You have the captives,
Who were the opposites of this day's strife!
We do require them of you, so to use them
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.--Shakspere.
The chamber of Sir Osborne Maurice was next to that of Lady Constance
de Grey, and from time to time he could hear through the partition the
sweet murmuring of her voice, as she spoke to the woman who undressed
her. Whatever were the thoughts these sounds called up, the young
soldier did not sleep, but lay pondering over his fate, his brain
troubled by a host of busy meditations that would not let him rest. It
was not that he either was in love with Lady Constance, or fancied
himself in love with her, though he neither wanted ardour of feeling
nor quickness of imagination; and yet he thought over all she said
with strange sensations of pleasure, and tried to draw the graceful
outline of her figure upon the blank darkness of the night. And then,
again, he called up the fortnight that he spent some five years before
at the mansion of her father, when he had gone thither to bid farewell
to his old tutor; and he remembered every little incident as though
'twere yesterday. Still, all the while, he never dreamed of love. He
gave way to those thoughts as to a pleasant vision, which filled up
sweetly the moments till sleep should fall upon his eyelids; and yet
he found that the more he thought in such a train, the less likely was
he to slumber. At length the idea of the Portingal captain crossed his
mind, and he strove to fix at what moment it was that that worthy had
quitted the kitchen of the inn, by recalling the last time he
positively had been there. He tried, however, in vain, and in the
midst of the endeavour he fell asleep.
The sun had fully risen by the time Sir Osborne awoke; and finding
himself later than he had intended, he dressed himself hurriedly and
ran down to the court, where he met the honest clothier already
prepared to set out. His own horse, thanks to the care of Jekin Groby,
had been accoutred also; and as nothing remained for him to do but to
pay his reckoning and depart, all was soon ready, and the travellers
were on the road.
"Ah, ha! sir knight," said the clothier, with good-humoured
familiarity, as Sir Osborne sprang into the saddle, "what would they
say in camp if it were known that Jekin Groby, the Kentish clothier,
was in the field before you? Ha, ha, ha! that's good! And you talked,
too, of being off by cock-crow! Lord 'a mercy! poor old chanticleer
has almost thrawn his own neck with crowing, and you never heeded his
piping."
"I have been very lazy," said the knight, "and know not, in truth, how
it has happened. But tell me, honest Master Groby, did you remark last
night at what hour it was that the vagabond Portingallo took his
departure?"
"Why, 'twas just when my young lady, Mistress Constance, came in,"
said the clothier; "he slipped away, just as I've seen a piece of
cloth slip off a shelf, fold by fold, so quietly that no one heard it,
till, flump! it was all gone together. But, bless us!" he continued,
"how comical! our horses are both of a colour. Never did I see such a
match, only mine has got a white foot, which is a pity. Bought him in
Yorkshire when I went down after the cloth. Them damned cheats,
however, painted me his white foot, and 'twas not till I'd had him a
week that I saw his foot begin to change colour. Vast cheats in
Yorkshire! Steal a man's teeth out of his head if he sleeps with his
mouth open."
"It is a good horse, though," said Sir Osborne; "rather heavy in the
shoulder. But it is a good strong horse, and would bear a man-at-arms
well, I doubt not."
Jekin Groby was somewhat of a judge in horse-flesh, notwithstanding
his having been gulled by the Yorkshire jockeys; and, what was more,
he piqued himself upon his knowledge, so that he soon entered upon a
strain of conversation with Sir Osborne which could only be
interesting to connoisseurs. This continued some way as they trotted
along the road, which offered no appearance of anything bearing the
human form divine, till they came to a spot where the way had been cut
between two high banks, formed of chalky soil mingled with veins of
large flints. On the summit of one of these banks was perched a man,
who seemed looking out for something, as he stood motionless, gazing
down the road towards them. Upon his shoulder he carried a pole, or
staff, as it was called, some thirteen feet long, with a sharp iron
head, such as was frequently carried by the people of the country in
those days, serving both as a means of aggression or defence, and as a
sort of leaping-pole wherewith they cleared the deep ditches by which
the country was in many parts intersected. The man himself was
apparently above the ordinary height. Whoever he was, and whatever was
his occupation, no sooner did he see the travellers, than, descending
the bank by means of the veins of flint, which served him as steps, he
ran on as hard as he could, and then, turning off through a little
stile, was seen proceeding rapidly across a field beyond.
"Did you remark that fellow with his long pole?" demanded Sir Osborne.
"We have frightened him: look, he runs!"
"He is vexed to see more than one at a time, sir knight," replied
Jekin Groby. "God's fish! I am glad I had your worship with me."
"Why, he can mean us no harm," said Sir Osborne. "The moment a man
flies he changes from _your_ enemy and becomes his own. But that
fellow was evidently looking out for some one: now, if he know not
that you are travelling here with your bags well lined, as you express
it, which doubtless you are too wise a man to give notice of to every
one, he cannot be watching for _us_, for my plunder would not be worth
his having. I rather think he is some fellow hawking fowl, by the long
staff he has on his shoulder."
"It may be so," replied the cloth-merchant. "One is bound to think
charitably, and never to judge rashly; but i'faith, I am mistaken if
he is not a vast rogue. As to their not knowing that my bags are
pretty full of angels, trust them for that. No one is robbed without
the consent of the chamberlain or hostler where last he lodged. The
moment you are off your beast, they whip you up your cap-case or
budget, as it may happen; and if they can't find out by the weight,
they give it a shake, after such a sort as to make the pieces jingle.
Then again, as for his pole or staff, as you term it, those fellows
with their staves are so commonly known for robbery on the road, that
no honest man rides without his case of dags at his saddle-bow, or
something of the kind to deal with them out of reach of their pike,
which sort of snapper, truly, I see your worship has got as well as
myself."
"Oh! you need not fear them," said Sir Osborne, somewhat amused at the
alarm of the clothier, though willing to allay it. "You are a stout
man, and I am not quite a schoolboy."
"Oh! I fear them! I don't fear them," replied Jekin, affecting a
virtue which he had not; for though, in truth, not very sensible to
fear of a mere personal nature, yet his terror at the idea of losing
his angels was most pious and exemplary. "A couple of true men are
worth forty of them; and besides, the fellow has run away. So now to
what I was telling your worship about the horse. He cleared the fence
and the ditch on t'other side; but then there was again another low
fence, not higher, nor--let me see--not higher nor---- Zounds! there's
Longpole again! Lord! how he runs! He's a-poaching, sure enough." But
to continue.
During the next mile's journey, the same occurrence was repeated four
or five times, till at last the appearance of the man with the staff,
whom Jekin Groby had by this time christened Longpole, was hardly
noticed either by the knight or his companion. In the mean time the
horsemen proceeded but slowly, and at length reached a spot where the
high bank broke away, and the hedge receding left a small open space
of what appeared to be common ground. Its extent perhaps might be half
an acre, lying in the form of a decreasing wedge between two thick
hedges, full of leafless stunted oaks, terminated by a clump of larger
trees, which probably hung over a pond. Thus it made a sort of little
vista, down which the eye naturally wandered, resting upon all the
tranquil, homely forms it presented, with perhaps more pleasure than a
vaster or a brighter scene could have afforded. Sir Osborne looked
down it for a moment, then suddenly reined in his horse, and pointing
with his hand, cried to Jekin Groby, who was a little in advance, "I
see two men hiding behind those trees, and a third there in the hedge.
Gallop quick; 'tis an ambush!"
The clothier instantly spurred forward his horse; but his passage was
closed by two sturdy fellows, armed with the sort of staves which had
obtained for their companion the name of Longpole. Animated with the
same courage in defence of his angels that inspires a hen in
protection of her chickens, Jekin Groby drew forth his dags, or
horse-pistols, and, with the bridle in his teeth, aimed one at the
head of each of his antagonists. The aggressors jumped aside, and
would probably have let him pass, had he not attempted too boldly to
follow up his advantage. He pulled the triggers, the hammers fell, but
no report ensued; and it was then he felt the folly of not having well
examined his arms before he left the inn.
In the mean while Sir Osborne Maurice was not unemployed. At the same
moment that Jekin Groby had been attacked, a man forced his way
through the hedge, and opposed himself to the knight, while sundry
others hastened towards them. Sir Osborne's first resource was his
pistol, which, like those of the clothier, had been tampered with at
the inn. But the knight lost not his presence of mind, and spurred on
his horse even against the pike. The animal, long accustomed to combat
where still more deadly weapons were employed, reared up, and with a
bound brought the knight clear of the staff, and within reach of his
adversary, on whose head Sir Osborne discharged such a blow with the
butt-end of his pistol as laid him senseless on the ground.
With a glance of lightning he saw that at least a dozen more were
hurrying up, and that the only chance left was to deal suddenly with
the two, who were now in a fair way to pull the clothier off his
horse, and having despatched them, to gallop on with all speed.
Without loss of a moment, therefore, he drew his sword and spurred
forward. One of honest Jekin's assailants instantly faced about, and,
with his pike rested on his foot, steadfastly opposed the cavalier.
However, he was not so dexterous in the use of his weapon that Sir
Osborne could not by rapidly wheeling his horse obtain a side view of
the pike, when by one sweeping blow of his long-sword he cleft it in
twain. One moment more and the unhappy pikeman's head and shoulders
would have parted company, for an arm of iron was swaying the edge of
the weapon rapidly towards his neck, when suddenly a powerful man
sprang upon the knight's horse behind, and pinioned his arms with a
force which, though it did not entirely disable him, saved the life of
his antagonist.
Using a strong effort, Sir Osborne so far disengaged his arms as to
throw back the pommel of his sword into the chest of this new
adversary, who in a moment was rolling in the dust; but as he fell,
another sprang up again behind the knight, and once more embarrassed
his arms: others seized the horse's bridle, and others pressed upon
him on every side. Still Sir Osborne resisted, but it was in vain. A
cord was passed through his arms, and gradually tightened behind, in
spite of his struggling, where, being tied, it rendered all further
efforts useless.
Hitherto not a word had been spoken by either party. It seemed as if,
by mutual understanding, the attacking and the attacked had forborne
any conversation upon a subject which they knew could not be decided
by words.
At length, however, when they had pulled Sir Osborne Maurice off his
horse, and placed him by the side of Jekin Groby, who had now long
been in the same situation, the tallest of the party, evidently no
other than the agreeable gentleman who had watched them along the road
with such peculiar care, and whom we shall continue to call Longpole,
advanced, holding his side, which was still suffering from the pommel
of Sir Osborne's sword; and after regarding them both, he addressed
himself to the knight, with much less asperity than might have been
expected from the resistance he had met with. "Thou hit'st damned
hard!" said he; "and I doubt thou hast broken one of my ribs with thy
back-heave. Howsoever, I know not which of you is which, now I've got
you. Faith, they should have described me the men, not the horses;
both the horses are alike."
"Is your wish to rob us or not?" said Sir Osborne; "because in robbing
us both you are sure to rob the right. Only leave us our horses, and
let us go; for to cut our throats will serve you but little."
"If I wished to rob thee, my gentleman," answered Longpole, "I'd cut
thy throat too, for breaking my companion's head, who lies there in
the road as if he were dead, or rather as if he were asleep, for he's
snoring like the father-hog of a large family, the Portingallo
vagabond! However, I'll have you both away; then those who sent to
seek you will know which it is they want. Hollo there! knock that
fellow down that's fingering the bags. If one of you touch a stiver
I'll make your skins smart for it."
"I see several Portingals," said Sir Osborne, "or I mistake. Is it not
so?"
"Ay, Portingals and Dutchers, and such like mixed," replied Longpole.
"But come; you must go along."
A light now broke upon the mind of Sir Osborne. "Listen," cried he to
the Englishman, as he was preparing to lead them away; "how comes it
that you Englishmen join yourselves with a beggarly race of wandering
vagabonds to revenge the quarrel of a base-born Portingallo captain
upon one of your own countrymen? Give me but a moment, and you shall
hear whether he did not deserve the punishment I inflicted."
Longpole seemed willing to hear, and one or two others came round,
while the rest employed themselves in quieting the knight's horse,
that, finding himself in hands he was unaccustomed to, began plunging
and kicking most violently.
"I will be short," said the knight. "This Portingal had agreed to
furnish a cargo of fruits to the Imperial army in Flanders; 'tis now
two years ago, for we had a malignant fever in the camp. He got the
money when they were landed, and was bringing them under a small
escort, which I commanded, when we found our junction cut off by the
right wing of the enemy's army, which had wheeled. The greatest
exertion was necessary to pass round through a hollow way; the least
noise, the least flutter of a pennon, would have betrayed us to the
French outposts, who were not more than a bow-shot from us, when our
Portingal stopped in the midst, and vowed he would not go on, unless I
promised to pay him double for the fruit, and not to tell anybody of
what he had done. If I had run my lance through him, as I was tempted,
his companions would have made a noise, and we were lost; so I was
obliged to promise. He knew he could trust the word of an English
knight, so he went on quietly enough, and got his money; but then I
took him out into a field, and after a struggle, I tied him to a tree,
and lashed him with my stirrup-leathers till his back was flayed. He
was not worth a knight's sword, or I would have swept his head off.
But tell me, is it for this a party of Englishmen maltreat their
countrymen?"
"You served him right, young sir," answered Longpole; "and I remember
that malignant fever well, for I was then fletcher to Sir John
Pechie's band of horse archers. But, nevertheless, you must come
along; for the Portingallo and his men only lend a hand in taking you
to Sir Payan Wileton, who tells us a very different story, and does
not make you out a knight at all."
Sir Osborne replied nothing (for it seemed that the name of Sir Payan
Wileton showed him reply was in vain), but suffered himself to be led
on in silence by Longpole and five of bid stoutest companions, while
the rest were directed to follow with Jekin Groby and the two horses,
as soon as the Portuguese whom the knight had stunned should be in a
fit state to be removed.
For some way Sir Osborne was conducted along the highroad without any
attempt at concealment on the part of those who guarded him; and even
at a short distance from the spot where the affray had happened they
stopped to speak with a carter, who was slowly driving his team on to
the village. "Ah! Dick," said he, addressing Longpole, "what hast been
at?"
"Why, faith," answered the other, "I don't well know. It's a job of
his worship's. You know he has queer ways with him; and when he tells
one to do a thing, one knows well enough what the beginning is, but
what the end of it is to be no one knows but himself. He says that
this gentleman is the man who excited the miners on his Cornish lands
to riot and insurrection, and a deal more, so that he will have him
taken. He don't look it, does he? If it had been to-morrow I'd not
have gone upon the thing, for to-day my sworn service is out."
"Ay! ay!" said the other; "'tis hard to know Sir Payan. Howsomdever,
he has got all the land round about, one way or t'other, and
everything must yield to him, for no one ever withstood him but what
some mischance fell upon him. Mind you how, when young Davors went to
law with him, and gained his cause, about seven acres' field, he was
drowned in the pond when out hawking, not a year after? Do not cross
him, man! do not cross him! for either God's blessing or the devil's
is upon him, and you'll come to harm some way if you do!"
"I'll not cross him, but I'll leave him," said Longpole; "for I like
neither what I see nor what I hear of him, and less what I do for him.
So, fare thee well, boy."
Sir Osborne Maurice had fallen into a profound reverie, from which he
did not wake during the whole of the way. The astrologer's prediction
of approaching evil, and a thousand other circumstances of still more
painful presage, came thronging upon his mind, and took away from him
all wish or power either to question his conductors or to devise any
plan for escape, had escape been possible.
The way was long, and the path which Longpole and his companions
followed led through a variety of green fields and lanes, silent and
solitary, which gave the young knight full time to muse over his
situation. Had he given credit to the words of his conductor, and for
an instant supposed that the reason of his having been so suddenly
seized was the charge of instigating a body of Cornish miners to
tumult, he would have felt, no apprehension; for he knew it would be
easy to clear himself of crimes committed in a county which he had
never seen in his life. But Sir Osborne felt that if such a charge
were brought forward, it would merely be as a pretext to place him in
the power of his bitterest enemies.
The manner in which he had been made a prisoner, so different from the
open, fair course of any legal proceeding, the persons who had seized
him bearing no appearance of officers of the law, the doubt that the
chief of them had himself expressed as to the veracity of the charge,
and the presence of a set of smuggling Portuguese sailors, all showed
evidently to Sir Osborne that his detention solely originated in some
deep wile of a man famous for his daring cunning and his evil deeds.
Yet still, knowing the full extent of his danger, and blessed with a
heart unused to quail to any circumstance of fate, the knight would
have felt no apprehension, had not odd little Human Nature, who always
keeps a grain or two of superstition in the bottom of her snuff-box,
continually reminded him of the prophecy of his singular companion of
the day before, and reproached him for not having followed the advice
which would infallibly have removed him from the difficulties by which
he was now surrounded. The mysterious vagueness, too, the shadowy
uncertainty, of the predicted evil, which seemed even now in its
accomplishment, in despite of all his efforts, weighed upon his mind;
and it was not till the long, heavy brick front of an old manor-house
met his view, giving notice that he was near the place of his
destination, that he could arouse his energies to encounter what was
to follow.
The large folding-doors leading into a stone hall were pushed open by
his conductors, and Sir Osborne was brought in, and made to sit down
upon a bench by the fire. One or two servants only were in the hall;
and they, unlike the persons who brought him, were dressed in
livery, with the cognizance of Sir Payan--a snake twisted round a
crane--embroidered on the sleeve. "His worship is in the book-room,
Dick," said one of the men; "take your prisoner there."
These few words were all that passed, for an ominous sort of silence
seemed to hang over the dwelling, and affected all within it. Without
reply, Longpole led the young knight forward, followed by two of those
who had assisted in securing him; and at the end of a long corridor,
which terminated the hall, knocked at a door in a recess.
"Come in!" cried a voice within; and the moment after, Sir Osborne
found himself confronted with the man whose name we have often had
occasion to mention with but little praise in the course of the
preceding pages, Sir Payan Wileton. He was seated in an arm-chair, at
the farther end of the small book-room, which, all petty as it was,
when compared with the vast libraries of the present day, offered a
prodigy in point of literary treasure, in those times when the
invention of the press had made but little progress towards
superseding the painful and expensive method of manual transcription.
About a hundred volumes, in gay bindings of vellum and of velvet,
ornamented the shelves, and two or three others lay on a table before
him, at which also was seated a clerk, busily engaged in writing.
Sir Payan himself was a man of about fifty, of a deep ashy complexion,
and thin, strongly-marked features. His eyes were dark, shrewd, and
bright, and sunk deep below his brows, in the midst of which was to be
observed a profound wrinkle, which gave his face a continual frown.
His cheek-bones were high, his hair was short and grizzled, and his
whole appearance had, perhaps, more of sternness than of cunning.
On the entrance of Sir Osborne Maurice, for a moment no one spoke, and
the two knights regarded each other in silence, with an austere
bitterness that might have spoken them old enemies. But while he gazed
on the young knight, Sir Payan's hand, which lay on some papers before
him, gradually contracted, clenched harder and harder, till at length
the red blood in his thin knuckles vanished away, and they became
white as a woman's by the force of the compression. But it was in
vain! Sir Osborne's glance mastered his, and dashing his hand across
his brow, he broke forth:--
"So, this is he who excited my tenants and labourers to revolt against
the king in that unfortunate Cornish insurrection, and who led them on
to plunder my bailiff's dwelling, and to murder my bailiff! Clerk,
make out instantly the warrant for his removal to Cornwall, with
copies of the depositions taken here, that he may be tried and
punished for his crimes on the spot where they were committed."
"Sir Payan Wileton," said the knight, still regarding him with the
same steady, determined gaze, "we meet for the first time to-day; but
I think you know me."
"I do, sir; I do!" replied Sir Payan, without varying from the hurried
and impatient manner in which he had spoken at first. "I know you for
a rebellious instigator to all kinds of mischief, and for a homicide.
Speak, Richard Heartley; did the prisoner offer any resistance? Has he
added any fresh crimes to those he has already perpetrated?"
"Resist!" cried Longpole; "ay, your worship, he resisted enough, and
broke one of the Portingallos' heads, but not more than was natural or
reasonable. The other one resisted too; yet it was easy to see that
this one was of gentle blood, which was what your worship wanted, I
doubt not. But, however, as they were both mounted on strong black
horses, such as your honour described, we brought them both up."
"Umph!" said Sir Payan, biting his lip; "there were two, were there?"
And he muttered something to himself. "Send me here the captain
----, or Wilson the bailiff. It must be ascertained which is
which--though there can be no doubt--there can be no doubt!"
"Mark me, Sir Payan Wileton," said Sir Osborne, the moment the other
paused. "Mark me, and take good heed before you too far commit
yourself. We know each other, and, therefore, a few words will
suffice. Five people in England are aware of my arrival, and equally
aware of where I slept last night, and when I set out this morning.
Judge, therefore, whether it will not be easy to trace me hither, and
to free me from your hands."
Sir Payan Wileton had evidently been agitated by some strong feeling
on first beholding the young knight; but by this time he had
completely mastered it, and his face had resumed that rigid austerity
of expression with which he was wont to cover all that was passing in
his mind.
"Railing, sir, and insinuations will be found of no use here," he
said, calmly. "Clerk, make good speed with those warrants! Oh! here is
Wilson. Now, Wilson, look at the prisoner well, and tell me if you are
sure that he is the person who assaulted you yesterday, and who led
the miners when they burned your father's house in Cornwall. Look at
him well!"
The young man, whom it may be remembered Sir Osborne Maurice had
dispatched so unceremoniously over the wall of old Richard Heartley's
garden, now advanced, and regarded the knight with a triumphant grin.
"Oh, ho! my brave bird, what! you're limed, are you?" he muttered; and
then, turning to Sir Payan, "yes, your worship, 'tis he," he
continued. "I'm ready to swear that 'twas he led the men that burned
Pencriton House, and that threw me over the wall, because I struck old
Heartley for calling your worship a usurping traitor and----"
But at that moment Longpole laid a grasp upon his collar that almost
strangled him.
"You struck my father, did you?" exclaimed he; "then pray God to make
all your bones as soft as whit-leather, for if they're but as crisp as
buttered toast, I'll break every one in your skin!"
"Silence!" cried Sir Payan Wileton; "silence, Heartley! If your father
has been struck, I will take care he shall have satisfaction."
"With your worship's good leave, I will take care of it myself,"
replied Longpole. "I never trust any one to give or to receive a
drubbing for me. I like always to calculate my own quantity of
crabstick."
"Silence!" said Sir Payan; "again I say, silence! My good Richard, I
assure you, you shall be satisfied. Clerk, swear Wilson to the
depositions he made. Oh! here is the Portingallo. Captain, is that the
man you remember having seen in Cornwall when you were last there?"
"Yes, yes, el Pero! that was himself!" cried the captain; "I sawed him
at the ale-house at Penzance with my own eye, when I went to fetch the
cargo of coal."
"You mean of tin, captain," said Sir Payan.
"Yes, yes, of ten," replied the Portuguese. "It was just ten, I
remember."
Sir Osborne's patience was exhausted.
"Vagabond! thief!" cried he, "do you remember my scourging you with
the stirrup-leathers in Flanders, till there was not an inch of skin
upon your back?"
"Yes, yes, that was your turn," said the captain; "I scourge you now."
"Remark what he says," cried Sir Osborne, to those who stood round,
"and all of you bear witness in case----"
"Prisoner, you stand committed," cried Sir Payan, in a loud voice.
"Take him away! Suffer him not to speak! Richard Heartley, place him
in the strong-room at the foot of the stair-case, and having locked
the door, keep guard over him. Captain, stay you with me; all the
rest, go."
The commands of Sir Payan were instantly obeyed; and the room being
cleared, he pressed his hands before his eyes, and thought deeply for
some moments.
"He is mine!" cried he at length, "he is mine! And shall I let him out
of my own hands now that I have him, when 'twould be so easy to
furnish him with a hook and a halter wherewith to hang himself, as the
good chaplain and John Bellringer did to the heretic Hun, in the
Lollards' Tower last year? But no, that is too fresh in the minds of
men, and too many suspicions are already busy. So, my captain--I
forgot. Sit down, my good captain. I am, as we agreed, about to give
this young man into your hands to take to Cornwall. Why do you laugh?"
"He! he! Cornwall," cried the captain; "I do not go in Cornwall."
"Nay, some time in your life you will probably voyage to Cornwall as
well as to other lands," said Sir Payan. "Now, 'tis the same to me
whether you take him there now or a hundred years hence: you may carry
him all over the world if you will, and drop him at the antipodes."
"I understand, I understand," replied the Portingal; "you have much
need to get rid of him, and you give him to me. Well, I will take your
present, if you give me two hundred golden angels with him." Sir Payan
nodded assent. "But let me understand quite all well," continued the
captain: "you want me to take him to Cornwall. There is one Cornwall
at the bottom of the sea; do you mean that?"
"'Twere fully as good as the other," said Sir Payan, "if the journey
were short, and the conveyance sure."
"Two cannon-shot will make it a quick passage," replied the captain;
"but they must be made of gold, my good worship."
"Why of gold?" demanded Sir Payan. "Oh! I catch your meaning. But you
grow exorbitant."
"Not I," said the Portingal; "I only ask two hundred angels more. Why,
an indulgence will cost me half the pay. It's very dear drowning a
man. If you like me to take him and leave him in Turkey with the
Ottomites, I will do it for the two; but if I send him to Cornwall,
he! he! he! you shall give me four."
"But how shall I know that it is done?" said Sir Payan, thoughtfully.
"But that must be trusted to. You are not such a child as to be
pitiful. _Men_ know how to avenge themselves, and you heard his boast
of having scourged you. If you be a man, then do not forget it."
"Forget it!" cried the Portingal, his dark brows knitting till they
almost hid his eyes; "give me the order under your hand, and fear
not."
"What! an order to murder him!" cried Sir Payan. "Think you my brain
is turned?"
"No, no! You have the wrong," said the Portingal; "I mean an order to
take him to Cornwall. It shall be very easy to drop him by the way. If
I was exorbitant, as you call me, I had make you pay more, because for
why, I know you would eat your hand to get rid of him; else why have
you make me bring you news of him when he was in Flanders? Why you pay
three spies two crowns the month to give you news every step he took?
Oh! I know it all. But it is this: I am an honest merchant and no
rogue, and when I pop him in the sea I do a little bit of my own
business and a big bit of yours, so I do not charge you so much as if
it was all yours. Is not that honest?"
"Honest!" said Sir Payan, with a grim smile; "yes, very honest. But
mark me, Sir Captain! I'll have some assurance of you. Thus shall it
be: I'll give you a warrant to take him to Cornwall, but you shall
sign me a promise to drop him overboard by the way, so that there be
no peaching; for when our necks are in the same halter, each will take
care not to draw the cord on his fellow, lest he be hanged himself."
"Well, well," said the Portingal, "that's all right. No fear of me,
and you will not for your own sake. But look here, Sir Payan. What
have you intended to do with the other man that was taken with him, as
they tell me, who was at the inn-house, and will tell it to all the
world? He's the fat clothier; give him to me too, and let my men have
the clearing of his bags. You owe them something for the job, and one
has had his head broke, and will die by the time he is aboard.
Besides, they were never paid for bringing you up the whole cargo of
strong wine, five years past, which was paid for by Dudley, the
sequestrator."
"Then he should have paid for the carriage," said Sir Payan.
"But he never got it!" cried the Portingal. "You kept all when you
heard he was in prison, good Sir Payan; and when they did take his
head off, you drank the wine yourself. But say, will you, or will you
not, let my men have all that is inside that fat clothesman's bags,
and I will take him, so that you shall never see him again? If not,
your whole business shall soon be known by everybody in the world by
his tongue."
Sir Payan thought for a moment. "It must e'en be so," said he at
length. "Take him, but do not hurt him; and as to his bags, do as you
like."
"Oh! hurt him! no!" answered the other. "In six months he shall be so
good a sailor as any of the others, and two thousand miles away. But
we must get off to-night. I will go down, get the boat close under the
cliffs, and be back by about one o'clock in the morning. Have all
ready against I come, the gold and the order--warrant, as you call it,
and all; and lock all my men up in the big granary, with a thing of
bacon, and a big cask of liquor; so shall they be all drunk before
three, and asleep by four, and sober again by the while I am back, and
nobody hear anything about their being here at all."
"That you must do yourself before you go," said Sir Payan. "In the
mean time, I must take care that the prisoners be kept out of sight,
for a lady cousin is to be here by noon, and neither she nor hers must
hear of this. I myself must be away. She came not yesterday when she
should have come; and fain would I pick a quarrel with her house, for
they have lands too near my own to be any others than my own. So,
though I have ordered her a banquet, yet shall she be served with
scanty courtesy; then, if one word of anger fall from her, there shall
more follow."
"Oh! if I be here when she shall come," said the Portingal, "I will
give her some cause either to be pleased or angry."
"What wilt thou do, fellow?" demanded Sir Payan sternly. "Beware!
remember she is of my blood."
"Oh! nothing, nothing!" replied the captain, "only tell her some
little compliment upon her beauty. But, my good worship, can you trust
all your men about these prisoners?"
"All! all!" replied Sir Payan. "There is no fear. No one of them but I
could hang one way or another, and they know it. All except Heartley,
and he is bound to me by an illegal oath, wrung from him by fear of
seeing his father driven out this hard winter. But 'tis past noon now.
Ho! without there! Send in my clerk. What! are the horses saddled?
Farewell, Sir Portingal, till one i' the morning!"