THE BETRAYER.
The writer must retread his steps for a while, to show the events
which had taken place in the city of Ghent since Ned Dyram and Sir
Simeon of Roydon were last seen upon the stage. Whether the reader may
think fit to do so or not must depend upon himself. All that the
author can promise is, that he will be brief, and merely sketch the
conduct of the personages left behind till he brings them up with the
rest.
The arrival of Sir Simeon of Roydon in Ghent spread the same terror
through the heart of poor Ella Brune that the appearance of a hawk
produces in one of the feathered songsters of the bush or clouds. Had
Richard of Woodville been there, she would have felt no apprehension;
for to him she had accustomed herself to look for protection and
support, with that relying confidence, that trust in his power, his
wisdom, and his goodness, which perhaps ought never to be placed in
man, and which is never so placed but by a heart where love is
present. Had she been even in London, her terror would have been less;
for even in those days--although they were dark and barbarous,
although tumult and riot, civil strife and contention, injustice
and wrong would, as we all know, take place in every different
country--the peculiar character of the English people, the homely
sense of justice and of right, which has been their chief
characteristic in all ages, was sufficiently strong to render this
island comparatively a land of security. Though there might be persons
to oppress and injure, yet there were generally found some kind hearts
and generous spirits to support and protect; and in short, there were
more defences for those who needed defence than in any state in
Europe.
Very different, however, was the case in Ghent, especially for a
stranger; and Ella Brune well knew that it was so. She was aware that
deeds could be done there boldly and openly, which in England would
require cunning concealment and artful device, even for a chance of
success; and the consequence was, that she kept herself immured within
the walls of her cousin's dwelling, never venturing forth, even to
breathe the air, but at night, and striving to make her companionship
during the day prove as pleasant as possible to the worthy dame of
Nicholas Brune. To her and to him she communicated the cause of her
apprehensions; and it is but justice to the good folks to say, that
they entered warmly into her feelings, and did all that they could to
mitigate her alarm and give her encouragement. But Ella Brune, in
answer to all assurances of safety, constantly replied, that she
should never feel secure till Richard of Woodville had returned; and,
as it was already beyond the period at which he had promised to be
back, she looked for his appearance every day.
From such subjects sprang many a discussion between her and her good
cousin, as to her future conduct. "Why, you know, my pretty Ella," he
would say, "you could not go wandering after this gay young gentleman,
over all the world; mischief would come of it, be you sure. Men are
not to be trusted, nor pretty maidens either. We have all our weak
moments; and if no harm happen to you, your fair fame would suffer.
Men would call you his leman."
"Ay, that is what I fear," answered Ella Brune, "and that only; for
though most men are not to be trusted, he is. But at all events," she
continued, willing gently to remove all objections to the plan she was
determined to pursue, "he might carry me safely with him to Burgundy,
or to Liege, as he brought me here."
Nicholas Brune shook his head; and Ella said no more at that time; but
gradually she put forward the notion of obviating all difficulties and
objections, by assuming some disguise; and on that her good cousin
pondered, thinking it a more feasible plan than any other, yet seeing
many difficulties.
"As what could you go?" he said. "If at all, it must be in male guise;
and though you would make a pretty boy enough, I doubt me they would
find you out, fair Ella."
"Why not as a novice of the Black Friars?" demanded Madam Brune, who
entered into the maiden's schemes more warmly and enthusiastically
than her prudent husband; "then she would have robes longer than her
own, to cover her little hands and feet, and a hood to shade her head.
There is no punishment either for taking the gown of a novice."
"Then, as this man Dyram must be in the secret," added Ella Brune, "he
could give me help and protection in case of need."
"Ah, ha! are you there?" cried Nicholas, laughing. But Ella shook her
head, no way abashed, replying, "you are mistaken, cousin of mine; but
perhaps you have so much respect for these holy men, the monks, that
you would object to a profane girl, like me, taking their garb upon
her?"
"Out upon them, the lazy drones," cried Nicholas Brune; "you may make
what sport of them you like for that. I would put them all to hard
labour on the dykes, if I had my will;" and he burst forth into a long
vituperation of all the monastic orders, in terms somewhat too gross
for modern ears, not even sparing the Holy Roman Catholic Church; but
ending with another wise shake of the head, and an expression of his
firm belief, that the scheme would not do.
Nevertheless, Ella Brune and his good dame were now perfectly agreed
upon the subject, and worked together zealously, preparing all that
was needful for Ella's disguise, while Ned Dyram brought them daily
information of the proceedings of Sir Simeon of Roydon, and made them
smile to hear how he had deceived the knight into the belief that Ella
was far away from Ghent.
"But if he should discover the truth," said Ella Brune, really anxious
that no one should suffer on her account, "may he not revenge himself
on you, if you give him the opportunity by going every day and working
in gold and silver under his eyes? I beseech you, Master Dyram, run no
risk on my account. I would rather endure insult or injury myself,
than that you should incur danger."
Ned Dyram's heart beat quick, though Ella said no more to him than she
would have said to any one in the same circumstances; but he shook his
head with a triumphant air, replying, "He dare not wag his finger
against me."
He added no more, but turned to the subject of Ella's disguise, having
before this been made acquainted with her project, and being,
moreover, eager to second it; for the prospect of having to leave her
behind in Ghent, if his young master should be called upon some more
distant expedition, had often crossed his mind, producing very
unpleasant sensations. Day after day, however, he visited Simeon of
Roydon, and generally found him alone. Plenty of work was provided for
him; and the payment was prompt and large. Now it was an ornamented
bridle that he had to produce, encrusted all over with fanciful work
of silver--now a testiere or a poitral arabesqued with lines of gold.
Sometimes he compounded perfumes or essences, sometimes he illuminated
a book of canticles, which the knight intended to present to the
monastery.
One morning, however, going somewhat earlier than was his wont, he met
the monk, brother Paul, coming down the stairs from the knight's
apartments. The cenobite gave him a grim smile, but merely added his
benedicite and passed on. Ned Dyram paused and mused before he
entered. More than once he had asked himself, what it was that
detained Sir Simeon of Roydon so long in Ghent. The Court was
absent--there was little to see, and less to gain; and the visit of
father Paul gave him fresh matter for reflection. But Ned Dyram was
one who, judging by slight indications, always prepared himself
against probable results; and he now divined that the discovery of the
truth in regard to Ella might not be far off.
He found no change in Simeon of Roydon when he entered, and the
morning passed away as usual; but on the following day the knight
received him with a smile so mixed in its expression that Dyram felt
the hilt of his anelace, and returned him his look with one as
doubtful.
"Shut the door, Master Dyram," said Sir Simeon of Roydon.
The man obeyed without the least hesitation; and the knight proceeded,
"Think you, fellow, that it is wise and worthy to cheat and to
deceive?"
"On proper occasions, and with proper men," replied Ned Dyram, calmly.
"Ah, you do?" cried the knight, with his brow bent; "Then let me tell
you that you will deceive me no more."
"That depends upon circumstances and opportunity," answered Ned Dyram,
with the same imperturbable effrontery as before. "I dare say you will
not give me the means, if you can help it."
"What, if I take from you the opportunity of cheating any one again?"
exclaimed Sir Simeon of Roydon. "What if, as you well deserve, I call
up my men, and bid them dispose of you as they know how?"
"You will not do that," replied Dyram, without a shade of emotion.
"Why should I not?" demanded the knight, fiercely. "What should stop
me? Out of these walls no secrets are likely to pass. Why should I
not, I say?"
"Because," said Dyram, in a cool conversation tone, "there is a
certain bridge in this city, over the river Lys, where you may have
seen, as you pass along, a foolish figure cast in bronze, of two men,
one going to cut off the other's head apparently. They represent a son
who offered to execute his father, when, as old legends say--but I do
not believe them--the sword flew to splinters in the parricide's hand.
However, that has not much to do with the matter, as I see you
perceive; but the fact is, that bridge is called the Bridge of the
Decapitation--not, as many men fancy, on account of those two statues,
but because it is there the citizens of this good town have a pious
custom of putting to death knights and nobles, who have had the
misfortune to become murderers. Now you must not suppose me so slow
witted a man as to come to visit Sir Simeon of Roydon under such
peculiar circumstances, without letting those persons know where I am,
who may inquire after me if I do not reappear. I am always ready for
such cases, noble knight, and to say truth, care little when I go out
of the world, so that I have a companion by the way; and that, in this
instance, at least, I have secured. 'Tis therefore, I say, you will
abandon such vain thoughts."
Sir Simeon of Roydon gazed at him for a moment, with the expression of
a fiend; but suddenly his countenance changed, and he fell into deep
thought.
What strifes there are in that eternal battle-field, the human heart!
What strifes have there not been therein, since the first fell passion
entered into man's breast with the words of the serpent tempter--ay,
with the words of the tempter; for man had fallen before he ate! But
perhaps there is none more frequent, than the struggle between passion
and policy in the bosom of the vehement and wily,--none more terrible
either; for whichever gains the ascendancy, ruins the country round.
There was something in Dyram's demeanour that suited well with the
character of him to whom he spoke. Opposed to him, it first excited
wrath; but yet a voice whispered that such a man might be made most
useful to his purposes, if he could but be won; and as the knight's
anger abated, the question became, how could he be gained? In regard
to Ella Brune, Roydon was aware of much that had taken place, but not
of all; otherwise his course would have been soon decided. By this
time he had learned that Ella had journeyed from England in the train
of Richard of Woodville; he knew that Dyram had stayed behind--not
dismissed by his master as the man had insinuated, but left in charge
of his baggage; and Simeon of Roydon suspected, judging of others by
himself, that he had been left in charge of Ella, also, by her
paramour. But of Dyram's love for her he had no hint, though there
might have arisen in his mind a vague surmise that such attachment did
exist, from the fact which brother Paul had discovered and
communicated, that Dyram visited her once at least each day.
That surmise, however, was enough to guide him some way, and after
pausing and pondering, till silence became unpleasant, he said,
"Perhaps, my good friend, you may be mistaken in what you fancy. No
fears of the results you speak of would stay me, were I so minded.
Those who have good friends dread no foes."
"That is what I say, sir," replied Ned Dyram, in the same tone; "I
have no apprehensions, because I know there are those who will take
care of me, or avenge me."
"You need have none," answered Sir Simeon of Roydon; "but not for that
cause. There are other regards that would restrain me. You have
deceived me, it is true; but you can deceive me no more; and now that
I know your motives and your conduct, I think that our ends may not be
quite so different as you imagine, and as I too imagined at first."
"Indeed!" said Ned Dyram, with a sarcastic smile. "I know not what
your ends are, or what you think you know. Knowledge is a strange
thing, noble knight, and those who fancy they know much, often know
little."
"True, learned master," answered Simeon of Roydon; "but you shall hear
what I know--I wish not to conceal it. Your young lord brought this
fair girl to Ghent; then, being called to serve the Duke of Burgundy,
left his sweet leman--" he paused upon the word, and saw his
companion's visage glow; but Dyram said nothing, and the knight went
on; "--left his sweet leman, with his other baggage, under your
careful guard. She lives now in the house of one Nicholas Brune; and
you see her daily. You love her; and, fancying that I seek her par
amours, would fain hide from me where she is. That you see is vain;
and I will show you, too, that what you suppose of me is false. I care
not for the girl; though perchance I may have thought, in former days,
to trifle with her for an hour. But I will tell you more, Dyram: I
love not your lord, and I believe that you have no great kindness for
him either. Is it not so?"
"All wrong together, puissant knight," replied Ned Dyram, with a
laugh. "She is no leman of Richard of Woodville--Sir Richard, by the
mass! for I have heard to-day he has been made a knight. Nay, more; he
cares no farther for her, than as a boy, who has saved a bird from
hawk or raven, loves to nourish and fondle it."
"That may be," answered Sir Simeon, who had now regained all his
coolness; "you know more than myself of his doings; but of one thing
we are both certain, she loves him; and it would need but his humour
to make her his. Of that I have had proof enough before I crossed the
sea."
Ned Dyram winced; but he replied boldly, "Because she looked coldly
upon you."
"Nay, not so," said the knight; "but on account of signs and tokens
not to be mistaken. However, if as you think he loves her not, my
scheme falls to the ground."
"And what was that, if I may dare to ask?" demanded Ned Dyram.
"I heed not who knows it," replied Roydon, at once. "I seek revenge,
and thought to accomplish it by taking this girl from him. As to what
is to follow, I care not. I never seek to see her more; would wed her
to a hind, or any one. But if you judge rightly, and he loves her not,
I am frustrated in this, and must seek other means."
There was a pause of several minutes; and both thought, or seemed to
think, deeply. With Dyram it was really so; though the more shrewd and
wise of the two, he had suffered the words of Roydon to fall upon the
dangerous weaknesses of his bosom, like a spark into some inflammable
mass; and doubt, suspicion, jealousy, were all in a blaze within. Yet
he had sufficient power over himself to hide his feelings skilfully,
and sought, neither admitting nor denying aught farther, to lead on
the knight to speak of his purposes more plainly. But Simeon of Roydon
saw there was a struggle, and that was sufficient for his purpose
without discovering clearly what it was. He did speak more plainly
then, and by many an artful suggestion, and many a promise, sought to
lure Dyram on to aid in separating Ella Brune from him who could
protect her; concealing carefully that it was on her his thirst of
revenge longed to sate itself, though Richard of Woodville was not
forgotten either; and before they parted, he thought that he had
nearly won him to his wishes. The man did, indeed, hesitate; but the
sparks of better feeling, which I have before said he possessed,
burned up ere their conversation ended; and a doubt which, even in the
midst of passion will rise up in the minds of the cunning and
deceitful, that there may ever be a knavish purpose in others, made
him desire to see his way more clearly.
All that the knight could gain was a promise that he would consider of
his hints; and Dyram left him, with the resolution to draw from Ella
Brune, by any means, a knowledge of her true feelings towards his
master, and to watch every movement of Simeon of Roydon with a care
that should let not the veriest trifle escape.
In the first object he was frustrated, as before; for the cold despair
of Ella's love, its utter unselfishness, its high and lofty nature,
was a veil to her heart which the eyes of one so full of human passion
as himself could by no art penetrate. But, in his second, he was more
successful--with the cunning of a serpent, with the perseverance of a
ferret, he examined, he watched, he pursued his purpose. He had
already wound himself into the confidence of several of the knight's
servants; and he now took every means to gain some hold upon them,
which was not indeed difficult, from the character of the men whom
Roydon had chosen. Neither did he altogether cease his visits to their
master, but, for many days, kept him negotiating as to the price of
his services; and, although he could not exactly divine the end that
the other proposed to himself, he learned enough to show him that
Roydon was sincere, when he assured him that no love for Ella
influenced him in seeking to remove her from the protection of Richard
of Woodville. He then admitted that he loved her himself, in order to
see what the knight would propose; and was not a little surprised to
find how eagerly Roydon grasped at the fact, as a means to his own
ends.
"Then she may be yours at a word," exclaimed Roydon, grasping his
hand as if he had been an equal; "but aid me boldly and skilfully in
what I seek, and she shall be placed entirely in your hands--at your
mercy--to do with her as you will. Then, if you use not your advantage
like a wise and resolute man, it is your own fault."
Dyram mused: the prospect tempted him: the strong passions of his
nature rose up, and urged him on; he could not resist them; but still,
cunning and cautious, he resolved to make his own position sure, and
he replied, "I must first know your motive, noble knight. Men are not
so eager without some object. What is it?"
"Revenge!" replied Sir Simeon of Roydon, vehemently, and he said
truly; but then he added more calmly the next moment, "I am still
unconvinced by what you have said, in regard to the feelings of your
master. Though he may seek a higher lady as his wife--and, indeed, I
know he does--yet he loves this girl, and will seek her par amours as
soon as he has made sufficient way with her; for I persist not in
saying that she is his leman. I have been acquainted with him longer
than you have--since his boyhood; and he cannot hide himself from me
as from others. At all events, that is my affair: I seek revenge, I
tell you; and if I think I shall inflict a heavy blow on him, by
making this girl your paramour, and am mistaken, the error will fall
on myself. You will gain your ends, if I gain not mine."
"My paramour!" said Ned Dyram, thoughtfully.
"Ay--or your wife, if you will," replied the knight; "but, perchance,
she will not, till forced, readily consent to be your wife--you
understand me. I will give you every surety you may demand, that she
shall remain wholly in your power. The course you follow afterwards
must be of your own choosing."
The great tempter himself could not have chosen better words to work
his purpose. It seemed, as if by instinct, that the one base man
addressed himself to all that was weak in the other's nature; and
there is a kind of divination between men of similar characters, which
leads them to foresee, with almost unerring certainty, the effect of
particular inducements upon their fellows.
Gradually, Dyram yielded more and more, resolving firmly all the while
to do nothing, to aid in nothing, without insuring that his own
objects also were attained; but, in the execution of such schemes,
there are always small oversights. Passion so frequently interferes
with prudence--the stream grows so much stronger as we are hurried on,
that it is scarcely possible to stop when we would; and, when once the
knave or the fool puts power into the hands of another, his own course
is as much beyond his direction as that of a charioteer who would
guide wild horses with packthread. How strange it is--perhaps the most
wonderful of all moral phenomena--that any man should trust another in
the commission of a bad action!
The question between Sir Simeon of Roydon and his lowlier companion
speedily reduced itself to how Ella Brune was to be separated from
those who could afford her protection; but the knight soon pointed out
a means, instructed as he was by another, who kept himself in the
dark.
"These people," he said, "with whom she resides, are known to be the
followers of a new sect of heretics, which has sprung up in a distant
part of Germany, and is similar to our own Lollards, only their
apostle is named Huss, instead of Wickliffe. The girl herself is more
than suspected of favouring these false doctrines. Such things are
matters of no moment in your eyes or mine; but the zealous priesthood,
fearful for their shaken power, are resolute to put such blasphemous
notions down; and, if you can but discover when these Brunes go to one
of their assemblies, which are kept profoundly secret, we can ensure
that they shall be arrested. The girl, then left alone, shall be
placed at your disposal. If she will fly with you from Ghent, for fear
of being implicated, well. If not, on your bringing me the
information, you shall have a sufficient sum of money to hire
unscrupulous friends, and carry her whithersoever you will."
"But if she should accompany them to their assembly," said Ned Dyram
at once, "how shall I ensure that she is not thrown into prison,
tortured, perhaps burnt at the stake? No, no--that will never do!"
"All those ifs can be met right easily," answered Simeon of Roydon.
"Ere you give any information, you can exact a promise from brother
Paul--"
"A promise from brother Paul!" exclaimed Dyram, with a mocking laugh;
"what! trust the promise of a monk! You are jesting, sir knight. Was
there ever promise so sacred, sworn at the altar on the body of our
Lord, that they have not found excuse for breaking or means of
evading? Do you judge me a fool, Sir Simeon of Roydon?"
"Not so," rejoined the knight, "the danger did not strike me; but I
see it now. It must be obviated, or I cannot expect you to go along
with me. Yet--let me consider--methinks it were easily guarded
against. Perchance she may not go; but, if she do, you can go with the
party, take what number of men with you you like, and, in the
confusion that must ensue, rescue your fair maiden. The gates, at this
time of night, are not shut till ten; horses may be ready; and there
is a castle, some five leagues off, on the road to Bruges, which I saw
and cheapened three days since, as a place of residence during my
exile. It is vacant now: you can bear her thither. To-morrow you can
speak with father Paul yourself, and make your own terms as to leading
him to the place of their meeting, if you discover it."
"No," replied Ned Dyram, "no! I will not go with him. I will be at
their meeting with men I can trust; so can I be sure that I shall be
near at hand to guard her. I will have it under his hand, too, that I
am authorized by him to go; or, perchance, they may burn me likewise."
"You are too suspicious, my good friend," cried the knight, with a
laugh that rang not quite so merrily as it might have done.
"A monk! a monk!" answered Dyram; "one can never doubt a monk too
much. I will gain the intelligence wanted, sir knight; but I leave you
to prepare this brother Paul to grant me all the security I ask, or he
hears not a word from me; and so, good night!--you shall have news of
me soon:" and, thus saying, he left him.
Simeon of Roydon bent down his head, and thought for several minutes;
but at length he exclaimed, biting his lip, "He will shear down my
revenge to a half--and yet, perhaps, that may be as bitter as death.
To be the minion of a varlet!--'Twill be a fiercer, though a slower
fire, than that of fagot and stake."