THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER
CHARLES S BENTLEY
AND
F KIMBALL SCRIBNER
The Fifth of November
_A Romance of the Stuarts_
By
Charles S. Bentley and
F. Kimball Scribner
"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose"
--Thomas Moore.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1898, by Rand, McNally & Co.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. WHAT BEFELL AT THE SIGN OF THE LEOPARD. 1
II. IN THE SHADOW OF ST. PAUL. 11
III. THE HOME-COMING OF GUIDO FAWKES. 21
IV. THE SUPERIOR OF THE JESUITS. 33
V. WHY MASTER FAWKES WAS SUMMONED TO ENGLAND. 42
VI. "THE WISEST FOOL IN CHRISTENDOM." 52
VII. THE VISCOUNT EFFINGSTON. 61
VIII. IN THE GARDEN OF THE GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER. 73
IX. GARNET AND THE KING. 81
X. THE FORGING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 89
XI. THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 97
XII. WHAT THE MOON SAW. 108
XIII. AT THE SIGN OF THE LEOPARD. 119
XIV. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 130
XV. "THOU SHALT NOT KILL." 140
XVI. MONTEAGLE AND SALISBURY. 152
XVII. SOWING THE WIND. 158
XVIII. THE CELLAR. 167
XIX. THE NOTE OF WARNING. 178
XX. ON THE STROKE OF ELEVEN. 184
XXI. THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 192
XXII. FAWKES BEFORE THE KING. 200
XXIII. THE BANQUET. 207
XXIV. "IN THE KING'S NAME." 213
XXV. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 222
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
It has not been the intention of the authors of "The Fifth of
November" to write an historical novel, though, throughout the story,
they have endeavored to follow as closely as was consistent with the
plot in hand, the historical facts collected by the various writers
who have made the nature and workings of the "Gunpowder Plot" a
special study. With one or two exceptions, the characters in the
present romance have been borrowed from history, and, save in Chapters
XXI and XXII, the lines of the story have followed those traced by the
hand of the historian.
In presenting to the public this "Romance of the Stuarts,"
indebtedness is acknowledged by the writers to Professor S. R.
Gardiner's "What the Gunpowder Plot Was," and also to the history
of England as set forth by Knight, Hume, Froude and Ridpath.
THE AUTHORS.
New York, February, 1898.
THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT BEFELL AT "THE SIGN OF THE LEOPARD."
Snow had fallen through the day, and as night approached all objects
were covered with a mantle of white. The noises incident to the life
of a great city had long since become muffled and indistinct. The
footfalls of those who traversed the streets could no longer be heard;
and the only sounds which now and again broke the silence, were the
voices of my lord's link-men, who, in goodly number, fully armed,
carrying flaming torches whose lurid dancing light shone through the
blinding snow, appeared at a distance to be a party of ancient saints
come forth from their tombs to indulge in a ghostly frolic under cover
of the night. The voices of the men, falling upon the snow-laden air,
sounded dull and echo-less as they heralded the approach of a chair to
some sharp turn or gateway. An armed escort in those days was no mark
of royalty or distinction, for it was not well or safe for men to
travel the streets alone after nightfall, as many a sinister face and
cloaked form lurked hid in the shadow of secluded corners and dark
by-ways, awaiting opportunity to cut the purse, or the throat, as need
be, of the solitary wayfarer.
Numbers were no guarantee of escaping unmolested; for of late the
rogues had become so bold that it was a common thing for a party of
gentlemen to be attacked successfully, as the ruffians mustered in
their ranks many soldiers of fortune who had served in Flanders,
France and Spain, and were well versed in the play of both sword and
dagger. These acts of robbery and murder were confined to no one
locality, but the vagabonds who perpetrated the deeds had haunts and
places of common rendezvous, and as night fell, these dens poured
forth upon the town their murder-bent crews.
In one of the most narrow and crooked of streets, often lost amid the
winding of greater thoroughfares, and safely hidden from the watchful
eyes of the King's soldiers, was situated a tavern, patronized for the
most part by those who replenished their purses when low, by running
some belated traveler through the back, and taking what money he had.
This tavern was famous among its patrons for its mulled ale, the like
of which, they swore could not be found in all London. To those who
had not partaken of this famous beverage, and knew not the inn by
reputation, its business was made known by a swinging sign, upon
which, very indifferently executed, was the figure of a leopard, and,
further, as if the artist had not sufficient confidence in his powers
of portrayal, he had printed in large and uncertain letters, "At the
sign of the Leopard may be found all manner of goodly cheer and
comfort." Below this evidence of what might be found within, a small
and narrow doorway gave entrance to the hostelry. Inside, a larger
room than the outer aspect of the place indicated, awaited the guest.
A low ceiling, blackened by age, and hung with numberless spider webs,
whose weavers had long since fled--driven thence by the clouds of
tobacco smoke puffed from the lips of many a sturdy knave who nightly
helped to fill the place. The walls of the room being paneled in some
dark wood to an unusual height, the three windows, which furnished
more air than light, were well up toward the ceiling. The sides of
this chamber were decorated with rows of pewter pots and flagons of
various shapes and sizes. The furniture consisted of half a dozen
rough tables and high-backed benches ranged about the sides. The floor
was freshly sanded, but rough in many places from the prominence of
knots, the softer wood being worn from around them by the shuffling of
numberless pairs of boots. An uncertain light proceeded from several
large candles standing in brass candlesticks, but most of the
illumination was due to a fire which burned briskly in a large stone
fireplace at the extreme end of the room, and gave to all an aspect of
warmth and good cheer.
Standing in front of the blaze was the host of the establishment,
attired in the costume of his time,--a loose jacket, linen breeches
and green apron. He was eyeing with a look of no small displeasure
three men seated at one of the tables, two of whom, by their actions,
seemed to have partaken a little too freely of the Leopard's special
beverage. They wore the dress of a class, which, by their manner, was
one of no great elevation. Long, soft, wide-brimmed hats adorned their
heads, while tight-fitting jerkins of very much soiled leather covered
their bodies. Trunks and tights of some faded material, and boots with
deep falling tops, completed their costume, unless there should be
added the two long bellguard rapiers lying upon the table, and to
which, from appearances, the gentlemen in question owed their
livelihood. The man seated opposite was thick-set and slightly under
medium height; instead of the leather jerkin worn by them, his body
was incased in a steel cuirass or breastplate, which, judging from
the numerous dents thereon, had turned the force of many a savage
thrust and blow. The face of the man was one which had long been
exposed to both sun and storm, and even pestilence had not spared it,
for in many places the disfiguring finger of smallpox had left its
mark. His beard was worn in the style favored by the soldiers of the
Spanish, rather than the English army, for it was pointed and
surmounted by a long, black and up-curling moustache, which added
fierceness to an already not too kindly countenance. His sword, a long
point and blade rapier of Italian pattern, still hung by his side, as
if even when surrounded by this good cheer, he, from habit born of
many a hard campaign, still clung to it.
"What, ho, John Tapster;" exclaimed he of the steel cuirass, banging
lustily on the table with the pummel of his sword, "another six-hooped
pot of thy best mulled ale, for the sour and remorseful wine of Spain
which I have drunk, ill befits my stomach."
The landlord advanced reluctantly to comply, with an air which plainly
showed he was divided in his mind between the doubt of a settlement to
an already long unpaid score, and the fear of personal violence did he
refuse the man his request. The love of a whole skin, however,
triumphed, for after filling the pot with ale and plunging the mulling
iron into it, which he had drawn from the fire, he set the desired
drink before his guest.
"By Sir Bacchus!" said the stranger, after taking a deep draught,
"'tis the only fitting liquid to put into one's body, if he wishes to
strike a stout blow for the King." Then, as he finished the pot, "It
seemeth well to drown the clinging dust of Spain within one's throat,
in merry English ale."
The landlord did not venture to reply to these offers of conversation;
he seemed loath to enter into friendly talk, when in all probability
he soon would be embroiled with the man in a dispute, if not in an
issue of more serious nature. However, the other, nothing daunted, and
gazing on his two companions, whom he discovered wrapped in drunken
slumber, snoring roundly, prodded them both with the scabbard of his
sword, which action eliciting from them nothing but a grunt, and being
desirous of further conversation, he again turned to him of the green
apron who had resumed his watchful scrutiny from before the fire, and
continued:
"Thou seemest but sparing of thy speech, Sir Host. Judge a man not
always by the company he keeps; these drunken knaves whose silly pates
would have been turned with milk of the morning's drawing, are no
comrades of mine; 'tis only a mere chance friendship. I was not over
particular in my pick of friends, being lately landed, and but too
glad to take up with the first varlets speaking my own sweet English;
after many months of naught but jabbering Spanish sounding in my ears
'twas well and pleasing to hear once more the brave tongue in which my
first aves were taught unto me."
"Aves have not, I trow, over-troubled thee," answered the landlord in
not too jovial a tone.
"Nay, nay, friend; be not quick to judge by weight of purse or hilt of
sword, for a man with not over much money in his gipsire may still
have that about him which would recommend him more."
"And what, pray, might that be?" inquired the other;--"a handsome face
and ready tongue? They are goodly coin to win the heart of some fair
maid, but naught of cakes and ale they'll buy thee when thy belly's
empty."
"Nay, I will offer neither, for I have none of them. The first was but
rudely handled some thirty years ago by plague, at Havre; the second's
had but small practice, and its tone was spoiled by breathing the damp
winds of the Flemish marshes. I leave such graces to the stay-at-homes
who twist a tap--but, a truce to this witty talk, for it makes but ill
friends, and I would ask of thee a favor, which will cost naught but
civility, that is cheap and in the end may gain thee much." So saying,
he put his hand into a small bag which hung at his side, drawing
therefrom a very much soiled and crumpled paper, and advancing with it
toward the host, continued: "I am but illy versed in such priestly
craft; the meaning I can understand, but its full intent may have
missed my stupid eyes. Canst thou decipher it for me, Sir Host?"
This direct appeal to his learning softened to some extent him of the
spigot, whose curiosity as well as pride was aroused, for the man
addressing him, judging from his speech, was a little above the usual
class who frequented the tavern. Reaching for a candle which stood
upon the mantel, that he might better see, and taking the letter with
grudging fingers, said in a slightly more gracious tone after a
moment's scrutiny, "It ill pleases me, that monkish writing, but print
such as honest John Caxton did manufacture, I can decipher right
readily." Then with knitted brow, during which the other man remained
standing, looking over his shoulder in an expectant attitude, he
continued: "For truth, I could at first but illy make it out; I have
it now." Then read from the paper:
"'To Guido Fawkes: In the Army of His Majesty, Philip of
Spain: I doubt not that thou rememberest my promise, made
some time since, which I have now the pleasurable opportunity
to fulfill. Much it pleaseth me to offer thee a place, the
duties of which will keep thee near thy daughter, and,
moreover, the reward of such being not below the merit of him
who, by my knowledge, most honestly gained it, and is well
worthy. If it suit thee to accept the charge I have to offer,
the naming of which I shall defer until we meet, detach
thyself from thy present occupation, repair to London with
all likely haste, and seek me at my house when soon arrived.
"'(Signed) SIR THOMAS WINTER.'"
"Beshrew my heart, but thou art a ripe scholar, landlord, and much I
marvel to see one with such goodly learning wasting time on knaves
like these," cried the man, pointing to his companions at the table;
"and pray," he continued, "since myself hath been introduced in name,
I would know thine also, so I might thank thee the heartier."
"Giles Martin, for want of better," replied the host, "and dost thou
know this Sir Thomas Winter?" he inquired after a moment, still
looking at the note in his hand.
"Aye, and for a right brave gentleman, who hath done me noble
service."
"For one done unto himself, I take it, from the purport of the
letter?"
"A small service, not worth the mentioning," replied Fawkes. "Once in
Spain, a gentleman--the self-same Sir Thomas, was sorely set upon by a
surly ruffian, who, in exchange for his purse, would have given him
Paradise." Then with a deprecating wave of the hand, which he dropped
on the hilt of his rapier, "'twas but a weakly blow I turned, and
spitted the varlet with my good sword here. Zounds," he continued with
a voice full of enthusiasm, "for this petty act he did conduct my poor
motherless lass out of a country where, to the men, a pretty face is
as flint to powder, and brought her safe to London and her grandam."
"You saved his life; 'twas a worthy object and a worthy deed,"
exclaimed Martin heartily, who had been watching the speaker narrowly
during his narration.
"Tut, tut; 'twas nothing; but I take it thou hast acquaintance with
him," said Fawkes, turning toward the other, with a manner which
denoted surprise at the landlord's outburst of appreciation, "and may
direct me unto his residence, for after many years' absence I am
lately come, and illy versed in London's streets which are as crooked
as a blade that hath lain long in the fire."
"In truth, I do know where he lives," said Martin (then continued in a
lower tone as if speaking to himself) "and further, that he's in none
too good favor with the King. But as to his address: if thou wilt take
the dome on St. Paul's as thy guide, which thou canst most readily
see, proceed thither, and when reached, continue down the street
running toward the left, a few more steps will bring thee to a house
surrounded by an iron railing; it is the one thou seekest." He
hesitated a moment, then continued as if good judgment had been
overcome by enthusiasm--"and when thou dost behold Sir Thomas, make
mention that Giles Martin (say naught of my present calling, for he
knows me not by that) sends his duty, and would again at his elbow cry
in the self-same voice, 'An Essex, An Essex!' Perchance," Martin
added, suddenly breaking off, fearing he had been incautious before a
stranger in connecting his name with an incident which had brought but
little honor with it, "that is why I am now doing this," taking a
soiled tankard from the table and wiping it on his apron.
"Gladly will I be the bearer of thy message, but as thou hast said,
why does Sir Winter stand in ill repute?"
"It may be," answered Martin, turning his gaze upon the two men at the
table, then setting down the tankard, "that he hath a quick temper and
a ready tongue, swift steeds in our time to pull a man's head upon the
block," and advancing toward the other concluded in a low voice full
of emotion, "mayhap memory doth hold up a mirror to his eye, in which
is reflected Mary's dripping head, chopped for her faith."
"Verily," cried Fawkes, in a loud tone characteristic of one not
afraid of voicing opinions that lay near his heart, "would that good
King James might look into the glass thou dost mention and see the
promises of his youth, for naught of promise or his mother's head
methinks----"
"Hist," whispered Martin, breaking in and laying his hand upon the
speaker, "a truce to such treason talk; naught has it done but brought
me to an ill-famed pot-house," he concluded in a thoughtful voice.
"Well, well, none of thy story will I ask; but in Spain they do illy
treat a heretic," Fawkes continued, looking significantly at the fire,
and pointing toward it with his outstretched arm; "a truce, as thou
sayest, for I must no longer tarry. Saint Paul's bell is on the stroke
of ten, and I would see Sir Winter, and (in a softer voice) my lass,
to-night; for honestly, I am more than anxious to see her pretty face;
first I must bid yon knaves good-bye." So saying he endeavored to
rouse the companions of his cups. Not being able however to bring them
to any degree of consciousness, he discontinued his exertions, and
turning toward the landlord, who had been watching his efforts, said,
laughingly: "'tis but little harm they'll do in sleep, and I trow
they are none too good when in their seven senses, so I will leave
them thus; but take thou from this the reckoning of us all, for naught
of gold they have, I swear"--handing the other a purse, which, after
extracting a sovereign, Martin returned to its owner.
"'Tis but a sorry night in which to travel," remarked the host,
pocketing the money and proceeding to rake the fire, while his guest
wrapped about himself a long, thick cloak which had hung over the back
of a bench.
"Aye, 'tis cold, and steel draws unto itself the frost," responded
Fawkes, as he finished his preparations for departure. "And now, Sir
Host," he continued, extending his hand, "farewell, but soon, when I
am once more to rights, it will do me pleasure to quaff a flagon in
thy honest company, for such is a man who knoweth Sir Thomas Winter,
and," he continued, drawing closer to the other, "is no prating
Protestant in these times when he who would seek a favor or gain a
title must blow out the candles on his altar, and break its images.
Start not at my words, for by thy very speech thou art no heretic, and
I do love thee the better for it. But see," he continued as he opened
the door, "the night is already mended, the snow hath ceased, the moon
shows bright, and by my troth, there is my guide," and he pointed to
the distant dome of St. Paul, on which a huge cross glistened in the
moonlight.