THE BISHOP IS TAKEN UNAWARES
Symon of Worcester, seated before a table in the library, pondered a
letter which had reached him the evening before, brought by a messenger
from the Vatican.
It was a call to return to the land he loved best; the land of sunshine
and flowers, of soft speech and courteous ways; the land of heavenly
beauty and seraphic sounds; and, moreover, to return as a Cardinal of
Holy Church.
His acceptance or refusal must be penned before night. The messenger
expected to start upon his return journey early on the morrow.
Should he go? Or should he stay?
Was all now well for Mora? Or did she yet need him?
Surely never had Cardinal's hat hung poised for such a reason! How
little would the Holy Father dream that a question affecting the
happiness or unhappiness of a woman could be a cause of hesitancy.
Presently, with a quick movement, the Bishop lifted his head. The
library was far removed from the courtyard; but surely he heard the
clatter of horses' hoofs upon the raving stones.
He had hardly hoped for Brother Philip's return until after sunset;
yet--with fast riding----
If the Knight's answer were in all respects satisfactory--If Mora's
happiness was assured--why, then----
He sounded the silver gong.
His servant entered.
"What horsemen have just now ridden into the courtyard, Jasper?"
"My lord, Brother Philip has this moment returned, and with him----"
"Bid Brother Philip to come hither, instantly."
"May it please you, my lord----"
"Naught will please me," said the Bishop, "but that my commands be
obeyed without parley or delay."
Jasper's obeisance took him through the door.
The Bishop bent over the letter from Rome, shading his face with his
hand.
He could scarcely contain his anxiety; but he did not wish to give
Brother Philip occasion to observe his tremulous eagerness to receive
the Knight's reply.
He heard the door open and close, and a firm tread upon the floor. It
struck him, even then, that the lay-brother had not been wont to enter
his presence with so martial a stride, and he wondered at the ring of
spurs. But his mind was too intently set upon Hugh d'Argent's letter,
to do more than unconsciously notice these things.
"Thou art quickly returned, my good Philip," he said, without looking
round. "Thou has done better than my swiftest expectations. Didst
thou give my letter thyself into the hands of Sir Hugh d'Argent, and
hast thou brought me back an answer from that most noble Knight?"
Wherefore did Brother Philip make no reply?
Wherefore did his breath come sharp and short--not like a stout
lay-brother who has hurried; but, rather, like a desperate man who has
clenched his teeth to keep control of his tongue?
The Bishop wheeled in his chair, and found himself looking full into
the face of Hugh d'Argent--Hugh, haggard, dusty, travel-stained, with
eyes, long strangers to sleep, regarding him with a sombre intensity.
"You!" exclaimed the Bishop, surprised out of his usual gentle calm.
"You? Here!"
"Yes, I," said the Knight, "I! Does it surprise you, my Lord Bishop,
that I should be here? Would it not rather surprise you, in view of
that which you saw fit to communicate to me by letter, that I should
fail to be here--and here as fast as horse could bring me?"
"Naught surprises me," said the Bishop, testily. "I have lived so long
in the world, and had to do with so many crazy fools, that human
vagaries no longer have power to surprise me. And, by our Lady, Sir
Knight, I care not where you are, so that you have left safe and well,
her peace of mind undisturbed, the woman whom I--acting as mouthpiece
of the Pope and Holy Church--gave, not two weeks ago, into your care
and keeping."
The Knight's frown was thunderous.
"It might be well, my Lord Bishop, to leave our blessèd Lady's name out
of this conversation. It hath too much been put to shameful and
treacherous use. Mora is safe and well. How far her peace of mind can
be left undisturbed, I am here to discover. I require, before aught
else, the entire truth."
But the Bishop had had time to recover his equanimity. He rose with
his most charming smile, both hands out-stretched in gracious welcome.
"Nay, my dear Knight, before aught else you require a bath! Truly it
offends my love of the beautiful to see you in this dusty plight." He
struck upon the gong. "Also you require a good meal, served with a
flagon of my famous Italian wine. You did well to come here in person,
my son. If naught hath been said to Mora, no harm is done; and
together we can doubly safeguard the matter. I rejoice that you have
come. But the strain of rapid travelling, when anxiety drives, is
great. . . . Jasper, prepare a bath for Sir Hugh d'Argent in mine own
bath-chamber; cast into it some of that fragrant and refreshing powder
sent to me by the good brethren of Santa Maria Novella. While the
noble Knight bathes, lay out in the ante-chamber the complete suit of
garments he was wearing on the day when the sudden fancy seized him to
have a swim in our river. I conclude they have been duly dried and
pressed and laid by with sweet herbs? . . . Good. That is well. Now,
my dear Hugh, allow Jasper to attend you. He will give his whole mind
to your comfort. Send word to Brother Philip, Jasper, that I will
speak with him here."
The Bishop accompanied the Knight to the door of the library; watched
him stride along the gallery, silent and sullen, in the wake of the
hastening Jasper; then turned and walked slowly back to the table,
smiling, and gently rubbing his hands together as he walked.
He had gained time, and he had successfully regained his sense of
supremacy. Taken wholly by surprise, he had not felt able to cope with
this gaunt, dusty, desperately determined Knight. But the Knight would
leave more than mere travel stains behind, in the scented waters of the
bath! He would reappear clothed and in his right mind. A good meal
and a flagon of Italian wine would further improve that mind, mellowing
it and rendering it pliable and easy to convince; though truly it
passed comprehension why the Knight should need convincing, or of what!
Even more incomprehensible was it, that a man wedded to Mora, not two
weeks since, should of his own free will elect to leave her.
The Bishop turned.
Brother Philip stood in the doorway, bowing low.
"Come in, my good Philip," said the Bishop; "come in, and shut the
door. . . . I must have thy report with fullest detail; but, time
being short, I would ask thee to begin from the moment when the
battlements of Castle Norelle came into view."