BEFORE THE COURT.
I had not seen the first moonbeams pierce the broken casement of the
tower-room, but I was there to watch the last tiny patch of silver
glide aslant from wall to sill, and sill to frame, and so pass out.
Near the fire, which had been made up, and now glowed and crackled
bravely on the hearthstone at my elbow, my three jailers had set a
mattress for me; and on this I sat, my back to the wall and my face to
the window. The guards lounged on the other side of the hearth round a
lantern, playing at dice and drinking. They were rough, hard men,
whose features, as they leaned over the table and the light played
strongly on their faces, blazoning them against a wall of shadow, were
stern and rugged enough. But they had not shown themselves unkindly.
They had given me a share of their wine, and had pointed to the window
and shrugged their shoulders, as much as to say that it was my own
fault if I suffered from the draught. Nay, from time to time, one of
them would turn from his game and look at me--in pity, I think--and
utter a curse that was meant for encouragement.
Even when the first excitement had passed away, I felt none of the
stupefaction which I have heard that men feel in such a position. My
brain was painfully active. In vain I longed to sleep, if it were only
that I might not be thought to fear death. But the fact that I was to
be tried first, though the sentence was a certainty, distracted and
troubled me. My thoughts paced from thing to thing; now dwelling on
the Duchess and her husband, now flitting to Petronilla and Sir
Anthony, to the old place at home and the servants; to strange petty
things, long familiar--a tree in the chase at Coton, an herb I had
planted. Once a great lump rose in my throat, and I had to turn away
to hide the hot tears that would rise at the thought that I must die
in this mean German town, in this unknown corner, and be buried and
forgotten! And once, too, to torment me, there rose a doubt in my mind
whether Master Bertie would recover; whether, indeed, I had not thrown
my life away for nothing. But it was too late to think of that! And
the doubt, which the Evil One himself must have suggested, so terrible
was it passed away quickly.
My thoughts raced, but the night crawled. We had surrendered about
ten, and the magistrates, less pitiful than the jailers, had forbidden
my friends to stay with me. An hour or more after midnight, two of the
men lay down and the other sat humming a drinking-song, or at
intervals rose to yawn and stretch himself and look out of the window.
From time to time, the cry of the watchman going his rounds came
drearily to my ears, recalling to me the night I had spent behind the
boarding in Moorgate Street, when the adventure which was to end
to-morrow--nay, to-day--in a few hours--had lured me away. To-day? Was
I to die to-day? To perish with all my plans, hopes, love? It seemed
impossible. As I gazed at the window, whose shape began to be printed
on my brain, it seemed impossible. My soul so rose in rebellion
against it, that the perspiration stood on my brow, and I had to clasp
my hands about my knees, and strain every muscle to keep in the cry I
would have uttered! a cry, not of fear, but of rage and remonstrance
and revolt.
I was glad to see the first streaks of dawn, to hear the first
cock-crowings, and, a few minutes later, the voices of men in the
street and on the stairs. The sounds of day and life acted magically
upon me. The horror of the night passed off as does the horror of a
dream. When a man, heavily cloaked and with his head covered, came in,
the door being shut behind him by another hand, I looked up at him
bravely. The worst was past.
He replied by looking down at me for a few moments without disclosing
himself, the collar of his cloak being raised so high that I could see
nothing of his features. My first notion that he must be Master
Lindstrom passed away; and, displeased by his silent scrutiny, and
thinking him a stranger, I said sharply, "I hope you are satisfied,
sir."
"Satisfied?" he replied, in a voice which made me start so that the
irons clanked on my feet, "Well, I think I should be--seeing you so,
my friend!"
It was Clarence! Of all men, Clarence! I knew his voice, and he,
seeing himself recognized, lowered his cloak. I stared at him in
stupefied silence, and he at me in a grim curiosity. I was not
prepared for the blunt abruptness with which he continued--using
almost the very words he had used when face to face with me in the
flood: "Now tell me who you are, and what brought you into this
company?"
I gave him no answer. I still stared at him in silence.
"Come!" he continued, his hawk's eyes bent on my face, "make a clean
breast of it, and perhaps--who knows? I may help you yet, lad. You
have puzzled and foiled me, and I want to understand you. Where did my
lady pick you up just when she wanted you? I had arranged for every
checker on the board except you. Who are you?"
This time I did answer him--by a question. "How many times have we
met?" I asked.
"Three," he said readily, "and the last time you nearly rid the world
of me. Now the luck is against you. It generally is in the end against
those who thwart me, my friend." He chuckled at the conceit, and I
read in his face at once his love of intrigue and his vanity. "I come
uppermost, as always."
I only nodded.
"What do you want?" I asked. I felt a certain expectation. He wanted
something.
"First, to know who you are."
"I shall not tell you!" I answered.
He smiled dryly, sitting opposite to me. He had drawn up a stool, and
made himself comfortable. He was not an uncomely man as he sat there
playing with his dagger, a dubious smile on his lean, dark face.
Unwarned, I might have been attracted by the masterful audacity, the
intellect as well as the force which I saw stamped on his features.
Being warned, I read cunning in his bold eyes, and cruelty in the curl
of his lip. "What do you want next?" I asked.
"I want to save your life," he replied lightly.
At that I started--I could not help it.
"Ha! ha!" he laughed, "I thought the stoicism did not go quite down to
the bottom, my lad. But there, it is true enough, I have come to help
you. I have come to save your life if you will let me."
I strove in vain to keep entire mastery over myself. The feelings to
which he appealed were too strong for me. My voice sounded strange,
even in my own ears, as I said hoarsely, "It is impossible! What can
you do?"
"What can I do?" he answered with a stern smile. "Much! I have, boy, a
dozen strings in my hands, and a neck--a life at the end of each!"
He raised his hand, and extending the fingers, moved them to and fro.
"See! see! A life, a death!" he exclaimed. "And for you, I can and
will save your life--on one condition."
"On one condition?" I murmured.
"Ay, on one condition; but it is a very easy one. I will save your
life on my part; and you, on yours, must give me a little assistance.
Do you see? Then we shall be quits."
"I do not understand," I said dully. I did not. His words had set my
heart fluttering so that I could for the moment take in only one
idea--that here was a new hope of life.
"It is very simple," he resumed, speaking slowly. "Certain plans of
mine require that I should get your friend the Duchess conveyed back
to England. But for you I should have succeeded before this. In what
you have hindered me, you can now help me. You have their confidence
and great influence with them. All I ask is that you will use that
influence so that they may be at a certain place at a certain hour. I
will contrive the rest. It shall never be known, I promise you, that
you----"
"Betrayed them!"
"Well, gave me some information," he said lightly, puffing away my
phrase.
"No. Betrayed them!" I persisted.
"Put it so, if you please," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and
raising his eyebrows. "What is in a word?"
"You are the tempter himself, I think!" I cried in bitter rage--for it
_was_ bitter--bitter, indeed, to feel that new-born hope die out. "But
you come to me in vain. I defy you!"
"Softly! softly!" he answered with calmness.
Yet I saw a little pulse beating in his cheek that seemed to tell of
some emotion kept in subjection.
"It frightens you at first," he said. "But listen. You will do them no
harm, and yourself good. I shall get them anyway, both the Duchess and
her husband; though, without your aid, it will be more difficult. Why,
help of that kind is given every day. They need never know it. Even
now there is one of whom you little dream who has----"
"Silence!" I cried fiercely. "I care not. I defy you!"
I could think of only one thing. I was wild with rage and
disappointment. His words had aggravated the pain of every regret,
every clinging to life I felt.
"Go!" I cried. "Go and leave me, you villain!"
"If I do leave you," he said, fixing his eyes on me, "it will be, my
friend--to death."
"Then so be it!" I answered wildly. "So be it! I will keep my honor."
"Your honor!" The mask dropped from his face, and he sneered as he
rose from his seat. A darker scowl changed and disfigured his brow,
as he lost hope of gaining me. "Your honor? Where will it be by
to-night?" he hissed, his eyes glowering down at me. "Where a week
hence, when you will be cast into a pit and forgotten? Your honor,
fool? What is the honor of a dead man? Pah! But die, then, if you will
have it so! Die, like the brainless brute you are! And rot, and be
forgotten!" he concluded passionately.
They were terrible words; more terrible I know now than either he or I
understood then. They so shook me that when he was gone I crouched
trembling on my pallet, hiding my face in a fit of horror--taking no
heed of my jailers or of appearances. "Die and be forgotten! Die and
be forgotten!" The doom rang in my ears.
Something which seemed to me angelic roused me from this misery. It
was the sound of a kindly, familiar voice speaking English. I looked
up and found the Dutchman bending over me with a face of infinite
distress. With him, but rather behind him, stood Van Tree, pale and
vicious-eyed, tugging his scanty chin-beard and gazing about him like
a dog seeking some one to fasten upon. "Poor lad! poor lad!" the old
man said, his voice shaking as he looked at me.
I sprang to my feet, the irons rattling as I dashed my hand across my
eyes.
"It is all right!" I said hurriedly. "I had a--but never mind that. It
was like a dream. Only tell the Duchess to look to herself," I
continued, still rather vehemently. "Clarence is here. He is in
Santon. I have seen him."
"You have seen him?" both the Dutchmen cried at once.
"Ay!" I said, with a laugh that was three parts hysterical--indeed, I
was still tingling all over with excitement. "He has been here to
offer me my life if I would help him in his schemes. I told him he was
the tempter, and defied him. And he--he said I should die and be
forgotten!" I added, trembling, yet laughing wildly at the same time.
"I think he _is_ the tempter!" said Master Lindstrom solemnly, his
face very grim. "And therefore a liar and the father of lies! You may
die, lad, to-day; perhaps you must. But forgotten you shall not be,
while we live, or one of us lives, or one of the children who shall
come after us. He is a liar!"
I got my hands, with a struggle, from the old man, and turning my back
upon him, went and looked out of the window. The sun was rising. The
tower of the great minster, seen row for the first time, rose in
stately brightness above the red roofs and quaint gables and the
rows of dormer windows. Down in the streets the grayness and chill
yet lingered. But above was a very glory of light and warmth and
color--the rising of the May sun. When I turned round I was myself
again. The calm beauty of that sight had stolen into my soul. "Is it
time?" I said cheerfully. For the crowd was gathering below, and there
were voices and feet on the stairs.
"I think it is," Master Lindstrom answered. "We have obtained leave to
go with you. You need fear no violence in the streets, for the man who
was hurt is still alive and may recover. I have been with the
magistrates this morning," he continued, "and found them better
disposed to you; but the Sub-dean has joint jurisdiction with them, as
the deputy of the Bishop of Arras, who is dean of the minster; and he
is, for some reason, very bitter against you."
"The Bishop of Arras? Granville, do you mean?" I asked. I knew the
name of the Emperor's shrewd and powerful minister, by whose advice
the Netherlands were at this time ruled.
"The same. He, of course, is not here, but his deputy is. Were it not
for him---- But there, it is no good talking of that!" the Dutchman
said, breaking off and rubbing his head in his chagrin.
One of the guards who had spent the night with me brought me at this
moment a bowl of broth with a piece of bread in it. I could not eat
the bread, but I drank the broth and felt the better for it. Having in
my pocket a little money with which the Duchess had furnished me, I
put a silver piece in the bowl and handed it back to him. The man
seemed astonished, and muttered something in German as he turned away.
"What did he say?" I asked the Dutchman.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," he answered.
"But what was it? It was something," I persisted, seeing him confused.
"He--well, he said he would have a mass said for you!" Lindstrom
answered in despair. "It will do no harm."
"No, why should it?" I replied mechanically.
We were in the street by this time, Master Lindstrom and Van Tree
walking beside me in the middle of a score of soldiers, who seemed to
my eyes fantastically dressed. I remarked, as we passed out, a tall
man clothed in red and black, who was standing by the door as if
waiting to fall in behind me. He carried on his shoulder a long
broad-bladed sword, and I guessed who he was, seeing how Master
Lindstrom strove to intercept my view of him. But I was not afraid of
_that_. I had heard long ago--perhaps six months in time, but it
seemed long ago--how bravely Queen Jane had died. And if a girl had
not trembled, surely a man should not. So I looked steadfastly at him,
and took great courage, and after that was able to gaze calmly on the
people, who pressed to stare at me, peeping over the soldiers'
shoulders, and clustering in every doorway and window to see me go
past. They were all silent, and it even seemed to me that some--but
this may have been my fancy--pitied me.
I saw nothing of the Duchess, and might have wondered, had not Master
Lindstrom explained that he had contrived to keep her in ignorance of
the hour fixed for the proceedings. Her husband was better, he said,
and conscious; but, for fear of exciting him, they were keeping the
news from him also. I remember I felt for a moment very sore at this,
and then I tried to persuade myself that it was right.
The distance through the streets was short, and almost before I was
aware of it I was in the court-house, the guard had fallen back, and I
was standing before three persons who were seated behind a long table.
Two of them were grave, portly men wearing flat black caps and scarlet
robes, with gold chains about their necks. The third, dressed as an
ecclesiastic, wore a huge gem ring upon his thumb. Behind them stood
three attendants holding a sword, a crosier, and a ducal cap upon a
cushion; and above and behind all was a lofty stained window, whose
rich hues, the sun being low as yet, shot athwart the corbels of the
roof. At the end of the table sat a black-robed man with an ink-horn
and spectacles, a grave, still, down-looking man; and the crowd being
behind me, and preserving a dead silence, and the attendants standing
like statues, I seemed indeed to be alone with these four at the
table, and the great stained window and the solemn hush. They talked
to one another in low tones for a minute, gazing at me the while. And
I fancied they were astonished to find me so young.
At length they all fell back into their chairs. "Do you speak German?"
the eldest burgher said, addressing me gravely. He sat in the middle,
with the Sub-dean on his right.
"No; but I speak and understand Spanish," I answered in that language,
feeling chilled already by the stern formality which like an iron hand
was laying its grip upon me.
"Good! Your name?" replied the president.
"I am commonly called Francis Carey, and I am an Englishman." The
Sub-dean--he was a pale, stout man, with gloomy eyes--had hitherto
been looking at me in evident doubt. But at this he nodded assent,
and, averting his eyes from me, gazed meditatively at the roof of the
hall, considering apparently what he should have for breakfast.
"You are charged," said the president slowly, consulting a document,
"with having assaulted and wounded in the highway last night one
Heinrich Schroeder, a citizen of this town, acting at the time as
Lieutenant of the Night Guard. Do you admit this, prisoner, or do you
require proof?"
"He was wounded," I answered steadily, "but by mistake, and in error.
I supposed him to be one of three persons who had unlawfully waylaid
me and my party on the previous night between Emmerich and Wesel."
The Sub-dean, still gazing at the roof, shook his head with a faint
smile. The other magistrates looked doubtfully at me, but made no
comment, and my words seemed to be wasted on the silence. The
president consulted his document again, and continued: "You are also
charged with having by force of arms, in time of peace, seized a gate
of this town, and maintained it, and declined to surrender it when
called upon so to do. What do you say to that?"
"It is true in part," I answered firmly. "I seized not the gate, but
part of the tower, in order to preserve my life and to protect certain
ladies traveling with me from the violence of a crowd which, under a
misapprehension, was threatening to do us a mischief."
The priest again shook his head, and smiled faintly at the carved
roof. His colleagues were perhaps somewhat moved in my favor, for a
few words passed between them. However, in the end they shook their
heads, and the president mechanically asked me if I had anything
further to say.
"Nothing!" I replied bitterly. The ecclesiastic's cynical
heedlessness, his air of one whose mind is made up, seemed so cruel to
me whose life was at stake, that I lost patience. "Except what I have
said," I continued--"that for the wounding, it was done in error; and
for the gate-seizing, I would do it again to save the lives of those
with me. Only that and this: that I am a foreigner ignorant of your
language and customs, desiring only to pass peacefully through your
country."
"That is all?" the president asked impassively.
"All," I answered, yet with a strange tightening at my throat. Was it
all? All I could say for my life?
I was waiting, sore and angry and desperate, to hear the sentence,
when there came an interruption. Master Lindstrom, whose presence at
my side I had forgotten, broke suddenly into a torrent of impassioned
words, and his urgent voice, ringing through the court, seemed in a
moment to change its aspect--to infuse into it some degree of life and
sympathy. More than one guttural exclamation, which seemed to mark
approval, burst from the throng at the back of the hall. In another
moment, indeed, the Dutchman's courage might have saved me. But there
was one who marked the danger. The Sub-dean, who had at first only
glowered at the speaker in rude astonishment, now cut him short with a
harsh question.
"One moment, Master Dutchman!" he cried. "Are you one of the heretics
who call themselves Protestants?"
"I am. But I understand that there is here liberty of conscience," our
friend answered manfully, nothing daunted in his fervor at finding the
attack turned upon himself.
"That depends upon the conscience," the priest answered with a scowl.
"We will have no Anabaptists here, nor foreign praters to bring us
into feud with our neighbors. It is enough that such men as you are
allowed to live. We will not be bearded by you, so take warning! Take
heed, I say, Master Dutchman, and be silent!" he repeated, leaning
forward and clapping his hand upon the table.
I touched Master Lindstrom's sleeve--who would of himself have
persisted--and stayed him. "It is of no use," I muttered. "That dog in
a crochet has condemned me. He will have his way!"
There was a short debate between the three judges, while in the court
you might have heard a pin drop. Master Lindstrom had fallen back once
more. I was alone again, and the stained window seemed to be putting
forth its mystic influence to enfold me, when, looking up, I saw a
tiny shadow flit across the soft many-hued rays which streamed from it
athwart the roof. It passed again, once, twice, thrice. I peered
upward intently. It was a swallow flying to and fro amid the carved
work.
Yes, a swallow. And straightway I forgot the judges; forgot the crowd.
The scene vanished and I was at Coton End again, giving Martin Luther
the nest for Petronilla--a sign, as I meant it then, that I should
return. I should never return now. Yet my heart was on a sudden so
softened that, instead of this reflection giving me pain, as one would
have expected, it only filled me with a great anxiety to provide for
the event. She must not wait and watch for me day after day, perhaps
year after year. I must see to it somehow; and I was thinking with
such intentness of this, that it was only vaguely I heard the sentence
pronounced. It might have been some other person who was to be
beheaded at the east gate an hour before noon. And so God save the
Duke!