GARNET AND THE KING.
Toward the decline of the tenth day following the meeting of
Viscount Effingston and Sir Thomas Winter in the garden of the
Gentleman-Pensioner, four men might have been seen riding through one
of the stretches of woodland used by the King as a hunting ground and
known as the forest of Waltham. Although light still lingered, a gloom
was gathering over the countryside, and within the precincts of the
forest the first shades of evening warned the horsemen that ere many
hours the cheerless twilight which prevailed in England at that period
of the year, would find them outside the gates of London.
Of the four, three were gentlemen; the other seemed to be more a
soldier than a cavalier. The trappings of his horse were less rich
than those of his companions, the texture of his cloak was of poorer
quality, and he bestrode the saddle after the manner of one inured to
rough riding, when business took precedence of pleasure, a custom not
commonly followed among the gentry of the kingdom. His companions were
so muffled in their cloaks as to hide both dress and features. Each
wore at his side a long rapier, and from their holsters appeared the
metal-marked butts of pistols, ready to hand should sudden danger
assail them.
After passing through the outskirts of the forest bordering on the
north, the horses were urged into a gallop, the sharp ring of their
hoofs on the frost-hardened road echoing dully among the trees on
either side. As they entered the thickest part of the wood, one,
riding in the rear, turned to his companion.
"Thou seest," said he, pointing with his whip toward the forest on the
left, "that our lord, the King, hath reserved for his own pleasure a
goodly bit of woodland within which none may venture with hounds or
hunting horns."
"Such a rumor hath come to me," replied the other, "also that any
venturing within the royal chase will be dealt with most vigorously."
His companion laughed harshly. "Of that," said he, "I was myself a
witness, for 'twas but ten days back when one Charles Burrows, a most
worthy commoner, and a staunch Catholic, was brought before the
magistrates for having shot a hare which crossed his path."
"I'faith!" muttered the other, "'Tis then the purpose of the King to
carry his oppression even beyond our altars. It seemeth to me a most
fitting thing, Sir Thomas, that the kingdom be rid of such a tyrant."
"Bravely spoken, Master Fawkes," replied Winter, "and thou wilt be
ready should occasion arise, to protest against our wrongs! But what
now is the trouble with worthy Catesby, and his Reverence?"
The exclamation was called forth by the action of the two horsemen who
were leading the little cavalcade. They had pulled up their steeds and
appeared to be listening intently, though to the ears of their
companions, who had dropped some ten score paces behind, no sound save
the moaning of the wind could be heard. But as they also drew rein,
and the click of their horses' hoofs ceased, the faint echo of a horn
was borne through the wintry air.
Drawing together, the four strained their ears to note the direction
whence it came; across the face of one rider stole a shadow of
anxiety. Sir Thomas Winter noted it.
"I warrant," said he, "that none is abroad who will in any manner
trouble us. 'Tis some hunting party returning from the chase, and
riding toward the highway. What thinkest thou, good Catesby?"
"Thou mayst have conjectured aright," replied Catesby; "yet, 'twould
be a wise precaution to remain silent, if any seeking to know our
business did beset us. Mayhap even a purple cloak and doublet would
scarce hide from them that the Superior of the----"
Garnet, for the fourth horseman was the leader of the English Jesuits,
raised his head proudly.
"A truce, gentlemen!" said he, "'Tis not meet that, having ventured
forth disguised, I play the coward at the simple sounding of a horn.
Let us ride forward as befitteth four peaceable English gentlemen. The
King's highway is free to all who choose to pass thereon, even though
the forest bordering it be reserved for those who have gained the
smile of James."
"And," said Fawkes, "'tis not the wont of a hunting party to play
highwaymen, the less so that the King, perchance, rideth with it."
"The King!" cried Winter and Catesby, in a breath.
"Aye!" replied Fawkes bluntly. "Have ye not told me that the royal
wood of Waltham is reserved for the hunting of his Majesty?"
His companions exchanged quick glances. "Then, we had best hide
ourselves," cried Winter, "James hath a prying disposition."
"Methinks," said Garnet, raising his hand to enforce silence, "that
but one horn sounded. If, as thou sayest, it be a hunting party, the
wood would echo with a score of blasts. Shall we run from one man?"
Fawkes loosened his sword in its scabbard. "I have this," said he, "to
back our presence in the forest, and are ye weaponless?"
The bluff words of the soldier of fortune put to shame the fears of
the two noblemen, yet they hesitated. Should they be suspected, it
would not be a light matter to evade certain questions which might be
asked, and if taken to London captives, the disguise of the Jesuit
would be penetrated.
Meanwhile the sound of the horn grew louder, and while wavering in
their decision, a voice, faint and indistinct, was heard shouting afar
off. Fawkes listened attentively.
"'Tis a cry for succor," said he suddenly, "someone hath lost his way
and seeks the highroad."
"Then," said Garnet calmly, "we will remain, for he is approaching."
Perhaps five minutes had elapsed when the blast of the horn sounded as
if in their very ears; and from the forest, only a dozen rods beyond
them, dashed a man mounted on a bay horse. Having reached the open
road he pulled up his beast and looked helplessly in an opposite
direction from the four riders. Suddenly Winter started and changed
color, his face turning from red to white, and back to red again.
"'Tis the King!" he whispered hoarsely, clutching the arm of Catesby,
who sat beside him.
It was, in truth, James of England, unattended, his dress awry and
torn by thorns and brambles, with bloodless lips and terror-stricken
countenance, who sat helplessly in the saddle in the presence of his
bitterest enemies.
As this realization dawned on Catesby's mind, he uttered an
exclamation, and reached for the pistol which protruded from his
holster.
"'Tis the judgment of God," he muttered; "to-night England will be
without a king."
The firm grasp of the Jesuit upon his arm checked his murderous
purpose.
"Stop!" whispered Garnet sternly, "wouldst ruin the cause which thou
hast sworn to befriend? Draw your cloaks about your faces and leave
the King to me."
Ere they could recover from their astonishment he had ridden forward
to the spot where James sat bewildered, noting not the presence of
those behind him.
At the sound of hoofs he turned quickly, laying a trembling hand upon
the hilt of a hunting knife which hung at his belt. The demeanor of
the approaching stranger gave him courage. Garnet did not remove from
his head the plumed hat, as was befitting the presence of royalty, but
there was in his face a kindliness which proclaimed his errand a
peaceful one.
"Good sir," said he, speaking in French, "thy manner shows some
bewilderment, and, may be, the blasts of the horn which reached me
were tokens of it."
James trembled violently, for at heart he was an arrant coward, and
the being met by a stranger, alone, close to nightfall and in the
forest, filled him with the greatest terror. The words of the other
somewhat reassured him.
"Brave gentleman!" cried he, still grasping the handle of the knife,
"thou art a man of honor, and by thy speech a Frenchman, therefore
thou wilt aid me."
"Thou hast spoken truly," replied the Jesuit. "Hast lost thy way?"
Relieved of apprehension for his personal safety, the King gave vent
to his ill temper.
"That I have," cried he, striking his knee angrily, "and in the King's
own forest. There are those who shall pay dearly, who shall rue this
hour," he continued passionately. "'Twas a plot to humiliate me."
"Good sir," replied Garnet, noting that James proposed to conceal his
identity. "Of whom speakest thou?"
"Of the rogues who accompanied me hither," stormed the son of Mary,
Queen of Scots; "I followed a stag, and having outridden them they
have thus deserted me; 'tis a thing beyond human comprehension."
"And this," thought Garnet, "this is the King of England, who has
pulled down our altars, driven out our religion and banished us."
Despite all efforts his brow darkened.
But the ill temper of James subsided as quickly as it had arisen,
leaving him for the time only a man who sought succor, and so made
known his condition.
It chanced that riding in the forest, taking the lead of those who
accompanied him, he followed the tracks of a stag and became separated
from his companions; whereupon, being confused and terrified, he soon
lost his way.
Garnet listened patiently, and made no sign that could lead the King
to suspect that his personality was known, then pointed to his
companions, who were sitting motionless upon their horses, with
muffled faces, awaiting the result of the Jesuit's unexpected action.
"Good sir," said he, "it will give me pleasure to conduct thee to the
outskirts of the forest, after which, the road being plain, thou canst
easily find thy way to the gates of London. Yonder servants of mine
will ride behind us."
James gladly accepted the other's offer, nor did it please him that
the supposed Frenchman should learn he was assisting the sovereign of
England. Pride and distrust governed him. Pride, lest a foreigner
should bear away the tale of a king's discomfiture; distrust, lest,
holding in his power so important a personage, the stranger might take
advantage thereof for his own benefit. But it was not in the mind of
Garnet to reveal his knowledge; so, side by side they rode in
silence--the Jesuit and the King--for the space of an hour, until,
upon reaching the vicinity of London, whose lights twinkled in the
distance, they separated, James galloping madly on, his companion
awaiting the approach of Winter, Fawkes and Catesby.
There was much amazement and some anger in the minds of the two
noblemen, that the priest had acted in so unaccountable a manner.
Desirous of learning his motive for befriending one whom he professed
to hate, they questioned him upon the subject. To all, Garnet replied
briefly, bidding them wait a more befitting time, as it was his
purpose, on reaching London to attend a meeting at the house of Sir
Thomas Percy. Therefore they rode on in silence, the great clock in
the tower of St. Paul's chiming the hour of eight as they passed into
the city.
At the corner of the street leading to the Gentleman-Pensioner's door
a horseman confronted them whom they recognized as Percy himself. He
had been waiting for them in an angle of the wall to say that certain
officials having gathered at his house for the discussion of public
business it would be unsafe to proceed thither.
"Then is the night lost," said Catesby impatiently, "for, although
the Holy Father be provided with a hiding place within the city, and
will, perchance, remain among us for the space of two days, much
weighty business besides long disputations, require his attention.
Thou shouldst have seen to it, Master Percy, that thy house was free
from the hirelings of the King." Percy would have replied in anger,
but Sir Thomas Winter interrupted:
"Friend Guido, thou hast a dwelling in a quiet portion of the town,
where perchance we might sit together for the discussion of such
things as now concern us."
Fawkes, who had scarcely spoken since meeting with the King in the
forest, acquiesced in this proposition, although the thought of his
daughter, the smallness of his house, and the nature of the conference
caused some conflict in his mind. Yet, having resolved to serve the
cause which he held so dear, his scruples speedily vanished, the more
so that 'twas Sir Thomas Winter who requested the favor.
This matter being so quickly decided, Fawkes became the guide of the
party, and turning into a narrow street which ended in a lane running
behind his house, straightway brought his companions to their
destination.