CHAPTER XXXVII.
The King and Prince Edward stood in the great hall of Nottingham Castle, about to go forth on horseback. But few attendants, comparatively, were around them; and a good deal of unmeaning merriment was upon the King's countenance, as he jested with a horribly contorted humpback, who, tricked forth in outrageous finery, displayed upon his own deformed person more ribands, feathers, and lace, than all the rest of the Court put together. Full of malice, wit, and impudence, every tale of scandal, every scurvy jest and ribald story of the Court, were familiar to him, and with these he entertained the leisure hours of the King, when the monarch was not seeking amusement in the society of his foreign favourites.
The brow of Edward, on the contrary, was somewhat stern and sad. Many things had gone contrary to his wishes; his father seemed resolved not to perform any of the promises which he had made to the more patriotic noblemen who had supported the royal cause; and though Edward carried filial respect and deference to an extent which his commanding mind, high purposes, and great achievements, might perhaps have justified him in stopping short of, yet he could not but suffer his countenance to show his disappointment and disapprobation.
The King had descended from his apartments before his horses had been brought into the court; and when the door at the farther end of the hall opened, he took a few steps towards it, followed by the gentlemen who were with him, supposing that some of the attendants were coming to announce that all was ready.
Two or three of the royal officers did certainly appear, but in the midst was seen the tall and powerful form of Hugh de Monthermer, with an old knight, Sir John Hardy, on one side, and a page on the other. He advanced with a quick step up the hall, and, bowing reverently to the King and to the Prince, he said--
"I have come, your grace, according to the tenour of the safe-conduct I have received, with one well known in feats of arms to be my god-father in chivalry, and with twenty-five attendants and no more, to meet my accuser face to face, to declare that his charge is false before God and man, and to do battle with him in this behalf--my body against his, according to the law of arms. I do beseech you, my lord, let me know my accuser."
"'Tis I," answered a voice from behind the King, and Alured de Ashby stepped forward to Henry's side--"'tis I, Alured de Ashby, who do accuse you, Hugh of Monthermer, of feloniously and maliciously doing to death William de Ashby, my noble father. I put myself on the decision of Heaven, and God defend the right!"
Hugh of Monthermer had turned very pale. His lip quivered, his eye grew anxious and haggard, and for a moment or two he remained in deep silence. At length, however, he replied--
"You do me bitter wrong, Alured de Ashby--you should know better."
"How so?" demanded his opponent; "there is strong and dark suspicion against you."
"Which I can disperse in a moment," said Hugh de Monthermer, "like clouds scattered by a searching wind. But even were there suspicions ten times as strong, I say that you, of all men, should not receive them."
"How pale he turns!" observed one of the noblemen near, loud enough for Hugh to hear.
"Ay, sir, I do turn pale," replied the young nobleman, looking sternly at him "I turn pale to find that one against whom I would less willingly draw the sword than any man living, is he, who, by a false and baseless suspicion, forces me to do so. Alured de Ashby, you knew right well when you concealed the name of my accuser that no provocation would induce me to dip my hand in the blood of your sister's brother."
"I did," replied Alured de Ashby; "that was the reason I concealed it."
"Then should you not have likewise known," demanded Hugh, "that the same reason which makes me shrink from injuring her brother, would still more withhold my arm, if raised, to spill the blood of her father. You know it, Alured de Ashby--in your heart you know it well. Nothing, so help me God, would have made me do one act to injure him, even if there had been quarrel or dispute between us, when, I call Heaven to witness, there was none."
"This is all vain," answered Alured de Ashby, with an unmoved countenance; "you, Hugh de Monthermer, underlie my challenge; you have accepted it, and I will make it good. There lies my glove!" and he cast it down before the King.
Sir John Hardy instantly advanced and took it up, saying, "In the name of the most noble lord Hugh de Monthermer, Baron of Amesbury, I take your gage, Alured, Earl of Ashby, and do promise on his behalf that he will do battle with you in his quarrel when and where the king shall appoint, on horse or foot, with the usual arms and equipments, according to the law of arms, and the customs of the court of England."
Hugh de Monthermer folded his arms on his chest, and bent down his eyes upon the ground; and oh, how bitter were his feelings at that moment! The deed was done--the irretrievable engagement was made; he must either dip his hand in the kindred blood of her he loved best on earth, or he must abandon honour, and name, and station, for ever--ay, and remain gained with the imputation of a base and horrible act, which would equally put a barrier between him and the object of his long-cherished hopes.
Darkness was round him on every side, Between two black alternatives, both equally menacing and fearful, he could but go on upon the course before him--upon the course to which he seemed driven by fate. He must meet his accuser in arms, he must do battle with him at outrance, he must conquer, he must slay him. He knew well his own powers and his own skill, and he doubted not that he should obtain the victory; but he also knew that Alured de Ashby was not one to be overthrown with ease, that he was not one whom he should be able to wound, disarm, or save. Once in the field together, it was hand against hand, body against body, life against life, till one or the other was no more. Death was the only warder that would part them after the barrier of the lists fell behind him. Nor could he hesitate, nor could he spare his adversary, even though he were willing to risk or lose his own life rather than slay the brother of Lucy de Ashby; for with the accused, ignominy, and condemnation followed overthrow, and it was not alone death, but disgrace, that was the mead of the vanquished. No; his fate was sealed, his doom determined, with his own hand was he destined to destroy his own happiness, to tear the sweetest ties of the heart asunder, and to consign himself to grief, and disappointment, and solitude through life.
As the last words broke from the lip of Sir John Hardy, the scene around him seemed to disappear from his eyes. He felt like one of those, who, on some bitter sorrow, forswear the world and the world's joys for the dark cell of the monastery, the living tomb of the heart. He felt like one of them, when the vow is pronounced, when their fate is sealed, and when all earth's things are given up for ever. The whole hall and all that it contained swam indistinctly before him, and he bent down his eyes lest their giddy vacancy should betray the intensity of his feelings to these who watched him.
In the meanwhile Henry and the Prince conferred for a moment apart; and the King turned first to the accuser, then to the accused, saying, "My lords, we will name Monday next for the decision of this wager of battle; the place to be the Butts by the side of Trent, below the bridge. We will take care that fitting lists be prepared; and, until the day of combat, we charge you both to keep the peace one towards the other, to live in tranquil amity, as noble knights and gallant gentlemen may do, although there be mortal quarrel between them, to be decided at a future time."
Thus speaking, the King turned to leave the hall, but Edward paused a moment, and took Hugh de Monthermer's hand. "I grieve, Hugh," he said, "most deeply that by some sad mistake--ay, and by some reckless conduct," he continued, aloud, "on the part of some gentlemen of this court, a false and wrongful charge was brought against you in the first instance, out of which this second accusation has in some degree arisen. Of the first charge you have cleared yourself, to the satisfaction of the King and every honourable man; and of the second, I know you will clear yourself also as becomes you. In the meantime, you are my guest; one of the towers on the lower wall is prepared for you and your people, and as the day fixed is somewhat early for this trial, my armourer is at your command, to furnish you with such things as may be needful; for your own dwelling is too far distant to send for harness; and we know this gallant Earl too well," he added, turning towards Alured de Ashby, "not to feel sure that his opponent in the lists must use every caution and defence which the law of arms permits."
The young Earl smiled proudly, and followed the King, who, together with his son and the rest of the court, quitted the hall, leaving Hugh de Monthermer standing in the midst, paying but little attention to anything but his own sad thoughts.
"My lord, I have charge to show you your apartments," said an attendant, approaching with a simpering air. "The tower is very convenient, but the stables are not quite so good, and you must put six of your horses in the town. This way, my lord, if you so please."
Hugh de Monthermer followed in silence, and the man led him accordingly across the court to one of the towers, which stood as an independent building, only connected with the rest of the castle by the walls.
"This, sir," said the servant, entering with him, "is the hall for your people, who will be supplied by the King's purveyors with all they need. Here are two sleeping chambers behind, and here a chamber for this gallant knight. Now, up these steps, my lord--Here is a vacant room for you to range your arms, and see that all be well prepared for man and horse; here is a pinion for your hood and chapel-de-fer, here are stays for your lances, and nowhere will you find better wood than in Nottingham; a hook for your shield, and a block for the hauberk and other harness. This way is the ante-room, my lord, with truckle-beds for a yeoman and a page. That door leads direct through the wall to the apartments of the Prince, and this to your bed-room."
Hugh gave him some money; and, saying, "Largesse, my lord, largesse," the man withdrew, promising to send in the young nobleman's followers, and to show them where to stable their horses.
"Take heart, my lord--take heart," said Sir John Hardy, after the royal attendant was gone; "this is a bitter change of adversaries, it is true; but now 'tis done, it cannot be helped, and you must do your devoir against this Earl, who will bring his fate upon his own head."
"I thought him two hundred miles away," replied Hugh; "but, as you say, I must do my devoir. See to all things necessary, Hardy; for I have no heart to think of anything but one. A good plain harness is all I want: the horse that brought me hither will do as well as another."
"Nay, my lord, you must not be rash," answered the old. Knight, "lest some misfortune happen."
"The worst misfortune that life has in store for me is sure to befal," replied Hugh de Monthermer: "it is, to slay the brother of Lucy de Ashby, Hardy; for he fights with a desperate man, one to whom all things on earth are indifferent--who must live, though life be hateful to him--who cannot die, as he would fain do, lest ignominy should cleave unto his name. I will trust all to you, Hardy--I will trust all to you; but I cannot think or talk of anything at present, so I betake me to my chamber. If any one should come, tell them I am busy--busy enough, indeed, with dark and bitter fancies."
Thus saying, he retreated to the bed-room which had been assigned him, and casting himself down on a settle, he spread his arms upon the table, and buried his eyes in them.
It were vain to attempt by any words of ours to depict the state of Hugh de Monthermer's heart, as he sat there, given up entirely to sad memories and gloomy expectations. Oh, how his thoughts warred with one another--how the idea of flying from the task he had undertaken was met by the repugnance of an honourable spirit to disgrace and shame--how the image of Lucy de Ashby's brother dying beneath his blows, rose up before his sight, followed by the cold, averted look with which she would meet him ever after, the chilling tone of her voice, the shrinking horror of her demeanour, when she should see the destroyer of her nearest kinsman. Then came the thought of what if he were to avoid the combat?--What would be the consequences then? Would he not be considered recreant and coward?
The time allowed was so short, too--but three brief days--that there was no hope of gaining proof of his own innocence, and of the guilt of another, before the period appointed. A week, a fortnight--often more, was allotted for the preparation; but in this instance the time had been curtailed as there were evil tidings from the Isle of Axholme, which were likely to call Prince Edward speedily from Nottingham.
He could send, indeed, to the forest; he could even make inquiries in person, if he liked--for his safe-conduct specified that he was free to come and go as he thought fit; but he had been especially warned, that the proofs against Richard de Ashby could not be produced for at least a week, and his own eagerness to meet the charge had led him to the court much sooner than the judgment of his forest friends warranted. Thus, on every side he seemed shut in by difficulties, and nought was left him but to defend his innocence, to the utter extinction of all happiness for life.
"Would she could see me," he thought; "would that she could see the agony which distracts my heart, at the very idea of raising my hand against her brother!--However that may be," he continued, "that villain shall not escape. Although I cannot dare him to the field, now that I underlie the challenge of another, yet I will publicly accuse him before I enter the lists; and, either by my lance or the hand of the executioner, he shall die the death he has deserved."
He raised his head quickly and fiercely as he thus thought; the door opposite to him was slowly opening when he did so, and the face of Prince Edward appeared in the aperture.
"I knocked," said the Prince, "but you did not answer."
"Forgive me, my gracious lord," replied Hugh, rising, "but my thoughts have been so sadly busy, that it would seem they close the doors of the ear lest they should be interrupted. I heard no one approach; but, God knows, your presence is the only thing that could give me comfort."
"This is a sad business, indeed," said Edward, seating himself. "Come, sit, Monthermer, and tell me how all this has happened."
"Good my lord, I know not," replied Hugh. "You must have more information than I have; for here, in this neighbourhood, has the plot been concerted. Here, in your father's court, where they contrived to have me doomed to death some time since, untried, unheard, undefended--here have they, when frustrated in that, devised a new scheme for my destruction."
"Nay," said Edward, "it was not that I meant. I asked how it is you proposed this rash appeal to arms, when I expected that you would demand fair trial and judgment according to law?"
"I have been deceived, my lord," replied Hugh--"terribly deceived! Even Lucy herself supposed that Richard de Ashby was my accuser, and I never knew that Alured had returned; otherwise, well aware of his quick and fiery spirit, I should have judged that he would make the quarrel his own, whether he believed the charge or not."
"That Richard is the real accuser, there can be no doubt," said the Prince. "His cousin is but a screen for his malice; but yet you were rash, Monthermer, and I know not now what can be done to help you.--Who is there that can prove where you were, and how employed, upon the day that this dark deed was done?"
"Outlaws and banished men--none else, my lord," replied Hugh de Monthermer; "witnesses whose testimony cannot be given or received. But I will beseech you to let me know in what arises the suspicion that I had any share in this? I do not believe that there is a single act in all my life which could bring upon me even the doubt of such a crime."
"The scheme has been well arranged," answered Edward; "the proofs are plausible and various--but you shall hear the whole;" and he proceeded to tell him all that the reader already knows concerning the accusation brought against him.
For a moment, Hugh remained silent, confounded, and surprised; but gradually his own clear mind, though for an instant bewildered by the case made out against him, seized on the clue of the dark labyrinth with which they had surrounded him.
"Well arranged, indeed, my lord," he replied, "but too complicated even for its own purpose. Villany never can arrive at the simplicity of truth. Was there no one, sir, who, even out of such grounds as these, could find matter to defend me?"
"Yes," answered Edward, "there was, and she was one you love. She stood forward to do you right--she swept away half of these suspicions from the minds even of your enemies--she showed that one half of the tale was false, the other more than doubtful."
"Dear, dear girl!" cried Hugh de Monthermer; and, gazing earnestly in Edward's face, he asked, "and shall my hand spill her brother's blood?"
"Nay, more," continued the Prince, without replying to what the young Lord said, "she declared her belief that the real murderer had brought suspicion upon you to screen himself."
"The scheme, my lord, is deeper still," answered Hugh de Monthermer--"the scheme is deeper still, or I am very blind. Did this dear lady point at any one whom she believed the culprit?"
"She would not say," replied Edward, "she would not even hint, before the whole court, who was the object of her suspicions; but since, in private, the Princess has drawn from her the secret of her doubts. We entertain the same.--Have you, too, any cause to fix upon the murderer?"
"Cause, my lord!" cried Hugh, "I know him as I know myself. I have no doubts. Mine are not suspicions. With me 'tis certainty, and full assurance.--Were it not a fine and well-digested scheme, my lord--supposing that between you and high fortune and the hand of the loveliest lady in the land, there stood a father and a brother and a lover--to slay the old man secretly, and instigate his son to charge the daughter's promised husband with the deed--to make them meet in arms, in the good hope that the lover's well-known lance would remove from your path the sole remaining obstacle, by drowning out, in her brother's blood, the last hope of his marriage with the lady? Thus, father, brother, lover would be all disposed of, the lands and lordship yours, and the lady almost at your mercy likewise. Do you understand me, my lord?"
"Well!" answered the Prince, "But who is the man?"
"Richard de Ashby, my lord; and, if the day named for this sad combat had not been so soon, I was promised evidence, within a week, which would have proved upon the traitor's head his cunning villany."
Edward mused, and turned in his mind the possibility of postponing the event. But--though it may seem strange to the reader that such a state of things should ever have existed--a judicial combat of that day was a matter with which even so great and high-minded a prince as Edward I. dared not meddle as he would. We know how far such interference, at an after-period, contributed to lose his crown to Richard II.; and Edward saw no possibility of changing the day, or even hour, appointed for the trial by battle, unless some accidental circumstance were to occur which might afford a substantial motive for the alteration. Otherwise, he knew that he would have the whole chivalry of Europe crying out upon the deed; and that was a voice which even he durst not resist.
"'Tis unfortunate, indeed," he said, "most unfortunate; but my father having fixed it early, and at my request, too, it cannot be changed. But do you feel sure, quite sure, that within one week you could bring forward proofs to exculpate yourself, and to show the guilt of this wretched man?"
"As surely as I live," replied Hugh de Monthermer. "I have the word of one who never failed me yet--of one who speaks not lightly, my good lord."
"And who is he?" demanded Edward.
A faint smile came upon Hugh de Monthermer's countenance: "He is one of the King's outlaws," he answered; "but yet his word may be depended on."
The Prince mused for a moment or two without reply, and then rejoined--"It is probable these forest outlaws in our neighbourhood may know something of the matter. Think you they had any share in it?"
"What! in the murder?" cried Hugh de Monthermer. "Oh, no, my lord, Would to God you had as honest men in Nottingham Castle as under the boughs of Sherwood!"
"You are bitter, Hugh," replied the Prince, and then added--"I fear the day cannot be changed; and all that remains to be done is, to send to these friends of yours as speedily as may be, bidding them give you, without delay, whatever proofs may be in their hands. 'Tis probable that other things may arise to strengthen our conviction. When we see what they can furnish us with, our course will be soon decided. If there be anything like fair evidence that Richard de Ashby has done this deed, I will stop the combat, and proclaim his guilt; but unless I am sure, I must not pretend to do so, lest I bring upon myself the charge of base ingratitude. He it was, Hugh, who furnished me with the swift horse, whereon I fled from Hereford; and though I own that I would have chosen any other man in all England to aid in my deliverance rather than him, yet I must not show myself thankless. And 'tis but yesterday that I moved my father to give him the lands of Cottington as his reward."
"The very act, my lord," replied Hugh, "which merits your gratitude, was one of treachery to the party which he pretended to serve. For that I will not blame him, however; but he is a dark and deceitful man, and the proof can be made clear, I do not doubt. I will send instantly, as you direct. All that I gain in way of proof I will give into your hand, my lord, and let you rule and direct my conduct. It is so terrible a choice which lies before me, that my brain seems bewildered when I think of it."
"It is sad, indeed!" replied Edward. "I have put it to my heart, Monthermer, how I should act, were I placed as you are, and I know how painful would be the decision. Whatever happens in the lists--whoever lives, whoever dies--you must be the loser. If you are vanquished--if, by a hesitating heart or unwilling hand, you give the victory to your adversary, you lose not only renown, but honour and esteem with all men; you lose not only life but reputation. If you conquer--if you win honour, and maintain your innocence--your love and happiness is gone for ever. 'Tis a hard fate, Monthermer; and whatever can be done to avert it shall be done by me;--but I must leave you now. You will of course be present at the King's supper. Bear, I beseech you, a calm and steady countenance, that your enemies may not triumph. Your accuser is gone back to Lindwell; and Edward's friend must not seem cast down."
Thus saying, he rose to quit the chamber; but before he went, he bent his head, adding, in a lower voice, "Doubtless you know your lady-love is here--ay, here, in Nottingham Castle, with the Princess Eleanor. Of course, in these days of mourning, she mingles not with the court; but if it be possible, I will contrive that you shall see her. Methinks the laws of chivalry require it should be so."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Hugh, clasping his hands--"wherever she were, I would demand to see her; and no one bearing knightly sword and spur would venture to refuse me. Have I not to tell her how my heart is wrung?--Have I not to show her that this is no deed of mine?--Have I not to prove to her that I am but a passive instrument in the hands of fate?--that the death which he calls upon his head, is her brother's own seeking; and that I am no more answerable for it than the lance that strikes him?--Oh yes, my lord, I must see her!"
"You shall, you shall," replied Edward, "but it must not be to-night. Farewell, for the present;" and thus saying, he quitted the room.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
It was evening; but one day remained to pass away before the arrival of that appointed for the wager of battle; and all Nottingham had been in hurry and confusion with the excitement of the approaching spectacle. The residence of the King in the Castle had already filled the town fuller than it was ever known to be before; but now a still greater influx of people poured into it from all the country round, to witness a transaction, which combined all the splendor and display of one of the military pageants of the day with the interest of a deep tragedy. The citizens had flocked out of the town during the morning, to see the preparation of the lists; parties of pleasure had been made to the spot where the deadly struggle was to take place; and mirth and merriment had surrounded the scene, where two fellow-creatures were soon to appear armed for mutual destruction--where bright hopes and fair prospects were to be blighted, and death and sorrow to share the victory.
No tidings had been received by Hugh de Monthermer from his forest friends. No circumstance had transpired which could aid him in proving his innocence, or could fix the guilt upon another. Prince Edward was evidently anxious and uneasy; and the only person who seemed pleased with the whole affair was the King himself, who, affecting a dignified grace and calmness and declaring that he assumed the young Lord of Monthermer to be innocent till he was proved guilty, treated him with courtesy, and even with distinction. It was the pampering of a gladiator before sending him into the arena; for the secret of Henry's good humour was, that he was pleased at the excitement, and satisfied with those who contributed to it.
Not to show favour, however--as one of the most favourite-ridden monarchs that ever lived thought fit to term it, he sent expressly to invite the young Earl of Ashby to repair with his train to Nottingham Castle, and partake of the royal hospitality before the combat; and Alured had already arrived, and taken possession of the apartments prepared for him.
He had twice met with Hugh de Monthermer, once in the hall, when many others were present, and once in the court when they were nearly alone. Their meeting had been watched by the frivolous and malicious, always so numerous in courts, who hoped and expected to see some outburst of angry feeling, which might afford amusement for the passing hour. But in this they were altogether disappointed--the two adversaries saluted each other with grave courtesy; and it was particularly remarked, that Alured's fierce impetuosity and somewhat insolent pride were greatly softened down and moderated. Nay, more, when his eyes lighted upon Hugh de Monthermer, the expression was more sad than stern, and some thought that there was hesitation in it also.
"It is clear enough," said Sir Harry Grey to Sir William Geary--"it is clear enough, he doubts the truth of the charge he has made--he does not think the Monthermer guilty."
"He knows that some one must be guilty," answered the other, "and that is generally enough for an Ashby, to make him vent his rage upon the first thing near."
"But what has become of his good cousin Dickon?" demanded Grey. "I have not seen him all day, nor yesterday either."
"I suppose be keeps at Lindwell," replied Sir William Geary, "or else has gone to his new manor of Cottington. People look cold on him--I know not why."
"There are two or three reasons why," said Sir Harry Grey. "First, it is evident that this charge is of his hatching, and yet he puts the fighting part upon his cousin."
"And very wise, too!" exclaimed Sir William Geary. "First, because Hugh de Monthermer would break his neck, as a man does a rabbit's with his little finger; next, because there is but one between him and the Earldom of Ashby, and a good lance and a fair field is very likely to diminish the number."
"Is it just possible," said Grey, "that he may have taken means to diminish the number already?"
Sir William Geary shrugged his shoulders significantly, but made no other answer, and the conversation dropped.
Such as it was, however, it was a fair specimen of many others that took place in Nottingham that day. But Richard de Ashby heard them not, for he was many miles away, deep in conference with his companion, Ellerby, who remained to watch the progress of events, hidden in the wild and mountainous parts of Derbyshire.
Nevertheless, that night towards seven o'clock, when every one in Nottingham had returned home from the sight-seeing and amusements of the day, and all was profoundly quiet, both in the castle and the town, two armourers, who sat burnishing a magnificent hauberk in the outer chamber of the young Earl of Ashby's apartments in Nottingham Castle, were interrupted by some one knocking at the door. In a loud voice they bade the visitor come in; and in a moment after, the brown face and head of an old woman were thrust into the room, asking to see the Earl of Ashby.
The two men had been going on merrily with their work, giving no thought or heed to the bloody purposes which the weapons under their hands were to be applied to, nor of the danger that their lord ran, should that linked shirt of mail prove insufficient to repel the lance of an enemy. They looked up then as cheerfully as if the whole were a matter of sport, and one of them replied, "He will not receive you, good dame, seeing you are old and ugly. Had you been young and pretty, by my faith, you would have found admission right soon.--What is it that you wish?"
"I wish to tell him," answered the old woman, "that he is wanted immediately down at the house of Sir Richard de Ashby."
"Well--well," cried the man, "I will tell him. Get thee gone, and close the door after thee, for the night wind is cold."
Thus saying, he went on with his work, and seemed to have no inclination to break off, for the purpose of carrying any messages whatsoever.
"Come--come!" cried his companion, "you must tell my lord."
"Pooh, that will do an hour hence," he replied; "to-morrow morning will be time enough, if I like it. What should Richard de Ashby want with my lord:--Borrow money, I dare say. Some Jew has got him by the throat, and wont let him go. There let him stay--nasty vermin!"
"Nay--nay, then I will go," said his brother armourer, rising, and proceeding into another chamber, where several yeomen and a page were sitting, to the latter of whom he delivered the message, and then returned to his work.
The young Earl of Ashby was seated in an inner room, with but one companion, when the old woman's commission was at length executed.
"Ay! I am glad to hear he has returned," he said, as the page closed the door. "I wonder he comes not hither! but I will go and speak with him. My mind misgives me, Sir Guy--my mind misgives me! And what you say does not convince me. My sister knows better--Lucy is truth itself. Remember, sir, I have to swear that my quarrel is just--that I believe, so help, me, God! that my charge is true. I doubt it, Guy de Margan--I doubt it. If you can give new proof--speak! But 'tis useless to repeat over and over again what I have heard before, and what has been refuted."
"It may be that your cousin, my lord, can furnish you with new proof," said Guy de Margan. "'Tis on that account, perhaps, he has sent for you."
"I will go directly," cried the Earl, starting up--"I will go directly!--But where does he live in Nottingham?--I thought he was in the castle with the rest, or at our lodging in the town.--Down at the house of Sir Richard de Ashby!--Where may that be, I wonder?"
"I can show you, my lord," answered Guy do Margan--"'tis half-a-mile hence or more."
"Tell me--tell me," replied the Earl; "I will go by myself."
"I will put you in the way, my lord," said his companion, "and leave you when you are in the street.--You will never find it by yourself."
Giving him but little thanks for his courtesy, the young Earl strode into the ante-room; and with none but a page to carry his sword, and Guy de Margan by his side, issued forth into the court of the castle, and thence through the gates into the dark streets of Nottingham.
"Had you not better have a torch, my lord?" said Guy de Margan.
"No--no," replied the Earl, "'tis but that our eyes are not accustomed to the obscurity, We have no time to wait for torches; the hour of supper will be here anon."
"Down the first flight of steps, my lord," said Guy de Margan, "let us not miss the mouth of the alley--Oh, 'tis here!" and hurrying on with a quick step, the two gentlemen and their young attendant descended to the lower part of the town, and entered the street in which Richard de Ashby had hired the house we have so often mentioned.
When they had proceeded some way down it, the young Earl asked, with even more than his usual impatience--"Are we not near it yet?"
"Yes, my good lord," replied Guy de Margan; "you can now find it for yourself, I doubt not. 'Tis the first small house standing back between two large ones, with eaves shooting far over into the street."
"I shall find it!--I shall find it!" cried Alured de Ashby, "Good night, and thanks, Sir Guy. We shall meet again to-morrow."
With this short adieu, he took his way forward, and in his quick, impetuous haste, had well-nigh passed the house which he was seeking, but the boy pulled him by the sleeve, saying, "This must be it, my lord;" and looking round, he plunged into the dark, retreating nook in which it stood, and feeling for the door, struck sharply upon it with the hilt of his dagger.
For near a minute there was no sound, and the young Earl was about to knock again, when a light, shining through the chinks, shewed him that somebody was coming. He drew back a step; and a moment after, the door was opened with a slow and deliberate hand, which suited ill with the young nobleman's impatient mood. The sight that he beheld, however, when his eyes recovered from the first glare of the light, struck him with surprise, and calmed him also, by the effect of gentler feelings than those which had lately agitated his bosom.
It was the form of fair Kate Greenly that presented itself--it was her face that the rays of the lamp shone upon; but oh, what a change had been wrought in that face, even within the last three days! Still more terrible was the alteration since the Earl had last seen it, when he jested for a moment with his cousin's leman some months before in Hereford. Then it had been bright and blooming, full of life and eagerness, with much of the loveliness which then characterized it depending upon youth and high health. Now, though beauty still lingered, and the fine line of the features could not be altered, yet the face was sharp and pale and worn, the lips bloodless; and the bright, dark eyes, though shining, with almost preternatural lustre, had a fixed, stern look, no longer wild and sparkling, but full of intense thought, and strong, yet painful purpose. The form, too, seemed shrunk and changed; the grace indeed remained, but the rounded contour of the limbs was withered and gone.
"Why, Kate," exclaimed the Earl--"why how now--what is this? You seem ill."
"I seem what I am, my lord," replied Kate Greenly. "I am glad you are come; your presence is much wanted."
"Where?" demanded the Earl. "What do you mean, my poor girl? Some new mishap, I warrant you. Where is my presence wanted, Kate?"
"I will show you, my lord," replied Kate Greenly, "if you will follow me;" and she led the way up the stairs.
At the end of the first flight, the Earl paused, saying, "Is not Dickon here, that he comes not forth?"
Kate gave him no direct answer, merely replying, "This way, my lord--this way, sir."
"He must be ill," thought the Earl, "and she, too, is ill, that is clear. 'Tis some fever, belike. I have heard there is one in Nottingham."
At the top of the next flight, the girl laid her hand upon the latch of a rough door, formed of unsmoothed wood, holding the lamp so as to give the Earl light in his ascent. The moment after, she opened the door and entered, leading the way towards the foot of a small bed, by which was burning a waxen taper.
The Earl followed, murmuring, "This is a poor place," but raised his eyes as he approached the foot of the bed, and to his surprise, beheld the ghastly face of a dead man, stretched out, with a sprig of holly resting on his breast.
"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed.--"Who is this?"
"The murderer of your father!" replied Kate Greenly, without adding a word more.
Alured de Ashby clasped his hands, with deep and terrible emotion. His mind at the moment paused not to inquire whether the tale were true or false; but flashing at once through, his heart and brain came the feeling of wrath, even at the inanimate mass before him, for the deed that had been done, mingled with grief and anxiety at having charged it upon another, and the memory of all the embarrassments which that charge must produce.
"The murderer of my father!" he said, "The murderer of my father--Is that the murderer of my father!--Then Monthermer is innocent!"
"As innocent as yourself," replied Kate Greenly. "This is one of those who did the deed; but there were more than one, Hugh de Monthermer, however, was many a mile away, and there lies the man who struck the first blow. Look here!" she cried, and partly drawing down the sheet, she pointed to the wound upon the dead man's breast, saying, "There entered your father's sword; for the old man died gallantly, and sent one at least to his account."
"Ay, I remember," replied the Earl, thoughtfully, "they found his sword naked and bloody--But how is this?" he continued, turning towards Kate, and gazing on her face. "You seem to know it all, as if you had been present.--Now I perceive what makes you haggard and pale."
"'Tis seeing such sights as this," replied Kate Greenly--"ay, and many another sad cause besides. But you ask, how I know all this? I will tell you, Earl of Ashby: by taking down from that man's own lips, in his dying moments, the confession of his crime. The priest adjured him to make full avowal of the truth, not only to the ear of the confessor, which could but benefit his own soul, but for the ear of justice, that the innocent might not be punished for the guilty. Such confession as he did make, I myself wrote down, he signed it with his dying hand, and I and Father Mark were the witnesses thereunto. Here is the paper--read and satisfy yourself! The priest I have sent for--he will soon be here."
Alured de Ashby took the paper, and, by the light of the lamp held by Kate Greenly, read the few words that it contained:--
"I do publicly acknowledge and confess," so ran the writing, which followed exactly the broken words of the dying man; "that I, Ingelram Dighton, did, on the afternoon of Tuesday last, together with three others--no, I will not mention their names--who had come down with me the day before from the good city of London, lay wait for the Earl of Ashby, at a place called the Bull's Hawthorn. I struck at him first, but only wounded him; whereupon he drew his sword and plunged it into my side, from which I am now dying. The Lord have mercy upon my soul! El----, but no, I will not mention his name--another man then stabbed him behind, and we threw him into the pit. The Lord Hugh de Monthermer had nothing to do with the deed. We used his name, because the person that set us on wanted the charge to fall on him, and a letter was written, as if from him, asking the old Earl to see him alone, at the place of the murder; but he never wrote it, or knew of it. I have never seen him or spoken to him in my life, but only heard that morning that he had escaped from prison. This has been read over to me now dying, at the house of Sir Richard de Ashby; and I swear by the Holy Sacrament and all the Saints, that it is true, so help me God!"
It was signed, with a shaking hand, "Ingelram Dighton," and below were the names of Kate Greenly and the priest, as witnesses.
The young Earl read and re-read it, and then looking upon his companion somewhat sternly, he asked, "Why did you not produce this before?"
"For many reasons," replied Kate Greenly, calmly:--"first, because I had not the means. Do you suppose that the cruel and deceitful villain into whose power I have fallen leaves me to roam whither I please? 'Tis but when he is absent that I dare quit the house. In the next place, you were at Lindwell; and in the next, I wished, ere I brought forward even so much as this, to have the whole in my hands; to be able not only to say, 'This man is innocent,' but also, 'That man is guilty!' I tell you, Earl, I would not now have told you what I have, but that you must not risk your own life in a false quarrel, nor bring upon yourself the guilt of slaying another for deeds that he did not commit. Knowing as much as you do now know, it is your task and duty to sift this matter to the bottom, and to discover the instigator of this murder; for he who now lies there, and his companions, were but tools. I am ready and willing to speak all I know, when the time and place is fitting. Yet you must be neither too quick nor too slow: for if you are slow, I shall not be here--my days are numbered, and are flying fast; and if you are hasty, the guilty one will escape you."
"And who is the guilty one?" demanded Alured de Ashby, bending his brows sternly upon her--"Who is the guilty one? Name him, girl, I adjure thee--name him! Name him, if ever thou hast had the feelings of a child towards a father!"
Kate gave a low cry, as if from corporeal pain, and then, shaking her head mournfully, she said, "I have had the feelings of a child towards a father, Earl of Ashby; and for the sake of your false cousin, I tore those feelings from my heart in spite of all the agony--for his sake, I brought disgrace upon that father's house--for his sake, I strewed ashes upon a parent's head--for his sake, I poured coals of fire upon my own; and how has he repaid me! But you ask me, who is the man? I will not be his accuser till all other means fail. I must not be accuser and witness too. You have the clue in your hands; use it wisely and firmly, and you will soon discover all you seek to know."
The Earl gazed in her face for a minute with a keen and searching glance, then turned his look once more upon the corpse, took a step or two nearer, and examined the features attentively.
"Give me the lamp," he said; and taking it from her hand, he bent down his own head, and seemed to scan every lineament, as if to fix them on his mind for ever. But his thoughts were in reality turning to the past, not the future; and raising himself to his full height again; he added, aloud, "I have seen that face before, though where I cannot tell. The memory will return, however. How came he here?--Who brought him here to die?"
"Those who took him hence to slay," answered Kate Greenly.
"Didst thou ever see him before that day?" demanded the Earl.
"Twice," was the reply.
"Hark! there is the curfew," exclaimed the Earl. "I must away."
"Stay till the priest comes!" cried Kate, eagerly. "He will be here ere long."
"I cannot," answered Alured de Ashby; "I am expected at the castle even now. But fear not that I will forget this business. I will find out the truth, even if I have to cut it from the hearts of those that would conceal it; and I will be calm, too--tranquil, and calm, and cautious."
"Go, then!" said Kate. "Yet tell me--But no, you will not dream of it!--You have no thought of meeting in arms an innocent and blameless man upon a false and unholy charge? Promise me--promise me!"
"I will make no promise!" answered the Earl. "You seem to feel some deep interest in this Monthermer?"
"I never saw his face but twice!" replied Kate, solemnly. "I never heard his voice but once--I have no interest in him; but, weak and fallen and disgraced as I am, I have still an interest in right and truth! Neither would I see you fall before his lance--for fall assuredly you will, if you go forth to meet him! Nay, look not proud, Earl of Ashby, before a dying girl, who knows nought of these haughty strifes, and can little tell whether you or he--if all were equal--would bear away the prize of chivalry. But, I say, all is not equal between you; and if you meet Hugh de Monthermer, you fall before his lance as sure as you now live: for he is armoured in high innocence, with a just quarrel, and an honest name to vindicate; you fight, weighed down with the consciousness of wrong upon your arm, a false oath upon your lips, and doubt and discouragement at your heart! Were you twenty times the knight you are, that burden were enough to make you fall before a peasant's staff! One thing, however, I have a right to demand: you shall give that paper to Prince Edward, fully twelve hours before you go into the lists--this you must promise me to do, or I myself will go and cast myself--"
"I have no right to refuse," interrupted the Earl; "on my honour, as a knight, the Prince shall have the paper. Be you ready to prove that it is genuine?"
"I am ever ready," answered Kate; "and though I may shrink and quiver, like a wounded limb when a surgeon draws the arrow forth, yet I shall be glad when each step of my bitter task is begun, and the time of rest comes nearer. If they wish to remove this body?"--she added, as the Earl walked towards the door,
"Let them do it," answered Alured--"let them do it--they shall be watched!"
Thus saying, he left the room, and slowly descended the stairs, Kate Greenly lighting him down to the bottom. He went thoughtfully and sadly, with a heart full of gloom, anxiety, and strife; but there were kindly parts in his character, too; and when he reached the bottom step, he turned and looked once more in the face of his unhappy companion. Then, taking her hand, he said, "Poor girl, I am sorry for thee! Can nought be done to save thee?"
"Nothing, my lord!" replied Kate Greenly, calmly; "I have but one Saviour, and he is not of earth."