The trumpet sounded on the green beyond the walls; and by torch and
lantern light the young lord and his companions mounted in the court
before the chapel, and rode forth to join their attendants, after
bestowing some rich gifts upon the abbey. Though the sky was not
unclouded, for there were large masses of heavy vapour rolling
across the southern part of the horizon, and the night was much warmer
than that which had preceded, auguring rain to the minds of the
weather-wise, yet the moon was bright and clear, displaying every
object upon the little green as clearly almost as if it had been day.
Though not very fond of deeds of darkness, young Lord Chartley perhaps
might have wished the beams of the fair planet not quite so bright. At
all events, he seemed in a great hurry to proceed upon his journey,
without any very strict inspection of his band; for he exclaimed at
once--
"Now, Arden; now, Weinants; let us on at a quick canter. We shall
sleep well tonight."
But the eye of Sir Charles Weinants scanned the party by the moonlight
more accurately than that of his companion; and he demanded aloud--
"Why, where is the friar?"
"He is too unwell to ride on to-night. He will follow to-morrow," said
Lord Chartley, in a careless tone; and, striking his horse with the
spur, he proceeded, but not before he had remarked Sir Charles
Weinants make a very particular sign to one of his own attendants. The
knight raised his finger to his lips, pointed with his thumb to the
abbey, and then held up two fingers of the same hand. No sooner was
this done than he shook his rein, and followed his companion,
apparently unconscious that he had been observed.
For a minute or two the young lord seemed uneasy, riding on in
silence, and frequently giving a sharp glance round to those who came
behind; but he soon recovered his equanimity, I might say
cheerfulness, for he laughed and talked gaily with those around him,
especially when they came to that part of the road where, passing
through the forest, it ascended a hill so steep that the pace of the
horses was necessarily slackened. Sir Charles Weinants, for his part,
joined in, with his quiet gentlemanly cheerfulness, and seemed
perfectly free and unembarrassed.
The subject of their conversation, it is true, was not a very merry
one; for they soon began to speak of the discovery of a dead man lying
on that very road, the night before--killed, as was supposed, by a
fall from his horse--an account of which they had received at the
abbey, where the corpse was still lying. Light-hearted superficial
man, however, rarely suffers any event which happens to his neighbours
to produce any very deep or permanent impression on himself; and it is
wonderful how merry that party of gentlemen made themselves with the
fate of the dead man.
"See what it is to go too fast, Weinants," said Lord Chartley.
"Doubtless this fellow was riding a hired horse, and thought he might
ride him, up hill and down dale, as hard as he liked; and so the poor
beast threw him to get rid of an unpleasant burden."
"Served him quite right, I dare say," said bluff Sir William Arden.
"Why, how can you know, Arden?" demanded Sir Edward Hungerford, who
was riding his own beast in the most delicate and approved manner of
the times. "He might be as virtuous as an anchorite for aught you
know."
"The best man that ever lived," answered Arden, "deserves every hour
to break his neck, and worse too; and there never yet was a king's
courier, which they say this was, who is not worthy of the pillory
from the moment he puts the livery on his back. A set of vermin. I
wish I had but the purifying of the court. You would see very few
ears, or noses either, walking about the purlieus of the palace; and
as for couriers, I'd set them upon horseback, and have relays of men
behind them, to flog them on from station to station, for two or three
thousand miles, till they dropped off dead from fatigue and
starvation--I would indeed. They should neither have meat, nor drink,
nor sleep, nor rest, till they expired."
Lord Chartley laughed, for he knew his friend well; and Sir Charles
Weinants enquired--
"Why, what do the poor wretches do, to merit such high indignation,
Arden?"
"Do!" exclaimed the other. "What do they not do? Are they not the
petty tyrants of every inn and every village? Do they not think
themselves justified by the beastly livery they wear, to rob every
host and every farmer, to pay for nothing that they take, to drink ale
and wine gratis, to kiss the daughter, seduce the wife, and ride the
horses to death, because they are on a king's service, forsooth--out
upon the whole race of them. We have not a punishment within the whole
scope of our criminal law that is not too good for them."
"Hush, hush, Arden," cried Lord Chartley, laughing again; "if you do
not mind, Weinants will tell the king; and it will be brought in high
treason."
"How so, how so?" demanded Sir William Arden, with a start; for the
very name of high treason was a serious affair in those days, when the
axe was seldom long polished before it was dimmed again with human
blood.
"Why, do you not know the old proverb, 'like master like man?'" asked
Chartley; "so that if you abuse the king's couriers you abuse the king
himself. It seems to me constructive treason at all events. What say
you, Hungerford?"
"Very shocking indeed," said the gentleman whom he addressed, yawning
heartily; "but I hate all couriers too. They are very unsavoury
fellows, give you their billets with hot hands, and bring a hideous
smell of horse flesh and boot leather into the chamber with them. I
always order those who come to me to be kept an hour in a chill
ante-room, to cool and air themselves."
From the characters of all who surrounded him, Lord Chartley seemed to
draw no little amusement; but still, it would appear, his eye was
watchful, and his ear too; for, when they had ridden about a couple
of miles through the wood, and were in a shady place, where the beams
of the moon did not penetrate, he suddenly reined in his horse,
exclaiming--
"Some one has left the company--Hark! Who is that riding away?"
"Faith, I know not," said Sir Charles Weinants.
"I hear nobody," replied Hungerford.
"There go a horse's feet, nevertheless," cried Sir William Arden.
"Gentlemen all, have you sent any one back?" demanded the young baron,
in a stern tone.
A general negative was the reply; and Chartley exclaimed--
"Then, by the Lord, I will find him. Ride on, gentlemen, ride on. I
will overtake you soon."
"Let me come with you, my good lord," said Sir William Arden.
"No, no, I will find him, and deal with him alone," replied the young
lord; and, turning his head to add--"You can wait for me at Hinckley
if you will," he spurred on sharply, on the road which led back
towards the abbey. The party whom he left remained gathered together
for a moment, in surprise at the rapidity and the strangeness of his
movements.
"In the name of fortune," cried Sir Edward Hungerford, "why does he
not take somebody with him?"
"Every one knows his own business best," said Arden gruffly.
"Hush! hush!" said Sir Charles Weinants. "Let us hear which way he
takes."
Now at the distance of perhaps two hundred yards behind them, the road
through the wood divided into two; that on the left, by which they had
come, leading direct to the abbey and its little hamlet; that on the
right pursuing a somewhat circuitous course towards the small town of
Atherston. The footfalls of Lord Chartley's horse, as he urged him
furiously on, could be clearly heard as soon as Sir Charles Weinants
had done speaking; and a moment after they seemed to take a direction
to the right. The party still paused and listened, however, till it
became clear by the sounds that the young nobleman had gone upon the
road to Atherston.
Then Sir Charles Weinants drew a deep breath, and said, in an easy
tone: "Well, let us ride on. We can wait for him at Hinckley.
Doubtless, he is safe enough."
Sir William Arden seemed to hesitate; and Lord Chartley's steward said
in a doubtful tone: "I think we ought to wait for my lord."
"You heard what he said himself," replied Sir Charles Weinants. "Our
business is to go slowly on, and wait for him at Hinckley, if he does
not overtake us by the way."
So was it in the end determined, and the party proceeded at a foot
pace in the direction which they had before been taking. Mile after
mile they rode on without being overtaken by their companion, every
now and then pausing for a minute or two, to listen for his horse's
feet, and then resuming their progress, till at length they arrived at
Hinckley. They entered the inn yard, just at the moment that the
carriers from Ashby de la Zouche to Northampton usually presented
themselves with their packhorses; and they instantly had out landlord
and ostlers, and all the retinue of the inn, with lanterns in
abundance.
"Stay!" said Sir William Arden, as the attendants were hurrying to
dismount, and lead their lords' horses to the stables. "Please Heaven,
we will see who it is that is wanting."
"No need of that," exclaimed Sir Charles Weinants. "We shall learn
soon enough, no doubt."
But the good knight, who was a steady campaigner, and one of the best
soldiers of his day, adhered tenaciously to his purpose, ordered the
gates of the inn-yard to be closed, and the doors of the house and of
the stables to be shut and locked. He next insisted that the servants
should draw up in separate bodies, the attendants of each master in a
distinct line, and then made the ostlers carry their lanterns along
the face of each.
"One of your men is wanting, Sir Charles Weinants," he said at length.
"It must have been he who rode away, and left his company in the
forest."
"More fool, or more knave he," replied Sir Charles Weinants, coolly.
"He shall be punished for his pains by losing his wages. But, if I am
not mistaken, there is another wanting too. Where is Lord Chartley's
Moor? I have not seen him for some time, and do not perceive him now."
"He staid behind in the wood, Sir Charles," replied one of the
servants, "to look after the noble lord. He said--let go who would, he
would stay there."
"Perhaps my man staid for the same purpose?" said Sir Charles
Weinants.
"No, sir," answered another of the servants, attached to Sir William
Arden. "He left us some minutes before Lord Chartley, while we were
still riding on through the forest."
"Well, gentlemen, I shall remain here till my friend comes," said
Arden, in a marked tone; "for I do not altogether like this affair."
"And I shall stay, because I have had riding enough for one day; and
the inn looks comfortable," said Sir Edward Hungerford.
"I shall ride on, as soon as my horses have been fed and watered,"
rejoined Sir Charles Weinants, in a cold resolute tone; "because I
have business of importance which calls me to Leicester."
His determination did not seem very pleasant to Sir William Arden, who
looked at him steadily for a moment, from under his bent brows, and
then walked once or twice up and down the court, without ordering the
doors of the stables to be opened.
Weinants, however, took that task upon himself. His horses received
their food and devoured it eagerly; and then, just as the carriers
were arriving, Sir Charles Weinants rode out of the court yard,
bidding his companions adieu in the most perfectly civil and courteous
terms.
Sir William Arden suffered him to depart, but most unwillingly it must
be confessed, and, when he was gone, turned to Sir Edward Hungerford,
saying: "I should like to skin him alive, the cold-blooded double
dealer. It is very strange, what can have become of Lord Chartley."
"Strange!" said Sir Edward Hungerford, in a tone of affected surprise;
"why, he has gone to say a few more words to that pretty girl at the
abbey, to be sure. I should not wonder to see him arrive in half an
hour, with the dear little thing on a pillion behind him."
"Pshaw!" said Arden. "You are a fool;" and he turned into the inn.