THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after
the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
“Have we done well, have we done well?” asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
“It would seem so, Master Smith,” replied Cicely, “thanks to you; that
is, if all the King said is really in those writings.”
“It is there sure enough,” said Jacob; “for know, that with the aid of
a lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord
Cromwell’s office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we
worked with no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late
by the clock, for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I’ll
read them through again, and if aught is left out we will have it
righted, though these are the same parchments, for I set a secret mark
upon them.”
“Nay, nay,” said Cicely, “leave well alone. His Grace’s mood may change,
or the Queen--that matter of the pearl.”
“Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But
there was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our
honour is on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for
if the most of your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and
other things. Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin
Stower has got a husband----”
Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in
wrath----
“Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot
at yonder King’s bidding?” she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at
Bolle, who stood in the corner. “Who gave you the right, Thomas, to
demand me in marriage?”
“Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years
ago, down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of
Blossholme Priory before I began to play the devil.”
“Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
King’s presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh,
if ever we do marry, I’ll prove his words.”
“Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best
stay so,” answered Thomas calmly. “Yet, why you should fret because you
must keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave
to marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for
you and your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill,
seeing that now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and
comfort. If you are not content, why then, the King was right, and I’m
a fool, and so good-bye, I’ll trouble you no more in fair weather or
in foul. I have leave to marry, and there are other women in the world
should I need one.”
“Tread on their tails and even worms will turn,” soliloquized Jacob,
while Emlyn burst into tears.
Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
room.
Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound
of a voice crying--
“In the King’s name! In the King’s name, open!”
“That’s Commissioner Legh,” said Thomas. “I learned the cry from him,
and it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember.”
Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob
shovelled the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the
Commissioner, to whom some one had opened.
“What’s this I hear?” he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
turkey cock’s. “That you have been working behind my back; that you have
told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that
I am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench,
would to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus.”
“If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely
all of us will soon burn,” said Jacob suavely. “The Lady Harflete said
nothing that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was
present, and among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole?
Come, come, drink a cup of wine and be calm.”
But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who
all this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the
neck.
“In the King’s name!” he said, “nay, complain not, ‘tis your own cry
and I have warrant for it,” and he knocked Legh’s head against the
door-post. “In the King’s name, get out of this,” and he gave him such a
kick as never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the
passage. “For the third time in the King’s name!” and he hurled him
out in a heap into the courtyard. “Begone, and know if ever I see your
pudding face again, in the King’s name, I’ll break your neck!”
Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
course she paid him her first year’s rent, nor ever asked who took the
benefit.
“Thomas,” said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
farewell kick, “the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,”
and she gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the
supper.
While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
another knock.
“Go, Thomas,” said Jacob, “and say we see none to-night.”
So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
cloaked man, saying--
“Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny,” whereon they all rose,
thinking in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost
as mighty in England for a while--the Lord Cromwell.
“Pardon me,” said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, “and if you
will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I
need them, who have been hard-worked to-day.”
So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of
many things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels
after all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when
he had done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and
said--
“Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this
day, for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace’s
temper has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that
you did not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put
to you urgently.”
“My Lord,” said Cicely, “you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed
me further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,” and
she told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
“A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,”
replied Cromwell. “Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with
a bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I’ll not forget your
faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
not knowing who will gather.”
He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh--
“The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may
yet die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a
bond that will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King’s hands to
give. A black storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret,
the fury of it may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away
with you to any land where you are not known, for then after this day’s
work here a rope will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike
Anne who is gone, is a friend to the party of the Church, and though she
affects to care little for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and
therefore against you, its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could
spare which I might take to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master
Smith here swore to me was not to be found in the whole world when he
showed me its fellow, it must be sold as the King commanded,” and he
looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with
a brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
rubies.
“Take her this with my duty, my Lord,” said Cicely.
“I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as
well as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and
where to cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you
that perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
well.”
“Oh, my Lord,” she cried, “then where is he now?”
“Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed,
from Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him
fast at Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of
their company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a
letter to the King’s captain in those parts, which has reached me this
night. Here it is, do you know the writing?”
“Aye, aye,” gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
“Then I’ll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
evidence.”
“To the Captain of the King’s Forces outside Lincoln.
“This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all
others, that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes,
his servant, when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from
Spain, were taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here
to Lincoln. These men would win me to their party because the name of
Harflete is still strong and known. So violent were they that we have
taken some kind of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only
did to save my life, having no heart that way who am a loyal man and
understand little of their quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to
me who have lost wife, lands and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged
upon the murderous Abbot of Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my
breath in me and to escape.
“I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within
fifty miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but
if so, say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
“Christopher Harflete.
“Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark.”
“My Lord,” said Cicely, “what shall I do, my Lord?”
“There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
Smith.”
Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell
thought.
“Listen,” he said presently. “Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all
of that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good
names yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?”
“Aye, aye, that I can do,” broke in Bolle. “In a week I will have a
hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
name me captain and you’ll see.”
“The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at
this house by nine of the clock to-morrow,” answered Cromwell. “The
money you must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob
Smith. Yet pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe.”
“I know the risk,” she answered, “but what do I care for risks who have
taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?”
“An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,” remarked
Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote _vera copia_ for his Lordship’s
signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher’s letter, shook
his head sadly.
In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
matters waiting his attention.
Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith
she never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning
and his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later
the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter
and his other decorations off his person and he was haled from the
Council to the Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy,
to perish a criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well,
for he kept all his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also
was to send her back the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe
from Jacob Smith, with a message to the effect that he was sure it would
become her more than it had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a
better fortune.
When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
leaving his house upon the morrow.
“Have I not said so?” she asked, with impatience. “Knowing what I know
how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?”
“Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of
twenty marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need
money for our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin.”
“Our journey?” said Cicely. “Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?”
“With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no
shilling left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven.
Also I need a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme,
where I was born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow
I have much to do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in
pawn must be set in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies
should be made, and that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So
at what hour do we ride on this mad errand?”
“At eleven of the clock,” answered Cicely, “if the King’s safe-conduct
and commission have come by then.”
“So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
there’ll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to
the stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed.”
On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of
dreams, dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of
Cromwell, who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner
Legh, who dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears.
Could it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate
waited to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to
lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile,
she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell
or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as
fast as horses could carry her.
Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left
undone. The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they
were a party of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to
London as to an inheritance in which they were interested, especially
Cicely, who posed as a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which
they varied from time to time according to circumstances. In some ways
their minds were more at ease than when they travelled to the great
city, for now at least they were clear of the horrid company of
Commissioner Legh and his people, nor were they haunted by the knowledge
that they had about them jewels of great price. All these jewels were
left behind in safe keeping, as were also the writings under the King’s
hand and seal, of which they only took attested copies, and with them
the commission that Cromwell had duly sent to Cicely addressed to her
husband and herself, and Bolle’s certificate of captaincy. These they
hid in their boots or the linings of their vests, together with such
money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that
it would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in
despair, for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the
King’s horse arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever
he might lie in Lincolnshire.
To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King’s commission,
revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace’s
officers and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said
that he would give them escort until their roads separated. So next day
they went on again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom
there were about a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been
warned that he who insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged,
they did them no harm. It was well, indeed, that they had their
protection, for they found the country through which they passed up in
arms, and were more than once threatened by mobs of peasants, led by
priests, who would have attacked them had they dared.
For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were
citizens of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful,
perhaps because so few people lived in them, started forward by
themselves under the guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through
that country, buying or selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was
it to travel in also in that wet autumn, seeing that in many places the
floods were out and the tracks were like a quagmire. The first night
they spent in a marshman’s hut, listening to the pouring rain and
fearing fever and ague, especially for the boy. The next day, by good
fortune, they reached higher land and slept at a tavern.
Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of
rebellion, sought to know their business. For a while things were
dangerous, but Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that
they were scarcely to be feared who travelled with two women and a babe,
adding that he was a lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a
serving-man for dread of the King’s party. Jacob Smith also called for
ale and drank with them to the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as
their revolt was named.
In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another.
Moreover, they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained
undisturbed, although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey
and stored it with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the
revolt in the neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he
might have a strong place to fall back on.
So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
passed by.
Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not
to be, for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay
about two miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had
to ride many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it
was already well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of
forest in which the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the
woodland road, towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen.
Weary as she was, Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
“I know this place,” she said. “Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill
dream I had on that day I lost my father.”
“That is not wonderful,” answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying
the child, “seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him.
Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black
mane.”
“Aye, Lady,” broke in Bolle, “and there he lies also where he fell; they
buried him with never a Christian prayer,” and he pointed to a little
careless mound between two willows.
“Jesus, have mercy on his soul!” said Cicely, crossing herself. “Now, if
I live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
church and build a fair monument to his memory.”
This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
ears.
“What is it?” asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
“Horses galloping--many horses, master,” he answered; “yes, and riders
on them. Listen.”
They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse’s hoofs and the
shouts of men.
“Quick, quick,” said Bolle, “follow me. I know where we may hide,” and
he led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew
about two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four
tracks crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are
young, as every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and
winter, this place was very close, and hid them completely.
Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light
of the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King’s Grave
Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance
of not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
pursuers.
“Escaped prisoners being run down,” muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
She leaned forward on her beast’s neck, staring with all her eyes. Now
the two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned
his face to his companion and called cheerily--
“We gain! We’ll slip them yet, Jeffrey.”
Cicely saw the face.
“Christopher!” she cried; “_Christopher!_”
Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher--for it was
he--had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made quick
by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him shout
to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at
his heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too
late! Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they
were surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords
flashed in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on
an outrun fox. They went down--they vanished.
Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
held her back.
At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
look. Ten minutes later he returned.
“All have gone,” he said.
“Oh! he is dead!” wailed Cicely. “This fatal place has robbed me of
father and of husband.”
“I think not,” answered Bolle. “I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of
a man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
that women could learn when to keep silent!”