The sun had set nearly an hour. The moon had not yet risen, and the
forest was all in darkness; but there were many people round the door
of the woodman's cottage. Horsemen, and men in armour, and a groom
leading a beautiful white horse, evidently caparisoned for a lady.
Through the chinks of the boards which covered the windows much light
was streaming; and the scene within was an unusual one for such a
place. There were four persons standing round a table, on which was
laid a parchment; and Iola and Chartley had just signed it. The earl
of Arran took the pen and gave it to the princess countess of Arran,
who added her name to the act; and he, himself, then subscribed his
own.
Two or three of the attendants, male and female, attested the deed
likewise; and then the woodman, if we may still so call him, placed
Iola's hand in Chartley's, saying, "Now, take her, noble lord, and
place her beyond risk and danger as speedily as may be. To your honour
she is trusted; and I do believe that neither your honour nor your
love will ever fail; but yet, remember she is not your wife till the
ceremonies of religion have consecrated the bond between you. I trust
we shall all meet again soon, in the presence of those who may rightly
judge of these matters; and I promise you there to prove, that the
contract between this lady and the Lord Fulmer is utterly null and
void, and that this contract is legal and good. To insure all,
however--for who shall count upon even a single day--give this letter
to the earl of Richmond, when you have joined him, and tell him it
comes from the woodman who once sent him intelligence which saved him
from captivity, and perhaps from death. Now, God's blessing be upon
you, my children. Nay, let us have no farewells, dear Iola. Take her,
Chartley, take her, and away."
"But was not Constance to meet us here?" said Iola, in a low tone. "I
thought she was to be my companion."
"I fear that has gone wrong," said the woodman. "The abbey gates were
closed an hour before sunset, and even one of my men was refused
admission to the mere outer court; but I shall join you soon and bring
you news. Though I can raise no great force, yet with what men I can
muster I will not fail to help the noble earl with my own hand. So
tell him."
Thus saying, he led Iola to the door of the cottage, with his own
strong arms placed her on the horse's back, and then with one more
blessing, retired from her side. Chartley sprang lightly and happily
into the saddle, and the whole party rode on. It consisted of some
twenty men besides the lover and his lady; and, at a quick pace, they
proceeded through the forest, taking very nearly the same direction
which had been followed by the woodman and the bishop of Ely, but by
the general road, instead of the narrow and somewhat circuitous paths
along which the prelate had been led.
I have not time or space to pause upon the feelings of Iola at that
moment--at least, not to describe minutely. They were strange and new
to her. She had encountered danger; she had resisted anger, without
fear; but her circumstances now were very different. She was not only
going alone with the man whom she loved into the wide world, with
perils, changes, and events, surrounding them on all sides like a
mist, through which the most piercing eye could not discover one ray
of light, but she was quitting all old associations, breaking through
every habit of thought, entering upon an entirely new state of being.
The grave of a woman's first life is her marriage contract. Did she
doubt? Did she hesitate? Oh, no, she feared for the future in one
sense, but in one sense alone. She believed, she knew, she felt, that
she had chosen well, that Chartley's love would not alter, nor his
tenderness grow cold, that her happiness was in him, and was as secure
as any fabric can be, built upon a mortal and perishable base; but she
felt that in uniting her fate to his, if she doubled the enjoyments
and the happiness of being, she doubled the dangers and anxieties
also. She was much moved, but not by that consideration--in truth her
emotion sprang not from consideration at all. It was a sensation--a
sensation of the awfulness of the change; and though it did not make
her tremble, yet whenever she thought of it, and all that it implied
through the wide long future, a thrill passed through her heart which
almost stepped its beatings.
With Chartley it was very different. Men cannot feel such things with
such intensity, nay, can hardly conceive them. His sensations were all
joyful. Hope, eager passion, gratified love, made his heart bound
high, and filled it with new fire and energy. He was aware that many
dangers were around them, that every hour and every moment had its
peril, and that then a strife must come, brief and terrible, in which,
perhaps, all his newborn joys might be extinguished in death. But yet,
strange to say, the thought of death, which had never been very
fearful to him, lost even a portion of its terrors rather than
acquired new ones, by what might appear additional ties to existence.
We little comprehend in these our cold calculating days--in an age
which may be designated "The age of the absence of enthusiasms"--we
little comprehend, I say, the nature of chivalrous love; nor, indeed,
any of the enthusiasms of chivalry. I must not stay to descant upon
them; but suffice it to say, Chartley felt that, whenever he might
fall, to have called Iola his own, was a sufficient joy for one mortal
life, that to do great deeds and die with high renown, loving and
beloved and wept, was a fate well worthy of envy and not regret.
Still he had some faint notion of what must be passing in her breast.
He felt that the very situation must agitate her; he fancied that the
mere material danger that surrounded them might alarm her; and he
hastened to cheer and re-assure her as much as might be.
"I trust, dearest Iola," he said, "that I shall not weary you by this
fast riding, after all the agitation of to-day. Once past Tamworth,
and we shall be more secure; for all my men muster at Fazely; and I
trust to find myself at the head of three hundred horse."
"Do you stop at Tamworth?" asked Iola. "I have heard that there are
parties of the king's troops there."
"We must leave it on the right, where the roads separate," replied
Chartley. "Stanley, I hear, is retreating somewhere in this direction
from Lichfield; but him I do not fear. If we reach Lichfield in
safety, all danger is past. Ride on, dear one, for a moment, while I
speak to some of the men in the rear. I will not be an instant ere I
return to your side."
He might perceive something to raise apprehension, as he thus spoke,
or he might not; but Chartley dropped back, and gave orders to two of
the men, to keep at the distance of a hundred yards behind the rest,
and if the slightest signs of pursuit were observed, to give instant
warning; and then, while returning towards Iola, he paused for an
instant by the Arab. "Ibn Ayoub," he said, "in case of attack, I give
thee charge of the most precious thing I have. Shouldst thou see signs
of strife, seize the lady's bridle, and away for safety, wherever the
road is clear. Fleet will be the horses that can keep pace with thine
and hers. A town, called Lichfield, is the place where we must meet.
Thou hast once been there, and dost not forget."
"Why should the emir fight, and the slave fly?" asked Ibn Ayoub; "but
be it as thou wilt."
"It must be so," answered his lord; "now, ride up closer to us, and
remember my words."
Thus saying, he spurred on and renewed the conversation with Iola, in
a cheerful though tender tone, and dear words were spoken, and bright
hopes expressed, which made the way seem short. They recalled the
past, they talked of the night when they had first met, and their
sojourn in the forest, and Iola forgot in part her agitation, in the
thrilling dreams of memory; but every now and then she would wake
from them with a start, and recollect that she was there with
Chartley--there alone--not to return in a few hours to the friends and
companions of early youth, but in one, or, at most, two short days, to
be his wife, to renounce all other things for him, and to merge her
being into his. It was very sweet; but it was awful too, and, as from
a well in her heart, new feelings gushed and almost overpowered her.
They had passed the turning of the road to Tamworth, and were riding
on towards Fazely. All danger of an attack from that side seemed over;
and Chartley's conversation became lighter and more gay, when suddenly
one of his men rode up from behind, saying:
"There are some horsemen following, my noble lord. They are but three
indeed, of that I am sure, for I rode up to that little hillock on the
common, whence I can see for half a mile. But I thought it best to
tell you."
"Spies, perhaps," said Chartley, in a calm tone. "If so, I would fain
catch them, and bring them in to Fazely. Ride on, dearest Iola. I will
take ten men, and see who these gentlemen are. All is prepared for you
at Fazely, and we are beyond peril now. I will follow you at once. Ibn
Ayoub, guard the lady."
"Chartley, you would not deceive me?" said Iola; "if there be danger,
I would share it at your side."
"Indeed, there is none," replied Chartley, "you heard, dear one, what
the man said. I know no more. There are but three men. They can make
no attack, and indeed no resistance."
He turned his horse's head as he spoke, and, taking the eight last men
of the troop with him, rode back to the rear. He had not far to go,
however; for, about two hundred yards behind, he plainly saw the
figures of three horsemen, one in front and two following, coming at a
quick pace along the road. He halted his little troop when he could
distinguish them, and as they approached nearer, exclaimed:
"Stand! Who comes here?"
"Is that thee, Lord Chartley?" asked a voice, which the young nobleman
thought familiar to his ear.
"It matters not who I am," he replied; "you cannot pass till you
declare yourself."
"May I never wear aught but a sorry-coloured cloth cloak and brown
hosen," cried the other, "if that be not Chartley's tongue. I am Sir
Edward Hungerford; do you not know me?"
"Faith, Hungerford!" replied Chartley, laughing; "like a kingfisher,
you are better known by your feathers than your voice. But what brings
you this way?"
"Seeking you, good my lord," replied Hungerford, riding up. "I have
been over at Atherston enquiring for you, and then upon a certain
green near a certain abbey; and I fear me, by riding through these
roads, in this dusty August, I have utterly polluted a jerkin of sky
blue satin, of the newest and quaintest device--would you could see
it; and yet now 'tis hardly fit to be seen, I doubt--but faith, all
the news I could get of you, was that you had ridden away towards
Fazely, where your musters are making, and, as I rode down to the
bridge on the Coleshill road, I caught a sound of horses' feet, and
followed."
"But what might be your object?" asked Chartley; "what your pressing
business with me?"
"Nay, I will tell you, when we get to Fazely," replied Hungerford;
"and we had better ride on quick, for I must bear back an answer to
Tamworth to-night."
The society of Sir Edward Hungerford, at Fazely, was by no means what
Chartley desired; and he determined on his course at once.
"Gramercy, Hungerford!" he said; "these are perilous times, which
break through courtesies and abridge ceremonies. Fazely is in
possession of my merry men. It is an open undefended village, and I
will let none into it, but my own people."
"Why, you do not look on me as a spy," replied Hungerford, in an
offended tone; "your hospitality is scanty, my lord Chartley."
"If you have to return to Tamworth to-night, Hungerford, it is not
hospitality you seek," answered Chartley; "true, I do not look on you
as a spy, or ought, but the best-dressed man of honour in the land;
but I do hold it a point of prudence, in times like these, to let no
one know the numbers and disposition of my little force, when one can
never tell in what ranks one may see him next. In a word, my gentle
friend, I have heard that you have been of late with good Lord Fulmer,
down in Dorsetshire; and Lord Fulmer is much doubted at the court, let
me tell you--of his love for me there is no doubt. Now, if you were
seeking me at Atherston and elsewhere, you can speak your errand here
as well as at Fazely."
"But you cannot read a billet here as well as at Fazely," replied
Hungerford, "no, nor smell out the contents--though I had it scented
before I brought it, which he had omitted."
"Who is he?" asked Chartley.
"My noble friend, Lord Fulmer, to be sure," answered the gay knight.
"Ah, then, I guess your errand," replied Chartley; "here, let us
dismount and step aside. Mundy, hold my horse." Springing to the
ground, he walked to a little distance from his men, with Sir Edward
Hungerford.
"Now my good friend," he said, "let me have it in plain words, and as
briefly as may suit your courtly nature."
The message, which Hungerford delivered in somewhat circuitous terms,
and with many fine figures of speech, was what Chartley anticipated;
and he replied at once--
"I will not baulk him, Hungerford, though good faith, he might have
chosen a more convenient season. Yet I will not baulk him; but, as the
person challenged, I will dictate my own terms."
"That is your right," said Hungerford, "we can have the cartel fairly
drawn out, and signed by each."
"Good faith, no," answered Chartley; "the first of my conditions is,
that there be no cartel. We have no time for fooleries. Events are
drawing on, in which all personal petty quarrels must be lost; but
still, although I might refuse, and refer our difference to a future
time, when peace is restored, yet I will not seek delay, if he will
demand no other terms but those I can grant at once. Thus then, I will
have no parade of lists, and witnesses, and marshals of the field; but
I will meet him sword to sword, and man to man, my bare breast against
his. Alone too let it be. There is no need of mixing other men in our
quarrels. It must be immediate too; for I have not time to wait upon
his pleasure. To-morrow at dawn, tell him, I will be alone upon the
top of yonder little hill, behind which the moon is just rising, if
that silver light in the sky speaks truth. There we can see over the
country round, so that his suspicious mind cannot fear an ambush. I
will be alone, armed as I am now, with sword and dagger only. Let him
come so armed likewise, and he shall have what he seeks. These are my
conditions, and thereon I give you my hand. Be you the witness of our
terms; and if either take advantage, then rest shame upon his name."
"I will tell him, my good lord," replied Hungerford, "but I cannot
answer he will come; for these conditions are unusual. 'Tis most
unpleasant fighting before breakfast. Men have more stomach for a
hearty meal, than a good bout of blows."
"Good faith, if he have no stomach for the meal I offer, he may even
leave it," answered Chartley. "'Tis the only time, and only manner
that he shall have the occasion. You own, yourself, I have a right to
name the terms."
"Undoubtedly," replied Hungerford. "Yet still the manner is most
uncustomary, and the hour comfortless. If I were a general I would
never let my men fight till after dinner: An Englishman gets savage in
digestion, owing to the quantity of hard beef he eats, and always
should be brought to fight at that hour when he is fiercest. However,
as such is your whim, I will expound it to Lord Fulmer; and now, my
noble lord, I trust you will not hold my act unfriendly, in bearing
you this billet, which I will leave with you, although I have
delivered the substance."
"Not in the least, Hungerford," replied Chartley. "I believe, like
many another man, you are better, wiser, than you suffer yourself to
seem."
"Thanks, noble lord," replied the knight, moving by his side towards
their horses; "but there was one important matter, which I forgot to
mention, though I have borne it in my mind for several months."
"Ay, what was that?" demanded Chartley, stopping.
"That last night at Chidlow," replied Hungerford, "your doublet was
looped awry. Were I you, I would strictly command the valet of my
wardrobe to begin at the lowest loop, and so work upwards; for it has
a singular and unpleasant effect upon the eye to see apparel out of
place, especially where slashings and purfling, or bands, or slips, or
other regular parts of the garment are out of symmetry. For my part I
cannot fancy any fair lady looking love upon such a disjointed
garment."
"I will follow your sage advice," replied Chartley, laughing; "and
now, good night, Hungerford. Another evening I trust to entertain you
better."
Thus they parted; and Chartley, putting his horse to speed, rode after
Iola and her companions. They had reached Fazely, however, before he
overtook them; and the young lord found the master of his household,
with all due reverence, showing the lady Iola to the apartments in the
large farm-house which had been prepared for her.
The place was not a palace assuredly; but many a little graceful
decoration had been added to its plain accommodations, since
Chartley's messenger had arrived that evening. Garlands of flowers had
been hung above the doors, fresh rushes strewed the floors, and
wreaths of box hung upon the sconces.
All was bustle too in the village. Groups of men in arms were seen
lingering about; and merry sounds came from the ale-house opposite.
Iola's heart, however, sunk a little, when she saw the many signs of
approaching warfare, although those who were to take part therein, and
peril life and happiness, seemed to treat it as a thoughtless May-day
game. A buxom country girl was waiting to attend upon her, some light
refreshments were spread out in the hall; and when Chartley's step and
Chartley's voice were heard, the momentary sensation of dread passed
away, and she felt that the first perils were passed.
An hour, a little hour, they stayed together, in sweet dreamy talk;
and then Chartley led her to her chamber, where a bed had also been
prepared for the maid. With a kind and gentle adieu, Chartley bade her
rest well, that she might be refreshed for their march on the
following day, and then returned to hear reports, and give directions.
The next was a busy hour. Orders, inquiries, the receipt of
intelligence, the examination of rolls and accounts, filled up the
time; and then, dismissing all to repose, the young lord sat down to
write. Two or three letters were speedily finished; one to Lord
Stanley, one to the Earl of Richmond, and one to Sir William Arden. A
few brief tender lines to Iola he folded up and put in his own bosom;
after which he wrote some directions upon paper, sealed them, and then
marked upon the back--"To be opened and followed if I be not returned
by eight of the clock--Chartley."
And then he sat, and leaned his head upon his hand, and thought. He
would not retire to rest, lest he should not wake in time; but the
hours of the night slipped by; and at length he rose, and broke the
slumbers of his drowsy master of his household, who, though startled
at seeing his lord by his bed-side, could hardly be brought to
understand what was said to him.
"Here, take these orders," said Chartley. "Put them under your pillow
for to-night, and see that they be executed at the hour named
to-morrow."
"I will, my lord. Yes, my lord, I will," replied the man, rubbing his
eyes; and having given him the paper, Chartley procured a cup of cold
water, drank it for refreshment after his sleepless night, and then
proceeded to the stable. There, with his own hands, he saddled his
horse; then mounted, and rode away.