"Keep back, my men!" exclaimed Chartley, as the two first soldiers
rode down towards him; "keep back, or the peril be upon your own
heads."
The foremost of the pursuing party put his horn to his lips, and blew
a loud long blast, drawing up his horse at the same time.
"Yield you, yield you!" he exclaimed, turning then to the young
nobleman; "'tis vain to resist. We have men enough to take you all,
were you told ten times over."
"Call your officer then!" cried Chartley, "I yield not to a churl."
"Ay, and in the mean time the others escape," cried the man; "that
shall not be, by ----! Round, round! Over the banks," he continued,
straining his voice to the utmost, to reach the ears of his
companions, who were galloping down, "cut them off from the abbey!"
But the others did not hear or understand the cry, and rode on towards
Chartley and the rest, whom they reached, just as Iola was borne to
the postern gate.
"Hold back, sir!" shouted the young nobleman; "mark me, every one. I
resist not lawful authority! But marauders I will resist to the death.
Show me a warrant--bring me an officer, and I yield at once, but not
to men I know not. As to those who are gone to the abbey, you can
yourselves see that they are but a lady and two of the foresters to
guard her--"
"The lady is safe within the gates, noble sir," said one of the
woodmen, speaking over his shoulder.
"Thank God for that!" cried Chartley.
"We are not seeking for women," answered the soldier, "but there are
two men there; and we will know who they are."
"They are coming back. They are coming back," cried one of the men
from behind.
The soldiers perceived the fact at the same moment; but their number
was now becoming so great, one horseman riding down after another,
that they seemed to meditate an attack upon the little pass which
Chartley defended; and some of them rode up the bank, to take the
party in the flank.
"Mark you well, good men," said the young nobleman, raising his voice
to its highest tones; "if one stroke be struck, the consequences be
upon your own heads. I refuse not to surrender to a proper warrant, or
any officer of the king; but, as a peer of England, I will not give up
my sword to any simple soldier who asks it; and if I am attacked, I
will defend myself to the uttermost."
"Halt, halt!" cried one of the men, who seemed to have some command
over the rest. "Ride away for Sir William Catesby. He is on the road
just round the corner."
"There he comes, I think," cried another of the soldiers, pointing to
a large party, riding at a rapid rate down the course of the little
stream.
"No no," exclaimed the other. "I know not who those are. Quick, spurs
to your horse, and away for Sir William. These may be companions we
shall not like. He is round the corner of the wood, I tell you."
The man rode off at full speed; and the soldiers who were left drew
somewhat closer round the little party in the mouth of the lane, while
one or two were detached to the right and left, to cut off the woodman
and the man who had accompanied him, in case they endeavoured to
escape on either side.
Boyd, however, confirmed to walk slowly and quietly down from the
abbey, towards the group he had left below, casting his eyes from one
side to the other, and marking all that was taking place, till at
length, descending between the banks again, the scene upon the open
ground was shut out from his eyes, and he could only see his own
foresters, Lord Chartley, and the party in front.
A few steps brought him to the side of the young nobleman; and he
gazed at the ring of soldiers round the mouth of the lane, with a
smile, saying,
"What do these gentlemen want?" and then added: "Here are your friends
and servants, coming down from Hinckley, my lord, so if you have a
mind to make a Thermopylæ of the lane, you may do it."
"Not I," answered Chartley. "Would to God, most learned woodman, that
the time when Englishmen spill Englishmen's blood were at an end.
Besides, I could not make it a Thermopylæ, for the only Orientals on
the field are on my side;" and he glanced his eye to the good Arab,
who stood gazing upon the scene, with his arms folded on his chest,
apparently perfectly indifferent to all that was taking place, but
ready to strike whenever his master told him.
While this brief conversation was going on, the troop which had been
seen coming down on the right approached nearer and nearer; and at the
same time a gentleman, followed by eight or ten horse, came up from
the road which entered the wood opposite to the abbey green, riding at
a light canter over the green sward that covered the hill side. The
two parties reached the end of the lane very nearly at the same
moment, Catesby indeed the first; and his shrewd, keen, plausible
countenance, notwithstanding the habitual command which he possessed
over its expressions, displayed some sort of trouble at seeing so
large a body of men, over whom he had no controul.
"What is this, my good lord?" shouted Sir William Arden to Chartley,
before Catesby could speak. "We got news of your jeopardy, strangely
enough, and have come down at once to help you."
"I have ordered my knave to bring you a furred dressing-gown, and a
bottle of essence of maydew," cried Sir Edward Hungerford, with a
light laugh; "supposing you must be cold, with your forest lodging,
and your complexion sadly touched with the frosty air. But what does
the magnanimous Sir William Catesby do, cantering abroad at this hour
of the morning? Beware of rheums, Sir William, beware of rheum! Don't
you know that the early morning air is evil for the eyes, and makes a
man short-breathed?"
"This is no time for bantering, sirs," exclaimed Catesby. "Are you
prepared to resist the royal authority? If so, I have but to order one
blast upon a trumpet, and you will be surrounded by seven hundred
men."
"We come to resist no lawful authority, but merely to help a friend,"
replied Sir Wilhelm Arden; "and, in doing so, I care not whose head I
split, if it comes in my way."
"Peace, peace, Arden," cried Chartley, "Let me answer him. What do you
want with me, Sir William? and why am I assailed by your men, if they
are yours, while peaceably pursuing my way?"
"Pooh, pooh, my lord," answered Catesby. "Do not assume
unconsciousness. Where is the bishop? Will you give him up?--or, if
you like it better, the friar who rode with you from Tamworth
yesterday?"
"As for a bishop," answered Chartley, laughing, "I know of no bishops;
and as for the friar, if he be a bishop, it is not my fault; I did not
make him one. Friar I found him, and friar I left him. He remained
behind, somewhat sick, at the abbey."
"Then what do you here, my lord?" demanded Catesby, "tarrying behind
in the forest, while all your company have gone forward?"
"In truth, good Sir William," answered the young nobleman; "whenever I
am brought to give an account of all my actions, you shall not be my
father confessor. I will have a more reverend man. But you have not
yet answered my question; why I am menaced here by these good
gentlemen in steel jackets?"
"You shall have an answer presently," replied Catesby; and, stooping
down over his saddle bow, he conversed for a moment or two with one of
the men who had been first upon the ground, and who now stood
dismounted by his side. Then raising his head again, he said: "There
were three people left your company, my lord, a moment or two since.
Two have returned, I am told, and one was received into the abbey. Who
was that person?"
"You must ask those who went with her," replied Chartley. "They have
known her longer than I have, and can answer better. My acquaintance
with her"--he added, as he saw a meaning smile come upon Sir Edward
Hungerford's lip--"my acquaintance with her has been very short, and
is very slight. I have acted as was my devoir towards a lady, and have
nought farther to say upon the subject."
"Then your would have me believe it was a woman," rejoined Catesby.
"Ay, was it, master," answered the woodman, standing forward and
speaking in a rough tone; "or rather, as the lord says, a lady. She
was sent out by the lady abbess, as the custom sometimes is, to the
cell of St. Magdalene, there upon the hill; and when she would have
gone back, she found the houses on the green in a flame, and all the
wood surrounded by your soldiers. I wish I had known it in time, and I
would have contrived to get her back again, in spite of all your
plundering thieves. But the king shall know of all you have done, if I
walk on foot to Leicester to tell him."
"If it was a lady, pray, goodman, who was the lady?" demanded Sir
Edward Hungerford, laughing lightly.
"What is that to you?" exclaimed the woodman, turning sharply upon
him. "If she was a lady, forsooth!--I might well say when I look at
you, 'If you are a man,' for of that there may be some doubt; but
nobody could look at her face, and ask if she were a lady."
A low laugh ran round, which heightened the colour in Sir Edward
Hungerford's smooth cheek; but Catesby, after speaking again to the
man beside him in a low tone, fixed his eyes upon the woodman, and
demanded--
"Who are you, my good friend, who put yourself so forward?"
"I am head woodman of the abbey," answered Boyd, "and master forester;
and by the charter of King Edward III. I am empowered to stop and turn
back, or apprehend and imprison, any one whom I may find roaming the
forest, except upon the public highway. I should have done so before
this hour, if I had had force enough; for we have more vagabonds in
the forest than I like. But I shall soon have bills and bows enough at
my back; for I have sent, to raise the country round. Such things as
have been done this night shall not happen within our meres, and go
unpunished;" and he crossed his arms upon his broad chest and gazed
sternly in Catesby's face.
"Upon my life you are bold!" exclaimed Richard's favourite. "Do you
know to whom you are speaking?"
"I neither know nor care," answered the woodman; "but I think I shall
be able to describe you pretty well to the king; for he will not
suffer you, nor any other leader of hired troops, to burn innocent
men's houses and spoil the property of the church."
Catesby looked somewhat aghast; for the charge, he knew, put in such
terms, would not be very palatable to Richard.
"I burned no houses, knave," he said, with a scoff.
"'Tis the same thing if your men did," answered the woodman. "You are
all of one herd, that is clear."
"Shall I strike the knave down, sir?" demanded one of the fierce
soldiery.
"I should like to see thee try," said the woodman, drawing his
tremendous axe from his girdle; but Catesby exclaimed--
"Hold, hold!" and Chartley exclaimed--
"Well, sir, an answer to my question. We are but wasting time, and
risking feud, by longer debating these matters here. For your conduct
to others this night, for the destruction of the property of the
church, and the wrongs inflicted on innocent men, either by your
orders or with your connivance, you will of course be made responsible
elsewhere; but I demand to know why I, a peer of England, going in
peaceable guise, without weapons of war; am pursued and surrounded, I
may say, by your soldiery?"
"That question is soon answered," replied Catesby. "I might indeed
say, that no one could tell that you were a peer of England when you
were found a-foot walking with foresters, and such like people, below
your own degree. But in one word, my lord, I am ordered to apprehend
your lordship, for aiding and comforting a proclaimed traitor. Do you
surrender to the king's authority? Or must I summon a sufficient force
to compel obedience?"
"I surrender at once, of course, to the king's authority," answered
Chartley; "and knowing, Sir William, your place and favour with the
king, will not even demand to see the warrant. But I trust my servants
will be allowed to ride with me to Leicester, where I appeal the
immediate consideration of my case to the king himself."
"So be it, my lord," answered Catesby; "but if I might advise for your
own good, you would not bring so many men with badges of livery under
the king's eyes; for you know the law upon that subject, and that such
displays are strictly prohibited."
Chartley laughed.
"Good faith!" he said; "I am not the thoughtless boy you take me for,
Sir William. I have a license under king Edward's hand for these same
badges and liveries, which has never been revoked. Methinks it will
pass good even now."
"Be it as you will, my lord," replied Catesby. "I advised you but as a
friend. Nay, more; if you can find any other gentleman to be bound
with you for your appearance at Leicester, within three days, I will
take your lordship's parole to deliver yourself in that city to the
king's will. I do not wish to pass any indignity upon a gentleman of
worth, though lacking somewhat of discretion mayhap."
"I'll be his bail," cried Sir William Arden at once. "I am a fool
perhaps for my pains, as he indeed is a fool who is bail for any man;
but the lad won't break his word, although leg bail is the best bail
that he could have, or any one indeed, in this good kingdom of
England, where accusations are received as proofs, and have been for
the last thirty years, whichever house was on the throne. There was
nought to choose between them in that respect."
"You should be more careful, Sir William," answered Catesby with a
grim smile. "The house which is on the throne is always the best.
However, I take your pledge, and that of Lord Chartley; and now I will
back to my post, taking it for granted, my lord, that this was really
a woman who was with you, and that, even in such a case as this, a lie
would not sully your lips."
"I am not a politician, Sir William," replied Chartley, somewhat
bitterly; "so I have no excuse for lying. The person who just now
entered the abbey was a lady, seemingly not twenty years of age; and I
pledge you my word of honour, that her chin never bore a beard, nor
her head received the tonsure, so that she is assuredly neither man,
friar, nor bishop."
"Give you good day, then," said Catesby; and turning his horse he rode
away, followed by the soldiers, who resumed their post around the
wood.
"There goes a knave," said the woodman aloud, as Richard's favourite
trotted down the slope. "Had it not needed two or three men to guard
you, my good lord, your parole would have been little worth in the
Cat's eyes."
"On my life, Boyd, you had better beware of him," rejoined Lord
Chartley. "He does not easily forgive; and you have spoken somewhat
plainly."
"Humph! I have not been the only one to speak my mind this day," said
the woodman. "I did not think there was anything in the shape of a
lord, at the court of England, who would venture to show such scorn
for a minion--unless he was on the eve of falling."
"No hope of such a thing in this case," answered Chartley; "he is too
serviceable to be dispensed with. But now I must have my horse. By
good fortune, 'tis on the other side of the wood; so they will let us
get it without taking it for a bishop."
"And who is this bishop they are seeking?" asked Sir William Arden, as
he walked down on foot at Chartley's side, by a somewhat circuitous
path, to the cottage of the woodman.
"The only bishop whose name is proclaimed," replied Chartley, avoiding
a direct answer to the question; "is Doctor Morton, bishop of Ely; but
I trust and believe that he is far out of their reach. However, I
would have you take care, Boyd," he continued, turning towards the
woodman, who was following; "and, if you should meet with the bishop
in the wood, give him no help; for these men will visit it savagely on
the head of any one against whom they can prove the having succoured
him--I would fain hear how this hunting ends," he continued; "for I
have seldom seen such a curious chase. Can you not give me intimation
at Leicester?"
"And pray add," continued Sir Edward Hungerford, in a low tone, "some
information concerning the sweet Lady Iola. Her beautiful eyes," he
added, as Chartley turned somewhat sharply towards him, "have haunted
me all night, like a melodious song which dwells in our ears for days
after we have heard it."
"Or a bottle of essence," said the woodman, "that makes a man smell
like a civet cat for months after it is expended."
"Drown me all puppies," exclaimed Arden. "A young cat that goes
straying about with her eyes but half open, and her weak legs far
apart, is more tolerable than one of these orange flowers of the
court, with their smart sayings, which they mistake for wit;" and
imitating, not amiss, the peculiar mode of talking of Hungerford and
his class, he went on, "Gad ye good den, my noble lord! Fore Heaven, a
pretty suit, and well devised, but that the exceeding quaintness of
the trimming is worthy of a more marvellous furniture.--Pshaw! I am
sick of their mewing; and if we have not a war soon, to mow down some
of these weeds, the land will be full of nettles."
"Take care they don't sting, Arden," said Sir Edward Hungerford.
The other knight looked at him from head to foot, and walked on after
Lord Chartley, with a slight smile curling his lip.
The party met no impediment on the way to the woodman's cottage.
Chartley's horses were soon brought forth; and after lingering for a
moment, to add a private word or two to Boyd, the young nobleman
prepared to mount. Before he did so, however, he took the woodman's
hand and shook it warmly, much to the surprise of Sir Edward
Hungerford; and then the whole company resumed the road to Hinckley,
passing a number of the patroles round the wood as they went, and
hearing shouts and cries and notes upon the horn, which only called a
smile upon Chartley's lips.
When they had passed the wood, however, and were riding on through the
open country, Sir Edward Hungerford fell somewhat behind, to talk with
a household tailor, whom he entertained, upon the device of a new sort
of hose, which he intended to introduce; while Sir William Arden,
naturally a taciturn man, rode on by Chartley's side, almost in
silence. The young nobleman himself was now very grave. The excitement
was over. All that had passed that night belonged to the past. It was
a picture hung up in the gallery of memory; and he looked upon the
various images it contained as one does upon the portraits of dead
friends. He saw Iola, as she had sat beside him at the abbey in gay
security. He felt the trembling of her hand upon his arm, in the hour
of danger. Her cheek seemed to rest upon his shoulder again, as it had
done, when, weary and exhausted, she had slept overpowered by slumber.
Her balmy breath seemed once more to fan his cheek. The time since he
had first known her was but very short; but yet he felt that it had
been too long for him. That, in that brief space, things had
been born that die not--new sensations--immortal offspring of the
heart--children of fate that live along with us on earth, and go with
us to immortality.
"She cannot be mine," he thought. "She is plighted to another whom she
knows not--loves not." He would fain have recalled those hours. He
would fain have wiped out the sensations they had produced. He
resolved to try--to think of other things--to forget--to be what he
had been before. Vain, vain hopes and expectations! Alas, he sought an
impossibility. No one can ever be what he was before. Each act of life
changes the man--takes something, gives something--leaves him
different from what he was. He may alter; but he cannot go back. What
he was is a memory, and never can be a reality again; and more
especially is this the case with the light careless heart of youth.
Pluck a ripe plum from the tree--touch it as tenderly as you will; the
bloom is wiped away; and, try all the arts you can, you can never
restore that bloom again, nor give the fruit the hue it had before.
Happy those buoyant and successful spirits who can look onward at
every step, from life's commencement to its close, and are never
called upon to sit down by the weary way side of being, and long for
the fair fields and meadows they have passed, never to behold again.