shall have at least half an hour to tell each other our histories, for
the nuns have gone to breakfast, and we will not be disturbed till the
bell rings; so pray you begin your tale, sir captive knight."
"No captive knight am I, only plain Geoffrey, son of Sir John De Forest,
an outlaw for conscience' sake, and it was my brother Hubert whom you
met. We were brought here yesterday by Chichely's men, having been
seized in our retreat on the coast. My father's castle is in ruins, and
he himself hunted like an evil beast upon the mountains. But I think I
saw you at London last summer, when there was preaching in the
brickyard."
"You did; I was there with my mother. My tale is not so very unlike your
own. I am Lady Katharine Hyde. My father was Lord Hyde, of Estly
Court; but he has been dead a year, and my uncle, the earl of Harcourt,
has taken me away from my mother and little brother Guy, and brought me
here to try and cure me of the heresy my mother taught me. I have heard
that his orders were to use pleasant means at first for my conversion;
but if at the end of six months I still prove obstinate, I am to be
given up entirely to her tender mercies. So they allow me now to walk
for a while every day in the garden; but I don't suppose that favor will
be granted long, and then I shall be completely caged, unless I do like
my friend, the robin--when I am frightened, fly over the wall."
"That were a feat I should hardly imagine your ladyship performing,"
replied Geoffrey, glancing up at the massive stone-work, and then at the
lady's not very sylph-like form.
"Ah!" said Katharine, shaking her head, "there are other ways of flying
beside going over yon mountain of stone. I have many plans working in
my brain, and what have I else to do in this weary cage, but think how I
may best break the bars? They called me Kate the Quick-Witted at home,
and it will be hard but that I shall deserve the name here also."
"God give you good success," sighed the young Lollard; "but when you
shall be free, I pray you sometimes to give a thought to the two forest
boys shut up in a gloomy dungeon, or perhaps lying in a bloody grave."
"Hush, hush! master Geoffrey," said Lady Katharine, dashing away a tear
from her bright eyes, and then relapsing into her merry mood. "Lollards
are hard to catch, and harder to keep, and I promise you I will not go
forth alone. Since they have made us companions in captivity, we will
see if we cannot be the same in freedom. And now I mind me of it, my
mother told me a long tale about our being of some kin in a mingled sort
of way, but I, giddy girl, paid little heed. So we are in some sort
cousins, Geoffrey, and now that I have set you the good example, see
that you call me Katharine, or better still, Kate, on peril of my
displeasure. But how came you here in this old cell? I did not think
that Mother Beatrice would put a companion for me in any place having
communication with this garden, her own private one."
The boy began to tell her about the old door he had broken down, and
about the parchments; but just then the convent-bell clanged, Lady
Katharine sprang to her feet, and saying hurriedly that the abbess would
be there in a moment, went off down the walk, while Geoffrey as
instantly retreated to his own cell. He found Hubert very anxious to
know what was the matter, for he had heard the voices, but, faithful to
his trust, he had remained watching the door, as his brother commanded.
He was of course very much interested in the history of their
fellow-prisoner, and delighted to hear that they had at least one
friend, however helpless, in their prison.
*CHAPTER XIV.*
_*Remorse and its Effects.*_
Mother Superior of Our Lady's Convent did not think it best to press an
examination on her prisoners, or attempt any active measures for their
conversion, until their hot heads had had time to cool in the damps of
their dungeon, and their obstinacy had been overcome by hunger and
solitude. She then hoped to find them quite willing to obtain their
liberty by recantation, and to purchase her favor by the betrayal of
their secrets; but she little knew the characters with which she had to
deal.
Boys who are thrown wholly on their own resources, and forced to act for
themselves, in stirring and dangerous times, soon grow up to manhood in
mind, if not in body. Geoffrey had been bred up in habits of
self-denial, and inured to every kind of hardship, and was besides
possessed of a disposition of that unyielding nature which, when guided
by reason and exerted in a right direction, we call firmness, but when
uncontrolled and directed to merely trifling things, we denominate
obstinacy. His was a spirit which is as much strengthened by
persecution as fire by oil; it only roused him to a fiercer action. He
could meet defiance by defiance, and taunt with taunt; and Lollardism
having been once assumed, there was little danger that it would be ever
thrown aside, unless it might be weakened by a long course of
prosperity.
Hubert was equally invincible, but his armor was of a different kind.
He had neither the power of body or mind which his brother possessed,
but in his very weakness lay his greater strength. His delicate health
had caused him from his earliest childhood to receive many indulgences
which his brother had been taught to scorn, and he had early learned to
prefer the chimney-corner and the crabbed letters of an old manuscript,
to the pleasures of the chase. Had no new principle been awakened
within him, he would, most probably, have become effeminate; but it was
not so. The doctrines which he had learned from Lollard preaching, and
the fragments he possessed of the Bible, had become a part of his very
being, and endued his tender spirit with that supernatural courage which
is far more difficult to conquer than mere physical bravery. His mind
was so thoroughly imbued with holy thoughts and heavenly aspirations,
that earth could offer him few temptations, while heaven seemed to him
so near and real, that dangers were but lightly regarded.
Notwithstanding all this, their prison-life began to tell upon them
both. They had been so long accustomed to out-door life and abundant
exercise, that the damp and confined air of their dungeon soon banished
the color from their cheeks, and made them almost loathe their coarse
fare. Then Kate's quick wit showed itself to some purpose.
"It is a foul shame," she said, during one of their conversations at the
window, as she noticed Hubert pressing his face to the bars as though
struggling to get as near as possible to the fresh morning air; "it is a
foul shame to keep two such young eaglets chained to a rock. This
window is not so small; if it were not for the bars, we might pass
through, and you might exercise in the garden at night. Let us see: I
venture these irons are none of the strongest; see how the rust has
eaten them."
This thought inspired them with renewed vigor, and they began to test
each bar by a vigorous blow. One yielded almost instantly, and another,
after a few efforts; but the rest were still immovable, in spite of the
pushes and pulls from Kate and Geoffrey, one working on each side. At
last the latter bethought him of the bolts on the broken door. He soon
wrenched them from the decayed wood, and brought them to the window.
One they used as a lever, and another, which was a pointed bit of metal,
Hubert sharpened, by rubbing on the stones, to pick out the mortar. This
furnished occupation and amusement for all three for many days, for
there were only certain hours when they could work without fear of
interruption, and many and merry were the conversations that took place.
The boys described to their young companion Forest Tower and their
retreat on the cliffs, and she in her turn told them stories of her home
at Estly Court, near London, of her little brother Guy, and her sweet,
loving mother. She told how delighted lady Eleanor would be to welcome
them, and how tenderly she would nurse Hubert when his head ached so
badly. In the account of Charles Bertrand, she appeared very much
interested.
"If he is only safe, and knew what had become of you," she observed, "he
might work outside, while we arranged matters within. It would do us
small good if we were this moment in yonder forest, if we had no one to
help us on our journey. That was what I could not think how to manage;
there was never a garrison yet that had not one traitor at least in its
midst, if one only knows rightly how to influence him; and I think I
know of one or two in this convent whom Mother Beatrice has not yet
turned into stone and built up into the walls."
But meanwhile, what had become of the faithful Bertrand?
Remembering well his young master's orders, as soon as the soldiers had
retired, he came out of his hiding place, and, having done what he could
for poor old Humphrey Singleton, he set about sending information of the
boys' capture to their father. He, however, found that the Lollard
communications had been much interrupted lately, and that it would be
necessary for him to go himself and carry the message.
He and De Forest, with other refugees, consulted together concerning the
best means of escape. Sir John determined to forsake his unhappy
country, and dwell, for a time at least, in Denmark or Germany. He
decided that in the early spring he would go to London, in hopes that
his sons might meet him there, and then all flee together. Bertrand was
to try and find out where the children had been carried, to wander round
in disguise, and, if possible, open communication with them. All the
details were left to his own inventive powers.
He therefore returned to York, entering it one snowy winter's evening,
footsore and weary, and not a little despondent. His disguise was that
of a minstrel, as best calculated to give him admittance into various
places where he might chance to hear somewhat of the objects of his
search. He was a tolerable performer on the crwth, or Welsh violin, an
accomplishment he had picked up in the course of his wanderings, and he
was glad to be able to turn it to such good account.
So far he had been entirely unsuccessful, and cold, wet, and hungry, his
chief desire was to find some inn or hostelry where he might obtain
refreshment. He turned into one of the humblest, as befitting his
station, and approached the fire, where a dozen rough-looking men were
drinking beer and cracking low jokes with each other, accompanying each
with a round oath and a burst of laughter. It seemed that most of their
witticisms were directed toward one of their number, who either could
not or would not reply, but sat in moody silence, with his back partly
turned to the company, drinking an immense quantity of beer, perhaps
with the hope of getting himself into a better humor.
"Now, by our Lady," said one, "I tell you Dick has cracked his pate."
"By the mass," said another, "he acts just like my dog that ran mad,
last year; he refuses his victuals, can't stay still a minute, and snaps
at the hand of his best friends."
"And he won't fight," said one long-legged fellow who sat cleaning his
sword and patting it affectionately; "he, who used to go into a quarrel
as a child goes to a show, with a hop, skip, and jump. Hola! Sir
Minstrel, sing us a song of the wars of king Harry, to put a little
spirit into yon lazy dog, who has grown afraid of his own cross-bow."
"By your leave, my merry masters," said Bertrand, "I will first put a
little spirit into myself; I am as wet as though I had swam across the
German ocean." So saying, he drew a stool up to the cheerful blaze, and
raised an immense leathern flagon to his lips.
At the sound of his voice, the persecuted individual in the corner
turned around suddenly; but the stranger's face was buried in his
drinking-cup, and he soon relapsed into his former state.
"So, so, friend, feed first, and sing afterward; take a good pull at the
liquor, and then sing us a song of Dick Redwood, the coward who trembles
at his own footsteps."
Dick here turned round somewhat fiercely, and muttered: "I can fight, ye
know that well enough, ye fools; there's not an arm here or in Yorkshire
that can swing a battle-axe like mine. Would'st thou see if it is any
weaker than it was when it tossed Gaspard, the Frenchman, over the wall,
like a ball out of a culverin? Look!" and the man bared the muscular
limb, and thrust it under his companion's nose.
"Ay, ay, he can fight; see that?" said one of the men, with a shout of
mocking laughter.
"True, with a cat," said the tormentor coolly, laying down the sword and
taking up a corselet, which he proceeded to rub with the most perfect
indifference to the gathering rage of his victim, who at length burst
out, his voice trembling with rage:
"Knave, thou liest! down on thy knees, or I will shake every bone from
thy carrion body! Down, like a dog, as thou art!"
The man shook the other's grasp from his collar, and, stepping back a
pace or two, cried: "I recant! I recant! Hear all! I take back what I
said touching the most worshipful master Dick Redwood, having therein
uttered a foul lie, and do positively affirm that he cannot fight with a
cat, except the poor animal be somewhat weak in the legs."
Amid the roar of merriment which followed this sally, the infuriated man
seized a huge cleaver, and swinging it round his head as though it were
a feather, soon cleared a circle around him, and was about to spring on
his tormentor, who was somewhat alarmed at the spirit his taunts had at
last aroused, and all dreaded a combat with a man whose personal prowess
had been undisputed before this unnatural sullen fit had come over him.
There was a death-like pause; then suddenly the eye of the soldier fell
on the minstrel. The change that one look caused in him was marvellous.
The color fled from his inflamed face, his eyes stared wildly, his limbs
seemed scarcely able to sustain him, and the arm wielding the weapon
dropped nerveless at his side. He put his hands to his brow, and
muttered something of fiends pursuing him, and blood on his head, and
then with one bound he cleared the circle, and dashed out of the door
into the darkness.
"I told you he was mad, Tom Jennet. Why did you hunt him so? He is
crazed no doubt, by a fall he had over the cliffs some weeks ago, and
has been strange ever since. Come, Sir Minstrel, now for your song, to
drive this crack-brained fellow from our thoughts."
But when they turned to look for the minstrel, he was gone. He had
slipped out unperceived, and was making his way as rapidly as possible
through the muddy streets, only intent on putting as great a distance as
possible between him and the madman, whom he had instantly known as the
great enemy of his master's house, and who, he found, remembered him.
He had gone, however, but a few rods when he was stopped by a heavy hand
laid on his shoulder; it was the Captain's voice that sounded in his
ear.
"Hold! I am a friend; be silent and follow me. God and our Lady know I
mean you no harm, but may tell you that which will be to your
advantage."
Bertrand was very much surprised; but resolving to see the adventure to
an end, followed his strange conductor in perfect silence through many
narrow and crooked streets, to another hostelry, meaner than the one
they had just left. The room was quite deserted, but the soldier drew
him into the darkest corner and called for liquor. For some moments he
did not speak, and Bertrand's curiosity had been raised to its highest
pitch before it was satisfied.
"It is all along of my wife Joan," began the Captain at last, with the
air of a man forced by some dreaded power to do something much against
his will. "You know who I am--everybody knows me, I think, and calls me
coward. He saved me, and I sold them, and the demons are on my track.
My wife Joan says it is all the wind; but can I not hear? am I not all
ears for their horrible mockings? One of them will creep around my bed
at night when all is still, and come up close to me, and then shriek,
'Judas! we have found our Judas again!' and then shake great bags of
gold before me, and laugh so devilishly. 'Ay, Dick,' they say, 'thou art
one of us now; thou makest a famous Judas! He sold the One who died for
him, for only thirty pieces, but thou hast an hundred.' Then they yell,
and dance, and shout again and again: 'Hail, Judas! King of the
Ingrates!'"
The soldier paused to wipe his damp brow, then continued, his voice
lower and hoarser than before:
"Yestermorn I was wandering by the shore--the demons make me wander far
and wide; as I was thinking, I picked up something at my feet--_it was
an oak branch_! I tossed it into the sea, for it burnt my hand. But,
look you, comrade! the waves mocked me, and threw it back at my feet,
and then they laughed and shrieked: 'We know thee, Judas!' Even as I
went back, I met two innocent-faced boys, but they kept the other side
of the way, and methinks they shouted 'Judas!' also, but I ran on.
"So then I told Joan, for I could no longer contain, and she bade me
seek you out, and without delay try to free the lads, and then, mayhap,
the fiends will leave me."
"In truth, man, I marvel not at the demons," said Bertrand; "but now, if
thou really wishest to undo thy devil's work, we are well met. I am
fully purposed to bring my master's sons out of their dungeon, or be put
in one myself."
"Come on then, for the love of heaven," said Dick, rising, and pulling
his companion by the mantle. "Come on to my wife Joan; she is as quick
with her mind as with her body; she will tell us what to do, and we will
cheat the devils yet."
They passed out of the city gates into the open country beyond, the
soldier striding along at a pace which would have been too much for his
already wearied companion, had not the renewed hope, and prospect of
assistance where he had least expected it, excited him, so as to make
him almost forget his fatigue. They discussed the whole situation of
affairs as they went along, and Dick at first seemed much relieved, but
presently his voice sank to the old hoarse whisper.
"What if it is _too late_! TOO LATE! Judas repented, Judas went and
flung the pieces down, and tried to save Him, but the blood was on his
head and on his children's! You see I know it all; the old man read it
out of a book that night I was watching, and then the little one told
the whole story upon the cliff. The blood is on my head, I tell you, and
if I cannot save them, I shall do as Judas did. I will! I must!"
Bertrand strove to calm the agitated man by preaching to him some of the
Lollard doctrines, but found his memory much at fault, and he longed for
either his young or his old master to pour the balm of consolation into
the heart of this their former enemy, whom he had begun to pity
sincerely. But this talk served to beguile the time, till they arrived
at a lonely cottage in the forest. A light twinkled in the window to
welcome them, and both were glad to enter the cheerful-looking room, and
warm themselves at the bright fire.
Joan had a warm supper ready for her husband, though it was quite late,
and she was glad to divide it with the man whom she thought most able to
help her husband in his distress. She was what might be called a
picture of comfort, for the middling class of those times.
She was dressed in petticoat of dark blue cloth, surmounted by a waist
or bodice of crimson, that showed in full perfection her well-rounded
form. Above this again was a snowy kerchief and cap, so jauntily
arranged as to display to the best advantage the clean white skin of her
throat and neck, and the brilliant bloom of her round fat cheeks. A
pair of bright black eyes looked out over a rather short nose, somewhat
on the retrousse order, unless when she happened to laugh, when the
visual orbs disappeared, and you became rather interested in her
well-set teeth, which she took care should every one appear.
On a solid oaken table, which she drew as close as possible to the fire,
she spread a steaming supper, talking all the while, as she moved from
the board to the fire, sometimes to her husband, sometimes to his guest,
and sometimes to the cooking utensils, the fire, or the meat.
"There!" as she set down one smoking dish before Bertrand's hungry gaze;
"there's not such another pair of hares in the county. Lie still on your
backs, ye fools; lie still, I say, like Christians! Little Dick caught
them himself, with his new net, in the forest."
At the sound of his name, up popped a little black head, from a bed on
the floor in the farthest corner.
"Ay, father, that net is a brave one; I will have two pair the morn!"
"Down with your head, ye saucy brat!" said his mother, making a pretense
of throwing at his head the gridiron she had just taken from the fire.
"Whist! ye little fool! would'st have Moll and Meg awake, and clamoring
for supper? Be still, and there'll be a bone for you the morn."
The child's head disappeared, and she continued apologetically, "The
naughty lad said he would not sleep till he saw his dad, the brats are
so fond of their father; but I did not think the little fool would keep
his word;" and the good dame put her hands on her hips, the gridiron
still in one hand, and a long wooden spoon in the other, and laughed at
her son's disobedience, before she could go on dishing out the meal.
She then turned to the dogs, who were lying under the table. "Out, ye
brutes! away, ye hounds! ye had no share in catching the game, and ye
shall have none of the meat." But even as she spoke, she belied her
words, by throwing them some very liberal bones.
"A truce to your tongue, woman," said her husband at last; "the meat is
good, but the sauce tasteless; we have other business on hand to-night!"
"And ye'll have no business done except I help you," she replied, not in
the least cast down by the rebuff. "There was never a matter yet, but
it was made or marred by a woman. If ye will not go my way, I will have
naught to do with it. Eat your fill, and sleep your fill, then in the
morn ye shall talk your fill, for then your heads are clearest. Ye may
well trust to me, for from me ye get your victuals, and, as the proverb
says: 'Always keep friends with the larder.' Yon lazy loon has not
brought me enough meat to feed the cat these many days, with all his
dreams and vagaries; but he had better bestir himself at daybreak, if ye
want a breakfast, for it is hard getting a meal out of an empty
cupboard, not to mention that I would not give it to you if I could,
seeing ye will not work."
All this was said in as harsh a tone as the good dame could possibly
force herself to use; for though she tried to make it appear that she
was cross and stingy, she was the most liberal provider, as she was the
most absolutely good-natured little woman in all the big county of York.
*CHAPTER XV.*
_*Plots and Counterplots.*_
Christmas had come and gone without bringing any change to the
prisoners, except that they saw less and less of Lady Katharine, whom
the abbess, using as an excuse the severity of the weather, confined
more and more to the house. But all this served only to excite the
quick-witted Kate to renewed exertion, and day and night she planned and
schemed how she might best free herself and friends. Her bright face
and lively manners, as well as the genuine sympathy and kindness she
showed to those around her, had endeared her to all with whom she came
in contact--all except the head of the house.
Mother Beatrice decidedly disliked and perhaps feared her. She felt
that the girl read her character, mocked her pretensions, and was ever
on the watch to thwart her plans. She was in her way decidedly, in more
senses than one. She had long hoped, by the influence of Lord Hardwick,
either to increase the splendor and power of her present convent, or to
be removed to a less secluded one near London; and as she knew him to be
very fond of his niece, however anxious he might be for her conversion,
she did not dare to use harsh measures toward the willful girl, who was
setting a dreadful example to the simple nuns, and did not seem inclined
to abandon a single one of her heretical notions. Such a grand
conquest, too, as it would be if she could only subdue her! She was
very matter-of-fact, and not much given to indulge in day-dreams;
nevertheless she had caught herself more than once imagining the time
when the noble Lady Katharine Hyde should bow her proud head to receive
at her hands the black veil of the order, while Earl Hardwick was in the
little parlor signing the deeds of conveyance of the whole estate to the
Convent of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows.