"By Saint George, Sir Dick, what have I done with your saddle girth, ... eh? 'Tis too much, this, I tell you. Give me nothing above a padded lance and a sword of lath, and I'd do battle with the whole of you together. Here have I suffered all manner of insults from every blessed soul within this tavern—and now you, Sir Dick, must say to me, what have I done with your girth, ... eh!"
"Mayhap," whined the stable-boy, who was squirming to get loose from de Claverlok's grasp, "I mislaid me it in yon hay-cock."
"Then I'll go with thee to help find it," de Claverlok said, wriggling up the great pile of hay behind the boy.
While they were both down on their hands and knees digging, Sir Richard quickly unbuckled the grizzled knight's saddle and set it upon the back of his own horse.
"Have you found it, my friend?" he called, when he had made de Claverlok's strap secure.
"Nay—not yet. Have patience, Sir Dick," called the grizzled knight without stopping to look behind him.
"Then," laughed Sir Richard triumphantly, "being in sore haste to get away, I've e'en borrowed thine. Thou canst follow later, sir knight. Adieu to you—adieu!"
"Fie—Sir Dick!" shouted de Claverlok, starting up red-faced and sliding down the steep side of the hay; "I pray you, be not in such an undue haste. Wait! You are leaving with the mark of a powdered hand upon your shoulder-cape. Hold, I say! Let me brush it from you, boy!"
The young knight was safe upon the highway before de Claverlok got clear of the hay.
"An I have the mark of the scullery-maid upon my shoulder," he called back, "I have also the knowledge of the true distance of Castle Yewe beneath my bonnet. Give you a round good-day, de Claverlok," he added, laughing gaily, and with that pelted off down the road at top speed.
He had a fine view of the Stag and Hounds from the crest of the next hill, and saw his companion swing into his saddle and follow after him at a great pace, with the lost girth strapped securely about his horse's belly. The race was now on in grim earnest, and the young knight was resolved, at any hazard, to hold fast to the advantage he had gained.
The breadth of the hill intervening, he lost sight of de Claverlok for a little space. But he had another view of him when his pursuer rode over its summit. The grizzled knight was shouting a string of words that, because of the roaring of the wind in his ears and the pounding of his horse's hoofs, he could not at all make out, and waving his long arms about in the most frantic manner. The young knight was enjoying the situation to the marrow. It was worth everything to him merely to have outwitted the crafty veteran.
Sir Richard calculated that he was laying the road behind him at the rate of five leagues an hour. He was relieved and happy to know that of a certainty he would soon arrive at his journey's end, and that, too, in despite of the many obstacles that had been so stubbornly thrust in his way. "Then," thought he, with a thrill of pleasure, "upon fulfilling my King's behest I shall be free to retrace my way to the Red Tavern to deliver the fair maiden from her imprisonment."
Thus much, at least, he meant surely to do. After that was accomplished, he felt constrained to relinquish the marking of the sequel into the hands of the kind—or unkind—Fates.
Meanwhile the race was going steadily and swiftly forward. Though exacting the utmost of speed from his horse, Sir Richard was unable appreciably to change their positions. With a dogged persistence de Claverlok contrived to maintain the rapid pace and relative distance, which, when galloping over the level, was well within sight of the pursued.
At length, through a narrow cleft between the hills, Sir Richard caught a welcome glimpse of high, square-built and crenelated towers. It was the goal for which he was so mightily striving.
He had passed through the cleft and was well up the slope leading to the portcullis when of a sudden he felt the saddle girth giving way beneath him. Appreciating that it would be sheer madness to risk a fall and certain defeat of his purpose of delivering the warrant, with victory so near, he instantly drew rein, flung himself from off the back of his panting stallion and began the work of securing the ill adjusted strap.
While thus feverishly engaged he shouted at the top of his voice for the guard upon the tower to lower the drawbridge across the wide moat. Covered with scarlet-flecked foam, de Claverlok's horse came thundering upon him up the hill.
With the grizzled knight scarce above two lance-haft's lengths behind him, and wildly calling upon him to wait, that death lay in the King's warrant, Sir Richard vaulted into his saddle and made for the castle gate.
When he had laid something near half of the remaining distance behind him he heard the clear blast of a bugle go singing across the down. Without in the least diminishing his speed, he turned in time to see a band of armored horsemen flashing out of the pine forest to the eastward. Riding in the van he was certain that he recognized the livid-scarred face of the traveler in the monk's robe.
If the bridge were now but lowered it would be impossible for them to cut Sir Richard off. Would it fall for him? Now he had reached to within easy flight of an arrow from the massively buttressed gray walls; and as yet he could discern no sign of movement among the thick ropes, wheels, and pulleys sustaining it. There appeared no hint of life along the face of the great pile. At the very moment when he was about to wheel to the westward, in the faint hope of eluding his pursuers through a continued flight, there sounded a creaking of wheels, and the heavy structure began slowly to move earthward.
De Claverlok's lance, hilt-foremost, went hurtling past the young knight's shoulder. Distinctly he heard the dull splash of it as it struck the black waters of the moat, far below.
At every stride the slope was growing steeper, and it seemed to Sir Richard's straining eyes that the bridge, with its underwork of mossy beams and rusted iron trusses, was hanging in mid air directly above his head.
So closely had its fall been timed, however, that there was no margin left to the young knight upon the side of safety. He was forced to put his mount to the leap to gain the top of it.
"God wot there be death here for the twain of us!" Sir Richard heard de Claverlok shout as he, too, took the perilous leap but an instant behind him.
Through the yawning maw of the arched sallyport they shot together, and the heavy portcullis, like iron teeth snapping down after gulping their prey, crashed upon the flagging at their backs.
The main gateway that gave entrance to the outer bailey was impressively wide and lofty. Once inside, postern gates opening upon either hand admitted into the great halls, rooms of state, and the donjon-keep. Besides these, and at regular intervals along the vaulted, winding passageway, the walls were pierced by iron-clad doors giving upon the same premises. When the opening of this main artery had been sealed by the drawbridge, which fitted tight against it, nothing of daylight filtered in, and it received its only illumination from a number of huge cressets, two of which were set high overhead at every turning, and kept constantly filled with glowing coals by the castle attendants.
Before each of the nail-studded doors stood two guards armed at point, their halberds planted firm before them, grim and motionless. In the dim radiation from the iron baskets they assumed the appearance of a rank of immovable and awesome statues that might well have been hewn out of the smoke-distained walls before which they were stationed.
When Sir Richard and de Claverlok had ridden past the second turning they were confronted by a solid line of them, stretching from wall to wall across the flagged floor directly in their path. To the right, one of the doors stood wide ajar; a bevy of men and women, sumptuously garbed, appeared within the bright rectangle. A fool in motley was posing against the pillared casement. It was like a painted picture, vivid, touched with brilliant colors, set within an enormous, dark, and gloomy frame.
A train of pages, dressed in liveries of slashed silk and velvet, stood ready to conduct the two travelers before the lord of the castle. At a sign from one, who, because of his distinctive uniform, one would have taken to be the major domo, they dismounted and relinquished their horses into the care of equerries; then, bringing up in the rear of the train of pages, they made their way up the steps and through the thronged doorway.
"God's sake! Sir Dick," exclaimed de Claverlok in an agitated whisper as they were traversing the length of the vast hall into which they were come, "Give not that paper to Douglas. Let me have but a word with you in private before adventuring an act so deadly dangerous to your person, ... eh?" In the extremity of his eagerness to gain his young friend's consent he caught his arm in a viselike grip, as though meaning forcibly to detain him.
"Take your hand from off my arm," warned Sir Richard sullenly. "'Twould be most unseemly to have out our quarrel here, de Claverlok."
"Quarrels? What quarrel, ... eh? There's no quarrel between us, my boy."
"Aye—but I tell thee there is," maintained Sir Richard. "Much hath thy treachery grieved and amazed me, worthy knight, whom I had come to consider my stanch friend."
"Treachery, ... eh? What the devil! God wot, my son," de Claverlok hurriedly pursued, "I am not traitor—listen——"
"Have a care, de Claverlok, the guards are looking," whispered the young knight warningly. "And not a word with you, I say, till I've delivered the King's paper. Think you I have foughten my way here for naught? No inkling have I of the purpose of your company in stealing the parchment and in their attempt to hinder me from reaching here. But the copy goes to Lord Douglas as fast as——"
"Cannot you but wait an hour, ... eh? Hell and furies! Never can I forgive me my stupidity in allowing you to come within this house of death," interrupted de Claverlok. "There's death in that paper, I say—death!"
"Death; what mean you?"
"Aye, death! Death to thyself, an thou must hear the truth. 'Tis a warrant for your own execution, Sir Dick."
"De Claverlok, you lie in your bewhiskered throat," returned Sir Richard in a menacing undertone.
"Never before hath man said that word to me and lived," declared the grizzled warrior gloomily. "But I forgive you, Sir Dick. Aye, I forgive you. An you'll but consent to wait an hour, I'll hear you asking my forgiveness. You can do it, my boy,—you can wait. Say to Douglas that thou art an emissary of Henry, who hath but journeyed here to yield to him thy sovereign's good wishes. Tell him that I am your companion and squire. Mayhap 'twill answer for my present safety."
"First dive within the moat and fetch me your dripping lance. 'Twould be a most befitting badge of your loyalty to me to lay before him, de Claverlok."
"You would be at this moment in a far better case," observed the grizzled warrior bitterly, "an it had taken you in the small of the back, where I intended it should land. You know damned well 'twas hurled butt foremost, ... eh? By the Rood, boy, answer me."
Sir Richard hesitated; then, measuring his companion's earnest look, nodded in the affirmative.
"I'll do it," said he, "though a plague take me, an I think you deserve it. But whereof be the good, an your act were seen from barbacan or shot-hole?"
"I'll take my solemn oath 'twas driven at the door," observed de Claverlok, smiling in open gratification at having achieved his point. "You'll delay the blessed paper, too, ... eh?"
"Nay—that I dare not do," whispered Sir Richard decisively. "Even now unmeasured harm may have resulted from my egregious blunder in permitting the original to be stolen. An ill messenger have I been, de Claverlok—an ill messenger."
"You'll persist in delivering the paper, ... eh?"
"Upon my soul. Yea."
By now they had reached to the foot of a broad flight of steps leading to a gallery that completely girdled the hall. Already the pages were strung halfway up the stairway, awaiting for the two men to follow.
"Await me here, de Claverlok," added Sir Richard in a tone indicating his determination to finish his errand as he started up the stairs.
"By the gods, you'll not go!" roared the grizzled knight in a transport of infuriated rage, whereupon he made a sudden leap at Sir Richard, catching him with a bearlike hug around the middle and dragging him to the floor of the hall. "Give me that paper," he whispered in the young knight's ear. "Give it to me, Sir Dick!"
"What meaneth this?" shouted a stern voice from above that rang to the vaulted dome of the chamber. "Separate me those brawlers, guards!"
In the wink of an eye a cloud of the Douglas retainers had swooped down and torn the fiercely struggling men apart. There followed a momentary lull during which the two stood glaring into each other's eyes.
"Which of thee hath an errand with Douglas, and what, pray, may it be?" resumed the voice from the gallery.
Ranging along the balcony behind him, Sir Richard's eyes fell upon a burly, broad-shouldered man standing with arms folded on the threshold of an open door.
"I am bearer of a message from King Henry, my lord," answered Sir Richard.
"And who is thy combative friend?" queried Douglas. "Why this row within my very hall, sir knight?"
"'Twas but a slight misunderstanding, my lord," Sir Richard instantly replied. "May I now bring to thee the paper?"
"Aye, that may you. But who is thy friend? Thou hast not answered me."
"My companion and squire, Lord Douglas. I bespeak for him thy pardon. Though he meaneth right well, he is ever thoughtless and rude."
"So it would seem. Bring me King Henry's message. Keep me yonder belligerent in leash, my men," Douglas added, pointing toward de Claverlok, who was still tossing the guards about in a vain endeavor to free himself from their smothering grasp.
Sir Richard strode past the struggling, heaving mass of humanity, and then, on up the stairway. Upon reaching the landing he turned to his right to where Lord Douglas stood within the door leading off the jutting balcony. The young knight paused for a moment to glance downward above the railing toward de Claverlok. The grizzled warrior had evidently signified his intention of remaining quiescent, for the guards had loosened their hold of him and he was standing mutely against one of the columns that shot from floor to ceiling at regular intervals around the entire length and breadth of the hall. His arms were folded, and he was gazing straight up into the face of his young friend. The beribboned courtiers and brightly dressed women were standing at a discreet distance, gaping at him. It reminded Sir Richard of an eagle that had dropped its pinions in the midst of a swarm of brilliant-winged, fluttering moths. He noted as well the expression of sad reproach with which the veteran was regarding him. If ever sincerity was stamped in the features of man it was surely displayed in the rugged countenance of de Claverlok, and from that instant the young knight divined his erstwhile companion to be as stanch and true as the steel of the Damascus blade at his side.
"Thou'lt find me here, Sir Richard," de Claverlok called up as the young knight turned to enter the door through which Lord Douglas had but just preceded him. When he came into his cabinet, after traversing a number of curtained passageways, Sir Richard found the bluff Scotsman pacing impatiently back and forth across the floor. He paused when the young knight entered, greeting him formally from his station in the center of the room.
"From King Henry," said he, when the document, fresh from its hiding place, had been surrendered into his hands.
Signing Sir Richard to be seated near a massive, carved oak desk, Douglas dropped into a high-backed chair before it, broke the great red seal and addressed himself to the business of reading. When he had finished perusing the document he laid it face downward upon the desk and leaned back in his chair, tugging at his wiry, black beard, and knitting his fierce brows deeply. During an interval of several minutes he remained in this attitude, stealing occasional glances of searching inquiry in Sir Richard's direction and muttering inaudible sentences to himself.
"That this paper hath reached within the walls of Castle Yewe, sir knight," he at length said, speaking with a cold deliberation, as though carefully weighing each word, "is certes an indisputable proof of thy absolute integrity as a messenger."
"Nay—but——"
"Tut, tut! Say not a word till I have digested this matter within my mind," interrupted Douglas. Whereupon he took up the parchment and read it through carefully a second time. Then, getting up from his seat, he resumed his impatient march across the floor. As Sir Richard sat studying the Scotsman's movements, he fancied that he had never seen a combination of features more suggestive of unfaltering determination and grim pugnacity. Douglas's head was not over large; and his cheek, chin, and crown were covered with a thick mop of jet black beard and hair. He moved his burly figure awkwardly, like one who was more accustomed to riding than walking.
"By the mass!" he suddenly ejaculated. "'Tis, in truth, a riddle far too deep for me to unravel. Why hast thou delivered me this message, sir knight?" he queried sharply, halting before the bench whereupon Sir Richard was sitting.
"Why?" returned the surprised young knight. "Does it not speak for itself, my lord? At the behest of my sovereign liege have I brought it here; and much doth it shame me to confess that ill have I requited my beloved and noble master's trust——"
"Ill requited? What's this the young knight's saying?" Douglas burst forth. "Beshrew me, young sir, an I wot how!"
"Well—'tis but the duplicate I have rendered unto thee, Lord Douglas. The original I carelessly allowed to be stolen by a band of free-lances from whom I did escape but yester eve. Tell me," he added anxiously, "will harm result because of my unpardonable lack of caution?"
Douglas, with arms akimbo, was standing directly in front of Sir Richard and looking straight down into his eyes.
"Save to thyself," he replied slowly, apparently having satisfied himself as to the truth of the young knight's statement, "no harm can possibly befall. Mayhap, an thou hadst not lost the original, I should have adopted another course than the one now forced upon me. But—wherefore, Sir Richard, didst thou not join issues with Tyrrell withal?"
"Tyrrell?" the young knight replied in a thoroughly puzzled way; "i' faith, my lord, I know not the man—though I did hear that name called by the outlaw band by which I was held captive."
"Well, well—so thou knowest not Tyrrell?" ejaculated Lord Douglas. "Yet certes, man, you tarried a night under the roof of the Red Tavern, and rode for a day in his company of conspirators? Either you are the cleverest of dissemblers, sir knight, or else, forsooth, the embodiment of sluggishness! Nay—regard me not thus in anger—I accept every word of your astonishing denial as God's truth—every word. Have I not before stated that this document here proves your steadfast honesty? Have you never heard of Tyrrell, hireling of Crookback Richard—strangler of two drooling boys in the tower? By my soul, man, where have you been reared?"
"In Brittany, my lord," Sir Richard returned, his face aflame with honest resentment. "There, in Duke Francis's court I learned my lessons with the Earl of Richmond, now my beloved King. I do recall that once, on London Bridge, I saw the head of one, Dighton, slewing on a pole. 'Twas he, methought, who did the tower murders."
"Tut, tut! What ignorance! Somewhat of history, Sir Richard, you have yet to learn. That fellow was but Tyrrell's tool and groom whom Tyrrell himself murdered for playing him false. Lady Douglas shall take you in hand and teach you a thing or two of past events. I would hear now," he added, seating himself beside Sir Richard, "your account of your journey from Kenilworth. I beg of you, omit no incident that may seem to you trifling, as you love your King. It is a most important and grave matter, this, Sir Richard."
"I'll do it willingly, my lord," the young knight acquiesced, and thereupon began narrating his adventures. It took him an hour or more to finish, during all of which time Lord Douglas sat quietly beside him, with his elbows planted firmly upon his knees and his face pressed against the palms of his hands. At times he would run his fingers through his hair, or tap with the heel of his boot upon the floor. Sir Richard's tale ran smoothly enough till it came to the point of accounting for de Claverlok's companionship. Here he stumbled slightly, being obliged to draw largely upon his imagination. He accomplished it in a fairly acceptable manner, however, and in a way that he hoped would seem natural. Though he was unable to see how harm could befall either the grizzled knight or himself in the event of the truth being told. Not for a moment had he credited his companion's statement in respect of Henry's message containing matter inimical to its bearer. But he paid the veteran the tribute of believing him to be absolutely sincere, and forgave him accordingly, absolving him from any blame because of that which Sir Richard supposed to be his misjudged zeal in attempting to withhold the delivery of the parchment.
When the young knight had finished his story, Douglas arose and took a few turns across the room.
"Extraordinary," he kept repeating half to himself; "most extraordinary!"
Presently he resumed his seat before the desk, remaining silent there for awhile, and tapping with his fingers upon its polished top.
"Thou canst not appreciate, I know," he said at length, "how completely thy story hath absorbed my interest. I would that I could delve beneath the surface and unearth some of its mysteries. Tut, tut! What am I saying? Let them take care of themselves. Full often have I found, Sir Richard, that the deepest mysteries of to-day become the most loudly heralded sensations of to-morrow. Now, an thou'lt but sign thy name across the back of this parchment, I'll take thee into the presence of the lady of the castle. But—hold! I'll have witnesses."
Then—"MacGregor," he called aloud, and in reply to his summons a lank individual arose above a tall desk standing in a corner of the cabinet quite as though he had been materialized out of a world of spirits. Douglas whispered his instructions in the scrivener's ear, and he hurried away, presumably to gather them in.
They entered presently—ten of them there were—mumbling, whispering, shaking their powdered heads in a kind of unison, till the white dust sifted upon the floor like particles of glittering snow. Standing somberly in line behind a long table, awaiting turns to set their names beneath Sir Richard's, they reminded him of a row of solemn, nodding jackdaws. Not being in a position to appreciate its gravity, the scene amused rather than awed the young knight. Not in the remotest degree did he surmise that he was henceforth to be but a wooden image—a carved knight, if we may be allowed the simile—progressing obediently from square to square over the checkered board of a complex conspiracy whenever they extended their lean fingers to make the move.
"Remain," Lord Douglas said, when the last of them had written his name beneath the young knight's. "Await my return and we'll hold further council here," whereupon he took Sir Richard's arm, expressing his intention of presenting him to the lady of the castle.
"Now that I have delivered the King's message, my lord," said the young knight as they were passing along the gallery and down the stairs, "it is my desire to be soon upon my way. On the morrow, an there be nothing further here for me to do, I shall fare southward toward Kenilworth."
"Tut, tut! Sir Richard. Be not in such haste to bid us adieux. We are a right merry throng here in Castle Yewe, and thou canst pass thy hours with us full pleasantly. Thy errand, besides, is not yet done. 'Tis thy sovereign's wish that thou shalt bide in Scotland yet awhile as my guest. But yonder is Lady Douglas, to whom I shall surrender thee for the present."
After introducing the young knight, Douglas begged the privilege of talking a moment with his wife in private. A page led Sir Richard to a seat within an alcove of the hall, where he remained, looking out of a window at a company of infantry drilling in the castle yard till Lord and Lady Douglas had finished their rather lengthy discourse.
"I'll see thee at the wassail board this evening, Sir Richard," said Douglas, who had accompanied his wife as far as the curtained entrance to the alcove. "Thou art indeed happily come. To-day is the twenty-fifth of the month—the feast of Crispian will be spread in the state hall. I have made thy squire comfortable in my retainer's quarters," he added, and then retired to his room above where the jackdaws were awaiting to hold their council.
Noble gentlemen," said Douglas when he had returned into his room, "I am here confronted by a problem that I would fain crave thy learned assistance in solving. MacGregor," he added, handing Henry's warrant to the lean scrivener, "recite to us the contents of this parchment."
MacGregor at once proceeded to read the document, which abounded in pompous tautology and redundant sentences. When he had finished with the preamble he came to the meat of the warrant, which ran: "Lord Douglas, friend and ally, we beg of thee the favor that this young knight, Sir Richard Rohan, Kt., bearer of this paper, shall be engaged in fair and honorable conflict by men of thine own choice to the end that he return not again into England. We pray thee further to keep from Sir Richard Rohan, Kt., all knowledge of the purport of this warrant upon thee, Lord Douglas. And as thou shalt bear out its intent, so shalt thy divers affairs prosper before our court. Signed, Henry VII."
"Well, what think you of it, gentlemen?" inquired Douglas when MacGregor had finished his sing-song droning of the sentences.
"By thy leave, my lord," said the venerable spokesman of the conclave, a very aged man, according to all appearances, whose snowy beard swept to the cord knotted about his waist, "by thy leave and that of my compeers, I would say that it might be wise to fulfill King Henry's wishes in so small a matter. This Perkin Warbeck, to whom Lady Anna is teaching the manners of a noble, is not yet prepared to assume successfully the part of the dead prince. Not until the youth's schooling is complete shalt thou, my lord, be justified in setting thy brave men at his back and speeding them across the borders of England. And even then it is not thy wish, as we understand it, to be recognized as the instigator of this movement. To that end it would be prudent, it beseemeth me, to set the burden of obligation upon Henry by carrying out his wishes with respect of this Sir Richard Rohan."
"Well and ably said," commented Lord Douglas. "But what cause, think you, had Henry for dispatching the youth from Kenilworth to Yewe to accomplish a thing that could as well and more surely have been done upon the tower block?"
"Marry, my lord, an it be not a senseless wine-wager begot at cock-crow after a night of wild feasting, I am much mistaken withal," observed another member of the council.
"Belike it is," Douglas agreed. "Belike it is. But 'tis sinful, I take it, thus to waste an honest body. I like me the young knight's looks mightily, gentlemen, and I say to thee now, an he vanquish in single combat those whom thou shalt choose to be his adversaries, I'll appoint him chief of horse when the time grows ripe to send our expedition against the usurper and tyrant, Henry. This is Lady Anna's suggestion, and in her judgment of character I repose the utmost of confidence. Now, noble gentles, lay me thy heads together and appoint me a list of fighting men, each of whom shall, according as thou mayst order, insult and duel with the young knight. Let Henry be apprised of our intention to comply with his behest. Counselors, that is all."
The members of the council thereupon bowed gravely and withdrew to their own room for the purpose of making out the list in compliance with Lord Douglas's request.
During the whole of this time, in the curtained alcove below, Lady Anna had been conversing with Sir Richard. From the inception of their acquaintance, the young knight had accorded to her a sincere admiration, and in a very short space she had won his confidence to the extent that he was now narrating to her the experiences of his journey. When he came to the incident of the cutting of saffron velvet, which he had withheld when telling his story to Lord Douglas, Lady Anna displayed a more than passive interest, expressing an earnest wish to see and examine the bit of cloth. When he obediently gave it to her, she took it within her shapely fingers, crumpling it into many wrinkles, arching her fine brows, and making a pretense of feeling jealousy. In fact, whenever opportunity offered, she set his cup to brimming with sweetest flattery. Like all men of whom she chose to make instruments in the furthering of her husband's schemes, Sir Richard became a mere creature of clay in her deft hands.
"Lord Douglas told you, Richard," said she, when they were done discussing the subject of his adventures, "that to-day is the day of the Cobbler's Feast. But he was remiss in not adding that it is also my birthday, and that we have arranged that you shall have seat at table between my lord and me, ... the guest of honor. Though the honor shall be ours in claiming you as such, brave knight." Thereupon she arose with a pretty show of reluctance from the cushioned window-seat. "How old would you take me to be?" she concluded with an arch look.
Sir Richard, extremely sensible of the intimacy of Lady Anna's question, flushed with embarrassment. He begged to be excused from answering, averring that he had ever been an ill judge of women's ages. When she pressed him for a reply, which she contrived to do without seeming to be over bold, he ventured a surmise that she must be nearly of an age with himself.
"Why, what a flatterer you are to be sure, Richard," she said, laughing gaily. "Beshrew me for a witch, an you are anything more than a mere boy! I am thirty-three, sir knight. Thirty-three this day. But come," she added, taking his hand, pressing it gently and casting sidelong glances out of a pair of wonderfully expressive brown eyes; "it is not my wish to keep you altogether to myself. Permit me to acquaint you with the company in the hall," Lady Anna pursued, as she led Sir Richard into the throng of courtiers and maidens. "Till we meet beside the wassail board, make you merry," she said then. "And forget not to address a word or two in my direction. I shall esteem each one of them a ... jewel, Richard."
The young knight perceived, the while he was moving from group to group receiving introductions, that the council of powdered jackdaws had been adjourned. Its members were spread out over the hall, singling out men, one after another, and engaging them in a momentary conversation. He was curious to know why, after each of these brief exchanges, he at once became the object of these men's scrutinizing glances. But, though he recalled the incident later, it was temporarily lost and forgotten amid the banalities of polite talk to which he was obliged to lend constant ear. Sir Richard entered wholly into the holiday spirit pervading the company, however, and served out honeyed words with a zest quite equal in degree with that which he drank them in. He found the change from his ardorous and lonely journey to this atmosphere of good cheer and loud merriment to be most agreeable. His message had been delivered, his work was now done, and he felt altogether care-free and happy.
Before the hour set for the feast in the great hall, he was singled out by a page and conducted to a room, which he was told was to be his during his stay in Castle Yewe. It was ample in size and magnificently furnished. Its walls and ceiling were trimmed in deep oaken paneling. Over the fireplace, which occupied quite two-thirds of the west side of the chamber, the woodwork was fretted and scrolled from mantel-shelf to ceiling. Upon the massive oak bed were neatly arranged a suit of slashed silk and velvet, a fine lace and linen upper garment, and boots of soft leather to match. There was also an elegantly fashioned rapier to take the place of the service-blade that he habitually carried at his side. His saddle-bags were flung across a holder fashioned for the purpose of bearing these inseparable companions of the traveler.
Sir Richard sat down upon the edge of the bed, and before starting to change his dress, took out the cutting of saffron velvet from the breast of his doublet. He held it at arm's length, regarding it for quite a space with an expression of deep melancholy. He thought again of the beautiful Lady Anna's parting, whispered words—"I shall esteem each one of them a ... jewel, Richard." They had recurred to him many times, and in each instance his heart had undeniably responded in a tenderly sentimental way. It occurred to his imaginative fancy that the bit of cloth had eyes, and that they were looking at him with sad, reproachful glances. He felt less guilty after he had taken up his sword and solemnly renewed his vow. He made up his mind that never again would he be untrue to the cutting of velvet and the maid by whom it had been relinquished into his keeping, but whom he had not yet seen.
With a clearer conscience he went about unbuckling his armor and bedecking himself in the rich finery that had been so thoughtfully provided for him. Sir Richard was the last guest to come down the wide stairway to the floor of the hall. Along each balustrade was a row of carved sockets in which wax torches had been set, and when the young knight stepped slowly down between their soft light, full many a languishing glance sped upward toward him; full many a feminine heart beat in a perfect rhythm with his tread upon the gray stone steps.
Following Sir Richard's appearance there was a concerted movement in the direction of the dining hall, with Lord Douglas, Lady Anna, and the belated arrival in the lead. The room in which the feast of Crispian had been spread was of vast dimensions. Its ceiling seemed low in comparison with its great length and breadth, and was paneled in highly polished red cedar. Wainscoting of the same wood, extending to a height of five feet above the floor, stretched around its four sides. Above this the walls were covered with rich tapestries, with designs woven in arras, representing a brave array of martial scenes, pictures of the chase and conflicts within the lists. Stretching from end to end of the hall stood the magnificently decorated table, which had been spread with lavish and bountiful hands. Forty wax torches shed a bright glow over the scene of princely festivities.
Sir Richard was indeed the guest of honor, having a seat above the salt between the lord and lady of the castle. A silken canopy, depending from gilded chains fastened to the ceiling, swung just above their heads. Musicians, dressed in the fantastic garb of the troubadours of that time, filled the room with delightful melodies. Merrily the feast progressed, with constantly augmenting talk and laughter as the delicately chased silver flagons emptied their sparkling streams into the tankards held beneath them. There was wassail on wassail, downed amid the tinkling of golden cups and the hoarse bellowing of bearded, tipsy knights. Sir Richard took his full measure of enjoyment out of the occasion, though he suffered a secret regret because of his inability to keep up his end with some of the old campaigners in the matter of the drink. Even now he was sensible of the fact that surrounding objects were assuming an exaggerated brilliancy and beauty, combined with a certain vagueness that rendered their charm indefinably more alluring. He felt his blood coursing like molten silver through his veins. His only outward manifestations of the wine's stimulating influence, however, were a fastidious politeness and solicitous interest on behalf of those about him.
When Lady Anna pressed his foot softly beneath the board, the young knight again committed the sin of being untrue to the cutting of saffron velvet.
"'Tis now your turn to give us wassail, Richard," said she, with a slight uplifting of her brows that went to his head with a greater effect than the wine.
"Give thee all bonnie Scotland, ... her good sovereign, ... Lord Douglas, our good host, the lovely Lady Anna, and the King of England," Sir Richard shouted, getting to his feet, with brimming glass stretched half across the table.
A brawny knight, dressed handsomely in brown leather slashed with crimson velvet, reached across and rudely struck his hand, slopping a good portion of the wine about among the guests. Without a moment's hesitation Sir Richard gave his insulter the remainder of it in his face, amid a transitory silence, profound and tomblike.
Followed then, upon the instant, the excited babbling of many voices, from which entanglement of sound Sir Richard contrived to isolate the fact that he had been challenged, and that they were to meet in the castle yard at dawning of that morning.
"There are here, around this board to-night, a dozen better blades than he," Lady Anna whispered low in the young knight's ear when something approaching order had been restored. "For my sake, Richard, you must not fail to vanquish him," she added, with another pressure of her dainty foot.
Their meeting place was within the larger of the bailey-courts, when day was just on the dawn. Towering round about them were the rough walls of the huge castle. Sir Richard noted that every embrasure had suddenly sprouted a multiple of bright eyes, all gazing down at the combatants making ready to begin their battle at the bottom of the damp well.
The meeting turned out to be but the merest trifle for the young knight. Duke Francis was a past master of the arts of war-craft and had taught him thoroughly well. Once, Sir Richard was proud to remember, when the old Duke happened to have been in an uncommonly amiable mood, he had assured him that he was the most apt of all his pupils. The young knight fought only when there was a just cause at issue, and then with his whole heart set upon winning the battle. Upon this occasion he had very little trouble in disabling his adversary's sword arm. But not, however, before playing with him a considerable time in deference to the astonishingly early risers, who had dared the chill blasts to peer through the open windows.
"Brava, Sir Richard!" the plaudits swept from opening to opening around the gray walls when the business was over, upon which the young knight made a slight bow of acknowledgment and went hastily back to his warm bed, carrying with him there, besides somewhat of an aching head from excesses of the night before, the regret that he had been unable to give his auditors a prettier play in return for all their pains.
That morning's encounter, however, proved to be but a drowsy prelude to a veritable whirlwind of fighting duels. Without so much as a "By thy leave, sir," they would jostle Sir Richard roughly about, fling gauntlets at his feet, and hurl insults into his very teeth. Indeed, dueling grew to be an accepted part of his daily routine, and a day without its fight would have left him with the feeling that something important had remained undone. But Fortune continued to smile brightly upon him; and, saving for a few slight scratches, he carried no mark to bear him witness of the amazingly great number of personal combats in which he became engaged.
By nature Sir Richard was of a peace-loving disposition. Only upon one occasion had he deliberately set out to pick a quarrel, and that was with the Renegade Duke, for the purpose of aiding his escape from captivity. He was accordingly much puzzled as to the cause of this sudden plethora of insults and challenges. That the men were all envious of the open favors that Lady Anna continued to bestow upon him, was the only possible reason to which he could ascribe them. He appreciated that she must have an infinite number of admirers to be thus jealously guarded. Another circumstance that appealed to him as most singular, was the fact that once he had finished having it out with his enemies they became immediately his fast friends. Sir Richard's encounters were attended by a strangely favorable issue of events, for only in one instance had he been forced to inflict upon his adversary anything like a dangerous wound; and Sandufferin, the unfortunate exception and mightiest wielder of a blade in Scotland, made an ultimate recovery from his injuries. It grew to be a current subject of amused talk that when the latest comer had declared his intention of facing the young knight's deft sword, those whom he had met and vanquished would gather about him and convey their knowledge to him of the newcomer's particular methods of fighting.
"Look at them, Anna," Lord Douglas remarked upon an occasion when a number of men, many with bandaged hands and arms, were gathered close about Sir Richard. "They are giving points to their master, I take it. Never, within my knowledge, has there crossed the borders of Scotland a greater swordsman than this youthful knight. Marry, and how he seemeth to enjoy it, Anna, preserving the happiest of good humor through it all! But soon will I call a halt to the saturnalia of fighting and acquaint him with the contents of Henry's warrant. He'll make us a right brave chief of horse, Anna—that will he. He grows impatient to fare away southward. Every day now does he inquire of me whether his sovereign's business here is done. An he but guessed that he is held captive, I miss my shot an the gates and bars of Yewe would long hold him."
"Nay—that they would not," Lady Anna agreed. "'Tis the cutting of saffron velvet that beckons him away, my lord. Valiantly though I have striven, I cannot wean his regard from that bit of cloth. Many times lately have I observed him sitting in lonely corners and regarding it with soulful eyes. Would that I had him for pupil in the place of that silly boy, Warbeck."
"Ah! But that was a stroke, Lady Anna!" said Douglas admiringly. "The oftener I look upon him, the more perfect seemeth his resemblance to the Yorkist brood. How doth he progress?"
"Slow, my lord—tiresome slow. 'Tis hard to make him to forget his plebeian ancestors. How fares it with the prisoner—he whom you have mewed within the dungeon?"
"De Claverlok, mean you? Bah! 'Tis a gruff old warrior, that—with his ehs! and ehs! Still doth he stubbornly refuse to pledge me his word to separate himself from Sir Richard. Nor, by my faith, can I gain his promise to fight beneath our standard."
"What then—the block, my lord?" interrogated Lady Douglas, yawning.
"Aye—the block," replied Douglas, quietly.
On the morning following the day upon which this dialogue took place, Sir Richard sauntered down the stairs to find Lady Anna reclining indolently at ease within the curtained alcove where first he had met her. She had with her a falcon, which she was stroking and feeding with bits of bread held daintily between her red lips. She looked up, greeting the young knight's coming with a rare smile.
"By the mass, dear Richard," said she, "and how early we are! Was it the topsy-turvy going of the men at daybreak that brings you so soon afoot? Did you hear the sounding of the tucket-sonuance in yonder yard? Or, tell me, boy, is it but another trifle of a duel?"
Right well was she aware that Sir Richard disliked to be called a boy, and she appeared to take a secret delight in thus teasing him. As was usual, he denied the propriety of the name.
"Tut, tut, then—bloody giant," said she, laughing merrily. "Is it, I beg of you, another play of blades?"
"In the whole of Scotland," retorted Sir Richard, "remains there a warrior whom I have not met?"
He had encountered three of them the day before, disarming two and slightly wounding the other.
"Remains yet the mightiest of them all," Lady Anna answered, surrendering another morsel of bread to the pet falcon.
"His name, Lady Anna?"
"Bull Bengough. Would you dare to break a lance with him in the approaching tournament ... for me, Sir Richard?"
"One more, or less, what matters it, Lady Anna?" said Sir Richard. "The game is palling upon me. I swear I will."
"I am growing fair frightened of your magic invincibility," said Lady Anna. "Which are they—fair spirits, or foul shades, by whom you have been gifted with a charmed life? In sober earnest, Richard, let me say to you that a momentous question hinges upon your meeting with Bull Bengough," she added seriously, pressing the young knight's hand by way of a reward for his promise, and then went on to fill his head with gentle flattery.
She told him of how the men-at-arms had sallied out that morning to give battle to a certain traitorous upstart. Unconsciously Sir Richard's mind reverted to Tyrrell. After that, for a considerable space, they sat together in silence, watching the workingmen engaged upon their task of bedizening the seating-place overlooking the lists where the coming tournament was designed to be held.
Presently Lady Anna went from the alcove, taking with her a bundle of books and manuscripts which, Sir Richard had frequently remarked, she often carried about with her through the galleries.
Since his mad entry through the sallyport of Yewe, this was the first clear breathing space Sir Richard had been allowed. He suddenly thought of his companion of that eventful ride. What with the dining and the wining, and the dancing attendance upon this captivating maid and that, and the singularly rapid succession of duels, his time had been pretty well occupied. "But certes," he said to himself, "these are small excuses for having so absolutely forgotten de Claverlok, whom, by my faith, I have not clapt eyes upon since leaving him at the foot of the stairs to go into the presence of Douglas. True, Lord Douglas assured me that he was to be rendered comfortable in other quarters. I dare say he is gone by now," he concluded. "But I'll away to the guards to discover me what has become of the good fellow."
But Sir Richard was counting the spots before his dies had been cast. He borrowed every guard's ear he could find within the precincts of the castle, and returned from the long round barren of the faintest hint in regard to his friend's whereabouts. Not one of them, so they all swore, had so much as heard a whisper of his name.
Feeling a presentiment that some direful mishap had betided his faithful companion, and heaping maledictions upon himself for a thoughtless ingrate, the young knight was walking slowly along one of the inner galleries. As he parted a drapery he came suddenly upon the fool, Lightsom, who had discarded his motley and bells for a garb of black. His habitually mirthful countenance was wearing an expression entirely in sympathy with his somber habit.
"Give you a good-morrow, Lightsom," said Sir Richard, meaning but to give the fool greeting and pass on.
"Thou'rt hunting my name by the heels, Sir Richard," Lightsom answered, pausing to give the young knight speech. "Vanisheth the motley, vanisheth Lightsom, the laughing fool. Vanisheth as well my good master, and I discover me without a body whereupon to practise my cutting art withal. To-day, good my knight, I was to play the executioner. Till I doff this habit let my name be Gruesom.... Bloodysom.... Anything, forsooth, but Lightsom! Dost take in the dolour of my visage?"
"Ah! What an end to come by," observed Sir Richard. "An ax, wielded by a fool. Name me thy unhappy victim—and loose thy hold of my cape, fellow."
"Marry, sir knight, shudder not thus! Is the touch of a fool less contaminative than that of the executioner? An it be, I wot not why. One murders the King's good English, the other the King's good subjects—both are the slaves of unyielding circumstance. And besides, good my knight, the head, after its separation from the body, recks not of the means whereof it was accomplished. Thy sword—my ax—'tis all the same to 't. So it be a bold, clean, and clever stroke, mark ye!"
"Have done with your parleying, Lightsom, and——"
"Say Grimsom, Sir Richard," the fool interrupted whiningly. "Smear not my melancholy cloth with grime!"
"Well, ... Grimsom, then, ... give me thy unhappy victim's name?"
Leaning forward till his repulsive face almost touched Sir Richard's, he skewed his features all awry in a horrible grimace. This was his only answer. The young knight instantly went cold to the marrow, and repeated his question tensely, passing the fool a rose noble.
"This," said Lightsom tantalizingly, balancing the yellow disc upon his raised forefinger, "will purchase thee one letter of his name, ... just one letter, Sir Richard. I am as hungry for gold as the block is thirsty for blood. Why need the pair of us be cheated? Say, ... wilt buy me his full name in these round baubles?"
Without a word Sir Richard counted out and passed the fool sixteen more.
"Have I made the count correctly?" he whispered hoarsely.
Lightsom went then to tallying with his clawlike finger upon his beak of a nose.
"In truth," he muttered, "I had expected but ten more.... Six.... Six.... Ah! I, by playing just then the fool, have myself disgraced my somber trappings. I have clean forgotten that his name is Lionel, by the rood, ... eh!"
This was enough for Sir Richard. In a frenzy of poignant regret and mortal fear, and leaving the black dwarf crying shrilly for him not to divulge the source of his information, he dashed away down the long gallery in a mad search of Lady Anna.
Bitterest remorse winged the young knight's feet; apprehension became the mother of audacity; and without any ceremonious ado he made for that part of the castle which he knew was apportioned to the exclusive uses of Lady Anna. Like a hawk winging its predatory flight against a covey of unprotected and gentle doves, he swooped down upon the lady's retinue of serving-maids.
The contact, however, was as fugitive as it was tempestuous and violent, and beyond leaving them all of a-flutter, weeping hysterically, and earnestly protesting that this was an hour of the morning during which their mistress forbade the slightest interruption or disturbance, he accomplished not a single point in the behalf of his friend.
While impatiently awaiting Lady Anna's appearance, he fell to wandering through the wide, thronged halls, and narrow, lonely, and deserted galleries. In opening a door leading from one of these, he stumbled upon a blind passageway, which, to all appearances, was devoted to no other purpose than that of a vantage-point, whence were to be had a view of the open glades and forests, and the towers, turrets, barbecan, and walls commanding them. Gloomily he stood gazing through one of the deep embrasures, which pierced the outer wall of the gallery from end to end, upon the half drawn bridge. It seemed to him ages gone since de Claverlok and he had thundered side by side above its moldering planks. "What a brave, unselfish fellow he was," mused Sir Richard, "to cast his fortunes along with mine, when, by the simple tugging of a rein, he might have ridden among his companions and into safety. Well, ... I'll have him free. I vow I'll have him set at liberty. Or, by my soul, I'll lay my thoughtless, selfish head beside his generous one upon the block."
Yet how good it was to live, Sir Richard thought: to be free; to mark the bright sunshine; to watch the sparkling hoar-frost disappearing in floating pennants of silvery mist against the purple shadows lurking within the background of the firs. By thus enumerating to himself some of the joys of life he was not meaning to qualify the integrity of his oath. He was sincere at the moment in his determination to free de Claverlok, or suffer the penalty of death along with him.
Sir Richard was leaning heavily against the outer wall, yielding to a host of melancholy reflections; his shoulder disconsolately pressing against the casement of the embrasure. Quite by chance his eyes fell upon a row of bronze griffins' heads, each occupying the center of a line of deep oaken panels, which extended along the opposite wall from the doorway through which he had entered to the end of the sealed passageway. Doubtless it was the repellant hideousness of their faces that arrested and fixed his attention. Their curled tongues protruded in a series of abhorrent grimaces that tended to fascinate the observer. The young knight singled out the head just across from him and fell to studying it minutely. He grew sensible of a boyish desire to attempt to distort his features in a manner similar to it, to which desire he finally yielded, and talked to it, moreover, as though its bronze ears were possessed of the power to take in his vain expostulations.
Not infrequently does it fall out that an inane action is the parent of a most happy result. This was true in the present case, for, through looking so long and intently upon the weird head of the griffin, Sir Richard remarked that its tongue appeared to be more free within its distended maw than those of its neighbors. He stepped across and laid his finger upon it. It moved. He tugged at it. There was the sound as of the lifting of a latch, and the griffin's head, which was secured to the woodwork by a hinge, swung instantly free of the oaken panel.
Within the circular recess thus disclosed appeared a brass knob, which, upon being turned, released another fastening. The entire panel then slid freely to the left, discovering a narrow, crevice-like passageway that stretched away beyond the range of the young knight's vision.
More with the aim of seeking a momentary distraction from his rueful thoughts than in the hope of making any new or startling discoveries, he closed the griffin's head and clambered through the paneled opening. Upon assuring himself that there was a way of thrusting back the secret door from inside, he made everything fast and crept cautiously ahead in the direction of a row of lights, which shone dimly through openings upon his left hand and splashed against the wall to his right, thus serving vaguely to illuminate the dusty, cobwebby place.
The lights proved to emanate from mere slits of windows set with many-colored glass. He peered through the first, which was sufficiently transparent to disclose to his view a room and everything that was transpiring within.
The walls of this chamber were covered with the richest of hangings. Round about were scattered many massive cases filled with books. Indeed, Sir Richard noted that its furnishings were all patterned after an exquisite fashion, and arranged, withal, in an uncommonly tasteful and pleasing manner.
In front of a cheerful fire burning briskly within the wide chimney-place sat a fair-haired boy. He was reclining at ease upon a deep-seated chair, and the firelight, playing upon his ruffled, snowy linen upper garment, his pallid, handsome, aquiline features, and long, curly, yellow hair, set before the young knight one of the prettiest pictures he had ever looked upon.
Seated upon a stool beside the youth's knee was Lady Anna, who was engaged upon reading to him out of a manuscript. That which she was reading, Sir Richard thought, appeared to hold immeasurably less of interest for her distinguished looking auditor than the reader thereof, so greedily was his gaze devouring her. If ever love and devotion shone through the eyes from the heart, they were shining in that room and upon that woman then. The young knight became conscious of a feeling of guilt. It was as though he had profaned a consecrated temple.
Since, however, an accident had brought him there, he regretted that he was unable to hear what Lady Anna was reading. But he remained, gathering different impressions of the scene by looking through the various colored panes, till she arose to leave. This sentence, then, spoken aloud and firmly from her station beside the youth's chair, came distinctly to his ears:
"To you," she was saying, "there shall be no such person in all the world as Warbeck. You must forget even that there was ever such a name. Your future——"
Her concluding remarks were lost to Sir Richard's hearing. Lady Anna then brushed aside the drapery and disappeared out of the room. For many minutes thereafter the youth's eyes remained fixed upon the swinging draperies, motionless and longingly, whilst down his pallid cheeks coursed many a bitter tear.
Leaving him to his sorrow, which would have been more poignant had he been enabled to look into that future that Lady Anna was holding before him as a lure, Sir Richard continued warily on his journey along the pinched passageway. By the squares of light thrown at long but regular intervals against the right wall, he divined that the secret exit was pierced with windows throughout its entire length. Through each of these he stole a look as he advanced, being obliged to stand always on tip-toe to make his brief surveys. He gathered the information that a suite of six large rooms had been set aside for the uses of the handsome youth. There was an entrance giving upon the last from the secret passageway. The young knight made no attempt to open it then, but crept onward and looked through the next window. Between the floor of the last room and the floor of the spacious hall into which he was now looking there was a sheer drop of thirty feet; perhaps even more. From the long table standing in its center and the chairs arranged in tiers round about, he took it to be a council hall, a place of formal meetings of state. It was surmounted by a lofty, domed ceiling, decorated with multi-colored glass, corresponding with the panes through which he was having a view of the chamber.
Pursuing his way onward past the row of windows opening upon the hall, he arrived soon at the end of the passageway, which was marked by a yawning vent-hole, with the opening at his feet dropping into abysmal depths of darkness, and the one above his head gaping like a sooty flue. Iron rungs set securely into the masonry of the wall furthest removed from him disappeared into the swart obscurity above and below.
Consumed with curiosity and a desire to push his explorations to the end, he stepped across, set his foot upon the ladder, and clambered skyward. A trap-door, securely battened from within, stopped his progress at the top. Surmising that it opened upon a runway of one of the many embattled towers, he started downward. Past the floor of the passageway he lowered himself, down, down, till it seemed to him that he was penetrating into the very belly of the earth. At the bottom he came upon a kind of square room, with a massive, barred door opening from one of its sides. The air here was excessively damp, chill, and fetid with noisome odors.
So noiselessly as might be he shot back the rusty bolts and made shift to open the heavy door. Slowly it yielded to his violent exertions, its unused hinges shrilly protesting every inch of the way. When he had swung it sufficiently wide to admit the passage of his body, he was confronted by the flare of a single candle. Even this faint light, upon emerging from such dense darkness, completely dazzled his blinking eyes, rendering them momentarily sightless.
"Well, ... by the rood!" the most welcome of voices then rang in his ears. "I was looking to see a grisly phantom shape come gliding through yon creaking door to devour me! And certes 'tis your own good self, Sir Dick, ... eh? Give you a very good-morrow, ... or a very good-even.... I' faith, I know not down here the hours of the passing day. Everything, as 't were, being of a similar color. But fillip me for a fat toad, an you're not a most pleasing apparition, Sir Dick; ... a most welcome ghost, ... eh!"
Sir Richard strode forward and took de Claverlok's hand in a firm grip.
"I'll wager, my boy," said the grizzled knight with his usual hearty laugh, "that you've fair turned this castle upside down in your endeavors to unearth me, ... eh? But for long have I been conducting a quiet truce with Heaven, where, Sir Dick, I fancied that you had some days since preceded me. How comes it that you're still alive, and looking as hearty, by my faith, as a prancing yearling. Did you deliver the paper, ... eh?"
"Certes did I deliver it," replied Sir Richard. "And let us for all time, my friend, drop the subject of King Henry's message between us. You can see that you have been led into a sad error as to its contents. I am now biding in Yewe as Douglas's guest till the business of my sovereign be completed."
"Guest, Sir Dick? God's sake!" blurted out de Claverlok. "An you're not as much prisoner as I, though in somewhat of a better case, I'll barter my knighthood for a battered farthing, ... eh! Tell me, has nothing untoward happened during your stay?" he added, earnestly. "Sit you down upon the feathery side of this stone and tell me your story—'tis the best seat I have to offer, Sir Dick."
"Well, beyond the duels," Sir Richard rather reluctantly admitted, seating himself beside the grizzled knight upon the stone, "there has been nothing unusual to mar a most pleasant visit, saving, of course, your own disappearance from my side," he hastened to add. "I bethought me though that you had long since fared southward to join your company."
"What—and leave you, Sir Dick? Not any! My knightly vow fetters me fast to your side. But when did you find out that I was still here, ... eh?"
"Only this morning. It was through a most fortunate train of accidents that I have stumbled upon your cell. I have been guilty of an unpardonable sin in thus long neglecting you, my friend."
"Nay—not so, Sir Dick. Am I not old enough to care for myself, ... eh? But how about these duels? I would hear you tell of them."
"I will, de Claverlok," agreed Sir Richard, "and a certain matter besides that I have guarded even from your knowledge. 'Tis of a cutting of cloth that I got me in the Red Tavern." Whereupon he proceeded to tell, much to the grizzled knight's amusement, the tale of the piece of saffron velvet. "And about the duels," the young knight concluded, "I am somewhat puzzled to know why they have been brought about. Though I believe that it is because of the many favors that Lady Douglas continues ever to shower upon me. She is, in truth, a wonderful woman, my friend—and well worth fighting for. A wonderful woman!"
"Ah!" laughed the grizzled knight. "When love enters, wits leave, ... eh? But explain more in detail the circumstance of these duels. 'Tis this that interests me, Sir Dick."
"Oh! 'tis a small enough matter at best, de Claverlok," protested Sir Richard with a modest carelessness. "But ever since my tarry within these walls I have had always to keep my sword to the grit-wheel. What with the spilling of the wine over the table, and the rough jostling of them against me through the halls and galleries, it has been 'Come out with me, sirrah, into the castle yard,' from gray morning to twilight eventide. There was hazard of breaking old fox here on the tough Scot's head of 'em. And I swear to you, my good friend, that my right arm has been kept full sore with the swinging of it against their flinty noddles."
"Pricked you them sore or easy, Sir Dick? Marry, but you must have a-many an enemy in Yewe, ... eh?"
"Well, I gave it them as easy as might be," replied Sir Richard, "and it perplexes me much to observe that each of them is now my friend. Never had I divined, de Claverlok, that there could transpire such a round of mysterious events. My brain has been fair addled ever since my coming into Scotland."
"Fret not, Sir Dick," said de Claverlok encouragingly, "these mysteries will clear away soon enough. But you had better betake yourself now whence you came. 'Twill eftsoons be time for them to bring me my bread and sour tipple. Ug-gh! Such food as I've been bestowing within my belly, Sir Dick. 'Tis unfit for swine, ... eh! But, get you gone, boy, and deliver me from this dank hole when you can do it in safety to yourself. There must be two passageways hither, as yon door through which you came has not before been used. 'Tis through this other that they bear me food. Good-bye and good luck to you, Sir Dick."
Upon the grizzled knight's reaffirmation of his assurances that he would possess himself in patience till Sir Richard could hit upon a safe means of bringing him again into the daylight of freedom, and his belief that his young friend was as much a prisoner as was he, the young knight parted from him, secure in the belief that no harm could befall the veteran till the return of Douglas, before which time, he swore to himself, he would contrive to have him free.