THE ANGELS OF LIFE AND DEATH.
He said no more,
For at that instant flashed the glare,
And with a hoarse, infernal roar,
A blaze went up and filled the air!
Rafters, and stones, and bodies rose
In one quick gush of blinding flame,
And down, and down, amidst the dark,
Hurling on every side they came.
AYTOUN.
Deep down in the rock upon which Nottingham Castle proudly stands,
there winds a passage which was used in the centuries long gone by as
the readiest way of bringing the victuals in the castle, and which has
long been commonly accepted as the veritable "Mortimer's Hole."
A man was busily engaged in arduous toil in one of the cavities
hollowed out in the very heart of the rock. It was the chamber in
which the dissolute Mortimer and the faithless Isabella had been
captured by the youthful monarch, Edward III., two centuries and
a half earlier, but no traces of its former grandeur--if it ever
possessed any--now remained. It was changed into the abode of an
alchemyst, and as Edmund Wynne ever and anon tapped an iron vessel his
eyes sparkled with delight.
The room was full of fumes and smoke. Phials of many shapes and
various sizes were ranged around on every side, filled with liquids of
every imaginable odour and hue. A long rude bench, which ran along
the farther side of the room, was crowded with boxes of crystals,
crucibles, and bottles, and, to complete the scene, a log fire was
smouldering away on the centre of the solid rock floor.
Edmund had long sought the elixir of life, but it had proved as
delusive as a will-o'-the-wisp to him, and ever, just as he felt
assured of success, the prize had slipped away from his grasp, leaving
him further away from success than he had been before. But now it was
not the elixir that he was seeking to find. From trying to discover
something that should rob the grave of its prey, he had turned his
attention towards the invention of an engine to hasten death. His
heart was all aflame with the passion of revenge. The lord of Haddon
had incurred his intense and undying hatred. He had heaped indignities
upon him; he had slain the object of his affections; and the disgrace
into which he had fallen at London was also ascribed, rightly or
wrongly, to the baron.
Baulked of his revenge hitherto, his passionate desire for it had
decreased rather than declined through his failures, and the very fact
of his failing was itself another charge for which the baron would
have to answer. Death, and death alone, would now be sufficient to
wipe out the stain, and Edmund had long cudgelled his wits to secure
the destruction of his foe.
"Aye, Edmund, Edmund," exclaimed Sir Ronald Bury, as he broke in upon
Wynne's privacy, "at thy whimsical labours again, I see."
"Nay, not whimsical, Ronald," was the gentle reply. "My elixir is
nearly right; only one ingredient more is wanted, and then!"
"And then, what?" laughed the knight.
"Why, then I shall have discovered what all the sages of the earth
have sought in vain."
"A toadstone, I suppose?" replied Sir Ronald, lightly.
"Ha, you may laugh, Ronald," said the astrologer, severely. "Fools
ever did mock the wise, like the rich despise the poor. You are but a
soldier, and I am a man of science--the great alchemyst! My name shall
live; yea, mark me, Ronald, it will be known and revered in time to
come, aye, even when this castle has crumbled into dust, and when the
name of Roger Bacon has been long forgotten."
"Well, Edmund," responded the knight, gaily, "let us hope so; only one
more substance, eh?"
"Only one," the enthusiast replied, while the look of triumph flashed
already from his eyes.
"And then we shall--shall what, Edmund, what shall we do?"
"Live for ages."
"For ever, in fact, I suppose?"
"My elixir will conquer disease, and man shall live until his feeble
frame has worn away," he responded grandly.
"Lucky man," soliloquised Sir Ronald, facetiously. "But the dames,
Edmund, you said naught of them. Cannot you discover aught for them?
Surely they may share the blessing also!"
"No more is wanted; my elixir will serve for both," majestically
responded Edmund, as he placed a cauldron over the fire. He was
too intensely in earnest himself to note that his companion was
sceptically making fun of him.
"And will soldiers live for ages, too?" continued Sir Ronald.
"Those who are killed my elixir is impotent to bring back again to
life. The dead are beyond all aid."
"And the wounded?" persisted the knight.
"I can but stave off disease, Ronald; but what a glorious achievement
have I accomplished then! Methinks I see the glory now, and when I am
in my grave, pilgrims shall come and worship at my shrine as they
have done these centuries at the altar of St. Thomas the Martyr at
Canterbury. What glory, what glory!" and in the exuberance of his
delight, Edmund Wynne gleefully rubbed his hands together.
"I am forgetting my errand, though," exclaimed the deputy-governor, "I
have a visitor for thee."
Edmund quailed. He was not in the habit of receiving visitors, for he
had few friends and many enemies, therefore the announcement gave him
very little pleasure.
"For me?" he said, in a tone of unmistakable surprise, and equally
unmistakable displeasure.
"Aye, for thee," Sir Ronald replied. "Shall I bring him to you?"
"Bring him down here?" screamed Edmund, aghast at the very idea. "No,
never."
"You will come up to him, then? It makes no matter!"
"I am too busy," he evasively replied. "Tell me, Ronald, who it is."
"'Tis a friend."
"Humph! He has heard of my elixir and wants--ah, well, I shall have
friends enough now, I'll warrant me."
"He is an enemy of Sir George Vernon, then," added the knight.
"Hey! Bring him down, then," said the alchemyst. "I will meet him
outside the room."
"Well, Master John Manners will be down by and bye. Lady Bury
meanwhile is entertaining him, for he was hungry."
Edmund started.
"Manners, John Manners!" he exclaimed. "Nay, then, bring him not
hither. Does he know that I am here?"
"Aye, I have told him."
"You have!" ejaculated Edmund, in a frenzy of terror. "I met him at
Haddon, he is a friend of the baron's."
"He was," replied his friend; "but things have changed, and now he is
like to invoke thy aid. He will help us to have our revenge, maybe,
for I have been persuading him; he is very bitter now against the
Vernons, and will make thee a good accomplice."
"Revenge," murmured Edmund, "ha! revenge is sweet. The baron shall be
punished; my machine--"
"Never mind the machine now," broke in Sir Ronald, who was by no means
anxious to listen to the well-worn rigmarole again. "You can show
that to him, and tell him all about it. I shall bring him down, for he
knows not the way."
"Well, I will yield to thee; do as you list," he replied, and the man
of science turned his back abruptly upon his friend, and vigorously
stirred the seething liquid which was beginning to boil over upon the
fire.
In a few minutes Manners appeared, but Sir Ronald Bury had brought him
purposely with so little noise that the alchemyst was not aware of his
presence, and for a long time they stood in the doorway, and watched
his movements.
He was talking to himself, as he often did. It was a habit into which
he had unconsciously fallen. He had persuaded himself to think that
the great posterity for which he laboured so hard could hear him, and
in his isolation the reflection was a great consolation to him.
"Ha, ha," he muttered, "thou hast had thy little day, Sir George
Vernon. 'King of the Peak,' indeed--thy reign is o'er. And Margaret,
proud Margaret, and the haughty Lady Maude, aha! You shall all tremble
at my name."
"Hist, move thee not," whispered Sir Ronald, "he is, about to test his
engine again; it blows off sparks of fire as if it were the smithy's
forge, but without the noise. I have seen him perform with it often.
Hark."
Edmund had brought out his engine from a deep recess in the wall, and
a rough, unsightly piece of mechanism it was. It was intended to be
square, but constant testings and trials had caused it to assume more
the appearance of an octagon, and as the sides had thus bulged out,
the bands which had held the instrument together became loosened and
untrustworthy.
Edmund surveyed it affectionately. It was the offspring of his genius,
and he blindly disregarded all its little imperfections amid the great
love he bore towards it.
"Aha," he murmured, "thou art done, thou art ready now. Thou art an
angel of death, and thou"--turning to his elixir--"thou art an angel
of life."
"Mix them up, Nathan, mix them up," gaily exclaimed Manners as he
stepped into the room. "We will give the Vernons a dose."
Edmund was startled, and he hastily retreated to his engine to protect
it.
"Avaunt!" he cried, "touch it not."
"Nay, I want not to injure it," returned the other, whose smile
contrasted with the alchemyst's scowl. "Shake hands, man; I will do
thee no harm."
"Beware," cried Edmund, distrustfully, as he covered over the angel.
"Beware!"
"Edmund, thou speakest over rashly," interposed Sir Ronald. "Master
Manners would honour thee, and thou treatest him so lightly. Together
you may accomplish your designs and work whatever you will; the
past--"
"Is buried with its forefathers and forgotten," quickly exclaimed
Manners. "Come, I greet thee on equal terms. I would be thy friend."
Edmund shook the proffered hand as though it were a bar of red-hot
iron he had been commanded to hold, or a phial of his precious elixir
he was carrying, and he felt by no means flattered at the reference
to their equality, just as if he, too, had discovered such mighty
secrets.
"I shall not want for friends soon, forsooth; the great have ever
many," he replied.
Manners laughed.
"Thou hast few enough as yet, I'll warrant, besides thy good friend,
Sir Ronald," he exclaimed. "I trow you cannot well afford to turn the
first comers away, Nathan."
"I can do all with my elixir," was the proud response.
"Sir Ronald Bury tells me thou hast prepared this engine for
Sir George," said Manners, abruptly changing the topic of the
conversation. "Is that so?"
"Aha, for Sir George Vernon, yes."
"Can'st thou direct it against the Stanleys, too? I would have them
punished if we could."
"Thou art a friend of his," said Edmund, suspiciously, referring to
the baron.
"Albeit I seek revenge, justice, anything!" he said bitterly. "I have
been spurned away from his door like as I had been a dog."
Edmund looked at him incredulously. He was not convinced yet.
"If you mean no treachery," he said cautiously, "call me by my name,
for I am Edmund Wynne. I like not to bethink me of the past until--,"
and he approvingly looked at his instrument of death.
"Until what?"
"Ha, I will show thee," replied Edmund. "Stand not too near."
Manners had not much faith in the destructive properties of the
instrument, but the command was given in such an earnest and
authoritative fashion that to have refused compliance would only have
caused offence. Probably, too, Edmund would not try the experiment
if he expressed his scepticism, and he was curious to see it, so he
retreated to the doorway to watch his movements.
"This," Edmund went on, "is to be put in the baron's room."
"Yes, but how?" asked Manners, perceiving that some sort of a remark
was expected of him.
"Cannot I, who have invented it, find some means for conveying the
engine there?" replied the inventor, with staggering emphasis.
Manners deferentially bowed his acquiescence, much to the amusement of
Sir Ronald.
"You must not heed his words," whispered the knight. "He is infatuated
with his work. In all things else he is as timid as a mouse."
"And then," pursued the mighty alchemyst, "and then--! Nay, I will
show thee, see!" and with some difficulty he forced open a little door
at the side.
Both Manners and Sir Ronald moved forward to examine it, for the room
was but faintly lighted and they could barely see the dim outline of
the instrument.
"Go back, go back," screamed Edmund. "Ronald, I look for no treachery
from thee."
"Tush," contemptuously replied the knight, as he poured some more oil
into the lamp, "get on. We did but want to see."
"This," continued Edmund, unabashed, "is more dreadful than Roger
Bacon's powder;" and pulling out a short, stout iron canister, he
poured some crystals into a hole. "Look and behold," he added. "I
invoke no saints, nor do I seek the aid of any deity, but see;" and
rolling some of the crystals tightly up in some parchment, he dropped
it into the midst of the fire.
For a few moments nothing was seen or heard of it, and the onlookers
were smiling to each other when the wonderful crystals began to
splutter and fizz, till the packet suddenly exploded with a loud
report, rattling the bottles and jars together, while the rumbling
report rolled up the long subterranean passage.
"Ha!" exclaimed Edmund, triumphantly. "You shudder at the sight; that
is nothing, I can do infinitely more than that. I will do it with more
crystals now."
"Nay, we are convinced of thy prowess; when the fumes have cleared
away, show us this engine," replied Manners. "It is full of wheels;
show us their purpose."
"That shook this chamber," Edmund replied, "but this could well nigh
shatter it."
"Great man, we acknowledge thy mighty genius," responded Sir Ronald.
"Reveal the limit of thy powers."
"I will," said Edmund, enthusiastically, "I will."
All his reserve was worn off now, and he expatiated at length upon the
wonderful powers of his mighty engine. No such power had been known
before; nothing would stand against it; it was indeed a miracle of
force.
"But, prithee," asked Manners, heartily sick of the ceaseless
explanations, and anxious to see the practical outcome of it all, "how
worketh it? Show us, let it move this piece of rock."
"You doubt me; I will show it thee; I will test it but this once
again, and then the baron, curse him! dies."
Edmund busied himself for some time in compounding some evil-smelling
ingredients in a huge mortar, and, as he stirred the pestle round and
round, the contents hissed and crackled, and emitted sparks of fire.
At length, after many bottles had been partially emptied, and many
powders and the like had been employed, the mysterious substance was
obtained, and he sprinkled a little of it upon the red embers, when a
series of miniature explosions followed.
"Look, see!" he passionately exclaimed, "I have discovered something
still more powerful; nay, stand back. I found it once before, but lost
the art. Now we shall see; hey, hey."
Slowly and cautiously the canister was replaced; the requisite powder
was carefully measured and inserted, and after many an examination had
been made, Edmund declared that everything was in readiness for the
wheels to be set in motion.
"Stand back, venture not too near," he commanded, and placing a heavy
piece of loose rock upon the case, he set the wheels in motion and
stepped back proudly behind his handiwork.
"Thou shalt be convinced shortly, Master Manners," he exclaimed. "Ha,
ha, I shall have many friends soon. None know the power I have at my
command, and princes and queens will court me to possess it. I can
either kill or keep alive, my elixir--"
His voice was lost in the din of a great explosion. Bottles and jars
were rattled together and smashed. The chamber was full of smoke and
flame. Everything was suddenly thrown into frightful disorder, all was
in confusion. Solid masses of rock were detached from the walls and
roof, and went crashing across the room, destroying everything with
which they came into contact, or else burst through the wall and
bounded down the steep rock outside. The very room seemed to spin
around, and Sir Ronald and Manners were thrown headlong upon the
pavement of the passage outside.
What could it all mean?
Simply that the engine had done its work. Edmund had overcharged it,
and it had exploded. The angel of death had slain its creator, and the
wonderful elixir of life was lost to the world for ever.