A DUEL TO THE DEATH
Meanwhile Aline had been having a very unhappy time. She was
practically confined to her room the whole day long, but she did come
down for the mid-day meal. Master Mowbray, strong as his Catholic
sympathies were, not only resented the interference of the priests in
his house, but was concerned at seeing the child look so starved and
ill, and therefore he had insisted on this much.
It did enable Aline to get some nourishment, although she only had
bread and water for the rest of the time, and it did make a slight
break in the day, for she dared not use the secret stair except when
every one was in bed, for fear of any one coming to her room and
finding that she was not there.
But the meals were anything but a pleasure. Master Mowbray would look
at her sorrowfully, but he scarcely ever said anything, and Mistress
Mowbray would make cruel biting remarks and watch the child wince under
them.
Her poor little soul grew very sad and night after night she would cry
herself to sleep; “If only Ian would come--If only Ian would come.”
She was some time before she actually grasped that the inquisitors
would take away her life; but one day when Father Ambrose was at
dinner he had tauntingly asked her whether she had repented of her
folly; and then, with a leer, had rubbed his hands and said:--“You
obstinate minx, they are coming for you right soon and ah, how glad I
shall be to see your long hair shrivel up and your pretty face swell
and burst in the fire.”
Aline suddenly realised that he was in earnest and for the moment was
petrified with terror. Then she remembered that many children younger
than she had been martyrs in the old Roman days, and for the moment
there was a revulsion of feeling and she smiled to think that she was
worthy to suffer death in the Master’s cause.
Richard Mowbray had not realised it before either, and was shocked
beyond measure. He said nothing to his wife, but decided to set off
at once for York to see the Archbishop, whom he knew personally, and
discover what could be done.
He was on the point of forbidding Father Ambrose entry to the house;
but he restrained himself, as that would excite suspicion. He was
accustomed to going away suddenly for a few days at a time, so that
his departure that very afternoon surprised no one. He reckoned that
it would take him at least a week and told his wife not to expect him
before that time.
When Aline reached her room, her feelings swung the other way again.
“Why should she die; what had she done? She was sure that God would not
wish her to die.” She waited till night and crept down to the secret
room. She did not often do this even at night, as although there was a
good store of candles she saw no prospect whatever of replenishing it
and was afraid of using it up.
She sat down on the oak settle and tried to face the situation. If the
inquisitors came she must try somehow to escape and the incident of the
blue hose had suggested that she should do so in the garb of a boy. She
rummaged over the clothes that she found and set to work to put them in
order and adapt them for her own use. She chose the strongest things
that she could find and during the next few nights she managed with a
little alteration to fit herself out with a boy’s doublet, cote-hardie,
surcoat and a pair of trunks. She found an admirable mantle of russet
cloth that only required shortening and she herself possessed a pair of
strong sad coloured hose.
She reckoned that it would not be possible to cut her hair before her
escape; so she prepared three hats, one that was very large into which
her hair could be put in a hurry, a medium one into which it could be
put if very tightly twisted, and a smaller one, that she could wear
with her hair cut short to the ears.
She also began to lay in a store of provisions, saving all that she
could from her slender allowance, as she judged that it would be safest
to spend a week if possible, in the secret room until the first hue and
cry had subsided, if she should have to make the desperate attempt to
escape alone; but, poor child, her plan was frustrated.
It was very cold in her little chamber, so she had been wearing some
extra clothing; she decided therefore that the wisest course would
be to dress exactly like a boy and wear what was necessary of her
own clothes on the top. So she put on a boy’s shirt and trunks and
stitched points to her hose and tied them to those on the trunks.
Over this she put a cote-hardie and then a belt with a dagger. Above
this again she wore a girl’s longer cote-hardie and above that again
a short surcoat. The medium sized hat was made of silk and the finest
kersey and was therefore easily concealed under her clothes. It had
a full silk crown and a brim turned up all round nearly to the crown
itself, with slits every three inches, giving it a sort of battlemented
appearance with the crown just appearing above the top. Old fashions
still lingered in the North and Ian had had one like it, which he
said resembled one worn by Prince Arthur of Wales. She was helped by
a little drawing which Ian had made for her when they were talking
about the well known portrait. When she had done she felt very proud of
her handiwork and the long mirror was a welcome joy at the end of the
doleful days. She looked out a sword for herself and practised making
passes.
All was ready four days after Richard Mowbray’s departure and, three
days later, when he had not yet returned, there was a sudden stir and
noise in the outer courtyard while they were having the mid-day meal.
“That will be Walter Margrove, I’m thinking,” said Mistress Mowbray.
“They always seem to make that man’s arrival an excuse for neglecting
their work, idle hussies and varlets all of them!” She rose as she
spoke and went out into the screens. Aline followed her.
A tall priest had already crossed the threshold. “May I speak with
Master Mowbray?” he said.
“Master Mowbray is away, you must ask what you want of me. Come this
way,” she said, and stepped out of the door at the other end of the
screens, so as to be away from the servants and Aline.
“We have come,” said Father Austin, for it was he, “with a warrant for
the arrest of a heretic, a certain Aline Gillespie; see, here are the
seals thereon of Queen Mary and Bishop Bonner himself. It is well that
one be careful in these matters,” he said smiling grimly. “Some would
be content with lesser signatures and seals, but then their work might
be overset.”
They had been strolling toward the further end of the quadrangle and
were nearing the entrance to the stair that led to Aline’s room. It had
only taken an instant for it to flash through Aline’s mind that the
hour had come and it was now or never. She followed quietly behind them
and hoped to be able to slip up the stair before they could catch her,
and was ready to make a dash as they turned.
They turned just before reaching the door and Aline made a rush.
“Not so fast, my child,” said the priest, stretching out a long
interposing arm. “Whither away? I may want speech of thee shortly.”
He turned with a look of sanctimonious triumph to Mistress Mowbray.
“Mother Church will clean your house of its vermin for you, madam,” he
said.
Aline gave one little gasp of mortal terror and then stood dumb for
a second like a small bird caught by a beast of prey. She gave one
appealing look toward Mistress Mowbray and then swung round facing the
dining hall and paused a moment, with Father Austin’s hand still on her
shoulder.
“I prefer to clear my own house,” Mistress Mowbray said icily. She
disliked the man, she disliked his interference. He could not have said
anything more foolish. Aline’s interference had been outrageous, but it
was nothing to this; at least the child was one of themselves. Mistress
Mowbray’s wrath raged at the insolence of this outsider. She looked
again at Aline, delicate, fragile, ethereal, and the thought of the
appealing look of the beautiful child at last thawed her hard heart.
“What if ever Audry should be in a like plight?” she mused.
All this was in a flash, as she turned to Aline and looking her full
in the face, said,--“Audry, dear, run and tell Silas that there’s a
ratcatcher or something, who thinks that we have vermin in the house
and would like a job. You can also find Aline and tell her that he
seems to like catching little girls.”
Father Austin dropped his arm at the name of Audry; and Aline, though
puzzled, ran off swiftly. As Mistress Mowbray finished her sentence, he
bit his lip; he saw that he had made a mistake.
“Who is Audry, madam?”
“Audry is my daughter,” answered Mistress Mowbray with her chin very
much in the air.
“I thought that child there was Aline Gillespie,” said the priest.
“So it was,” said the lady, calmly.
“But you called her Audry, madam,” he replied, “and told her to speak
to Aline.”
“Did I?” she said with well feigned surprise. “You confused me so with
your peculiar language.”
Meanwhile Aline ran back to the screens, intending to go through and
cross the lower court and slip out over the drawbridge. She might reach
the stream and make her way up to the cave before any one clearly
grasped what was happening.
But when she came to the further door she was met by a large crowd that
had followed the inquisitors and it was useless to try and make headway
against it; besides she saw Father Martin’s head appearing above the
rest away in the background.
She turned back again with the head of the crowd and half mechanically
picked up a staff that was standing in the corner by the door, as she
passed into the court. She pushed her way past two men who were armed
with swords and were just stepping through the doorway. She might still
be able to get into the library and, desperate as the chance was, she
hoped to throw them off the scent by breaking a window before going
down through the kist to the secret room.
Father Austin was still standing near the bottom of the stair to her
chamber. That way was closed; so she ran toward the small flight of
steps leading to the little terrace in front of the library.
“Seize her, Hubert,” shouted the priest.
The big burly man, addressed, rushed after her. Aline swung round
suddenly and hit him unexpectedly with her staff on the side of his
head and darted on.
The man gave a great yell and the crowd roared with laughter, which
doubled his rage and, drawing his sword, he dashed again in pursuit.
Aline was fleet and reached the library door before he was half way
across the quadrangle.
She feverishly grasped the handle.
Alas, it was locked.
As she turned back, Hubert nearly reached the bottom of the steps. Four
more paces and his sword would be through her.
The heavy man took a great stride half-way up the stair. The hunted
child stood at bay.
How frail and slight she seemed; only a delicate flower ineffectively
beautiful. The crowd stood motionless and held their breath, while some
closed their eyes.
Hubert laughed at the absurd sight of the child barring his way. She
could no longer hit him unawares; he was armed and ready, he expected
nothing; when Aline, quick as lightning, by a dexterous turn of her
staff, twisted the sword out of his hand, and lunging forward, caught
him under the chin with her full force so that the big man overbalanced
and fell backward down the steps, stunned.
Aline stooped and picked up the sword. Hubert’s fellow, however, was
close behind.
“Kill her!” shouted Father Martin.
“Slay the witch, Gilbert,” echoed Father Austin.
As she picked up Hubert’s sword she had to draw back in rising and
Gilbert was already up the steps. He was a more active man than the
other, but he had taken in the situation and was no fool; so, child as
she was, he advanced more cautiously.
Poor little Aline had to think and fight at the same time. What was she
to do? Even if she overcame this man, there were others; obviously she
could not fight them all. But she thought of a faintly possible chance
and, before Gilbert closed with her, gave a glance across the moat.
Could she cross it? As she glanced she saw a sight for which she had
been longing all these weary weeks,--it was a single horseman with two
horses, evidently making his way toward the gully. He was turning to
look back at the Hall. She saw no more, and straightway began a very
pretty bit of sword play.
Gilbert proceeded warily and foyne, parry and counterparry followed
with monotonous precision. Aline kept very cool and at first attempted
little; but after a short time she tried a feint or so in order to test
him. She soon found that he was no mean swordsman; but she had learned
much from Ian, which he had brought from Italy and France; so Gilbert
in his turn discovered that she was not an opponent to be despised.
He reckoned however that his greater strength must tell in the end and
took things somewhat easily. For a time therefore nothing happened,
but a little later, after a riposte on Aline’s part, Gilbert made a
counter-riposte and just touched her on the arm. He began to feel his
superiority and pressed in harder, while she gradually drew back a
little and a little along the terrace.
Gilbert thought that he was slowly mastering her; but Aline was playing
for her own ends as her one slender hope was to let him wear himself
out.
The crowd by this time were spell-bound and even the two priests were
overcome by the fascination of the scene,--the beautiful agile child
and the dexterous but far slower swordsman. The silence was intense,
broken only by the clash of the swords.
Gradually they neared the end of the terrace. It was an awful moment
for Aline. The man was obviously getting tired, but she shrank from
trying to inflict a severe wound and he was far too skilful for her to
disarm him. There was nothing for it, however; and, when almost at the
little low wall at the terrace end, the instinctive struggle for life
began to tell and the fighting on both sides became more serious.
Aline received a slight scratch on her left shoulder and this settled
the matter and nerved her to a supreme effort.
As he lunged again she parried, made a riposte with a reprise following
like a lightning flash and swift as thought her sword was through his
heart and he fell dead on the pavement.
The crowd gasped. Aline stayed not an instant, but leaped upon the low
terrace wall. Standing still for a moment she tore her outer garments
from her and stood there like a lovely boy, save for the great flood
of hair that had come entirely loose and that was caught on the windy
battlement and blown like a cloud high behind her.
Then she paused and turning to the quadrangle thronged with people she
said: “How dare you play the cowards’ part, setting two armed men to
attack one small girl? God will punish you, Father Martin, and you,
too,” she said, pointing to Father Austin, “and the blood of the slain
man will cling to you and remorse shall tear your hearts. I am only a
child and it is little that I know, but I do know that there is no love
for a hard heart from God or from men.
“And you, Elspeth, Janet and those I love; it is hard to say good-bye,
but I must go.”
“Shoot her, shoot her!” shrieked the priests, “she blasphemes, she
takes the name of God in vain.” But the angry crowd surged round the
guard and would not let them move. One, however, broke loose and
raised his pistol; but as he did so, Aline, to the utter astonishment
of all, still holding the sword, dived into the moat.
“Our Lady shield thee, St. Aline,” cried a voice from the crowd; and as
the wall was too high to see over, except from the terrace itself, they
swept up in a mass, the priests, the people, the guards and all.
A few strokes took her over the water; Ian stooped and seized her under
the arms, drew her out of the water, lifted her on to the one horse,
vaulted himself on to the other and they fled like the wind.
Shot after shot then rang out and the bullets whistled only too
alarmingly near them, but they were soon out of reach.
“Mount and pursue,” shouted Father Austin, as he stumbled over the body
of the dead man, “and take this clumsy loon and bury him.”
“The horses are tired, we need fresh steeds for that,” said one of the
guard.
“Gramercy, take them from the Hall,” he roared.
But no one would find the keys of the stable and Mistress Mowbray,
coming up a moment later, said in acid tones, “Take your own horses,
Sir Priest, warrant or no warrant you cannot steal, and if you touch my
horses I will have you hanged as a common horse-thief.”
She looked at him triumphantly, the exercise of power delighted her and
she even felt a glow of reflected glory from Aline’s achievement. “We
know how to manage these interlopers,” she thought; “I am mistress of
this situation. Aline, you have done very well.”
Father Austin looked cowed, and the sullen people stood in the way
and blocked the road. One managed to secure a stirrup, another broke a
girth, while a third removed a halter altogether.
“You shall suffer for this,” said the priests, when they at length
reached the horses; but the attitude of the crowd was so menacing that
they became afraid for their very lives and finally had to fall back
upon entreaty before they were allowed to go away at all.
The result was that the fugitives had two full hours start on good
horses, before Father Austin could get his little troop under way.
“Had God sent a deliverer from the skies?” mused Mistress Mowbray, as
she sat and pondered the strange events of the day.