Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle.
Assueton had no sooner witnessed the prostration of Master Daniel
Throckle than he hastened round to the door of the keep; and, having
noted the part of the building where the cellar lay, he slipped down a
stair, and, groping along a passage, was soon led to it by the light of
the lamp. He entered hastily, and, unbinding the belt from the drunken
beast’s body, made himself master of the keys. He then seized the lamp,
stole silently out by the door, and, taking the directions Throckle had
so gratuitously given him, explored a passage at the end of which he
found a stair leading upwards. Beneath it was the strongly-barred door
of a vault. Having singled out the key called Crooked-hold-him-fast, he
applied it to the door, and found it answer perfectly to the lock. He
turned the bolt, and, to his no small delight his lamp showed him his
esquire Roger Riddel and Robert Lindsay, both sound asleep on separate
heaps of straw. He gently waked first one, and then the other; and,
laying his finger on his lips, he cautioned them to be perfectly
silent. The poor fellows were so confounded by their unexpected
deliverance, that they rubbed their eyes, and could hardly believe that
they were really awake.
“Bestir thee, but not a word,” said the knight to them; “the Castle is
all our own. There are but two men within the walls. One I have left in
a cellar, senseless as a hog, rucking and wallowing in his ale; from
him we have nothing to fear, but the other yet standeth sentinel at the
outward gate. So we must approach him cautiously; and, when I whistle,
pounce on him like falcons. But there is yet a woman in the place, whom
we must first secure, to prevent all chance of alarm.”
“Yea,” said Roger Riddel gravely, “woman’s tongue be’s a wicked
weapon.”
The knight and his followers hastened to find out the kitchen, and,
having peeped in, they descried Betty Burrel either asleep or
pretending to be so; and, remarking that the windows were strongly
barred, so that she could not escape that way, they gently shut the
door, and turned the key in the lock.
They now ascended the stair, and having set down the lamp, Assueton, to
guard against all possibility of accident, took the large key from the
door of the keep, as they passed out. They then stole towards the
gateway, where, after prying about for some time, they discovered the
watchful warder of the garrison, lying within a doorway, sound asleep,
on the steps of the stair leading up to a barbican that overlooked the
gate. Assueton immediately sprang on him, and threw the blanket over
his head; and, having taken the keys of the gate from him, they muffled
him so completely up as to stop his utterance, and, crossing his arms
behind his back, bound all tightly together with Master Throckle’s
leathern belt. They then hoisted the knave on the broad back of Roger
Riddel, who marched merrily away with his burden, and deposited him in
the vault, on the very straw from which he had himself so lately risen.
Proceeding next to the cellar, they lifted up the drunken jailor, who,
being perfectly senseless, had run no small risk of being drowned
externally, as well as internally, by a flood of ale; and, having
carried him also to the vault, and put him among the straw that had
been Robert Lindsay’s bed, they turned Crooked-hold-him fast upon both
of them.
Lighting another lamp, which they had found extinguished, the two
squires then went to the stables to look for horses. Meanwhile Assueton
ascended the stairs alone, to discover the ladies’ chamber of which
Throckle had spoken, and by attending to the description the jailor had
given, soon discovered it. He tapped gently at the door;—a deep sigh
came from within;—he tapped again.
“Who knocks there at this hour?” said a female voice.
The voice made Assueton’s heart bound with joy, for it was the voice of
the Lady Isabelle Hepborne.
“Who knocks there?—who comes thus to break the hour of rest, the only
one I have been blest with since I entered these wicked and impure
walls? If it be thou, false and traitorous knight, know thou mayest
kill, but thou canst never subdue me.”
“Lady Isabelle,” cried Assueton, in transport, “it is no traitor; it is
I, who will dare to call myself thy true and humble slave, thine own
humble slave, thine own faithful knight, who, by God’s blessing, has
come to undo the bars of thy prison and to set thee free.
“Sir John Assueton,” cried the fair Isabelle, overpowered by amazement
and joy—“Sir John Assueton!—Blessed Virgin!—and how camest thou
here?—But thou art in dreadful danger. For mercy’s sake—for my sake—I
entreat thee not to speak so loud,” continued she, tripping lightly
towards the door, and whispering softly through the keyhole; “speak not
so loud, lest thou shouldst be overheard and surprised by some of the
caitiff knight’s cruel followers. I will brave all danger to fly with
thee.”
“Nay, fairest lady,” said Assueton, “thou hast now but little cause of
dread. The Castle, and everything in it, is in my power; but I am
rather meagrely attended, and ’twere better we should lose as little
time as may be. I shall unlock thy door, and keep watch for thee in the
hall hard by, until thou art ready to wend with me.”
The knight accordingly passed into the hall, where he found a long
board, covered with the wrecks of feast and wassail, everything in the
apartment betokening the riotous and reckless life that was led by the
libertine owner of the place. The walls were hung round with arms of
various kinds, and, to his great surprise, he perceived the very armour
he had worn, and which he had left with his people when he changed his
dress, together with his shield, lance, and trusty sword, all forming a
grand trophy, at one end. He soon removed them from their place, and
speedily equipped himself like a knight as he was; and he had hardly
done so, when his eye caught the very baldrick and bugle worn by the
leader of the foresters who had acted as his guide. He took them also
down, and hung them from his own neck, in memorial of the treachery he
had suffered. He then stood anxiously listening, nor did he wait long
until he heard the light step of the Lady Isabelle dancing merrily
along the passage. He flew to meet her, and the joy of both was too
great to be controlled. Yet they trifled not long to give way to their
feelings. Assueton gave his arm to the fair prisoner, and they
descended the stair together. On reaching the courtyard, he found
Riddel and Lindsay busy in the stable. His squire was employed in
putting the furniture and harness on the very steed the knight had
ridden from Hailes; but what gave rise to most unpleasant speculation
in the mind of Assueton, was the discovery that the horses and
equipments of his whole party were there. As he looked at the steeds
and trappings of his brave spearmen, his heart sank within him at the
thought of the cruel death that treachery had probably wrought on the
gallant fellows who had used them. A palfrey was soon selected and
prepared for the Lady Isabelle; and the other three horses being ready,
Assueton ordered them to be led out. Before they mounted, however,
Roger Riddel, who never gave himself the trouble of speaking except
when he had something of importance that compelled him to use his
tongue, addressed his master.
“Methinks, your worship,” said he, “we should be the better of a
lantern to light us on our way till the moon rises.”
“Go seek one then,” said Assueton; “but do not lose time, for it is but
a chance thou shalt find one.”
“Fasten the horses to that hook, then, Bob,” said Riddel to Lindsay; “I
shall want thee to help me to light it.”
The two men went into the keep-tower together, where they remained some
time, and at length they came out, each bearing a burden on his back.
“What, in the name of St. Andrew, bearest thou there?” demanded
Assueton.
“’Tis but the dronkelew jailor and the watchful warden,” said Riddel;
“methinks they will lie better in the stable.”
“Tut!” said Assueton peevishly, “why waste our time with them?”
But Roger and his comrade deposited their burdens quietly in the
stable, and then returned again into the keep-tower, where they
remained so very long that Assueton lost all patience. By and by female
shrieks were heard from within. They became louder, and seemed to
approach the door of the keep, when out stalked Roger Riddel with much
composure, carrying Betty Burrel like any infant in his arms. The
damsel, who was in her night attire, was wrapped in a blanket, and was
screaming, kicking, and tearing the squire’s face with her nails, like
any wild cat. But the sedate Roger minded her not, nor did her
scratching in the least derange the gravity of his walk.
“This is too much, Riddel,” said Assueton, losing temper: “What absurd
whim is this? Is the Lady Isabelle Hepborne to be kept standing here
all night, till thou shalt find a new bed for Betty Burrel?”
Roger turned gravely about, with the kicking and scratching Betty
Burrel still in his arms———
“Surely,” said he, “Sir Knight, thou hast too much Christian charity in
thee to see the poor pusell burnt alive?”
“Burnt!” cried Assueton with astonishment; “what mean ye?”
But now came the explanation of all Roger had said and done; for
volumes of smoke began to burst from the different open loop-holes of
the keep, and to roll out at the door, sufficiently explaining what
Roger Riddel had meant by a lantern. The squire hastily deposited the
kicking and screaming Betty Burrel in the stable, to which there was no
risk of the fire communicating, and locking the door, put the key
quietly into his pocket. The Lady Isabelle and Assueton mounted, while
the squire and Lindsay went before them, to raise the portcullis and
open the gates; and the whole party sallied forth from the walls, right
glad to bid adieu to Burnstower. Their two attendants went before them,
leading their own horses down the hill, and along the narrow tongue of
land, towards the ford, lest there might have been any such trap in
their way as they formerly fell into. But all was clear, and they got
through the ford with perfect safety.
From the summit of the rising ground above the ford, that is, from the
same spot where the moon had given Assueton the first and only view of
Burnstower, on the night of his approach, they now looked back, and
beheld the keep involved in flames, that broke forth from every opening
in its sides, and forced their way through various parts of its roof.
The reader is already aware of the grandeur of the surrounding scene,
closely shut in all around by high backing hills, and the two deep
glens with their streams uniting under the green-headed eminence, that
arose from the luxuriant forest, which everywhere covered the lower
grounds: let him conceive all this, then, lighted up as it was by Roger
Riddel’s glorious lantern, which, as they continued to look, began to
shoot up jets of flame from its summit, so high into the air that it
seemed as if the welkin itself was in some danger from its contact, and
he will have in his imagination one of the most sublime spectacles that
human eye could well behold.
The party, however, stopped not long to look at it, but urged onwards
through the thickets and sideling paths of the glen, now losing all
sight of the burning tower, and now recovering a view of it, as they
occasionally climbed upwards to avoid some impassable obstruction
below. At length a turn of the glen shut it altogether from their
sight, and the place where it lay was only indicated by the fiery-red
field of sky immediately over it.
Assueton resolved to follow the course of the glen, and in doing so he
found that the forester had completely deceived him in regard to the
path, that below having occupied about one-tenth part of the time which
was consumed the former night in unravelling the mazes of the hill
road. The moon now arose to light them cheerily on their way; objects
became more distinct; and, as they were crossing a little glade, they
observed a man running, as if to take shelter under the trees.
“After him, Riddel,” cried Assueton; “we must know who and what he is.”
The squire and Lindsay charged furiously after the fugitive, and ere he
could gain the thicket, one rode up on each side of him, and caught
him. The knight and Lady Isabelle immediately came up, when, to their
no small delight, they discovered that it was a trooper of Assueton’s
party, and, on interrogating him, they learnt that all the others were
lodged safely among the brushwood at no great distance. The man was
instantly despatched for them, and, when they appeared, the whole
villainy of the pretended foresters was explained. The knight and his
two attendants had no sooner left them than they were largely feasted
with broiled venison, after which liberal libations of potent ale had
been administered to them; and they now firmly believed that the liquor
had been drugged with an opiate; for, though the excessive fatigue they
had undergone might have accounted for their being immediately overcome
with drowsiness, yet it could have furnished no adequate explanation of
their sleeping for the greater part of next day, as they had all done
to a man, without once awakening. When at length they did arise from
their mossy pillows, their horses and accoutrements, as well as the
knight’s armour, had vanished with the foresters, and nothing remained
but part of the carcase of a deer, left, as it appeared, to prevent
them from starving. In this helpless state the men were quite at a loss
what to do. To advance with the hope of meeting their leader, even if
he were not already the victim of a worse treachery than they had
experienced, would have been vain; yet, unarmed as they were, the brave
fellows could not entirely abandon him, and after much hesitation, they
had at last resolved, towards evening, to wander up the glen to see
what discoveries they could make. They had got thus far, when the
darkness of the night compelled them to halt until the moon rose; and
the man whom Assueton first descried had been sent out by the rest as a
scout, to ascertain whether they were yet safe in proceeding.
Assueton’s mind being now relieved as to the safety of the party, he
resolved to send back Lindsay to guide the spearmen to Burnstower, that
they might horse and arm themselves in the stables. Meanwhile, he
proposed that he, the Lady Isabelle, and the squire, should halt in the
thickets, near the spot where they then were, and wait patiently for
their return.
“Stay,” said Roger Riddel to one of the men, as soon as he had heard
his master’s arrangement, “stay, here is the key, and be sure thou
shuttest the stable door after thee. Thou canst not mistake the way,
even hadst thou no guide, for there is a lantern burning in the Castle
of Burnstower that enlighteneth the whole valley.”