A DILEMMA
He might have dwelt in green forest,
Under the shadows green;
And have kept both him and us at rest,
Out of all trouble and teen.
OLD BALLAD.
It had been the policy of Richard's captors to have remained to deliver
up their prisoners to a stronger force. But most of them were outlaws by
profession, who held the king's men in instinctive horror: these were
the first to fly; the panic spread; those who had no cause to fear fled
because they saw others do so. In a moment the sward was cleared of all
save the prisoners, who hastily bridled their horses, and followed York
down a narrow path into a glen, in an opposite direction from the
approaching troop. With what speed they might they made their way
through the forest, penetrating its depths, till they got completely
entangled in its intricacies. They proceeded for several hours, but
their jaded horses one by one foundered: they were in the most savage
part of the wood: there was no beginning nor end to the prospect of
knotted trunks, which lifted their vast leafy burthen into the air; here
was safety and needful repose. Richard, animated to a sudden effort,
could now hardly keep his seat: the state of their animals was
imperative for a halt; so here, in a wild brake, they alighted near a
running brook; and here O'Water slew a buck, while Astley and Skelton
unbridled their horses, and all set about preparing a most needful
repast. Evening stole upon them before it was concluded; the slant
sun-beams lay in golden glory on the twisted ivy-grown trunks, and
bathed the higher foliage in radiance. By the time their appetites were
satisfied, Heron and Skelton were discovered to be in a sound sleep; it
were as well to follow their example; neither men nor horses could
proceed without repose; darkness also afforded best safety for
travelling. It was agreed that they should pursue their way at midnight;
and so, stretched on the grassy soil, peace and the beauty of nature
around them, each gave himself up to a slumber which, at that extremity
of fatigue, needed no courting.
All slept, save the prince; he lay in a state of feverish disquietude,
looking at the sky through the leafy tracery overhead, till night massed
and confused every object. Darkest thoughts thronged his mind; loss of
honour, desertion of friends, the fate of his poor men: he was to have
devoted himself to them, but a stream, driven by a thundering avalanche
from its course, had as much power as he to oppose the circumstances
that had brought him from his camp near Taunton, to this secluded spot.
For an interval he gave himself up to a tumult of miserable ideas, till
from the grim troop some assumed a milder aspect, some a brighter hue;
and, after long and painful consideration, he arranged such a plan as
promised at least to vindicate his own name, and to save the lives of
his adherents. Calmed by these thoughts, soothed to repose by the gentle
influence of a south wind, and the sweet monotony of rustling leaves and
running-water, he sank at last into a dreamless sleep.
A whispering of voices was the first thing that struck his wakening
sense: it was quite dark. "Is Master O'Water come back?" asked Heron.
"I am here," replied the Irishman.
"Hast discovered aught?"
"That the night is dark, and the forest wide," replied O'Water; "had we
a planet to guide us we might hope to reach its skirts. We are worse off
than the Spanish Admiral on the western sea, for the compass was a star
without a cloud to him."
"Saint Mary save us!" said, or rather whined poor Skelton, "our fortunes
are slit from top to toe, and no patch-work will make them whole."
"There is hope at the mouth of a culverin," said O'Water, "or at the
foot of the gallows, so that a man be true to himself. I have weathered
a worse day, when the Macarthys swore to revenge themselves on the
Roches."
"And by our Lady's grace," interrupted Richard, "shall again, worthy
mayor. My good fellows, fear nothing, I will save you; the ocean cannot
be many miles off, for the sun set at our right hand, and blinded our
eyes through the day; the wind by its mildness is southerly; we will
face it. When once we reach the seaside, the shore of the free, wide
ocean, Tudor's power stops short, and ye are safe; of myself there will
then be time to think. Say, shall we proceed now, or give another hour
to repose?"
All were eager to start, slowly leading their horses through the tangled
paths they could find, the quarter whence the wind blew, their only
guide; morning found them toiling on, but morning diminished half their
labours; and, as the birds twittered, and the east gleamed, their
spirits rose to meet and conquer danger. O'Water was in his native
element, that of hair-breadth escape and peril. As to Heron and Skelton,
they might have flagged, but for Richard; he flattered their pride,
raised their hopes, making weariness and danger a plaything and a jest.
As the sun mounted in the sky, their horses showed many a sign of
weariness; and in spite of a store of venison, which the careful Skelton
had brought away with him, they needed refreshment; each mile lengthened
to ten; each glade grew interminable in their eyes; and the wide forest
seemed to possess all England in its extent. Could the prince's body
have conquered his mind, the White Rose had indeed drooped; he was
parched with fever, and this, preying on his brain, made him the victim
of conflicting thoughts: his heart, his imagination, were in his
deserted camp; even fair Katherine, awaiting tidings of him in her far
retreat, had not such power to awaken anguish in his heart, as the idea
of Henry's vengeance exercised on his faithful, humble friends, whose
father and protector he had called himself. There was disease in the
fire and rapidity with which these ideas coursed through his mind; with
a strong will he overcame them, bent on accomplishing his present
purpose, and rescuing these chief rebels, whose lives were most
endangered, before he occupied himself with the safety of the rest.
At length, at noon, his quick ear caught a heavy, distant roar. The
trees had begun to be more scattered: they reached the verge of the
forest; they were too weary to congratulate each other; before them was
a rising ground which bounded their view; some straggling cottages
crowned the height; slowly they reached the hill-top, and there beheld
stormy ocean, clipping in the circular coast with watery girdle; at a
crow's flight it might be a mile distant. A few huts and a single black
boat spotted in one place the else desert beach; a south wind swept the
sea, and vast surges broke upon the sands; all looked bleak and
deserted.
They stopped at a cottage-door, inquiring the road; they heard there was
one, which went three miles about, but that the plain at their feet was
intersected by wide ditches, which their fagged animals could not leap.
Moreover, what hope of putting out to sea, in opposition to the big
noisy waves which the wind was hurrying towards shore! It were safest
and best to take a short repose in this obscure village. Heron and
Skelton entered the poor inn, while Richard waited on his horse,
striving to win him by caresses to taste the food he at first refused.
Heron, who was warm-hearted with all his bluster, brought the prince out
a flagon of excellent wine, such as by some chance--it might be a
wreck--the tide had wafted from the opposite coast: Richard was too ill
to drink; but, as he stood, his arm on his poor steed's neck, the
creature looked wistfully up in his face, averting his mouth from the
proffered grain; half-play fully his master held out to him the
wide-mouthed flagon, and he drank with such eagerness, that Richard
vowed he should have another bottle, and, buying the host's consent with
gold, filled a large can from the wine-cask; the beast drank, and, had
he been a Christian man, could not have appeared more refreshed. The
prince, forgetful of his pains, was amusing himself thus, when Skelton,
pale and gasping, came from the house, and voiceless through fear, laid
one hand on his leader's arm, and with the other pointed: too soon the
hapless fugitive saw to what he called his attention. Along the shore of
the sea a moving body was perceptible, approaching towards them from
west to east, which soon showed itself to be a troop of horse soldiers.
Richard gave speedy order that his friends should assemble and mount,
while he continued to watch the proceedings of the enemy.
They were about two hundred strong--they arrived at the huts on the
beach, and the prince perceived that they were making dispositions to
leave a part of their number behind. Fifty men were selected, and posted
as patrol--the rest then, moved forward, still towards the east. By
this time the remaining fugitives had mounted, and gathered in one
spot--the villagers also were collecting--Skelton's teeth
chattered--he asked an old woman if there were any sanctuary near.
"Ay, by our Lady, is there," replied the dame, "sixteen miles along the
coast is the monastery of Beaulieu. A sanctuary for princes; by the same
token that the Lady Margaret, Saint Henry's queen, lived safely therein
spite of the wicked Yorkists, who would have taken her precious life."
Richard turned quickly round as the woman spoke and heard her words, but
again his eyes were attracted to the coast. As the troop were proceeding
along the sands, the little knot of horsemen perched upon the hill
caught the attention of a soldier. He rode along the lines, and spoke to
the commanding officer; a halt ensued, "We are lost," cried Skelton, "we
are taken, Lord! Lord! will they grant us our lives?"
"These trees are tempting, and apt for hanging," said O'Water, with the
air of a connoisseur.
"Oh, for Bewley,--for Bewley, let us ride!" exclaimed Skelton, longing
to go, yet afraid of separating himself from his companions.
Still the prince watched the movements of the adverse party. Ten men
were detached, and began to advance inland--"Oh, dear, my lord," cried
Astley, "betake yourself to the forest--there are a thousand ways of
baffling these men. I will meet them, and put them to fault. Hide, for
my Lady's sake, ride!"
"Master Astley is a cunning gentleman," said Skelton; "our horses are
aweary, and a little craft would help us mightily."
Still Richard's eyes were fixed on the troopers--the men advanced as
far as a broad, deep stream, which intersected the plain; here they
hesitated; one of the best mounted leaped across, the others drew back,
seeking along the steep, shelving banks for a ford, or a narrowing of
the stream. The eyes of the troop on the shore were now turned upon
their comrades. "Our time is come," cried Richard; "back to the forest."
One step took them down the other side of the hill, hiding sea and beach
and enemy from their eyes, and screening them also from observation.
They soon reached the forest, and entered its shade; and then proceeded
along just within its skirts. "Whither?" respectfully O'Water asked,
after Skelton had for some time been muttering many a hint concerning
sanctuary.
"To Beaulieu," said the prince. "We are barred out from the ocean--we
are beset at land--the little island ycleped sanctuary is all that is
left to ye. God speed us safely hither."
Richard's horse was lively and refreshed after his generous draught, but
these of the others flagged. The prince exerted himself to keep up the
spirits of all; he rallied Skelton, spoke comfort to Astley, and good
hope to Heron. The sturdy apprentice of danger, flight, and trouble,
O'Water, treated it all as a matter of course--even hanging, if it so
chanced, was but a likely accident--the others needed more
encouragement. Astley feared for his lord, even to an appearance of
timidity, which, though disinterested, had a bad effect on the others.
Heron complained bitterly that his dinner had been left unfinished;
while the poor tailor, now fancying that he would run away from all, now
fearful of solitary misadventure, kept up a garrulous harangue, of which
terror was the burthen and the sum, Richard's voice was cheerful, his
manner gay; but, placing his hand on Astley, it felt scorching; every
moment it required more energy to throw off the clinging lethargy that
fell upon him. It was again evening--a circumstance that had caused
them to enter deeper into the forest; and it was to be feared they had
lost their way. All were weary--all, save Richard, hungry. The breeze
had died away; the air was oppressive, and more and more it felt like a
load intolerable to the prince's burning brow. Night began to close in
so very dark, that the horses refused to go forward. Suddenly a roaring
sound arose, which was not the sea; and, but that the atmosphere was so
still, the wanderers would have said that it was a fierce wind among the
trees. Such must it be, for now it came nearer; like living things, the
vast giants of the forest tossed their branches furiously; and entire
darkness and sudden pouring rain revealed the tempest, which their leafy
prison had before hidden--all was so instantaneous, that it would seem
that nature was undergoing some great revulsion in her laws. The
prince's horse snorted and reared, while O'Water's dashed furiously on,
striking against a tree, and throwing his rider, from whose lips there
escaped a shriek. What would have been the last overflowing drop in the
bitter cup to a weak mind, restored Richard--lassitude and despondency
vanished. In an instant he was off his horse at O'Water's side, speaking
in his own cheerful, kind voice. "Waste no moment on me," cried the
generous mayor. "My leg is broken--I can go no further--speed you,
your highness, to the sanctuary."
This was the end of hope--the raging storm, the disabled man, dark
night, and Richard's resolve not to desert his follower, all were causes
of terror and of despair.
A voice in the wood was heard calling aloud; no answer could be
returned; it was repeated, and Astley went forward to reconnoitre--even
an enemy were help in such disaster, yet Heron and Skelton implored him
to remain. Another halloo Richard answered; for he recognized Astley's
voice, who in the dark could not find his way back. He came at last,
accompanied by a monk--this was heaven's favour revealed; for the holy
man was a hermit, and his poor cell was near: poor indeed was it, built
with logs, the interstices filled with mud; a bed of dried leaves was
nearly all the furniture. The hermit had gone on first, and lit a torch;
as they might, they bore along poor O'Water, and placed him in his agony
on the low couch. The hermit looked inquisitively on all the party,
neglecting to answer Skelton, who asked for the hundredth time the
distance to Beaulieu.
Richard still occupied himself with the mayor, endeavouring to discover
if the limb were broken. "By your leave, your grace," said the hermit,
"I am somewhat of a chirurgeon; I boast of my cures of horses, and have
saved a Christian man ere now."
Scarcely did the prince remember to wonder at the title by which the
unknown addressed him. By our Lady's love he besought him to attend to
his friend. "Trust me," said the hermit, "I will not fail; but you, my
lord, must not tarry here; the forest is beset with troops; but for
night and storm, you would hardly attain Beaulieu in safety. It is but
two miles distant: I will guide your highness thither; and then return
to your follower. Have faith in me, my lord; I have served your royal
uncle, and was enlisted under your banner last year in Kent. I made a
shift to escape, and took sanctuary; but the stone walls of a monastery
are little better than those of a prison; so I betook me to the woods.
Oh, I beseech you, waste no time: I will return to your follower: he is
safe till then."
"Direct us, and I will thank you," replied Richard; "but you shall not
desert your patient even for a moment."
There was no alternative but to comply: the man gave as clear
instructions as he might, and Richard again set forward with his
diminished party. They were long entangled by trees; and it was now
quite night: the excitement over, the prince had drooped again. Even
this interval was full of peril--a tramp of steeds was heard: they drew
up among the trees; a party of horsemen passed; one--could it be the
voice of the subtle Frion?--said, "At the end of this glade we shall
see the abbey spires. Well I know the same; for when Queen
Margaret----"
This speaker was succeeded by a woman's voice: yet greater wonder, she
spoke in Spanish, in unforgotten accents--Richard's heart stood still,
as he heard them; but soon both voice and tramp of steeds grew faint;
and his brain, becoming more and more bewildered, allowed no thought to
enter, save the one fixed there even in delirium. The fugitives
continued to linger in this spot until it was probable that the
travellers should have arrived. True to the information they had
overheard, the forest opened at the end of the glade into a leafy
amphitheatre; an avenue was opposite, which led to the abbey gates,
whose Gothic spires, buttresses and carved arches, rose above the tufted
trees in dark masses. One end of the building was illuminated--that was
the church, and the pealing organ stole mournfully on the night,
sounding a Miserere; the chaunting of the monks mingled with the
harmonious swell, adding that pathos, that touch of solemn, unutterable
sentiment, which perhaps no music, save that of the human voice,
possesses. Richard's companions were rough-suited, vulgar-minded; but
they were Catholic and religious men, and were awe-struck by this voice
from heaven reaching them thus in their desolation; a voice promising
safety and repose to their harassed, wearied bodies.
A few steps carried them to the very spot; the bell was rung, the gate
was opened, sanctuary was claimed and afforded. Skelton sprang forward;
the other two hung back; but, on a sign from Richard, they also passed
the sacred threshold "Farewell, my friends," he said, "a short farewell.
Astley, I charge you wait for me. Sir priest, close the gate."
The word was said, the order obeyed, Richard was left alone in darkness.
"Now for my task--for my poor trusty fellows. The work of murder cannot
yet have begun: my life pays for all. Yet awhile bear me up, thou
fainting spirit; desert not Richard's breast till his honour be
redeemed!"
Vain prayer!--"I must repose," he thought; "it is of no avail to urge
nature beyond herself; a few minutes, and I am strong." He dismounted,
and, with a sensation of delicious relief, threw himself at his length
on the wet grass, pressing the dank herbage to his fevered brow. At
first he felt recovered; but in a few minutes strong spasms shot through
his frame; and these yielded to a feebleness, that forced him to sink to
the ground, when he endeavoured to rise: he forgot his situation, the
near abbey, his friends; he forgot wherefore, but he remembered that his
presence was required somewhere, and with a resolved effort he rose and
staggered towards his horse--he fell. "A little sleep, and I shall be
well." This was his last thought, and he lay in a state between slumber
and stupor upon the earth.