_THE FAIR OF ST. FRIDESWYDE._
"I Tell thee the fault is thine own. Thou couldst have saved him an thou
wouldst!"
"Thou art cruel to me, Lotta--cruel, cruel!" wailed Linda. "As though I
had not enough to bear without these taunts!"
"Taunts! they are true words every one, and I did warn thee before. If
thou hadst given thyself to honest Roger, thou mightest have saved thy
lover."
Linda's pale face flushed; she wrung her hands together; her eyes, that
were sunken and hollow, flashed suddenly.
"Honest Roger, quotha! and he little better than a common assassin! I
hated and feared him long ere I saw Hugh. Wouldst thou have had me
betroth myself to a murderer?"
There was an answering flash in Lotta's eyes.
"To save the man I loved from death, _I_ would have promised anything,"
she cried--"ANYTHING!"
"So would not I," answered Linda, drawing a deep sigh. "I dare not sware
a falsehood--not even for his sake. Nor would he wish it of me. There
are things worse than death."
"Ay, verily there be," answered Lotta significantly; "who knows but what
thy dainty lover (as thou dost call him) may even now be suffering some
such fate."
Linda started and gazed earnestly at her sister.
"Lotta, what meanest thou? Speak! What dost thou know?"
"I know nothing," was the dogged reply, and a hard gleam shone in
Lotta's eyes.
The likeness between the twin sisters was growing less and less every
week. Linda had grown pale and drooping of late, and went about heavily,
as one in whom the vigour of life is sapped; whilst Lotta was almost as
blooming as of old, save that her beauty was harder in character, her
laugh more forced, and her speech more reckless. Some thought her more
bewitching than ever, but Linda was of a different opinion. She began to
fear her sister, and to suspect that Lotta hated her with that cruel
sort of hatred which is born of jealousy.
Linda had not realized until the mysterious disappearance of Hugh that
Lotta loved him; but the knowledge had been forced upon her during those
dreadful days following the fight in Beaumont meadows. Since that day
Lotta had been altogether different, and had never ceased to taunt the
heart-broken Linda with having been the cause of the fate which had
overtaken Hugh upon that occasion. She was always throwing reproaches at
her, and urging her even now to accept the suit of Roger de Horn, lest
some worse thing should happen; and Linda grew more pale and tearful as
week after week passed by, and no news of the absent Hugh reached either
her or any in the city.
He seemed to have been spirited away as if by magic. His body had never
been found, and it was generally supposed that he had been alarmed by
the magnitude of the fight, and fearing for the consequences to those
concerned, had quitted the city and betaken himself elsewhere, as was
often enough done by those who feared the result of any act of violence.
He had been one of the most valiant of the tilters in the tourney, and
might perhaps fear lest his name should be brought before the Chancellor
or the King as having been a leader in the fight that had followed.
For there had been great displeasure aroused in high places at this
lusty and bloody battle. The Chancellor had closed the schools for a
while, to make inquisition on the matter; and the clerks, in affright at
seeing their privileges withdrawn, had made a collection of money, and
had sent presents to the King and Queen and Prince of Wales, in the hope
of obtaining pardon.
The King had, however, given a stern reply, to the effect that money
could not buy back the life of even one loyal subject wantonly slain;
and had it not been that his Majesty was too much taken up with troubles
in Wales and with his own Barons at home, more serious steps might have
been taken.
As it was no mandate followed, and gradually the life of the place
resumed its former course; but it may be understood that, at a time of
so much excitement and anxiety, the disappearance of a single student
created but little stir. Had his dead body been found, there must have
been inquiry, and search made for the authors of the crime, as Hugh was
a gentleman's son, and the companion and friend of young De Montfort;
but since he had simply vanished, it was concluded that he had done so
of his own free-will, and only a few of his nearest friends harboured
dark fears as to his safety.
Linda had good reason for believing that he had met with foul play, and
though for a while she cherished the hope that he would come back as
suddenly as he had left, the hope was dwindling away little by little,
so that Lotta's last words brought a start of mingled dismay and hope.
"If thou dost know nothing, why dost thou speak thus?" she cried,
clasping her hands tightly together.
"I speak but the fantasy that sometimes fills my mind. I verily believe
even now, if thou wouldst hear reason and mate thyself with Roger, that
Hugh might be brought back again as from the dead."
"Thou dost believe he yet lives?"
"Marry, how can I tell? I know no more than thyself. But men put not
their heads within a noose for small cause. Were I in thy place, I would
see if I could not save my lover, even though I might never wed him."
"Thinkest thou that he would reckon life a boon had I been false to
him?" spoke Linda, in very low tones.
Lotta's hard laugh rang out mockingly.
"Thou vain and foolish child! thinkest thou that there is a man upon
earth who would not choose life rather than love? Thinkest thou that
thou art the only maiden in the city worth the wooing? Go to for a
veritable fool an thou dost! Let him but taste the sweets of liberty
again, and I trow that he would console himself for thy desertion, and
that right quickly;" and Lotta flashed a meaning glance at her own
reflection in a small mirror of burnished brass that hung against the
wall.
Linda shivered again. She read her sister's meaning all too well. Yet
what would she not be willing to do to win liberty for her lover, were
he indeed alive?
"If thou wouldst but tell me what thou dost know!" she said again.
Lotta threw herself along the couch beside the window, and looked down
into the street below. It was plain that she was excited and disquieted,
but Linda had no clue to her thoughts.
"I know naught," she repeated; "but I have my thoughts. That something
is afoot I cannot doubt. Hast seen how strange Tito is of late--how
little he is at home after dark--how he and Roger consort more and more
together? Something is hatching between them; what its nature is I know
not. But I have my thoughts--I have my suspicions. And is not Tito ever
on at thee that thou shouldst forget Hugh and wed with Roger? And doth
he not tell me to urge the same upon thee, and throw out strange hints
that the sooner this be done the sooner some other good will follow? I
verily believe that hadst thou the spirit or the heart of a mouse, thou
couldst save him whom thou dost profess thou lovest. But if thou wilt
not make sacrifice for him--well, such love is not worth the having! I
would cast it from me with scorn!"
Linda buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She was bewildered and
distressed above measure by Lotta's words. If indeed Hugh were living,
what would she not do to obtain his release from the power of the evil
men who had captured him? but to pay the price asked of her for this!
Oh, it was almost more than she could bear to think of! And yet might it
not be her duty--that duty she owed to him whom she loved more than
life?
She was in a grievous state of doubt and dismay, and upon the first
opportunity she sought counsel of her friend Joanna Seaton, who had been
her confidante throughout.
Joanna looked very grave at what she heard, but warned Linda very
seriously against taking such a false step as that of listening to the
suit of Roger de Horn.
"Thou dost hate and fear him; it could never be right to wed him. We may
not do evil even for good to come. The holy friars have at least taught
us that, albeit the monks may not have done so. Thou mayest not swear
falsely, Linda."
"Not even to save him from--oh, I know not what?"
"Not even for that. Moreover, thou dost not know that he is living, or
in the power of his foe. I fear me that Lotta is not true to thee nor to
her better self. She has let the demon of jealousy possess her, and she
is now seeking to work upon thee and to get thee to wed with Roger. I
fear me she has some evil purpose in her head. I would not have thee put
too great faith in her words, Linda."
"But if she should be right!" urged Linda feverishly. "Oh, could we not
save him?"
Joanna was silent, revolving many matters in her mind. Linda suddenly
spoke again.
"Joanna, to-morrow doth begin the Fair of St. Frideswyde."
"Yes, truly; but what of that?"
"Listen, Joanna. Dost thou not remember that there come to the fair year
by year those who practise magic--who read the future from the stars,
from the cards, from crystal bowls? I have never sought to such before,
having never cared to pry into the future. But now, ah now, if they
could but tell me that one thing--if they could but say whether he were
alive or dead!"
Joanna looked struck by the idea, and a little excited. Living in an age
of superstition, the girls were not free from the belief in magic which
lies dormant in almost every nature. Truly if they could discover by
occult means what they so greatly desired to know, it might put a weapon
in their hands which they could use with effect. Many were there in the
city who would fly to the rescue of Hugh, were it but known that he
lived, and where was his hiding-place. If they could but once discover
this much, the rest might follow, and the prisoner be released.
No event could better facilitate their design than the approaching Fair
of St. Frideswyde. Formerly it had been held in July, upon the feast of
the translation of St. Benedict, and the five days following; but within
the memory of the present generation it had been changed to the vigil
and feast of the saint himself, and occupied a whole week, from the
eighteenth to the twenty-fourth of October inclusive. Not only was a
great fair held in the streets of the city all through these days, but
the whole authority of the place was handed over to the Prior of St.
Frideswyde's. To him the Mayor surrendered the keys of the city; the
courts of the town were closed in favour of the Piepowder Court, which
was held by the steward of the Priory, and before which all disturbers
of the peace were brought during the week of the fair.
Persons of every sort thronged into the city during the week. The
hostels were full to overflowing; a general holiday was observed.
Housewives stocked their larders and wardrobes for the winter; young
folks made merry together at mummings and shows of every kind. Clerks
and scholars thronged into the fair so soon as they were free of the
schools. The streets were lighted by torches, and frolic and
merry-making lasted far into the darkness of the autumn night. Mummers,
jugglers, fortune-tellers crowded into the place to gather a harvest
there; and if any youths or maidens desired to consult the stars, have
their fortunes told or their horoscope cast, that was the season when
this could be managed without trouble or risk.
The fascination of the supernatural has a great hold upon the young
imagination. Linda and Joanna had not discussed this matter long before
both were burning with eagerness to put the matter to the test. It had
been already rumoured that a noted astrologer from foreign parts would
visit the town during the Fair of St. Frideswyde; and if this were so,
he was the very man of all others to be consulted. He could know nothing
whatever respecting the character or history of the persons who
consulted him, and therefore, if he could tell or show them somewhat
concerning the fate of Hugh, his prognostications might be looked upon
as true, especially if he could give some sign whereby those who
consulted him should be able to prove the efficacy of his magic.
Others besides Linda and Joanna awaited eagerly the opening of the fair.
Alys de Kynaston was never weary of questioning her father about it, and
begging permission to wander through it when the time should come.
Edmund was keenly curious too, but he could not hope to see much, though
he meant to ride into the city, and go through such places as his horse
could carry him. Leofric was not able to tell them anything about it, as
he had not seen one himself as yet; but he picked up all the information
that he could on the subject, and both he and Amalric resolved to see
everything possible, even at the expense of their studies during that
week.
Different as was their rank in life, Amalric and Leofric had become
great friends of late. Their anxiety for Hugh was one link which had
drawn them together, and their love of study was another. Amalric
attended a number of the same lectures as Leofric. He often joined the
readings in the Castle, and profited by Leofric's scholarship, which
was certainly rapidly increasing with all this exercise. At other times
he would mount Leofric upon one of his own horses, and they would ride
forth together and scour the country for miles round, enjoying the rapid
exercise and the free companionship. Amalric was fond of weaving fancy
pictures of their future life, when Leofric and he should ride forth
together to win their spurs of knighthood, and meet with those
adventures which befell all true gallant youths who went forth in the
cause of chivalry.
In spite of his scholarly tastes, he had soldier blood in his veins, and
did not mean to settle down altogether to a life of study. There was
glory to be won in the far East in the Crusades, as well as against the
Turks upon the seas, even if not nearer at home. Amalric had his dreams
of warlike glory, and Leofric shared them also. He would be the
esquire--Amalric should be his knightly master. Together they would do
and dare great things; and thus planning and castle-building, their
souls were knit together, and a deep and lasting friendship sprang up
between them.
At the fair they were always to be seen together, sometimes in
attendance upon the maiden Alys, who delighted to obtain permission to
go afoot into the crowd with them. Her father, finding that there seemed
little danger of any untoward disturbance just now (the memory of the
King's recent displeasure being still fresh in men's minds), was pleased
to gratify her whim, and Amalric was always eager to be entrusted with
the care of one who was becoming daily dearer to him. So with a servant
or two in close attendance, but with Amalric and Leofric one on each
side, the eager maiden visited the fair and made numerous little
purchases, greatly to her own edification and the admiration of the
spectators.
Thus it chanced that she came one day face to face with Linda, whom she
had not seen since the day of the joustings, and she was greatly struck
and grieved by the change in her looks. The citizen's daughter would
have passed by with a simple reverence; but Alys put forth her hand and
drew Linda towards her.
"I am glad to see thee once more; but thou art sadly changed since last
we met. My father ever says that Hugh will come back again. Lose not
altogether heart and hope."
"Ah, sweet lady, I thank thee for such kindly words; but thy noble
father knows not all that we know. And I have not lost all hope, either,
albeit I almost tremble. Hist! I can say no more here; but anon I shall
learn somewhat, and then will I tell thee all--if indeed there be aught
to tell. I have heard a whisper of hope. Perchance it will become
something more anon. I must wait--I must wait--with what patience I can.
On the last day of the fair I shall know all."
With these rather mysterious words Linda pressed Alys's hand and glided
away, whilst the maiden stood looking after her with wondering eyes, and
turning to Amalric asked,--
"What doth such speech portend?"
Amalric shook his head; but Leofric, who had heard much of the gossip
of the fair from Jack, who was always in the thick of things, made
answer,--
"Perchance she has been asking the oracle of him. Men say it is right
wonderful what he doth tell; but they speak not too openly of the
matter, lest the monks and canons of the city arise and drive him forth.
The black arts are not encouraged, albeit there is always juggling and
fortune-telling enow at these fairs. But this magician from foreign
lands is something different. All men who have gone to him are
whispering of the wonders he doth show, and the strange fashion in which
he reads the thoughts of their hearts. For myself I have not had any
desire to seek to him. Brother Angelus has warned us against such
things. He says that half of it is trickery, unworthy to be practised by
honest men; and that what is really magic is of the devil, and should be
shunned by those who call themselves children of God. But for all that,
many men who live upright and godly lives will, from sheer desire to see
and hear the man, go to consult him or ask a question. These ofttimes
come away with puzzled or troubled faces. For my part, I desire not to
have dealings with either a trickster or an emissary of the Evil One."
Alys shivered slightly. She had been on the point of asking to be taken
to the magician; but these words had the desired effect of checking the
impulse. Nevertheless, she felt considerable curiosity to know what
Linda had heard or seen, and greater still would have been her curiosity
had she known what was about to take place.
Linda had consulted the oracle, who sat within a small tent just within
the south gate, his face shrouded beneath a deep cowl, from under which
his eyes gleamed like live coals. By day he sat and answered questions
put to him in a deep, dreamy voice, which seemed to come from somewhere
far away; but there were those who had asked to see certain things, or
to look into the crystal globe or into the magic bowl, and they were
bidden to meet him at an appointed time without the city gate after
nightfall; and those who came back from these interviews spoke with
bated breath of what they had seen and heard, and that only in whispers,
lest the thing should reach the ears of the Prior.
Linda was one of those who, in a strange ecstasy of trembling and hope,
were awaiting their turn to lift the curtain and see beyond the veil.
The oracle had divined her question ere it could leave her faltering
lips. He told her that she came to ask news of one she loved--of one who
might even be beyond the reach of human power--sleeping the sleep of
death. Linda had given a little shriek at hearing these words; but the
magician had gone on to say, in the same deep, monotonous voice, that if
living his face could be called up in the magic mirror, and that thus
alone could she learn whether indeed death had taken her lover for his
prey.
Did she desire to inquire further? Linda, in an agony of terror and
expectancy, declared that she did; and Joanna, though more frightened
than she had anticipated, and half afraid of the approaching ordeal,
would not leave her friend to face it alone.
It was not difficult, in the confusion attendant upon the fair, to slip
out of the house after supper, unknown to those within; and it was easy
enough to find the emissary of the magician, who, habited in a long gown
and cowl like those of some monk or friar, stood without the gate to
conduct those who had appointments to that other secret place, where the
magic arts were practised beneath the cloak of night.
But first he tightly bandaged the eyes of the girls. That they had heard
was always done; so that no man knew in what spot stood the strange
curtained place where these mysteries were carried on. Linda held
Joanna's arm tight, and both girls shook and trembled as they were led
along what seemed an interminable road, till at last they were made to
halt, and they heard a curious knock upon some panel that sounded like
that of a door.
The next moment they were pushed within an archway, and they heard the
door clang to behind them. For a moment their hearts almost failed them;
but the burning curiosity to know what would come next aided them to
rally courage, and in a few seconds they felt themselves pushed into
seats, and the bandage removed from their eyes.
At first all was so dark about them that they saw little more than they
had done when blindfold; but in a few minutes there was a slight
rustling sound, and then a little tongue of flame seemed to shoot up,
and they saw by its light that the magician sat before them, a small
table only between himself and his visitors, and that he was feeding
the flame in a small brazier before him, which emitted not only a little
light, but also a scent almost like that of incense, and a light smoke
that dimmed the air.
Above the head of the magician was a mirror, placed at a curious angle,
so that it reflected nothing in the room. Indeed there seemed nothing
that it could well reflect. The walls appeared to be only black
curtains, whose sombre hue absorbed almost all the little light there
was, whilst the chill vault-like atmosphere lay like an oppression upon
the lungs of the visitors. They felt almost as though stifling, and
could not have spoken had their lives depended upon it.
But speech did not appear to be demanded of them. The magician after a
long silence, during which time he was feeding the brazier with various
drugs which he had arranged upon the table beside him, addressed himself
suddenly as if to some unseen presence.
"Go!" he said, in a tone of inflexible authority, "look into the heart
of yonder maid, and see whose face is engraved there. If that face be
yet in the land of the living, show it upon the mirror. That is thy task
this night. Go--begone!"
Dead silence followed this strange command. But in a moment a sound of
music arose as if from the ground at their feet--a strange, weird, low
cadence that rose and fell and filled the room; then the cloud of
incense grew thicker, and for a moment the face of the mirror was dimmed
and blurred.
Then the air cleared. The mirror shone out again, and reflected in its
shining surface was a face--the face of a man--wan, white, death-like,
with closed eyes and ashen lips. But it was the face of Hugh for all
that.
"He lives," said the voice of the magician; "but he will not live long,
unless the woman who loves him best on earth will sacrifice herself for
him."
Linda uttered a strangled scream, and fell senseless to the floor.