcoeur?" Margaret asked, after they had been riding nearly an hour
at little more than a leisurely jaunt because of her mother.
"Three hours at the least," said the forester.
"And if he discovers that he has been duped, and decides to ride back
to the inn, three hours more!" Byrckmann exclaimed. "He will know as
soon as he goes down into the castle dungeon that he has either been
fooled or the lord of Hautcoeur has been misled. Then he may come
back in hot haste. That means, he will be at the inn again in six
hours--nay, five by now."
"By that time we shall be in Worms!" Engel exclaimed, with apparent
carelessness, but by no means easy in his own mind. He was disposed
to avoid Worms, and move round the city, or travel wide of it
altogether, rather than run the risks of any horsemen lying in wait,
ruining all their plans at the eleventh hour. But, whatever his own
anxiety was, he would not suffer any of those who were with him to
know, unless he took Herman into his confidence.
They rode on at that easy trot, in and out among the forest, where he
seemed so thoroughly at home, although he did not know it at all, and
presently, turning in his saddle and laying his hand on his horse's
flank, he called to Herman carelessly to come forward, to talk over
the possibilities of the forest paths.
Asking Byrckmann to keep a look out behind, lest any robber or
prowling beast might make a spring, Herman rode to Engel's side.
"You're going all right!" he exclaimed, quite easy in his mind,
knowing nothing of the forester's misgivings. "We cannot go wrong if
we keep the river in view most of the time."
"I know all that," said Engel, speaking low; "but my trouble is a
twofold one. First of all, Cochlaeus may have some of his riders
with him, but not all. He's out for capturing Master Tyndale, on
whose head there's a very big price, and I've been thinking that,
guessing that he may be making for Worms, he has sent forward some
men to bar the way, and snatch the poor man out of our hands."
Herman felt himself shiver coldly; then heat swept over his face, and
he brushed away the dampness from it with his sleeve; for he thought
that if Engel's fear proved true it would not be Tyndale only who
would be in the toils, but his darling. His hand went to his dagger,
and clutched the handle convulsively, while he set his teeth in stern
determination that, be the odds however great, his dear one should
not fall into the hands of the tormentors without a fight.
"I never thought of that!" he exclaimed quietly, that the others
should not hear; but his voice was unsteady. "When I saw that
Churchman ride off at a gallop I was exultant, and with only fifteen
miles to go, I thought we were as good as safe."
Engel shrugged his shoulders, and as they were riding at the moment
in a bit of open, moonlit glade, Herman saw the movement, and saw as
well the forester's grave face, and how, too, he had pulled his
dagger round for handier usage, in case of a surprise.
"What's the other anxiety?" Herman asked, remembering that Engel had
said that his trouble was twofold.
"When Cochlaeus gets to Hautcoeur, and the master of the castle takes
him down to the dungeon, he will see at a glance that the prisoner is
not the man he wants. He will not stay an instant longer, and I can
imagine his chagrin. I can seem to see him coming up the steps out
of the dungeon in a whirlwind of anger, and after some maledictions
on the lord of Hautcoeur, he will get his men and horses out, and
they will come back in haste as hot as when he left the inn."
"We have six hours' start," said Herman, easy on this point.
"I know; but mark the pace we're going, and must go, because of that
poor woman in the pillion behind us. We can't go faster than she can
travel. It would nearly kill her if we mended the pace. Given a
free hand, we'd be at the gates of Worms in two hours; but with our
going at this pace Cochlaeus will be there, waiting for us."
"Then it's sheer madness to make for Worms!" exclaimed Herman. "We
must go somewhere else, and take Worms later."
They were in the forest depths again, and although they were talking
they were keeping a keen look out. Both riders halted suddenly, and
the others behind, brought up unexpectedly, were in a bunch, the
horses beating against each other.
There was no necessity for speech. Each clutched the horse's reins
on which he rode convulsively, and a thrill of fear passed through
them.
"Let us get out of this path," whispered the forester, swinging his
horse aside. "Follow me, but quietly. I'm going over there, where
it's dark, and we shall not be seen." He said it easily, but he was
afraid.
As the others drew up with him among some bushes, so high and dense
that no passer-by on the forest path could see their horses, they
watched, their consternation none the less; for who could tell what
might happen!
"Keep perfectly quiet," Engel whispered. "I pray the horses may
neither neigh nor jingle their harness."
Away on the forest path they saw some horsemen, they knew not how
many. Some of them carried flaming torches, the light of which fell
on themselves and their comrades, on their own armour, which glanced
as the light played on it, and on the weapons and metal trappings of
their chargers. They were soldiers, moving on with a steady-going
easiness, in no great haste, and careless as to whether they were
seen and heard.
At first there seemed to be a score of horsemen, but, as these came
on, others emerged from the forest darkness in their wake, and others
after those. On and on they came, and presently the foremost rode
past, easily and carelessly, talking, and at odd times snaps of a
soldier's song came. The cavalcade moved on, and it seemed to those
who watched, bending low in their saddles and peering through the
bushes that hid them, that there were more than scores. They seemed
to be hundreds, each man fully armed. Then after them came the
rolling wheels of heavy guns drawn by horses who sometimes strained
at the weight when the wheels sank into the soft moss-grown path.
It was a little army, the rear being brought up by more horsemen,
whose faces were lit up by the flaring torches.
The watchers looked anxiously, unconsciously, indeed, to know whether
Cochlaeus was amongst them, and there was the feeling of intense
relief when they found that he was not.
"Where can they be going to?" each asked, as the last of the horsemen
rode out of sight, and no more light from the torches lit up the
forest trees; but the cavalcade had gone, and the road was free.
They started on their way again, Herman and Engel discussing the
alternatives.
"Let us take Worms later," said Herman again, just as he had been
saying when the soldiers came into view.
It was one thing to say so much; another thing to tell where the
other place might be; but the suggestion set the forester thinking.
"I know!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh with his great hand, and
the smart crack made his horse start. "I have an uncle--and he has a
daughter--and I love her, Herman, just as you love that sweet girl
behind us. And my cousin loves me."
He said all this in little more than a whisper, but Herman marked the
thrill in the forester's voice.
"She lives two miles from here, in a mill like my father's, and just
now she's all alone, for her father's away, and will not be back for
another month. She can hide us all, and the horses can go out to
graze, and no questions asked, because my uncle deals in horseflesh
freely, making a mint o' money. I'll only have to say, 'Mary, we're
in trouble--every one of us, and in danger, too, and it means the
rack for some of us, or worse, if you can't hide us somewhere.' And
she'll do it. I know she will, if only for her love for me; but add
to that her love for what Cochlaeus would call heresy, and we shall
win her care. Shall we try it?"
"Why ask me?" exclaimed Herman, whose heart was beating high with
hope, and who was thinking of the safety it promised for his darling.
"Turn that way at once, if you know how to get there."
"I've never got there from this side, but always from across the
river, where I know every inch of the way. If we get a bit nearer
the water I can, perhaps, get my bearings."
They turned away to the right, and soon they saw the great flood of
the noble river rolling steadily on towards the sea. Vessels were
moving slowly down the stream, picturesque in the fleeting moonlight,
and a great raft, such as had passed the cavern when Tyndale was
waiting for the coming of the _Marburg_, was floating after them. On
the other side was a ruined castle, scorched and blackened by fire,
and Engel knew it instantly.
"A mile and a half higher up the river and we are there!" he
exclaimed; and with low laughter he added, "And then I shall see my
Mary, and have her in my arms!"
He hugged himself in his delight.
"You know, Herman, I'd have married her a year ago, but her father
wouldn't hear of my taking her to that poverty-stricken hut, and I've
been saving for years to get enough to buy a mill. A hundred golden
crowns more, and the thing's done."
He stopped at that, and the exultation passed.
"A hundred golden crowns want a lot of getting," he said gloomily, a
few moments later. "We shall be older than we are, and older than I
like to think, by the time I've got them, at the rate I'm going."
"They'll come all right, Otto," said Herman confidently. "Your ship
will come home unexpectedly. See if she doesn't."
The forester flung aside his gloom, and every yard they travelled
lifted his spirits. He was thinking of the girl he loved, and he was
soon to see her.
The forest came to an abrupt ending. Before them was a broad sweep
of open country, at least two hundred acres of fine grazing land,
dotted with trees and sleeping horses and cattle, and in the centre
of all, standing on a high mound, a fine old mill, whose arms were
motionless.
"That's the place!" exclaimed Engel, pulling up his horse. Turning
in his saddle, he spoke to those who were behind him.
"We must halt here, while I go to the mill and ask my cousin to give
us shelter for a little while."
"Why not go on to Worms?" asked Tyndale, in surprise. "I thought we
only had a few miles to travel in order to get there."
"I did not dare to take you there to-night, Master Tyndale, lest
Cochlaeus should have sent some horsemen forward to intercept us. We
must travel slowly to go more safely, and there is secure hiding in
my uncle's mill. You and Master Roye can sit somewhere in quietness,
and at your ease you can go on with your work--as well here as
anywhere. My cousin can hide you as securely as though you were with
Doctor Luther."
"Then I am content, if the others are," said Tyndale. "What say you,
Master Byrckmann?"
"More than content, since it will give my wife the rest she needs,"
the printer answered, looking anxiously at his wife, as the light of
the moon played on her face.
"Then let us go forward!" exclaimed Tyndale, shaking the reins to
urge his horse on.
"Nay, I must go to the mill first," said the forester, catching at
the bridle to prevent Tyndale from riding into the open. "Herman,
keep a sharp watch. Get back, each one of you, into the shadows,
where you can see and not be seen."
The forester moved onward while he spoke, and put his horse to the
canter. They saw him drop out of the saddle and knock at the door of
the mill. The sound of his loud tapping reached those who were
watching; then a woman's head and her white linen-covered shoulders
appeared at one of the windows. They heard an exclamation of
pleasure, and the head and shoulders disappeared, and before long
Engel entered by the open door. Before many minutes had passed he
came away from the mill, his heavy boots brushing among the dewy
grass.
"Come," he cried, before he reached them, beckoning with his hand.
Before long the whole company were in the mill; the horses were at
the door, munching oats hungrily, after which they turned to the
meadow to sleep out the remainder of the night; but as for the
others, Mary Engel, when she had set food before them, went to
prepare for their comfort in the safe hiding-place of which the
forester had spoken.
* * * * * * *
Two days went by, and none but Engel ventured out of the mill. The
others stayed within doors, always ready to go into hiding if the
warning came. They were content, because they realised the absolute
safety they enjoyed in the great cap of the mill, into which, when
they entered it, they could draw the ladder, and shut down the heavy
trap-door, leaving the place unsuspected. From a small window here
and there they could see the country for miles. In the far distance
was the city that had been their home. In the other direction lay
the city they were eager to reach so soon as it was safe to venture;
and between rolled the winding, stately river, with its rich forest
beauty, and hiding among the trees lay castles that won for
themselves a doubtful reputation.
William Tyndale was absorbed in his work, but the others often
watched what was going on outside.
"Did you hear the sound of firing?" Margaret asked, one fine evening,
before she would say "Good-night," and go to bed. She was gazing out
of the window while she spoke.
"Yes, I heard it!" Herman exclaimed, coming to her side, and taking
his place at the tiny window. "There it is again. And again. 'Tis
like the discharge of cannon."
The cannonading lasted for some time, and they listened in wonder,
but thought of those soldiers and the cannon that had passed them in
the forest.
"Does it mean war, Herman?" Margaret asked.
"I can't think it does," he answered.
At last the sounds were gone, and the night silence settled over the
country which was now in darkness. They were about to kiss each
other and say "Good-night," when Margaret pointed to a distant spot
towards her old home. A dense cloud of smoke was rising, and flames
were leaping up amongst it, like forked and fiery tongues, and
lighting up the broken clouds.
"'Tis a fire!" she exclaimed, and the others came to look through
another of the windows from which the little wooden shutter had been
flung back. "But what place can it be?"
"It must be Schouts' castle!" Herman cried. "I'm certain of it!" he
added, when he had scanned the country and was able to judge the
distance of the burning mass from the city.
As the hours passed the flames died down, and later still the clouds
of smoke dwindled away, leaving nothing but a red light in the sky.
But in time there came the sound of a terrific explosion which seemed
to shake the mill. It came again; and after that there was a hush,
and the countryside subsided into silence and dense darkness.
"I'm going to find out what it means," said the forester; "but while
I'm away be careful. Do whatever Mary says."
He moved down the ladder swiftly, and before long he was riding
through the forest with his faithful dog at his heels. He did not
return until next day; the moon had risen, but none had gone to bed,
all being eager to know what he had seen, if he should return that
night.
"You can have easy minds!" he exclaimed, when he and his cousin had
mounted the ladder, he to tell the news, and she to hear it. "Sit
down, every one of you," he said, with laughter in his face and eyes,
and exultation in his voice. "'Tis fine news!"
As if to tantalise them all, he began to talk of trivialities--things
that had no concern for any of them.
"Don't torment us, Otto," said his sweetheart, shaking him, as he sat
at her side.
"I won't, then!" he exclaimed. "But what an impatient body it is,"
he added, turning to look Mary in the face. "But 'tis this. Schouts
has been so much a terror of late that the river became impassable,
and men would stand it no longer. Even the Emperor, to whom appeal
was made, outlawed him; but he tortured the messenger, and drowned
him in his moat. That roused His Majesty, and he determined to deal
with him as one would deal with a savage beast who is a menace to
society. He took his steps accordingly.
"A ship went down the stream--an innocent-looking craft, apparently
full of merchandise, and the great bell of the castle rang out its
loudest, and Schouts and his men went down the grass slope and
boarded her. They found her empty of life, save for a man at the
helm, and the moment the first of Schouts' soldiers clambered on
board he dropped into the river and swam ashore. Then to Schouts'
horror, as I suppose, cannon roared out at the ship from amid the
forest on both sides of the stream and sank the boats that carried
his soldiers to the vessel. Soon her deck became a shambles. The
robber lord and his men were caught like rats in a trap. Schouts
sprang overboard, to swim back and look to the safety of his castle,
but a cannon shot caught him at the leap, and he fell dead in the
stream, for he sank like a stone, and his heavy armour helped to drag
him down. None who leapt into the water escaped, whichever bank they
thought to reach. Man after man was hit, and seen to throw up his
hands, and sink.
"Cries and the sound of guns had all the time been coming from the
castle. There, too, the soldiers who had been sent to deal with the
building itself were busy. The sound of the first shot fired at the
decoy vessel was the signal to hundreds of soldiers who were hiding
in the forest, close up to the castle moat. They swept out of the
dense shadows in silence, and rushed across the drawbridge before the
amazed wardens could drop the portcullis. In a few minutes the
soldiers were swarming through the robber's stronghold, killing
wherever there was resistance. So many of Schouts' servitors and
fighting men had gone to the river to take part in the attack on the
ship that little more than a handful were left to guard the castle,
and these were either slain, or threw up their hands in token of
surrender.
"Then came the task of searching every corner, from roof to dungeon.
Three or four men of note had lately been carried there, and were to
be found, if they yet lived. In some of the horrible cells, like
that into which they had thrust Master Tyndale, the Emperor's
soldiers found some prisoners--poor creatures who had refused or
could not pay the preposterous ransom, some of them nearly dead, and
more than one demented with the horror and the loneliness. Such as
could walk came out tottering, but others had to be carried, and were
set down in the banqueting-hall, where they were fed and tended by
the soldiers.
"But, strangest thing of all," exclaimed the forester, and those who
listened wondered at the look on his face--"I would that Master
Tyndale were with us in this room to hear what next I have to say,"
Engel said, breaking off in his story; "but the good man is buried in
that holy task of his, and I must tell him of it later on."
"Nay, friend Engel, he is here, and has heard the whole story!"
someone exclaimed, and, looking round, those who were gathered about
the forester saw William Tyndale standing in the doorway. "Go on,
friend," he added, coming in and sitting on a stool. "You were
saying, 'But, strangest thing of all.'"
"I was, Master Tyndale, and it was the strangest thing--the most
unexpected. The soldiers were searching the castle to rifle it of
its contents, thinking to carry its treasures away, and the booty the
robber lord had taken from many an unfortunate ship, when they came
across a body, lying in that room where you and I, Herman, had seen
and heard Cochlaeus bargaining with the lord of the castle for Master
Tyndale's ransom. He was lying face downwards on one of the costly
rugs, and when they turned him over, marvelling to find a Churchman
of high rank in such a place, they saw that he was none other than
the Deacon of the Church of the Blessed Virgin."
"What!" cried Tyndale, startled at the words, and rising to his feet.
"Do you mean to say that it was Cochlaeus?"
"I do, Master Tyndale. How he came to the castle, and why, I cannot
say. Whether he thought that after all Schouts had cheated him into
believing that Master Tyndale had escaped, and that in reality he was
in the castle after all, there is no telling. No one is left to tell
the story. Some hard words must have been spoken on both sides, and
Schouts, filled with mad anger at what the Churchman said, must have
struck at him, for he lay there, dead, and a jewelled dagger was
driven into his heart.
"When the castle had been thoroughly rifled, and all its valuables
lay in great heaps on the grass outside, booty waiting to be divided
among the Emperor's soldiery, the officer commanding fired the place.
When the fire had nearly burnt itself out, and the soldiers were
about to move round to see that the destruction was complete, there
was an awful explosion. The fire had reached the powder magazine
down in the dungeons. Another explosion followed; then a third; and
after that, when the smoke had cleared away, there was nothing but a
heap of ruins.
"And there was the last of Schouts, the robber lord, and the last of
your tormentors, Master Tyndale," said Engel quietly, turning towards
him. "The man who was so eager to carry you to the tormentors, and
bring your work to naught, is dead."
There was silence. Everyone realised the meaning of that tragedy at
the castle by the river. It meant much for law and order, since a
brutal-minded, godless, and tyrannical nobleman had come to the end
of his infamous career. It meant that Master Tyndale was no longer a
hunted fugitive. The man who had set himself to bring about his ruin
was gone, and the simple-souled and lowly-minded scholar was free to
go where he listed--to stay in the mill, or move on to Worms--and
Cochlaeus would no more dog his steps.
"This is the Lord's doing," said Tyndale solemnly, and breaking the
silence. "Let us kneel and thank Him for saving us in this eleventh
hour."
He dropped on his knees, and when the others did the same, he poured
out his soul in grateful thanks.
* * * * * * *
Two days later those who were with him rode into Worms--all save Mary
Engel, who remained in the mill. As the horses crossed the bridge at
the city gate they turned to look back on the road they had
travelled, and their faces were lit up with the glory of the evening
sun.
"At evening time it shall be light," said Tyndale softly, and,
shaking his horse's rein, he rode along the street after asking the
warden of the gate where they would find the home of Doctor Martin
Luther.
It was early next morning when Luther and Tyndale gave their
benediction, and Margaret and Herman were married in the church where
Luther preached.
Half an hour later the forester was in the saddle, ready to ride back
to Mary, and his eyes were twinkling with mirth, and his face had
never been broader with smiles.
He called Herman to him when he had said "Good-bye" to all the
others. Bending in his saddle, while his dog was waiting, impatient
to be gone, he put out his hand.
"Shake it, Herman, and in the dear Lord's name wish me joy!"
Herman gazed into his face, wondering at it.
"What for?"
"Because I am going to marry Mary to-morrow, please God, if she'll
only say 'Yes'; and I believe she will. Master Byrckmann has forced
two hundred golden crowns upon me for what he calls my splendid
service. I didn't think of any payment, God knows! and I didn't want
to take it, big though the temptation was to do so. But he gave me
no alternative. See! It is here!"
He slapped his hand on the leathern pouch at his belt, and Herman
heard the chink of gold.
"I wanted a hundred crowns, I told you, to buy a mill--and I know of
one--but this leaves me with a hundred in reserve. Bid me joy,
Herman! You said my ship would come home. It's come!"
"I do, with all my heart!" Herman cried.
And a moment later the forester was galloping along the street
towards the city gate.
MORGAN AND SCOTT LD., 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, LONDON, E.C.