WHY MASTER FAWKES WAS SUMMONED TO ENGLAND.
Elinor sat by the fire with a piece of embroidery in her hand. Her
thoughts were evidently not upon it, for ever and anon she would lay
down the work and sink into deep meditation, which ended in sighs;
then, recollecting herself, the busy fingers would once more resume
their task. The sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor without,
caused her to turn toward the door, through which a man presently
entered, who exclaimed in a petulant voice, as he ineffectually
endeavored to fasten a sword belt: "Come, my daughter, lay down thy
pretty work for a moment, and aid thy father to gird this cursed
baldric about him, for the ends be as coy as an old maid and her
lover." She arose to comply with his request, and quickly fastened the
desired buckle, then inquired, on noting his attire:
"Dost thou go abroad to-night?"
"Verily, I do, if Sir Thomas doth keep his appointment. 'Tis past the
hour of nine, and much I marvel that he hath not yet arrived."
"Then I will now bid thee good night," she answered, approaching and
about to kiss him, when hearing one coming up the steps caused her to
delay.
"There, by St. Paul, he is at last," as a knock sounded on the door.
"Run, my daughter, and open to Sir Thomas."
The girl hesitated a moment as if loth to comply, then stepped into
the hall and withdrew the bolt. Soon the tones of a man's voice could
be heard exclaiming: "A good evening to thee, Mistress Elinor. It is
but fitting that an angel should unbar the door of Paradise, for I
deem the house naught else wherein thou dwellest." Kissing the
reluctant hand which he held, then observing Fawkes, who had advanced
to greet him, "Well, well, friend Guido; thou lookest fit for a battle
royal, with thy long war rapier girded by thy side. But," he
continued with a laugh, "it would ill become thee to go abroad poorly
armed in my company, for we do in truth seem to invite attack when
together. Did thy father tell thee, Mistress Elinor, of his adventure
yester-night, which had for its intent the rescuing me again from dire
straits?"
"Nay, he did not; for my father's brave deeds need not his tongue to
set them forth, and he is much too modest to narrate his exploits,
even though they had so worthy an object as the saving of thy life,"
she replied with a little courtesy.
"Marry," broke in Fawkes, "I was marveling why thou didst not come,
and was thinking perchance 'twould be better to go outside and listen
for the sound of a distant brawl." Then observing the small court
sword which hung by the other's side, he continued, pointing toward
it: "Thou art but lightly equipped. I wonder much that thou dost go so
poorly prepared; but," he added, loosening his long rapier from its
scabbard, "thy purse is safe to-night at least. Wilt come for a moment
to the fire, and warm thyself?"
"I cannot, though much I regret that precious time forbids; if thou
art ready, methinks we had best depart."
"I am ever at thy service," cried Fawkes, and turning towards his
daughter, who had thrown a long cloak over his shoulders, "I'll wish
thee a good repose, sweet one, for 'twill be late ere I return."
Embracing her, then going toward Winter, he continued: "'Tis most
pleasing to have a pretty face on which to kiss a sad good-bye, and
know that loving arms await to greet a happy return."
"Aye, that it is," he responded, biting his lip and watching the two;
"but we poor single men have no such bliss, and must be content to
watch the happiness of others. Still, there is left me the sweet
sorrow of saying good night." He extended his hand to the girl, who
let hers rest for an instant within his. "Now, if thou art ready,
Master Fawkes, I will follow."
The two passed out into the night, both turning, however, when half
way down the path to wave a parting adieu to the fair figure standing
within the door. For some little distance the men continued on in
silence, each engrossed in thought. At length, Winter observing that
Fawkes seemed well aware as to the direction they were taking,
exclaimed with some little surprise: "Master Guido, one would think
the way to my residence an old traveled road to thee, but if I
recollect aright, this to my knowledge is the first time thou hast
gone over it."
"Marry, but I have a guide, Sir Thomas," pointing to the dome of St.
Paul's church, which reared itself dark against the star-studded sky.
"Beshrew my heart, doth some angel of heaven fly before thee?" as just
at the moment Fawkes turned sharply down another street leading to
their destination.
"Nay, I have not that to point the way, but a friend of thine gave me
the direction. I did not think to tell thee the first night of our
meeting, for we had other matters of more pointed nature to engross
our thoughts," he added with a laugh, striking his sword; "and it did
slip my tardy mind that I was the bearer of a message from him to
thee."
"I can but illy guess who he may be; but, pray, say on, by what name
went he?"
"Giles Martin; and he did wish I would convey his best respects and
wishes for thy good welfare."
"By St. Peter! Where didst thou run across the man? I had deemed him
long dead, for naught have I seen of him these many years."
"The truth is, Sir Winter, he wished no mention made of his present
whereabouts; but I deemed thou hadst a sturdy friend in him, and,"
continued Fawkes, looking at the other significantly, "he did seem
well informed on divers topics concerning these troubled times."
"What dost thou mean, friend Guido?" asked Winter, turning a quick
glance toward Fawkes.
"I am but a plain man, and thy outspoken question invites little but a
plain reply. Therefore, I'll repeat his words, which were that thou
didst stand poorly with those in high places, and, further, the times
were such that hot outspoken opinions on certain subjects were apt to
be quickly followed by the whistle of an axe flying through the air,
and that the King----"
"A truce," Winter broke in, laying his hand upon the other's arm and
looking behind with some alarm as the two entered a thoroughfare,
which, by the number of people passing up and down, indicated their
approach to a central portion of the city; "by holy St. Dunstan, frame
not thy speech in such loud words, for it might be illy construed. But
here we are at our destination, and when within, thou mayst recite all
that Master Martin told."
The two paused in front of an iron railing surrounding a court-yard,
on which fronted a residence of no mean pretensions. After unlocking
the wicket, Winter, followed by his companion, proceeded up the walk,
and passing through the main doorway, entered the house.
"This is the first time, Fawkes, that I've had the honored pleasure of
thy company at mine own fireside," exclaimed Winter, when inside,
throwing his fur-lined coat upon a chair. Then observing that his
companion was already busily engaged in examining a trophy of swords
which decorated the wall, he continued: "What, do thy warlike eyes
ever seek the implements of thy trade? See, Guido, there is a suit of
mail that a valiant ancestor of mine did wear at Crecy," pointing
toward a stand of armor.
"Indeed," answered the other, examining it, "he must of necessity have
been brave, for, I can but illy see how running could be done, even if
the spirit prompted the legs, attired in this heavy harness."
"And now, if thou be ready," exclaimed Winter, evidently anxious to
arrive quickly at the task of the evening, "I will conduct thee to a
chamber wherein we may hold converse without fear of interruption."
The two proceeded, Winter leading the way to the end of the hall, and
passing through a heavy open door, which closed behind them, entered a
room well adapted to the discussion of such things as must not fall on
untrusted ears. The chamber was one of spacious proportion, but on
account of its massive black furniture, seemed to be of medium size.
The walls were hung in some dark, unfigured tapestry, which added to
the somberness of the apartment, and tended to spread over all an air
of gloom. The dimness of the place was in some degree relieved by a
crackling fire burning upon the hearth, and two silver candelabrums
holding lighted tapers, stood upon an oaken table occupying the middle
of the room.
The only window in the place opened down to the floor, leading out
upon a balcony overlooking the court-yard, and the interior of the
chamber was hidden from those passing by heavy curtains, which now
were closely drawn. A divan, several massive black oak cabinets, and
three or four high-back chairs completed the furniture of the room,
with the exception of a small table, on which stood a large and
curiously wrought silver flagon and several tankards.
"Come Master Guy," cried Winter, filling two of the cups, "let us
preface dry work with a drink of honest vintage, and then we will to
our task."
"With all my heart," replied Fawkes, taking the cup and draining it at
a draught.
"And now to business," exclaimed the other, seating himself by the
table and motioning his companion to a place opposite. Having settled
himself easily in the chair, shading his face from the light of the
tapers that he might better watch the countenance of the other, he
began in a quiet voice:
"I doubt not but thou didst deem it passing strange I made no
reference to the nature of the employment I had to offer thee, and,
mayhap," he continued, holding up his hand to silence an interruption
from his listener, "there hath arisen in thy mind suspicious thoughts
caused by a combination of incidents since thy arrival, which would
place me as one with whom to be identified were not as safe as serving
in the King's Guard. In point of fact, I refer particularly to the
outspoken words of our friend Giles Martin."
"In truth," responded the other, in that quick, brusque manner
belonging to his nature, "Master Martin did lay naught at thy door,
but what I, or any other righteous man, might deem an honor to a
house. Nay," he continued, with some vehemence, "if what he said be
true, then I am overjoyed to find employment with one whose faith is
his greatest crime."
"What may be the purport of thy words?" inquired Winter, slowly
turning a keen glance upon the speaker.
"I mean," exclaimed Fawkes, leaning over the table toward his
questioner, "that I would think it no disgrace to serve, or, if need
be, fall by the side of one who had the courage to openly or secretly
espouse the Catholic cause in these cross-breaking days. Aye, Sir
Thomas, I will speak without concealment, for I have guessed at many
things, and know full well that the time must soon be ripe when all
who have not craven hearts will arise in wrath, and by word of mouth,
of mayhap, if need be, by a more violent measure put down those who
advise the enactment of laws which have for their intent the uprooting
of the Church in this our Kingdom."
"By St. Michael!" exclaimed Winter, surprised that the other should
bring to the front so clearly his opinion on a subject upon which, he
had feared, it would require no small amount of questioning to elicit
anything, "thou dost astonish me with thine ardor; I always knew thee
as a brave churchman, but never----"
"Time hath altered my views on many subjects," interrupted Fawkes.
"The manners of the Spaniard are not always good, and their breath is
oft odorous of garlic; but by my troth, they know full well how to
treat a heretic," he added with a decisive nod of his head. "Say on,
for by thy manner I judge it is thine object to sound my depth in
certain matters. I know not what's afoot; but by St. Peter,"
continued he, striking the table a blow which made the tapers dance,
"if it hath aught to do with those--even though they be kings--whose
unholy hands would snuff our altar lights, thou canst count on Master
Guy to twist the rack or carry faggots."
During this recital Winter watched the other with keen attention.
Knowing Fawkes to be a man of indomitable will, combined with
undaunted courage, and one to stop at nothing in gaining ends
justified by his conscience, he had not hesitated to recommend him as
a valuable adjunct to the cause dear to himself and his companions.
Heavily the weight of responsibility rested upon him; it had fallen to
his lot that he should be the one to sound this man, and decide as to
how great or small a degree of their confidence might be given to him.
One error in judgment now might be followed by the death of all their
hopes, and by the thud of heads dropping into the axman's basket.
Therefore he weighed the matter well before saying:
"I did not over-estimate thy zeal. There are many things I would fain
tell thee, the purport of which methinks thou hast already guessed,
but which at present must not, for reasons, be spoken of. If thou art
willing for a time to remain in darkness, and take service as a
gentleman about my household, I can almost promise that the gloom of
thy ignorance on many matters may soon be dispelled by a lurid glare
which shall be red enough, even to thy liking. I have told thee
naught, but the very concealment of some things, to the observing,
doth show plainly what is hid. Ask no more, and, for the present,
content thyself with suppositions. If the conditions which I have
named suit thee, then thou wilt have access to these premises at all
times. Further, be my companion when I go abroad; for what is more
natural in these purse-cutting days than that a gentleman should
desire a lusty swordsman with him? Dost accept, and agree to all?" The
last word he pronounced with great emphasis.
"Aye, to all," responded the other grimly, arising and extending his
gauntlet.
"And I would further recommend," continued Winter, drumming on the
table with his fingers, "that thou say but little about this meeting,
even," looking narrowly at Fawkes, "to thy pretty daughter; for I have
remarked there is sometimes a certain visitor at thy house who, if the
report did reach his ears that two or three gentlemen of the Catholic
persuasion were closeted together, might denounce the assembling as a
conspiracy,--which would be most unjust--and bring the King's Guard
with small courtesy. Dost follow me, friend Guido?"
"That I do; but there's naught to fear; I know your meaning. Heretics
will no more darken my door."
"That is well, and I hope, truly spoken," replied Winter, nodding his
head in approval, and rising from his chair with an air of relief that
the business of the evening was settled. "Let us," he continued,
filling up the cups, "drink success to our compact."
"Ah!" cried Fawkes, pointing to the wine as it flowed from the
flagon's mouth, "A most fitting color be the draught;" then, as he
raised the tankard to his lips, "A toast, Sir Thomas, I will offer
thee. May we be as willing to give our blood when asked, as this good
flagon to yield its red cheer to us! And now I must set out for home,
and 'tis with a lighter heart than when I came. Dost thou wish my
presence here to-morrow?" he inquired as they reached the door.
"Thou mayst call on the stroke of ten, or thereabouts. Until then,
farewell."
The host watched the form of his guest disappear in the darkness, and
shutting the door, returned with a thoughtful step to the chamber
wherein they had been sitting. Filling a cup with wine and raising it
on high, he exclaimed with a laugh: "Troth, Master Fawkes, I did drink
to thy health awhile ago; now I will quaff a flagon to thy daughter.
Here is to one, Mistress Elinor, the fairest, the sweetest wench in
all England, and for one warm kiss from whose lips Sir Thomas Winter
would right gladly face grim death. Marry," he mused, setting down the
cup, "thou hast done, mayhap, a good stroke for the cause, in bringing
this bloodhound Fawkes from out of Spain, but young Monteagle, beware;
for if I be judge, the Spanish treatment of a heretic leaves but
little for the burial."