FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
IT is possible that if Miles and his servant had not been so intent
upon gaining the shelter that would be afforded by the university, they
might have noticed the rustling of twigs and the movement in the bushes
bordering the lane down which they were travelling, but, as it was,
they were taken wholly by surprise when a party of men sprang out upon
them. While two seized the heads of their horses and brought them to a
standstill, others seized Miles and his servant, dragged them to the
ground, and proceeded to pinion their arms behind, though they fought
and struggled, and kicked and swore, and made every effort to throw off
their captors. The party was too large for them to do anything beyond
giving the robbers a few ugly blows that did but madden them the more,
while they bound their captives and carried them into the shelter of
the adjacent wood before other travellers should come along and try to
effect a rescue.
Miles had tried to shout while he was being bound, but his efforts were
effectually stopped by a rag of some sort being thrust into his mouth,
and his servant was treated in the same way when he tried to help his
master.
The whole affair had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that it had
passed in comparative silence; and they were being carried like trussed
poultry into the heart of the wood before Miles had time or thought
to notice very particularly who his captors were, but, after the
first shock of the capture was over, he began to notice some of these
particulars, and the sight was not reassuring. The whole party were
evidently robbers, who would stick at nothing in carrying out their
purpose, and whether he would ever see the walls of Oxford again was
very doubtful, he thought, for, having stolen the horses, they would
very likely murder their prisoners on the principle of dead men telling
no tales.
As he caught sight of the face of his servant, Reuben Patter, he saw
from the white, terror-stricken look in it that the same thought
had occurred to him, but neither could speak, they were both too
effectually gagged; and so they were half-carried, half-dragged, over
the briery ground until they were suddenly met by a scattered crowd,
who had evidently been out begging in spite of the rigorous laws
against this practice, and were making their way to some common centre
by different woodland paths that converged near this place.
Some of these were strong, stalwart men, unkempt and ragged, whose
faces were stamped with misery and despair rather than vice. There
were blind men being led by snappish little curs, and others who bore
on their cheeks the cruel marks of the searing iron, branding them for
ever as beggars and vagabonds and rogues, from force of circumstances
if not from choice. The motely throng gave a faint cheer at the sight
of the prisoners, for although they might not be of so much use to
the hungry crew as a good fat sheep or a couple of hogs, still they
knew their captors well enough to feel assured that they would not be
allowed to escape without a good stiff ransom being paid, and so they
stepped on more cheerfully and briskly.
From the muttered words and oaths that were uttered by the party who
had captured them it was evident to Miles that this meeting with the
beggars and less determined rogues of the band was by no means welcome
to their captors, and a hasty parley was held, but Miles could not
make out much of what was said, for it was conducted in thieves' and
beggars' language. But the outcome of it was that their eyes were
bandaged the next minute, and, as it seemed to them, the course of
their journey was altered.
But before they had gone far they were met by another party of beggars
returning with what they had been able to beg, steal, or earn by plying
the trade of tinkers, and they kept with these to the great relief of
Miles.
Judging by the sound rather than by what they could see, they were
carried into a large cave a few minutes later, and deposited at the
back of it, both helplessly bound still, but the bandages were taken
off their eyes, and the dirty rags out of their mouths, and, for the
first time, Miles was asked his name and where his friends might be
found.
"My name is Miles Paton, and I am the son of Sir Thomas Paton of
Woodstock," said Miles.
Something like a hush fell upon the group that was near him as he said
this. Miles was sensible of it although no word was spoken, and he
wondered whether these were some of the villains who had killed his
brother, and would only be too glad to kill him now they had got the
chance. But he would not let them see his fears. He asked them in a
calm voice to loosen the rope round his wrists, for it was cutting
sorely into the flesh, and caused him great agony. But they paid no
attention to his request. That he was a son of Sir Thomas Paton was
a fact that needed a good deal of discussion it seemed; and the men
turned away and left their captors to consider among themselves what
their next step should be.
Miles groaned aloud, for the pain and strain of wrists and arms wrung
this from him, while poor Reuben, giving himself up for lost, bellowed
aloud for his poor old father and mother.
"Don't, don't, Reuben—be a man," said Miles, when, just as he spoke and
before he could say another word, there came a stealthy hand out of the
darkness at the back, and, to Miles' intense surprise, began untying
the knotted rope.
"Cry—groan—make a noise," were the whispered words spoken in his ear
by a woman's voice, and Miles felt sure he had heard that voice before
somewhere.
He gave the requisite groans, while Reuben indulged in a low,
half-suppressed howl, that was sufficient to let the rest of the party
know that they were having an uncomfortable time of it, and so give the
woman a chance of loosening their bonds.
They found that she did not dare to leave them untied, but the
slackening of the thongs was an intense relief, and when she had
finished her task he asked her name.
"Patty Bunce," answered the woman, "and my husband worked for Farmer
Rankin until we were all turned off the land to make room for the
sheep, and now we are all beggars here, or worse." The poor woman then
burst into tears in spite of her efforts to keep calm and still for
fear she should be discovered.
She made haste to leave that part of the cave, and Miles heard her
voice calling to one of her children the next minute.
As he lay now he managed to see more of this motely crew. Men, women,
and children of all ages seemed to have found a shelter here, for there
was a dull fire of sticks burning in the middle of the cave, and here
such primitive cooking was done by one and another as their means would
afford.
There were a few decent folks like the Bunces and Rankins who tried to
keep the boys and girls close round them when the rougher dwellers of
the cave came to take possession, but it was evident the younger ones
were getting used to their surroundings, and liked listening to the
ribald tales and coarse jokes, and joined in the laughter that rang
through the place.
There were several cripples as well as blind men in the company; old
soldiers who had lost a leg in the wars between France and England,
and, escaping death on the battlefield, had been brought home and
turned adrift, maimed and almost helpless, eking out a miserable
existence with the tales they could tell for a piece of bread or a jug
of mead, and finding a refuge with other outcasts during the night.
Miles lay and listened, and watched the various groups. Some were
thieves from choice there was little doubt, but many alas! were decent
farmers and farm labourers, who, with their families, had been driven
from the land, and whose number his father wanted to increase.
By-and-bye he saw Rankin himself enter the cave, but he was greatly
changed from when he had last seen him. Instead of the bluff, hearty
manner of the old days, he walked with a slouching step, and had a
furtive hangdog look about him. But when someone whispered a few words,
and pointed to the back of the cave, evidently telling him where the
son of his greatest enemy lay helplessly bound, a look of anger came
into the man's face, and he clenched his fists. Miles saw that there
was little mercy to be expected from his old neighbour, and his heart
almost died within him.
Reuben also saw the look, but he was more hopeful than his master, if
he could only get a chance of speaking to Rankin, and so it was a great
relief to him when he heard one of their captors say, "Now, Rankin, I
give them into your charge; you have no cause to love a Paton or any of
the brood. If we can make a little money of him we will, but we must
hear about the horses first," and from what followed Miles learned that
these had been taken in different directions to be sold, and if they
could make a similar bargain for the release of Miles and his servant
with Sir Thomas, his father, they would.
The prospect thus opened before the young fellow made him groan aloud
in despair, and when Rankin came and took up his post as gaoler he
said, impulsively, "Kill me outright if you like, Rankin, but don't
sell me to my father."
"Then you know who I am, sir," said the man, in a surly tone.
"Yes, I know you, and know you have no cause to show mercy to a Paton."
"Perhaps not," said Reuben, "but I never harmed Master Rankin, and so I
hope he'll spare my life, and hear what I've got to say, before he goes
to tell Sir Thomas where you may be found."
"Well, speak out, man," said Rankin, "my temper ain't got any sweeter
while I have been here, and I curse the Patons every day of my life."
"Yes, yes, and you have cause, poor fellow," said Miles, pityingly,
"but I can tell you it was not my fault, and I never knew what had
happened until I went home to my brother's funeral and saw the village
empty."
"Aye, and if you sell us to Sir Thomas there'll soon be another village
empty, and the farms given up to sheep," interrupted Reuben, "for my
master here is to be put into a cage, like mad Sir Philip Warren,
because he will by no means sign the papers to make the rest of the
land into sheep farms."
Rankin had heard something of this being in contemplation, and so he
listened in stolid silence while Reuben told his tale. Miles said a
word now and then on behalf of his father, and, but for his desperate
strait, would not have let Reuben tell why they were flying to Oxford,
but nothing Reuben could say would lessen or increase the hate that
burned in the breast of this man against his oppressor, or the son that
had practically forced his father into taking this step. But against
this Oxford lad they had no grudge. On the contrary he had always made
himself a friend of the farmer and villagers alike, and Reuben's story
now, and the consequences that would follow if Miles should be taken
and declared to be insane, would be disastrous to everybody.
Already the country was so overrun with beggars and thieves that those
who felt the greatest pity had to refuse help because of the numbers
that beset them day by day, and so, for this number to be increased,
when it could be prevented, was not to be thought of. But at the same
time the men had set out on their journey to Woodstock to try and
negotiate for the ransom for their two prisoners, and so, if anything
was to be done to save them from being handed over to Sir Thomas, it
must be done at once.
Doubtless the thought of doing the squire an ill turn was not without
its charm for Rankin, but he did not say a word about this. He sat for
a minute or two considering the matter, and then he said, "We must all
go, and get away as soon as possible."
"What do you mean?" asked Miles, as Rankin began to saw away with his
blunt knife at the cords round his ankles.
"It will be my life for yours, Master Miles," said the farmer in a
whisper.
"Then leave us where we are," said Miles.
But the man shook his head, saying, "You are of more use than I am, and
my wife is not here just now, so we may be able to get away together
when it is dark."
"But if you are caught?" said Miles.
"Then you must try to get away so as not to be forced into setting up
more sheep farms. If Master John had only done as you have he would
have been alive now. Mind, I did not kill him, and I knew nothing about
it till afterwards, but I know he would not have met with his death if
so many of us had not been driven from our homes."
While he had been speaking he had cut all their bonds, but told them to
keep quite still until the rest of the party were fast asleep, and then
to follow him silently, without asking a question as to where they were
going.
The women and children had mostly retired by this time to their several
nooks and lairs, but the festivity of the few half-drunken rascals, who
were still sprawling round the fire, had not ceased, and to the anxious
watchers at the back of the cave it seemed as though these roysterers
would never go to sleep.
Night had fallen long since, and it seemed as though morning would dawn
before the last of them fell asleep. But their patience was rewarded at
last with a chorus of snores that assured them they could move at last,
and they followed their guide—not to the mouth of the cave, as they
expected—but into what seemed the very wall of it at the first touch,
which, however, gradually revealed itself as a narrow winding passage
that was just large enough for them to creep through, and at last
opened in the midst of some bushes on the brink of a pond.
"Hush!" whispered Rankin, when Miles would have thanked him, for to
breathe the fresh, pure air after that noisome cave was something to be
thankful for.
Silently they followed, as he led them by winding woodland paths,
through the tangle of trees and briers, out into a wider and more
frequented roadway.
"We are little more than an hour's walk from Oxford now," said Rankin,
"and I think you would be able to find your way to the gates as soon as
they are opened in the morning."
But Miles begged him to stay, and go with him to the town, and try to
get some employment there.
If he could only have seen it, the man's face would have told him how
grateful he was, even for the offer of such help as this, but he said,
"I am afraid it is too late for me to get any work but farming."
"Nay, but come and see. I have friends in the town as well as in the
colleges, and surely someone might find room for a pair of willing
hands and strong arms. I have enough to keep you for a few days at an
hostelry; and then—"
As he spoke Miles put his hands to his leathern pouch, which he thought
was securely fastened under his doublet. But alas! the robbers had
stripped him of that and every crown that was in it, so that he was
penniless.
He sank down upon the ground and groaned aloud as he realised this,
for what should he do now if his father refused to send him any more?
And he felt sure that his father would refuse unless he should agree
to sign the documents that would practically consign several other
families to ruin.
"What is it, my master?" asked Reuben, fearing his master had been
wounded.
"My money I my money Reuben. The rogues have robbed me of every penny."
"Yes, I saw them do it while you were struggling on the ground. I
thought you saw it too."
"No, I thought only of getting away from them. This is ruin indeed."
"But we can all work, my master," said Reuben, cheerfully, but Rankin
spoke no word, for he knew better than either of the others how
helpless a man was in the world without money. But he resolved to
stand by the young fellow who had dared so much for the sake of saving
others from the ruin that had overtaken him; and so the three trudged
on through the dawning light, hoping to gain the gates of the city by
the time they opened, and so secure a refuge before their escape was
discovered.