Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

CHAPTER XXV.

In one of the ante-rooms of the palace at Eltham, on the morning following, sat five gentlemen, dressed with extravagant gaudiness, their hair curled, and in some instances plaited like that of women, and their persons adorned with innumerable rings and trinkets.

"Out upon it!--bear a blow?" cried one of them. "I will have revenge!"

"How will you seek it, De Margan?" asked another. "With a bodkin?"

"Nay, nay, let him alone," said the third, "he is a man of spirit, and will dare this proud knight to the field."

"Who will crack him there," rejoined the second speaker, "as the King cracks a crawfish!"

"How is that?" inquired the first.

"Between his finger and thumb," replied the other.

"This is all nonsense," joined in one who had not yet spoken. "Monthermer is a prisoner and cannot underlie a defiance."

"De Margan will do better than defy him," said the fifth personage. "He knows that there are shrewder means of revenge in his power than that. Tell them, De Margan--tell them! and we will all go in with you and bear it out!"

"Ay!" cried Sir Guy de Margan, "those two fair lovers would, I rather fancy, give each a finger of their right hand rather than have the Earl of Ashby know their secret moonlight meeting in the cloister. Neither would the good Earl much like to have the tale told of his fair daughter showering such favours on this good Lord Hugh; and Alured de Ashby, I have heard, hates these Monthermers worse than a cat hates oil."

"A goodly mess of venom if you stir it properly!" observed one of his companions.

"That will I do most certainly," said the first. "I wait but the opening of the King's doors to tell the noble Earl before the whole court that his daughter was somewhat less niggardly of her presence last night to Hugh de Monthermer than he dreamt of. Then, you see, the old lord will chafe, the King will frown, and Alured de Ashby will be sent for----"

"To do what Guy de Margan does not dare himself," said one of the gentlemen.

What might have been the reply is difficult to say; for, although the personage he spoke to, had so much of the better part of valour as to refrain from measuring his strength against a man so much superior to himself as Hugh de Monthermer, yet he was by no means without courage where it was at all prudent to display it. But his answer, which seemed likely to be a fierce one, was stopped on his very lips; for the door of the King's chamber opened at that moment, and the well-known William de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, came forth, bearing two or three sealed letters in his hand.

"Sir Guy de Margan," he said, presenting him with a packet, "I am directed by the King to command you immediately to set out for Monmouth, where you will open these orders, execute them, and rejoin the court at Nottingham. You, Sir Thomas le Strange, will proceed on a similar mission to Chester; and you, Sir Roger de Leiburn, will go on before with these to Derby. Speed, gentlemen, speed!--there is no time to be lost. We have tidings of a threatened rising in the north, and the whole court sets out within two hours."

"Cannot I have audience of the King, my lord," said Guy de Margan; "if but for a moment, or with the Earl de Ashby?"

"Impossible!" replied William de Valence; "the King, with the Earls of Ashby, Mortimer, and Gloucester, and the noble Lord of Audley, is arranging with the Prince the measures which are to be pursued. It is impossible, Sir Guy! So quick away with you, gentlemen, and see whose spur is sharpest."

All was bustle, hurry, and confusion at the court of Eltham during the rest of the morning. The threatened rising in Northumberland was indeed, not of a very serious nature, and Edward was of opinion, that the few nobles who were about the court, with such troops as he could muster rapidly by the way, would be sufficient to overawe the malcontents, and nip the revolt in the bud. Henry, however, ever fond of excitement and display, seized the pretext for making a royal progress into the north, knowing well that every great noble as he passed, especially at that particular period, would vie with his neighbour in entertaining his Sovereign with luxury and splendour.

Edward looked grave, and evidently disapproved; but he did not venture to offer any opposition to his father's wishes; and towards two of the clock, in a fine day of the early autumn, preceded and followed by a strong band of soldiery, the whole court, comprising all who happened to be at Eltham at the time, set out on its way towards Nottingham.

Although there was indeed more than one horse-litter in the train, yet all the principal personages proceeded on their journey, as usual, upon horseback; and, even in their robes of travel, they formed a bright and glittering train, as ever was seen, comprising nearly two hundred persons. Laughing, talking, jesting, they rode along, keeping no very compact order, and each person choosing his companions as his inclination prompted, or circumstances admitted.

Hugh de Monthermer, as may well be supposed, sought the side of Lucy de Ashby; and it luckily so happened that an old knight of her father's household, so deaf that the blast of a trumpet was the only thing he could hear, took upon himself to act as esquire to the lady. In this capacity he occupied the post upon her left hand, talking all the while, and, with the fruitful imagination, which many deaf people have, fancying the replies that were never spoken. Immediately behind, came the gay girls who waited upon their fair lady, with two or three pages and squires, all occupied with the usual subjects, which engrossed the attention of pages, squires, and handmaidens in those days.

The Earl of Ashby himself kept near the presence of the King; but he seemed to entertain no objection to the attentions which Hugh was evidently showing to his daughter; and throughout the whole of the progress, the princess Eleanor, with that sympathy which a kind-hearted woman always feels for woman's love, favoured the lovers with opportunity, not indeed with bustling eagerness, not indeed even apparently, but with the calm and quiet tact of a refined mind, as well as a gentle heart.

Edward, too, though more occupied with other things than Eleanor, showed every kindness to Hugh de Monthermer, and once or twice, in passing him while he was conversing with Lucy de Ashby, marked with a smile, the brightness of the lover's eye, and certainly gave no discouragement to his hopes.

At Huntingdon, the young knight was joined by a number of his own servants, and one or two of those who had been attached to his uncle. Amongst the latter, was the stout yeoman, Tom Blawket; and upon questioning him, Hugh discovered that all the tenants and retainers of the old Earl were ignorant that their lord had survived the battle. The good fellow was evidently so deeply grieved at the supposed death of his noble master, that Hugh felt a strong inclination to impart to him the fact of the Earl being safe, and very reluctantly refrained, in the belief that it might be contrary to his uncle's wishes, so to do. Money and horses reached him at the same time, and he was now enabled, in all things, to resume the appearance of his rank and station.

Health, too, and strength, were every day coming back more and more; and, though the Prince's surgeon at Eltham had shaken his head and prognosticated that the wound on his breast would never heal completely till he could obtain perfect repose, a certain balm that Hugh carried with him--the balm of happiness--had closed it before he reached Huntingdon, and had left nothing to be desired but the recovery of his former vigour.

Thus, as the reader may believe, the progress to Nottingham was a joyful one to Hugh de Monthermer. He bore his sunshine with him, and mingled willingly in all the sports and pleasures prepared for the royal entertainment.

It would be tedious to tell all the little incidents of the journey, to describe the pageant at this castle, the banquet at the other, the tournament that was prepared in one town, the grand procession that met the monarch at the gates of another city.

Suffice it, that all was feasting and revelry, merry-making, and rejoicing; and the populace, even in many of the places which had most strongly adhered to De Montfort, during his days of prosperity, now met the Monarch, whose oppression and exactions he had risen to curb, and the Prince, before whose sword he had fallen, with the loudest shouts, and most cheerful acclamations. Such is popularity!--he who counts upon it for an hour will find that he has trusted it too long, and he who relies upon it for support will learn that a bulrush is an oak to it.

Long before the royal party reached the North, the news of the King's march, and of the gathering together of considerable forces, ran on before, and, as Edward had supposed, the very rumour crushed the insurrection in the egg. But Henry still resolved to advance as far as Nottingham, and promised the Earl of Ashby to spend some time with him at his castle of Lindwell.

The Earl sent on messengers to prepare everything for the monarch's reception, and two days before the time named for entering Nottinghamshire, the party of the King halted in the fair little town of Mountsorrel. The castle was then in ruins; but in the priory below, the King, the Prince, and several of the chief nobles in attendance on them, found lodging for the night, while the rest of the court were scattered in the houses round about.

The good monks of Mountsorrel, who since the beginning of of the century, when the castle was destroyed, had managed matters their own way, were celebrated for the excellence of their cheer; and their refectory certainly displayed, for the Monarch's entertainment, a repast that night, which, in point of excellence of materials and skill in cookery, excelled all that he had met with on the road.

The hour was late when the King arrived; and Henry, who loved the pleasures of the table, sat long, tasting all the exquisite meats--partridges, which had been kept in a mew, and crammed with a spoon to make them fat--peacocks the flesh of which had been rendered as white as driven snow, by the method of feeding them--fish brought across the country from the sea, and others which had tenanted for years the tanks of the priory, nourished with especial care, and treated with a stream of running water conducted from the Soar river to the pond, to render them fresh and healthy, together with a thousand other dainties under which the table groaned. Nor did the King merely continue at the table himself, but he contrived to keep all his guests there likewise, conversing between the dishes with the prior, who knew well how to season meat with merriment, and had many a light and jesting tale for the Monarch's not very scrupulous ear.

While such things were proceeding at the Priory, however, the rest of the royal party, broken into bodies of five or six, occupied, as we have said, three or four neighbouring houses, besides the small hostelry, making themselves as merry and as much at ease as men can do who care nothing for the comfort of their host, or the report he will make of them when their backs are turned.

It was about ten o'clock at night when, in the best room of the inn, three gentlemen were sitting with the relics of their supper still before them--a fat capon and a venison pasty remaining almost uninjured, the one only having lost a leg in the conflict, and the other having a breach in its wall of not more than a couple of inches in diameter. This fact, however, did not by any means evince that the party had wanted appetite, but merely that various dishes had gone before, leaving no room for anything but wine in the stomachs of the well-fed guests. The red juice of the Bordeaux grape was flowing profusely amongst them, and great was the merriment and uproar going on, when the sound of several horses' feet, coming rapidly down the street, and then stopping at the door, called their attention. Whoever were the riders, nothing more was known of their proceedings for several minutes, at the end of which time a step was heard descending the little flight of stairs that led from the road into the parlour which was somewhat sunk below the level, of the ground.

"We can have no more here," cried one of the gentlemen, starting up, resolved to defend the inviolability of their dining chamber--"whoever it is, must find a lodging elsewhere."

But just as he spoke, the door, which was fastened with the happy old contrivance of a pulley and weight, was pushed sharply open, and a man, dressed in a riding costume, and muffled in a large loose gabardine above his pourpoint, appeared before them. The one who had been speaking, prepared, in a somewhat sharp tone, to enforce his objections to the admission of a new guest; but suddenly he seemed to recognise the new comer, and holding out his hand to him, he exclaimed--"Richard de Ashby, as I live! Why who thought to see you here? We fancied that you were with your cousin, Alured, keeping down the men of Westmoreland. At all events, you are welcome, though, by my life, you will find the supper we have left you but scanty, and the wine barrel not so full as when we began."

Richard de Ashby declared that there would be quite enough of both for him, and summoning the host to provide him with fresh wine, he proceeded with his meal, from time to time asking such questions as might best lead his companions to tell him all they knew of what was taking place at the English Court.

"Gay doings, I find," he said,--"gay doings, I find, between Eltham and Leicester. Why, the whole country rings with it!"

"Well may it ring," replied the other gentlemen; "well may it ring, and rejoice too, to see such sights. I have never beheld the like, since I followed the Court of England. But during all that time, it is true, we have had nothing but civil wars, or the rule of grim De Montfort; so it is no wonder things have gone sadly."

"They will be merrier now, I trust," said Richard de Ashby. "It is high time, however, that my own affairs should go a little more merrily; and surely I have every right to expect it, for to me the Prince owes his liberty. Ay! and to me, they owe the first seeds of dissension sown amongst De Montfort's people. It is but fair that my claim should be heard."

"On my life," cried the gentleman to whom he spoke, while Richard de Ashby filled himself a cup of wine and drained it off; "on my life, our good King and Prince seem fonder of their enemies than their friends. Here is this young Monthermer, one of the chief favourites of the Court."

A malevolent scowl passed over the dark face of Richard de Ashby, but as the host was coming in at that moment with more wine, he remained silent, hewing the meat before him with his knife, but without tasting it. When the landlord was gone, however, he composed his countenance, and exclaimed, with an affected laugh--"A pretty favourite, indeed!--But tell me what bright ladies follow the Court? I hear there never was a fairer train."

"You have heard true, Sir Richard," said the same gentleman who had hitherto spoken to him, the others being busily engaged in a conversation of their own--"you have heard true; a bevy of lovelier dames has seldom been seen. There is the Countess of Pembroke, and Mortimer's wife; but she is ugly enough, Heaven knows! Then there is the young lady, De Veux, and Lord Audley's daughter; and chief of all, Hugh de Monthermer's lady-love, your fair cousin, Lucy de Ashby."

There was a certain touch of malice in his tone as he spoke, for it is wonderful how soon men discover any weak point in their fellow-men, and still more extraordinary how much pleasure they derive from saying things that may give pain to others, without producing the slightest benefit whatever to themselves. Perhaps the courtier, Sir Harry Grey, who now spoke with Richard de Ashby, had in view to provoke him to one of those outbursts of passion which to our corrupt hearts generally afford matter of merriment rather than commiseration; but if he did so, he was disappointed.

A momentary expression of intense wrath convulsed the features of Richard de Ashby, but he uttered not a word in reply. He paused thoughtfully, filled another cup of wine, but did not drink it, gazed down upon the edge of his knife, and then turning round to his companion, said, "How warm it is! How can you all sit here with the casement closed?"

"The boys of the village were staring in," answered Sir Harry Grey, "looking at us like wild beasts in a cage, so we were forced to close the casement and draw the curtain. They are gone now--you can open it.--But you do not tell me what you think of this coming alliance. He is very wealthy, handsome, renowned; we all think it will answer very well.

"Do you?" said Richard de Ashby, drily. "Why, I rather think, Sir Harry, it is no business either of yours or mine; although, to speak the truth, I believe you are mistaken, and that there is no such alliance toward."

"Oh, but it is the talk of the whole court!" cried the other. "He is ever with her, or with the Lord of Ashby, and besides, the Earl has been known to say--" and he went on to repeat some twenty rumours of the day concerning the marriage of Hugh de Monthermer and Lucy de Ashby, not one of which contained a word of truth.

Still, however, Richard de Ashby remained unmoved--at least, to all appearance; and after merely asking who else was at the court, and receiving a somewhat lengthened answer, giving him the names of fifteen or sixteen ladies in whom he had no interest whatsoever, he arose, saying, "I must to bed, for I depart at daybreak to-morrow."

"What! do you not visit the King?" demanded one of the other gentlemen, who had not yet spoken.

"No, no," replied he, "I go on to Nottingham to meet him. I have business of importance. Good night--good night;" and he left the room.

"You galled him, Grey," said Sir Andrew Geary--"You galled him hard about that marriage."

"I know I did," answered Sir Harry Grey; "once let me know a man's folly, and I will pink you him to the quick, if his skin be as thick and hard as a German gambesoon.--Not that he thinks of marrying fair Lucy himself; but it is his hatred to the Monthermers touches him."

"Faith, you're mistaken," rejoined Sir Andrew Geary, who was one of those keen-sighted men who seem intuitively to see into men's motives, under whatsoever specious disguises they may endeavour to conceal them--"faith, you are mistaken. This Richard de Ashby is one of more ambition than you believe. He knows right well, that in the many accidents of the day the good Lord Alured may find his way to the kingdom of Heaven, and then--though he be now but the poor kinsman, treated not so well as many a worthy retainer of the house--he becomes heir presumptive to the title, though to none of the lands, except the small estate of Ashby. It would suit him but little to see Hugh of Monthermer, as the husband of the heiress, sweep up the whole wealth of the house. What he will try," added Sir Andrew, musing, "I do not know; but be sure he will do something to break the marriage--if there be any truth in the story at all."

"Then Monthermer will cut his throat," replied Sir Harry Grey, "and there will be an end of it. But now what say you to the dice, Geary? let us try a cast or two."

"Not I," answered Sir Andrew Geary; "I am not in the mood. I am not well to-night, and shall betake me to my rest."

"I will throw with you, Grey," cried a young man from the other side of the room. "Geary's wings are drooping like a sick hen's. Don't you see? So let him go and carry himself to the isle of pipkins, and seek some stewed prunes for his queasy stomach. I am with you till cock crow, if your purse be long enough, and the wine good."

CHAPTER XXVI.

Richard de Ashby mounted the stairs with a slow step, paused at the first landing-place and grasped his forehead with his extended hand, then turned upon his steps; and, descending to the kitchen, in which were seated an immense number of various classes, he beckoned to one of his servants, who was near the fire-place.

The man started up, and came to him at the door, when his master said, in a low tone, "You must take your horse as soon as he is fed, and speed across the country as if for life and death, to bear a letter from me to the Lord Alured, in Cumberland.--Have every thing ready in an hour."

"What! to-night, sir?" demanded the servant.

"Ay, to-night, villain!" replied his master; "to-night, I say!--Do you grumble?" and without waiting for any further answer, he turned, and once more ascended the stairs.

The inn was a rude old building, having a square court in the centre. It consisted of two stories above the ground-floor; and two ranges of open galleries ran round the whole yard, the chambers having no screen between them and the free air of heaven but the single door by which one entered or went out of each.

It was to the highest of the galleries that Richard de Ashby now directed his steps, for arriving late, it had been with difficulty he had found lodging at all. He had no light with him; but finding his way by the dim glare of some lanterns in the court, he stopped at the last chamber on the right hand side: and, after another halt of more than a minute passed in stern meditation, he threw, open the door and went in.

The room was a large one, forming the corner of the building, and having windows either way. There was a wide chimney, in which was a blazing log of wood, lighted to dispel the damp which the chamber might have contracted by disuse; and gazing at the changing aspect of the flame, sat fair, but unhappy, Kate Greenly, with her head resting on her hand, and her eyes full of deep and sorrowful thought.

"Get thee to bed," cried Richard de Ashby, in a rude and angry tone, as soon as he saw her; "did I not bid thee get to bed before?"

"I have had many things to think of," answered the girl. "I wish thou hadst left me behind thee, Richard. I love not going so near what was once my home."

"It was my will," replied he; "that must be enough for thee. Get thee to bed, I say.--I have to write and think."

Kate took a step away from him, but then looked round, and said, "Tell me first, Richard, art thou taking me back, wearied of her you used to love, to the once happy dwelling from which you brought me not six months ago?--If so, I will not go with you any farther."

"Thou wilt do what I order," he answered, sternly; "I am in no mood either for squabbling or jesting to-night.--Thou wilt go no farther, ha! By heaven thou wouldst make me resolve to take thee back by force, or send thee with a billet like some packet of goods.--But no, I will not send thee," he added, "I will not take thee; and knowest thou why? Not that I love thee--not that I care for thee more than for the flower that was yesterday in my breast, and is now cast away into the dust. But they have asked me to send thee back--they have ordered me; and therefore I will not! There is no power on earth shall tear thee from me; but I will take care to make thee serviceable, too. Get thee to bed, I say, and importune me no more.--What! send thee back to please Hugh de Monthermer!"

"He is a noble gentleman," answered Kate, "and in good sooth wished me well, though I knew it not."

"Thou art a fool!" cried Richard, violently; and, at the same moment, he took a step forward and struck her a blow on the cheek with his extended hand, adding, "Get thee to bed, minion, and let me hear thy tongue no more."

Kate's flashing eyes glared at him as if she could have stabbed him where he stood; but the instant after she darted towards the bed, cast herself upon her knees beside it, and, hiding her weeping face upon the coverings, she murmured forth some rapid and eager words, which her base seducer neither heard nor cared to hear.

Seating himself by a table on which stood a lamp, he took forth the materials for writing from some large leathern bags which lay near; but ere he commenced the letter which he proposed to send, he passed a full half hour in deep meditation. Once during the time he looked round, apparently to see if the poor girl he had treated so basely was still up; but she had retired to bed; and, hearing her breathing deep and slow, he concluded that, like a child, she had wept herself to sleep. He then turned himself to meditate again, and we must look into his bosom, and give the turbulent words which were uttered in his inmost heart as if they had been spoken aloud.

"Ay," he thought, "if Alured had been here this mischief would not have occurred. The old fool is in his dotage! I wonder how it happened, when many a brave, strong man fell at Evesham, ere the battle had raged half-an-hour, this feeble old wiseacre went through the whole day unwounded! Had he been killed it might have made a mighty difference to me, and no great harm to any one."

At that point his thoughts seemed to pause for several minutes, ruminating on the advantages which might have accrued to himself had the Earl fallen at Evesham. "And yet," he continued, "this bull-headed cousin of mine, Alured, were nearly as great a stumbling-block in my way, even if the old man were removed. He would not be long, if left alone at the head of the house, ere he wedded some fair and fruitful lady, to exclude my claims for ever with a whole host of healthy white-headed children. I was in some hopes, if he sought out Monthermer in the battle, as he said, our enemy's lance might have proved friendly to me, and sent my noble cousin to another world. But it was not to be, and I suppose I must go on the poor dependent all my life.

"No," he continued, after another pause, "no, it shall not be so.--Why should I fear for drivelling tales of other worlds told by the monks and priests, and invented by them also?--Were Alured once dead, 'twere an easy matter to remove that weak old man--and yet, perhaps, it were better to send him first to his account.--Ha! I see, I see.--If one could manage it so as to cast suspicion on Monthermer, Alured would speedily accuse him of the deed; wager of battle must follow, and I were a fool if I could not contrive it so that Alured's vain strength should go down before Monthermer's skill and courage."

"In such fields as those," he added, speaking, though in a low, thoughtful tone, "such men separate not with life.--Methinks the matter were easily managed.--'Tis no light prize one plays for!--the earldom of Ashby, the broad lands, the parks, the woods, the fields--ay, and to crown the whole, the fair hand of Lucy herself; for, her brother and her father dead, she must needs become my ward, and if my ward, my wife. It is worth striving for, and by heaven and hell, it shall be so,--ay, let what will stand in the way,--Could I but breed a quarrel between this old dotard Earl and the ancient enemy of our house, whom he is so ready to take to his bosom, I would soon accomplish the rest. But it shall be done,--it shall be done!" And leaning his dark brow upon his hands, he revolved the means for carrying his plan into execution.

For several minutes he hesitated as to whether he should write to his cousin as he had proposed or not; but then again he thought--"I will not do it!--his presence would but embarrass me. In some chance encounter with this Monthermer, with arms and weapons unprepared by me, he might prove the conqueror, and once having vanquished him, he would take him to his heart and give him half his fortune--the hand of Lucy--anything. I know my vain-glorious cousin well! No, no, we will deal with the father first.--But I must on to Nottingham, and seek the tools to work with. I will write to Ellerby too, he is ready for any desperate work, and in his store of knowledge has always information where to find persons as fearless and as shrewd as himself."

Having thus made up his mind, Richard de Ashby rose, and once more sought out the kitchen of the inn, taking the lamp with him. Revelry and merriment were still going on in all quarters of the house, and it was no unpalatable news to the groom, who was waiting below, ready to depart, that his master had changed his purpose, and would not send him as he had proposed, though he had orders to be prepared to set out by cock-crow. After having given this intimation, the Earl's kinsman retired to his chamber again, and, sitting down at the table, wrote a few lines to the man whose unscrupulous assistance he required.

It was not without long pauses of thought, however, that he did so, and in the end he put his hand to his head, saying, "I am tired." Well indeed he might be so; for though the body had been still, the mind had struggled and laboured during the last few hours, with that eager and painful energy, which communicates afterwards to the corporeal frame itself no slight portion of the lassitude which follows great exertions. He next sought to seal the letter he had written, but he could find neither wax nor silk, and laying it down upon the table again, he said, aloud, "It must wait till to-morrow; but I must take care that no one comes in and sees it before I wake, for that were ruin indeed!"

Thus speaking, he turned to the door of the room and locked it; and then, after a few minutes more given to thought, he undressed himself, and, without prayer, lay down to rest.--Without prayer!--he never prayed: the blessed influence even of an imperfect communion with Heaven never fell like the summer rain upon his heart, softening and refreshing. The idea of his dependence upon Providence, or his responsibility to God, would have been far too painful and cumbersome to be daily renewed and encouraged by prayer. He was one of the idolaters; and the god of his heart was himself. His cunning was the wisdom of his Deity, his passions, his pleasures, his power, its other attributes; and to the Moloch of self he was ready at any time to sacrifice all else that the world contained. He rose without asking a blessing on works that he knew were to be evil, he lay down supplicating no pardon for the offences of the day.

Ay! reader, and he slept, too, with sound, unbroken, heavy sleep. What between passions, and pleasures, and schemes, and exertions, his body and his mind were usually exhausted together; and throughout a long course of years he had slept each night, as he did now, with a slumber, deep, dreamless uninterrupted.

The lamp remained unextinguished in the chamber; and for about an hour all was still, his heavy breathing being the only sound that made itself heard; except the occasional voices of revellers in other parts of the house, becoming more and more faint as the night advanced. At the end of that time, however, a female figure glided from between the curtains of the bed and approached the table.

Richard de Ashby had left, lying across the letter which he had been writing, the dagger, with the pommel of which he had prepared to seal it, and Kate Greenly, with her teeth tight shut, and her brow knit, took up the weapon, drew it from the sheath, gazed upon the edge, and felt the sharp point. She then turned her head towards the bed, and strained her eyes upon it with a wild fierce look.

The moment after, she thrust the blade back into its covering, and pressed her hand upon her brow, murmuring--"Not now!--No, no, no!--Not now!--The time may come, however--the time may come, Richard!--But I will have thee in my power--at all events, I will have thee in my power! The worm thou treadest on may sting thy heel, oppressor.--Thanks to the good priest who taught me to read and write!" she continued, taking up the letter and unfolding it. "Would I had attended to his other teaching as well;" and bending over the lamp, she read:--

"Come to me post haste, Ellerby,"--so ran the letter--"I have a stag of ten for you to strike. My mind is made up, and I am resolved to throw down the screen that keeps me from the sun. If we succeed--and success is certain--your reward shall be in proportion to the deed: ten thousand sterlings to begin with. But you must not come alone, you must bring some three or four men with you, able and willing to perform a bold act; so make no delay, but quit all vain pastimes and idle pleasures, and hasten to certain fortune and success.

"Yours, as you shall use diligence,

"R. A."

Kate Greenly read the lines again and again, as if she wished to fix them indelibly on her mind; then folding up the letter again, she laid it down upon the table, placed the dagger across it, and remained musing for several minutes in deep thought.

"No, no," she murmured, at length, "I will not believe it. No; he may wrong a poor girl like me; he may break his vows, oppress, and trample on the creature in his power; but murder--the murder of a kinsman?--No, no!--And yet," she added, "what can the words mean? They are strange--they are very strange! I will think of it no more--and yet I must think of it. I wish I had not seen that paper! But having seen it, I must see more.--I must watch--I must inquire. There shall be nothing kept from me now.--Murder? It is very horrible.--But I will go to sleep."

Kate Greenly crept quietly back to bed again; but the reader need not be told that she found there no repose. Had her heart not been burdened even with her own sin, the dangerous knowledge she had acquired of the guilt of others would have been quite sufficient to banish sleep from her eyes. Hour after hour she lay and thought over the words which she had read. She strove to find some other meaning for them; but, alas! she had, more than once before, heard muttered hints and dark longings for the possessions of others, which directed her mind ever to the same course, and ever to the same conclusion.

The thought was agonizing to her; for, notwithstanding all her wrongs--notwithstanding anger and indignation--notwithstanding her knowledge that he was a villain--notwithstanding her certainty that he would cast her off whensoever it pleased him--ay, doom her to poverty, contempt, and disgrace--love for Richard de Ashby yet lingered in the heart of poor Kate Greenly.

At length, just as the morning was growing grey, her heavy eyelids fell for a moment; and she was still asleep when her seducer rose and began his preparations for departure. He discovered not that the letter had been examined; but making her get up in haste to find some wax and silk, he sealed the epistle; and, after dispatching it by a messenger, set out himself for Nottingham, carrying the unhappy girl with him, followed by only two attendants.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"What seekest thou, fat friar?" said one of a party of three gentlemen, who were standing under the arch which gave entrance into the great court of Nottingham Castle. He was speaking to a large heavy-looking man, with round rosy face and double chin, who had been wandering hither and thither in the court for some time, but apparently without any very definite object--"What seekest thou, incarnation of the jolly god?"

"I seek, my son," replied the friar, with a leer, "what you, perhaps, can show me, but which, nevertheless, it would be well, were you to seek it yourself."

"Nay, nay, no riddles, most jovial sphinx," replied Sir William Geary; "speak in plain language and I may help thee, but I am not inclined to play [OE]dipus for thy convenience. What is it thou meanest?"

"I mean that I seek the right way," replied the priest.

"But whither? whither?" asked Sir William. "Who, or what is it you want?"

"I want to speak with the noble lord, Hugh de Monthermer," answered the friar, "who, I hear, comes in the King's train."

"Is brought, you mean," said Sir Harry Grey; "for he comes as a prisoner. But to tell the truth, his captivity seems to captivate the whole court, for there is none now who receives any notice but Hugh de Monthermer."

"The court must be getting wise in its old age," rejoined the friar. "Methinks I shall follow it, too, as merit meets advancement. But, I beseech you, fair sir, tell me where the young lord makes abode; for though I find the doors of this castle as strait for, my fat sides as those of heaven, they are as many as those of the other place."

"By my life, friar," replied Sir William Geary, "you will find him, if I judge rightly, with a lady, in the deep window of the great hall, taking thy trade over thy head; for, as I passed them, she seemed very much as if she were making confession."

"She made the only one that was needful long ago," exclaimed Sir Harry Grey; "for as I rode near them on the way from Huntingdon, I heard her say, 'You know I do, Hugh,'"--and he mimicked the tone of Lucy's voice, adding, "what was wanting must have been--'love you'--of course."

"Nay, then, Heaven forefend that I should interrupt confession," said the friar, with a laugh; "'tis contrary to the ordinance of Holy Church; but if you will show me, my son, which is his chamber, I will go thither and wait; for a small boy whom I met but now at the outer gate made a mock of me, and told me that if I took the third door, on the right hand, in the left hand corner, just beyond the fourth tower, after passing through the second gate, I should find a staircase which would lead me to the top of the castle; and when I had gone up, I might come down again. By my faith, if I could have reached him with my staff, I would have given him some wholesome correction; but he was too nimble for me; and my infirmities would not let me follow him."

"Your fat, you mean, friar," replied Sir Harry Grey. "But tell me, how many casks of beer and butts of wine has it cost to complete that carcase of thine and paint that face?"

"Neither are finished yet, my son," answered the friar, "but when they are, I will sum up the items, and send thee in the bill. It will profit thee nothing, however, for thou, wilt never grow fat."

"Why not?" demanded the other, somewhat piqued.

"Show me the way, and I will tell thee," replied the friar. "Well, then, go through that door under the arch," said Sir Harry, "and up the stairs, and the second door you come to leads to the Lord Hugh's chamber.--Now, then, why shall I never get fat? By my faith, I am glad to hear such news."

"Didst never hear the old rhyme?" asked the friar--

Heaven speed ye, gentlemen--thanks for your civil entertainment."

Thus saying, he rolled off with a low chuckle, and took his way through the door to which the courtier had directed him.

One of the three gentlemen, as the reader may have observed, had taken no part in the conversation with the friar; he now, however, turned at once to Sir William Geary, asking--"Do you know the scurvy knave?"

"Not I," answered Sir William Geary; "this is the first time I ever set eyes upon him; but he is evidently a shrewd and caustic villain, ready to make himself serviceable in many ways: Do you know him, De Margan, for you look mysterious?"

"I have seen him within the last ten days," replied De Margan, "but in a different part of England, and with companions from whom doubtless he brings messages to this noble Lord Hugh.--This matter must be watched, Geary. I have some old scores of friendship to clear with Hugh de Monthermer; so let us mark well what follows this good priest's interview with him."

"Yes, I have heard of your adventure," said Sir William Geary, "and of your resolution to tell the old Earl of certain moonlight meetings; but you may tell what you will, De Margan, now, it will have no effect. Why, the father seems as much in love with him as the daughter; and though the noble and right valiant old lord is now over at Lindwell, preparing to eclipse all that has gone before, in his reception of the king, Hugh de Monthermer, each day since we have been here, has ridden over and spent the whole morning there, alone, I verily believe, with his lady-love."

"I heard as much," answered Guy de Margan, impatiently--"I heard as much last night after my arrival; but I will find means, one way or another, to make this Hugh de Monthermer rue his braggart insolence."

Sir William Geary paused for a moment with a thoughtful and somewhat bitter smile--"Well, De Margan," he said at length, drawing him aside from the rest, "if you want vengeance, methinks I know where there is a man to be found who will help you with his whole heart. No one knows of his being in Nottingham but myself; but I have found him out, and will take you to him if you like to go."

"Who is he--who is he?" demanded the other.

"No less a person than Richard de Ashby, the fair lady's cousin," answered Geary. "He is possessed of a goodly hatred towards these Monthermers, and, methinks, of no little love towards his bright cousin, Lucy."

De Margan, however, scoffed at the idea--"What!" he cried, "a poverty-stricken beggarly dependant like that, to dare to lift his eyes to one so much above him!"

"It may be to her dower he lifts his eyes," said Sir William Geary. "Ambition is always a bold lover. But, however that may be, depend upon it, he will help you to your vengeance upon Monthermer if you but concert your schemes together."

"Well--well!" replied Sir Guy; "I will go to him, Geary. But let us first discover, if we can, something more regarding the errand of this friar. The man is a rank rebel, and a fautor of rebels. I saw him last with Sir William Lemwood, and all the rest of that crew, who were then hot for rebellion. I was sent to negotiate; but since then, that nest of treason has been suppressed, and doubtless he now comes to Nottingham to hatch some new conspiracy if he prove strong enough. But we must watch him--we must watch him! and if Hugh de Monthermer do but trip, I will answer for it, he shall fall--ay, and heavily, too; so let him take care. I fear there is no chance of getting into some ante-chamber, and overhearing what passes?"

"None--none!" cried his companion, "that is quite out of the question; but my room looks out upon the end of the staircase, whence we can easily see when this friar issues forth again."

"We will watch him--we will watch him!" exclaimed De Margan; "the very visit of such a man is in itself suspicious.--Say you not so, Geary?"

"Assuredly," answered Sir William, with a bitter smile--"assuredly--to a suspicious mind;" and with this sarcasm, he turned, and led the way to his own apartment in the castle.

Whatever was the Friar's errand with Hugh de Monthermer, he remained in his chamber more than an hour; and, when he issued forth, he was followed, not long after, by the young nobleman, who, on foot, and with a cloak of a sombre colour covering his gayer garments, took his way out into the town through the same gate by which the jolly cenobite had issued forth.

"Let us see where they go--let us see where they go!" cried Guy de Margan; and hurrying down, he and his companion also quitted the castle, and soon caught sight of the young nobleman.

Nottingham in those days was not so large a town as at present, but nevertheless, it was a place of very considerable importance; and then, as at present, its steep streets and rocky flights of steps running down the curious sort of cone on which it stands, gave one the idea of its being built upon a beehive. Walking down the road which led from the castle, Hugh de Monthermer proceeded for some way, and then took the first flight of steps that he came to, descending towards the lower part of the town; but, as at the bottom there were two ways which he might pursue, the gentlemen who were fulfilling the honourable office of spy upon his actions, and both of whom knew Nottingham well, separated for the time, appointing a spot to meet again, in order that he might not escape them.

They had just rejoined each other in the lower part of the town, near the old gate, when Hugh, of whom Guy de Margan had not lost sight, paused and looked round him, as if not quite certain of his way, causing his pursuers to draw back behind a booth which protruded into the street. The moment after, he proceeded again, directing his steps straight through the gate; and they, darting out, followed him so quickly that they had well-nigh come suddenly upon him, as he stopped by the side of the friar whom they had before seen. The worthy monk however, was no longer on foot, but mounted upon a strong, tall, vicious looking mule; and, at the same time, he held by the bridle a large bony horse, equipped as for a journey.

Hugh de. Monthermer was at that moment putting his foot into the stirrup, and in an instant was upon the beast's back.

"This looks very like a prisoner making his escape," said Guy de Margan. "Shall I call upon the people to stop him?"

"No--no!" replied Geary, "he is not making his escape; and if he were, he would be gone before you could do anything. He has a thousand opportunities of escaping every day if he likes it. 'Tis unlucky we have no horses with us."

"He is going on no lawful errand, depend upon it," exclaimed Guy de Margan, "with that monk for a guide. I doubt not his journey will end in a meeting with some of the very rebels the king has come down to quell.--I will go and tell the Prince what I have seen, and what I suspect likewise."

"Pshaw! never think of telling the Prince," said Geary, with his usual shrewd look and sarcastic turn of the lip, "that will never answer your purpose, De Margan. The Prince is a sensible man; and, besides, you could not if you would. Edward is away; he set out this morning with five hundred men for Derby. Tell the King--tell the King! You can make him believe anything you like.--Your mother was a Jewess, wasn't she?"

Guy de Margan turned upon him with a furious look and his hand upon his dagger, for the words of his companion implied what in that day was the grossest insult which one gentleman could offer to another; but Geary added, immediately, "An Italian, I mean--an Italian. What was I thinking of? You know a single drop of foreign blood in any one's veins is quite enough to secure the favour of the King. But come and see Richard de Ashby first; and concoct your scheme together. I will leave you with him; for I do not want to share your councils. It will be jest enough to see the result."

The gibing spirit of Sir William Geary did not well accord with Guy de Margan's mood at the moment; and he was not at all sorry to find that he was soon to be delivered from his society. Walking on through some of the narrow streets which then formed the lower part of the good town of Nottingham, with the projecting gables of the upper stories shading them from the sun, and nearly meeting overhead, they at length reached a curiously carved and ornamented wooden house, small and sunk in amongst the others, so as scarcely to be seen by any one passing hurriedly along, like a modest and retiring man jostled back from observation by the obtrusive crowd. Here Sir William Geary applied for admittance, but before it was granted a full observation was taken of his person, and that of his companion, by a servant looking through a small round window at the side. At length the door was opened, and after some difficulty Sir Guy de Margan was permitted to enter, Sir William Geary leaving him as he went in.