CHAPTER VIIIA Fight for LifeClick!--click! went both our pistol locks together, and, an instant later, two shots rang out as one. Nor was there much to choose between the aims. Tubal Ammon's bullet grazed my right side beneath the arm-pit; while mine went smash into his money-bag, and ripping it, brought forth a stream of coins which jingled thick and fast upon the ground. Had it not been for this protection, it had most surely been a stream of blood instead, for he had held the bag pressed tightly to his side. Strange that gold should save the life of one who had but just been bartering life for gold!Again, had it not been for that wild, chancy shot at Ferguson I might have had friend Tubal now, for, instead of fleeing, he dropped straight down and grovelled in the gold, filling his pockets with it while he muttered oaths and curses terrible to hear. Doubtless greed held him as its own just then, for though my second pistol had been fired, he must have known he ran great risk; and indeed I might have got him with my sword before he could have saved himself. But the truth is, that the pistol flashes had discovered that which for the nonce made Tubal Ammon seem of small account. The Black Box, bound with cord, lay there straight below me on the turf, dropped or for gotten, as I judged it, by the chaplain in his terror-stricken flight.Down I jumped into the hollow, and having seized my prize, was up again before you could have counted ten.Having stuffed the precious thing into my pocket, I stood upon the ridge and once more looked at Ammon. He had risen and gone back a little; thus much I could make out but nothing more, for now he was wellnigh invisible. Dead, awful silence followed, and for the first time since leaving home I felt afraid; afraid, that is, because I could not see this murderous villain clearly, because he was now but a lurking, threatening shadow in the darkness. But just as I was thinking swiftly whether to speed home with what I had so luckily secured, or draw my sword and try to end the mischief-working fellow's life, the heavy westward clouds behind me broke; the moon burst forth; and, in a moment, we were made plain to one another.There, stiff and straight, stood Tubal Ammon with his hands behind him, as motionless as though he had been carved in cold grey stone. The moon shone full upon his yellow, wrinkled face, and, seen by that ghostly light, he was, indeed, as much like Satan as a man could be. The very gold-pieces, glistening here and there, deep red, among the grass, were to my startled fancy as great drops of blood.Thus, for the second time within the rounding of the clock, did I and Tubal Ammon face each other; and 'tis small wonder that I, stiff as he, stared at him like one spell-bound. And as I stared, I remember wondering vaguely what had possessed him to remain thus, when he might easily have fled to safety in the dark-ness. Surely not the gold, for he had gathered most of that! What, then? Well, I was very soon to know.Meanwhile the silence grew appalling, unsupportable. It must be broken."Once more!" I shouted."Once more," he answered, though in a voice so low and still as barely moved his lips."What would you have?" I asked, scarce knowing what I said.Another silence followed, and then two words came hissing through it like a knife-thrust:"Your life!"Although this was no news to me, the utterance of it thus was something of a shock. A threat made face to face gains ugly meaning, especially from such a man as he who stood before me. I paused a moment, then said, slowly:"Yes, truly, you would kill me and my father also. I am forewarned of that. For, look you, Tubal Ammon, all your foul plans are known to me. I have been listening long enough to hear them one and all."At that he gave a little start, so small as scarcely to be noticed, then murmured:"Ah! 'twas well done, friend, well, indeed!""Well or ill, 'twas done!" I answered hotly; "and now, listen, thou wicked, murderous jail-bird: before this time to-morrow, the law shall have both you and your accursed master by the heels.""Ah, say you so?" quoth Tubal Ammon, with a mocking grin. "Well, now, the law is what I take no great account of. It may be well enough for some; but me it neither helps nor hinders, therefore, I say, it comes not in my reckoning.""That being so," I thundered, whipping out my sword, "I will dispense with it and settle with you now!"With that I sprang into the hollow bent on killing him, but even as I did so, his hands came from behind him, and in them I beheld the little bow with one of its poisoned arrows ready fitted to the string."Stop!" said he. "I give thee warning. Truly this will not carry far, some twenty paces maybe; but come against me and I will promise thee sure death within an hour. Go back, or die! Which shall it be, friend? Choose!"I did so instantly; for this was like waging warfare with the devil, not with man. Shuddering with horror I leapt back to the crest and once more faced my enemy."You have chosen wisely, friend," said he."I have chosen as a man must choose when matched against a cruel, murderous demon such as you," I answered."Well, now, there is some truth in that," replied the shameless knave."Yes, but more in this," I put in fiercely. "Listen Tubal Ammon, limb of Satan, as you surely are! Standing here I utterly defy you, dare you, as an honest man may dare the devil! Do your worst or best, I care not! Nay, I flout both you and your accursed master with those murderous plans which I have overheard this night. I care no more for them or you than that!"Here I shook my sword at him, and having sheathed it with a loud, emphatic smack, turned and strode down the bank and made for home.That I was far from easy as to what lay behind me needs no saying, and doubtless it was this that made me hurry when I reached the level ground. Hurry, at least, I did, with long, quick strides; and thus, with a moon to light the way, I should have reached The Havering (whose chimneys rose above the distant trees) in no time, but for the wicked wiles of Tubal Ammon.I had left him standing, bow in hand, when I turned my back upon the ridge; and it seemed to me assured that ere he moved he would gather up the gold that yet remained strewn upon the grass: so much seemed certain in a man so greedy, and, by way of proving it, I more than once glanced cautiously behind me.I had thus gone perhaps a hundred yards, when suddenly I heard what sounded like the gentle clink of coins.Turning, I drew my sword and looked back, listening carefully, but there was nothing to be seen or heard. The night was still as death, and so, perhaps, thought I, the sound of Ammon gathering up his gold had carried thus far.At any rate, I saw no reason for alarm, and therefore, with my sword still drawn in readiness, strode on again a little quicker.Another dozen yards or so, then--chink! chink! chink! Yes, there could be no doubt about it; and 'twas nearer this time.Remembering my experience with the oak tree, I went on a few more steps as though unheeding, then turned sharply round. The plan succeeded well; for there, sure enough, some fifty yards away, I saw a head pop down behind a gorse bush.And then, as in a flash, I saw it all. This was Tubal Ammon's latest plan for dealing death; this was why he had remained and waited, and allowed me to depart, as it appeared, without the least concern. I understood. He had meant to follow me in stealth--to creep upon me from behind, and shoot me in the back!On realizing this I broke out in a sweat of fear and horror. I am no coward, and vow that had it been a clean, straight sword-fight, man to man, I would have waited for my foe without a qualm. But to be done to death in that heathenish and most atrocious fashion was utterly beyond me. I could not face it. Sheathing my sword I turned and fled for my very life.A low, fierce cry, and the pad of swiftly-running feet broke out behind. Ammon was after me. Taking a quick, back shoulder glance, I saw him coming like the wind. His feet seemed scarce to touch the ground. It was as though the Evil One himself were in pursuit. Never before, I trow, had such a breathless race 'twixt life and death gone forward on those ancient, wave-washed cliffs.Putting forth all the strength and length of limb which God had given me, I strove to win, but all in vain. The light-toed villain gained upon me every yard, the clink of gold grew nearer, louder, every moment, until there could not have been twenty yards between us, and I could even hear his hissing breath. At any moment now the poisonous prick might come. The thought was unendurable. Better turn round and face sure death than wait for it to strike me from behind, I knew not when.With this thought in my head, I leapt aside, and such was Ammon's speed that he had gone flying past a good ten yards ere he could stop himself; then, as he turned, I drew my sword out and rushed at him. But he was all too quick for me; with one great, cat-like spring, he saved himself, so that my upraised weapon clave the air: then, as I turned to face him, I saw his evil eye beyond the little bow as he took a hurried, deadly aim.Hiss! the murderous arrow struck me full in the breast and quivered there, while by the sound of it, it had cut clean through to the bone.I felt no pain--nay, not a prick--and yet, so certain was I that a slow and hideous death would surely follow, that in the terror of that awful moment my strength seemed to forsake me, my sword fell to the ground, and thus I stood and stared at Tubal Ammon, as some dumb stricken beast might at the giver of its death-blow. I saw his drooping eyelids rise and fall, his body quivered for a moment, then, with a ravening cry, he sprang upon me.So fierce and sudden was his rush that I had no chance to pick my sword up, and as he leapt upon me I was driven staggering backwards for a yard or two. Then such a fight began beneath that staring moon as makes me shudder when I think upon it.[image]"THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK UPON IT"My strength must have been three times that of Ammon's in the way of common wrestling, but so close and snake-like were his methods that from the first he had the best of it. His legs and arms wound round me like the tentacles of an octopus, every moment tightening with a crushing, suffocating power.In vain I struck and tore and wrenched: he seemed to have no flesh to bruise, no bones to break; a thing of steel and hide had not been more impervious to blows. His fetid breath was on my face, his cruel eyes were close to mine; it was a very nightmare of a fight, in which all skill and knowledge counted for nothing and were powerless to avail.Thus to and fro we swayed like one, first this way and then that, until my strength and breath began to fail by reason of the hopeless, stifling struggle. With one last desperate wrench I tried in vain to cast the clinging demon from me. His bony hand shot out and gripped me by the throat, his left leg wound about my right, I staggered for a moment, then fell crashing backward. My head struck something hard, the moon shot zigzag down the sky, and with it went the grinning face of Tubal Ammon. Black darkness followed.CHAPTER IXThe Shadow of Death"Coome, now, zur, another soop o' this and you'm a man agen."The words fell on my muffled ears as though the voice were calling from a distance; then the murmur of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen roar, as, with a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling like a sack of flour were better words for it), with a knee and arm behind me, while my head, which ached abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I made out in that first dim gleam of consciousness, but for the rest of it I was still half-dazed and could not think."Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out afterwards) was pressed against my lips. I drew upon it with a will, then nearly choked. Hot, burning stuff it was, that sent the blood a-dancing through my veins like wildfire."Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me."Aye, aye, you'm right, zur. Brandy it be--best French, too."The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the voice was now familiar. Glancing up I met the keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was called), the greatest thorn in Dassell's side, because he was the king of cargo runners."Smuggled?" said I."Right agen," he nodded, with a wink. "Smuggled sure enough it were, but mebbe none the worse for that.""Nay, surely, Rat," I murmured; then sat silent for a time, striving to collect my scattered thoughts, which so far had remained a wild unruly throng. The moon, which I had last seen shooting down the sky with Ammon's head for company, now shone brightly; and what was that which flashed its light back from the grass? My sword! When I saw that, the past rushed on me pell-mell. The poisoned arrow! Surely it was time that death was stealing over me! The throbbing of my head--was that not part of it?I gave a shuddering downward glance towards my breast. The murderous little shaft was hanging from my coat. Ratlaw's eyes had followed mine and seen it also."Whoy, what be that?" says he, and tried to seize it, but I dashed his hand away."Have a care!" I cried, "'tis poisoned!"And with that I plucked the arrow out and cast it clear into the bushes at my back."Poisoned!" gasped Dan, and very nearly let me drop."Yes," said I, "tipped with deadly poison. Say," I added, "do I look strange? Is my face black, or green, or blue?"He laughed and answered:"Nay, 'tis a lovely red, I vow."That relieved me greatly; still, being far from satisfied, my hand went creeping to the spot where, as it seemed, the arrow had struck clean through to the breastbone, and there, beneath my coat, I felt the Black Box."Heaven be thanked!" said I aloud. "It saved me.""What saved thee, friend?" asked Ratlaw with a puzzled look."Nothing," I answered quickly; then added, "or rather, you did, surely.""Mebbe I did," said he; "you'm right agen, I reckon. Another minute--and----""Yes, yes," I put in eagerly; "pray, tell me all about it"--for indeed it seemed astonishing that Tubal Ammon had not finished me while yet he had the power to do so."Well, 'twere like this," quoth Ratlaw. "As I were a-cooming 'long oop over from--well, from minding that as needs the minding, I saw what looked like one great whopping man a-swaying in the moonlight. 'Twere a terror of a thing, I tell 'ee, and I were just a bit afeard; but on I coome, and then may I be drownded if that whopping man did not break clean in two, and one half of it (that's you) went flop. I heard your head go crack upon yon stump, then t'other half jumped on you, and I saw the flashing of a knife. I were close by then--a dozen yards away, not more--so I whips out my hanger here and cooms on roarin' like a lion. Joost in toime and only joost. The knife wor raised to stroike, when, hearing me, he joomps oop, snarls at me loike any dog, and flies off cursing. And oh, the face of en! Zur, if 'twere not the Evil One hisself, who wor it?""The Evil One himself," I answered slowly."Aye, sure, or you had killed a dozen such as he wi' that." He pointed to my sword.I nodded, then asked:"How long have I been here?""Mebbe the quarter of an hour.""Ah! so long? And which way ran this villain?""Ran? 'Twere no running, zur," replied Dan Ratlaw. "He flew! Yea, as I live, he sailed above yon bushes like a bat. And may I be clean drownded, zur," he added in an awful whisper, "if blazing fire did not drop from en as he flew."I understood. Ammon had shed gold in flight."But which way did he go?" I asked again."Straight for The Havering yonder," answered Rat, "and like enough he'll be a-perching on the roof of it."Then, for the second time that night, a clammy sweat broke out upon my face. Ammon! The Havering! My father!"Rat," said I, "I must for home at once.""Whoy, zur, what's wrong?" he asked."Naught, but I must away at once.""I be afeard thou canst not walk," said he. "Take one more pull at this fust."He held the bottle to my lips."No, not a drop. Give me a hand up, man, that's all," said I.He did it, and, staggering to my feet, I stood there swaying for a moment, giddy and bewildered. Then, when I had mastered this unsteadiness, I took Dan's hand and said: "You've saved my life, and I shall not forget it."The trusty fellow rubbed a sleeve across his mouth but answered nothing; then his hand went down into his pocket and came forth glittering with gold."See here," said he, with something of a shame-faced look, "I found this on the grass beside thee. Doubtless he meant to take it with him, but----""Nay," I put in quickly, "'tis not mine. 'Twas his, and now is yours by right. Therefore keep it.""What, his?--the--the devil's?""Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled you will, methinks, find more of it. That was the falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged with gold."So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground, and, leaving Ratlaw gaping with amazement, sped for home.How I ran I know not, for my head was singing like a sea-shell, and my thoughts (if thoughts they could be called) were such a seething medley as it beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about that, scarce knowing how (as one but half-awake, that is), I reached The Havering gates. There I stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like a thief into the house, and, having gently closed the door behind me, listened. All was silent, save for the mournful ticking of the great hall clock, which in such awful stillness broke on me like a death-knell.Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I tried to think. My father might perhaps yet be up there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must be ready with that great surprise which could not fail to put his care to flight.Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle, brought the Black Box forth, untied the binding cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled cry, I staggered back, as though a blow had struck me. The box was empty! Ferguson had put the papers in his pocket--not in this; and, in his hurried flight, had left behind what was to me of no more value than a stone!I could have cursed, or wept, or both, at such a bitter mockery as that; but I did neither. For a moment I stood staring blankly at the gaping box; then, having taken off my shoes, I seized the faithless thing, and, stealing silently upstairs, knocked at the study door. No answer came. I tried the latch. The door was locked. Strange! I had never known my father lock his door by night, though, to be sure, he sometimes did so in the day-time when he did not wish to be disturbed. I knocked again--much louder. Still no answer; then, listening, I heard a stealthy, creeping noise within. I did not wait a moment longer; hurling myself upon the door, I drove it crashing inwards.Even as I thus burst in, the figure of a man shot past me, and, springing through the open casement, disappeared. Running to the window I looked forth, and saw the black, satanic form of Tubal Ammon fleeing down the moonlit garden. I watched him till he vanished like an evil shadow in the darkness of the trees; then, turning slowly, cast a fearful glance about the room.At first I could make nothing out, for the candle had burned down into its socket, and all was dark; but, as I left the window, a straggling moonbeam, struggling through the chestnut tree (that fatal chestnut tree!), fell on a silvery patch above a high-backed chair. Slowly, with feet of lead, I moved towards it for a step or two, then stopped. My father sat there, with bowed head, as though he slumbered. What!--had he slept through such a turmoil?Shaking from head to foot, I went close up and laid a trembling hand upon his shoulder--spoke to him. He neither stirred nor answered. Nay, he would speak no more, for when I took him in my arms I found that he was dead!CHAPTER XI Make a Solemn VowIt may be that I am of a different make from other men--I know not; but in that awful moment, when heaven and earth alike were crashing round me, and my very life itself seemed rent asunder, I neither grieved nor wept. It was, indeed, as though a band of steel had forged itself about my heart and turned me into stone.If it be hard to have no softened feelings at a time like that, then am I hard as granite; if it be wicked to be filled with vengeful thoughts in face of death, then am I wicked as the Evil One himself: for as I stood there with my father's icy hand in mine (the hand of him who had been everything to me), one thought, and only one, possessed my mind--the fierce resolve to be avenged on those who were his murderers, as truly as was Cain the murderer of Abel.There was no mark of violence on him, save that his vest had been ripped open, and the key (that proof which was to win the price of blood!) torn from its ribbon. He had been dead some time--the brave, albeit weakened heart had given way at last beneath the strain of threatening danger, and Tubal Ammon, coming to give death, had found it there before him.So much I noted, swiftly, clearly, as I stood there in that moonlit room of death; then, with the sense of having added years, in moments, to my life, I drew my sword, and holding it above the poor, bowed head, took one deliberate vow of vengeance.Even as I did so, heavy hurrying footsteps sounded on the stairs, and glancing round, I saw a bunch of wondering, awestruck faces staring at me from the doorway. My crashing entrance had aroused the house, and here, half-dressed and ghost-like, were the servants.The very sight of such a gaping, helpless throng stirred wild, unreasoning anger in a brain which hitherto had felt like lead. I must have turned upon them with a threatening fierceness, for they one and all fell backward with a fearful look."What now! What do you here?" I said."Oh, by the love o' Heaven, sir, what be wrong?" asked Tom, the groom, who held a flaring candle high above his head.I paused a moment, then pointed to the chair, and answered:"Your master sits there, dead!"No cry or movement followed, but the glances cast upon me and my naked sword spoke plainly of the awful thought which filled each horror-stricken mind. Yes, for one throbbing instant it was clear to me that I was counted my father's slayer."Dead!" gasped Tom at last. "How, sir? Not--not killed?"The hand which held the candle shook."No, not killed;" I answered slowly, for even in that blank, bewildering moment it flashed upon me that the truth could not be told to anyone without great danger. "No, not killed; he died as he had always wished to die--swiftly. Come now," I added, in a voice that sounded strange and far-off to my ears, "help me to bear him to his chamber."No more was spoken.The dawn of that the blackest day in all my life broke with a mocking splendour. The sun rose gloriously upon a green glad earth; the joyous song of birds, the scent of many flowers, the gentle whisper of the soft June breeze, the murmur of the sea--all these, the joyous signs of one more resurrection from the things of darkness, were there in plenty; but as I stood and looked down on my father's white, set face, I took no heed of them; they were less than nothing. The present was as a thing I had no part in; the past alone seemed real. A thousand memories of bygone years came flooding over me. It was as though I lived through all my life again, within that silent room of death.Yet, notwithstanding this, my heart was still like stone; nor grief nor tears were mine. Instead, I vowed fresh vengeance. There should be no rest for me till both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon had been made to answer for their wickedness; until, that is, they had been hunted down and killed. The sword which had been girded on me by the hands now cold and stiff should also know no rest until it had avenged its giver's death. Henceforward that should be its work and mine.So much I swore, and felt the better for it, yet not without some vision of the perils and the pitfalls which must certainly beset me ere my vow could be fulfilled.And first among these stumbling-blocks there came the thought that none could help me. The truth about my father's death was one with which I could not trust a living soul; the threatening danger which had hovered over him, and killed him, now just as surely hovered over me; the secret which he had confided to my keeping scarce a day before was still a secret, though now known to three instead of four. Henceforth, in fact, 'twould be a deadly, silent warfare betwixt one and two, and well I knew that God's earth did not hold a blacker pair of villains than the chaplain and his creature Tubal Ammon. But that did not dismay me; nay, rather was I heartened by the thought that now, at least, I had a real work (however desperate) in life. For the rest of it, come rack, come rope, I would not flinch or turn aside. My course was clearly marked, and I was minded to run it with a will. My father's blood flowed in my veins, and though a cruel fate had snatched him from my side, he still was mine, and this that I was bent upon seemed but a poor plain duty due to one who had done everything for me. At any rate, 'twas all I could do now for him, and I would gladly give my life for its accomplishment.It was such feelings and such fierce resolves as these which kept me up and made me adamant (I know it now--for afterwards, long afterwards, the crash came), and, looking back through many years, I see no reason to regret it; for it was this alone which made it possible for me to go about my many pressing duties firm-jawed, silent, and clear-headed. And this, I knew, was as my father would have had it, for he had ever little tolerance or sympathy for those who wailed and whimpered in the face of sorrow.I will not dwell upon the many happenings of that dolorous day, for, indeed, they have no business in these pages, and so may be told swiftly in fewest words.First, then, summoned hastily, came the family physician, an old grey-headed, owl-eyed man, who, as I always felt, knew far more about me than he ought to. He asked divers questions, got, I fear, short answers; then shook his head, and murmured:"Ah! 'tis as I feared; 'tis as I always said; the heart hath failed."He said this with a solemn sadness, but yet, as it seemed to me, with some small pride in that his prophecy had been fulfilled.Next, eagerly (for ill news flies apace, and many messengers had been dispatched) came kith and kin, flocking like crows into the old ancestral tree, and, for the most part, trying hard (but vainly) to hide an eager curiosity by means of sighs and tears. In truth, their plaintive caws were little to my liking; and verily they must have thought me something of a hardened monster as I moved about among them, dry-eyed, immovable, and, as it seemed, bent only on cold business.Thus the day passed swiftly, crowded as it was with thronging duties (for, in spite of everyone and everything, I had decided that my father should be buried on the morrow), and evening came before I found a chance of going out. But when the sun had set, I left the dismal cawing of the family crows, and, slipping forth, went down by unfrequented ways into the town. Moreover, I went fully armed, for who could tell what ugly violence or treachery might be abroad?CHAPTER XII Live and LearnThe little town was all agog with men both young and old (farm hands for the most part), who had come in to join a cause which ignorance persuaded them would turn the kingdom upside down and make them so much richer by the doing of it. Most of them were armed; some wore green boughs stuck in their hats, while others waved them wildly; and everyone was shouting out these words, which already I was sick of hearing:"A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"Faith, 'twas as if the countryside had gone clean mad. "If this be how they go about the changing of a king," thought I, "then Heaven have mercy on them!"There were many in this bawling throng who knew me, and not a few showed signs of speaking to me of my loss; but I would have none of it, and so passed by with nods or scanty greetings.The Duke, I learned, had taken up his quarters at the "George", and thither, though scarce knowing why, I went; and what a sight and babel greeted me on drawing near the inn-yard! That of the previous night had been as nothing to it.The yard, and half the narrow street besides, were packed with men whose one desire in life appeared to be to get inside the inn itself as speedily as possible; and, to that end, they elbowed, pushed, and wellnigh fought each other. They shouted, waved green boughs, sang hymns and psalms; while ever and anon an oath or curse rang strangely out as some poor wretch was crushed beyond endurance.I watched them from a distance for a while in wondering silence, then going up I touched a burly, pushing yokel on the arm, and asked what was the meaning of so great a pother."Whoy, dost not know?" says he, regarding me with pity. "They be a-takin' down the na-ams i'soide thur, and we be all a-goin' to sign on.""For Monmouth, eh?" said I."Aye, sure," says he. "Who else?""Have many joined?""Aye, hun'reds--thoosands! And you'm be just the sort o' man they be a-wantin', zurr," he added, looking me up and down admiringly. "Coom on! Coom! We be a-moovin' now. Kape tha' close behoind me, zurr."And spreading out his arms he booed and barked as though the crowd before him were a flock of sheep intended for the slaughter--as, alas! full many of them were.But although his words had made me quite as keen as he to get inside the "George", methought I knew an easier, swifter way of doing it than his, which, as it seemed to me, must surely take some hours.So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to take heed of me, and slipping round into that quiet street from which I had escaped the night before, went up a narrow passage to the private side door of the inn. 'Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but when I knocked the bolts were hastily withdrawn, the door was opened cautiously, and there before me stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to rob me of my horse.He started back and stared. I frowned upon him boldly."What now?" said he when we had taken our fill of one another. "What is thy business, friend?"His speech was thick, his face deep red, while as he stood there with a hand upon the door, he swayed a little."The same as yesternight," I answered."Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he.I nodded sternly."Ah, and what then?" he mumbled, stroking his beard as though unable to collect his thoughts. "Look you, friend, my orders are to keep the door 'gainst all intruders. Yet an your business be in truth with---- Ah, by my soul, friend, yes--that's it--the password of the night; what is it? Give it quickly, and pass on."At first I felt inclined to turn and flee for it while yet there was a chance, not knowing whom the drunken lout might bring about my ears; but second thoughts constrained me to go boldly through with it, for verily I was in that state which cares not what may happen. Therefore I said:"I do not know the password of the night.""What's that?" roared he. "Business with godly chaplain and don't know password? Ho! ho! now, if that be not pretty!"With that he put his arms akimbo and burst into a roaring laugh, so that for a moment I had half a mind to knock him down and stride across his barrel of a body. But cautiousness prevailed."Pretty enough, but true," said I. "For, look you, I have been away on very urgent business of the chaplain's since yesternight, and have but just returned here. Prithee, what is the password, friend?" I added quickly.Perhaps it was the very brazenness of such a question that threw the muddled fellow off his guard; at any rate, he lurched towards me, and whispered underneath his ale-soaked breath:"'Tis Zion, friend--Zion--mark you, Zion. Make sure on't, for it may serve thee well enough ere night be ended."Little knowing how prophetic were those latter words, he drew aside; then, as I would have passed him by, he plucked me by the sleeve, and, with a knowing wink, said:"A favour, friend, a favour. Speak well of one John Coram to his reverence, for verily my zeal is most abounding. Hark!" he added, raising a shaking hand as a great shout reached us from the street. "Doth not the Lord's cause prosper mightily? Yea, I trow it doth indeed. And what am I, John Coram, to be spoken well of to his reverence? Friend, it might seem to thee that I am overfull of ale, but 'tis not so; nay, I vow I never touch the stuff. 'Tis burning zeal which fills me, nothing else. Zeal, I say, zeal! zeal!"Nodding heavily, he staggered over to a bench, and crashing down thereon, sat staring in amazement at his jack boots.But having got thus far I craved some information."Where is the Duke?" I asked.The fellow waved his hand and said:"He sits in yon great room receiving followers.""And is the chaplain with him?""Aye, verily, why not? Our godly chaplain is the friend of kings, and nigh as full of zeal as me, John Coram. Ho! ho! methinks that's good; ah, passing good be that. Ho! ho!"I waited till his roaring laugh had sunk into a rumble, then fired a random shot."Did'st ever meet a man called Tubal Ammon?"John Coram tapped his steel-cap, shook his head, and answered:"Never heard that name; but say, what be he like?""A tall, thin, bony fellow; legs like broomsticks; face like parchment; eyes like slits; and short-cropped hair that grows straight up like grass. Moreover, he----""Stop!" broke in Coram, who had been following me with wondering eyes and gaping mouth. "What did you call him?""Tubal Ammon.""Ah, then, it cannot be the same, and yet 'tis very like the man I met five years agone. His name was Israel Stark. 'Twas said that he had been a preacher of the Word, though when I knew him he was more a breaker of it, though, to be sure, he had some store of Latin ever ready on his tongue. Yet, for all that, he was the swiftest runner that I ever came across. Moreover, he could climb a tree like any squirrel. Aye, right well I mind me how I once did see him go clean up a----""Stay," I put in eagerly, "'tis the same man sure enough, in spite of names.""What! hast thou met him too, then, friend?" asked Coram."Yes, I have met him too," I answered grimly."When?""Not many hours ago.""And where?""Not very far from here."John Coram rose up slowly from his seat, and so stood staring at me for a moment in a hungry fashion; then said he:"I would with all my heart it had been me instead of you, friend; for with these hands of mine I would have wrung his wicked skinny neck.""Ah, so you have a grudge against him, eh?" I asked, as carelessly as wellnigh throttling eagerness would let me."A grudge!" growled Coram. "Aye, friend, that doth not name the tithe of it. I would account it heaven itself to kill the fellow; for, verily, there's not a blacker villain on God's earth than Israel Stark, and well I know it.""Ah, and how so?""Why, hearken. He came to me in sore distress--half-starved--a thing of skin and bones. He told me tales of savages and shipwrecks. I listened to those tales, had pity on him, took him in, fed, clothed him. And in the end he robbed me vilely; moreover, would have murdered me had not a friend come in the nick of time and saved my life. That friend he slew, and so escaped.""Ah, then, we are one," said I."What mean you?" asked John Coram wonderingly. "Hath he injured thee as well, then?""Yes.""How?""No matter. We are one, I say, and this our meeting may be fortunate for both of us. Listen! I would give you five gold pieces if you could find this Stark or Ammon for me so that I might kill him.""What!" gasped Coram. "Five--gold--pieces--to do that which I would gladly do for nothing! But say, friend, if you met this fellow but a few hours back, hast now no sort of knowledge where he is?""No, none.""Nor is that any cause for marvel," rejoined Coram; "for verily the fellow is a thing of darkness, passing like a shadow--well I know 'tis so. But count on me, friend, count on me; for if this mischief-worker still be in these parts, and catchable, he shall be caught. But stay, how shall I let thee know? Where shall I find thee, friend, in case of news?"I paused a moment, looking fixedly at Coram. Could I trust the fellow? Yes, methought I could. "You will find me at The Havering," I said, "a house out yonder on the Uplime road. 'Tis a well-known place, and anyone will guide you thither.""The Havering, The Havering," murmured Coram slowly, like one who conned a lesson. "Yes, methinks I've got that. And now for thy name, friend?"Again I paused to scan his face; for verily the whole thing struck me as a most uncanny echo of that fateful meeting by the roadside less than a week before. But now, for all his bloodshot eyes and ale-marked face, it seemed as though I stood before a lusty, honest fellow. Moreover, when I came to think on it, a risk the more or less was of but small account, for who could suffer now except myself? Therefore:"Fane--Michael Fane," I answered."Fane!" muttered Coram, with a thoughtful stroking of his beard. "Fane! That sounds familiar. Where did I hear it, now? Ah, I have it! 'Twas yesternight, as I kept guard in yonder street, I heard two fellows muttering round a corner. Their voices were so low that I could make little of the conversation, but more than once I caught the words 'Black Box' and 'Fane'. I tried to creep a little closer, but they heard me, and, coming out, slunk off.""Ha! so? And could you see them? Didst make out who they were?" I asked, scarce able to prevent my hands from clutching him."Nay, for the moon was hid, the night full dark, and they passed by upon the other side. But they were friends--not foes--of that I am assured, for when I challenged them they gave the password of the night.""You could make nothing of them, then?""Nay, naught; save that both were tall, and one--him nearest to me--wore a long black cloak.""And did you mark which road they went?""Aye, verily, I followed them a little way, and saw them hurrying off towards the sea. But, say, why show you so much interest in this matter? Truly, they used thy name, but that doth count for little, being friends. Stay, though," he added quickly, "hast lost anything--a box, for instance?""No," I answered slowly. "I have lost my father."John Coram eyed me for a moment in a startled fashion."Not killed?" said he at last."No; but lost no less for that," I answered."Aye, lad, I see--I know--I understand, for I, too, lost mine when I was young like thee. Yea, 'tis a grievous thing, indeed, to lose a father."The bloodshot eyes that gazed into my own were sad; the voice, though rough and thick, yet rang with kindness. The things about me seemed to fade away, and I saw nothing save that waxen, upturned face at home. John Coram's voice recalled me. "Say, friend," said he, laying a hand upon my arm, "what secret lies behind this matter? Go you in fear of anyone?"For a moment I was tempted to trust the fellow and tell everything, but wisdom pointed otherwise."In fear of anyone!" I echoed with a mocking laugh. "Nay, save me that, I pray you. 'Twas but an idle fancy, nothing else. I only wondered (foolishly enough) if Stark could have been one of them.""Stark!" cried Coram, springing back. "Now, by my life, how came you to think that?""An idle fancy, as I said before, and nothing else. These fellows gave the password of the night, and so were friends. They used my name; and, pray, why not, when it is free to all? Enough, let's say no more about it." I stopped and looked at him, then put a last, most daring question, saying: "I wonder if our godly chaplain knows Israel Stark or Tubal Ammon (to give him both his names). Think you he does?"On hearing this, John Coram drew away, and stared at me as though I had gone daft; then, throwing back his head, laughed loud and long."Ho! ho! if that be not a merry jest, then show me one," cried he. "Doth Master Ferguson know Israel Stark? Oh, by my life, 'tis good--'tis passing good. But, look you, friend, I'll answer it by asking thee a question. Doth Satan mix with angels?""It seems to me it may be so," I answered darkly.John Coram started back, and cast a swift, uneasy glance at me."What mean you by such words as those?" he asked."Naught," I answered quickly; "nor must I tarry longer. Remember, five gold pieces if you bring me certain news of Tubal Ammon's whereabouts; and here, by way of token, is a crown-piece on account.""Thou art a rare good fellow, friend," he murmured, staring at the coin; "strange, indeed, but passing good. Nor will I fail thee. True, there is much mystery in the matter, yet I ask no questions. We both want Israel Stark--that's quite enough for me. Yea, 'tis a handsome bargain, friend, and I, John Coram, will stick unto it like glue."He held a big rough hand out, and I grasped it tightly, for, notwithstanding too much ale and a rather muddled pate, I looked upon him as a kind of brother."Yes," said I, "'tis true there is some mystery in this affair; but, as we have one end in view, that matters nothing. Let us not fail each other, that is all.""Aye, true," said he; "but, look you, friend, 'tis said the Duke rides out of Lyme within a day or two from now. What then?""Ah! what then?""Well, go you with us?""I know not where I go," I answered, turning with my hand upon the door-latch; "but much may happen ere the Duke rides forth. In the meantime I will not lose sight of you; rely on that."With that I would have gone, but Coram stopped me."Stay! one moment, friend," said he, raising his blinking eyes no higher than my waist-belt. "That small affair about thy horse last night. Is it forgiven me?""Forgiven and forgotten," I replied.He heaved a mighty sigh; and I went forth to seek the "godly chaplain".
CHAPTER VIII
A Fight for Life
Click!--click! went both our pistol locks together, and, an instant later, two shots rang out as one. Nor was there much to choose between the aims. Tubal Ammon's bullet grazed my right side beneath the arm-pit; while mine went smash into his money-bag, and ripping it, brought forth a stream of coins which jingled thick and fast upon the ground. Had it not been for this protection, it had most surely been a stream of blood instead, for he had held the bag pressed tightly to his side. Strange that gold should save the life of one who had but just been bartering life for gold!
Again, had it not been for that wild, chancy shot at Ferguson I might have had friend Tubal now, for, instead of fleeing, he dropped straight down and grovelled in the gold, filling his pockets with it while he muttered oaths and curses terrible to hear. Doubtless greed held him as its own just then, for though my second pistol had been fired, he must have known he ran great risk; and indeed I might have got him with my sword before he could have saved himself. But the truth is, that the pistol flashes had discovered that which for the nonce made Tubal Ammon seem of small account. The Black Box, bound with cord, lay there straight below me on the turf, dropped or for gotten, as I judged it, by the chaplain in his terror-stricken flight.
Down I jumped into the hollow, and having seized my prize, was up again before you could have counted ten.
Having stuffed the precious thing into my pocket, I stood upon the ridge and once more looked at Ammon. He had risen and gone back a little; thus much I could make out but nothing more, for now he was wellnigh invisible. Dead, awful silence followed, and for the first time since leaving home I felt afraid; afraid, that is, because I could not see this murderous villain clearly, because he was now but a lurking, threatening shadow in the darkness. But just as I was thinking swiftly whether to speed home with what I had so luckily secured, or draw my sword and try to end the mischief-working fellow's life, the heavy westward clouds behind me broke; the moon burst forth; and, in a moment, we were made plain to one another.
There, stiff and straight, stood Tubal Ammon with his hands behind him, as motionless as though he had been carved in cold grey stone. The moon shone full upon his yellow, wrinkled face, and, seen by that ghostly light, he was, indeed, as much like Satan as a man could be. The very gold-pieces, glistening here and there, deep red, among the grass, were to my startled fancy as great drops of blood.
Thus, for the second time within the rounding of the clock, did I and Tubal Ammon face each other; and 'tis small wonder that I, stiff as he, stared at him like one spell-bound. And as I stared, I remember wondering vaguely what had possessed him to remain thus, when he might easily have fled to safety in the dark-ness. Surely not the gold, for he had gathered most of that! What, then? Well, I was very soon to know.
Meanwhile the silence grew appalling, unsupportable. It must be broken.
"Once more!" I shouted.
"Once more," he answered, though in a voice so low and still as barely moved his lips.
"What would you have?" I asked, scarce knowing what I said.
Another silence followed, and then two words came hissing through it like a knife-thrust:
"Your life!"
Although this was no news to me, the utterance of it thus was something of a shock. A threat made face to face gains ugly meaning, especially from such a man as he who stood before me. I paused a moment, then said, slowly:
"Yes, truly, you would kill me and my father also. I am forewarned of that. For, look you, Tubal Ammon, all your foul plans are known to me. I have been listening long enough to hear them one and all."
At that he gave a little start, so small as scarcely to be noticed, then murmured:
"Ah! 'twas well done, friend, well, indeed!"
"Well or ill, 'twas done!" I answered hotly; "and now, listen, thou wicked, murderous jail-bird: before this time to-morrow, the law shall have both you and your accursed master by the heels."
"Ah, say you so?" quoth Tubal Ammon, with a mocking grin. "Well, now, the law is what I take no great account of. It may be well enough for some; but me it neither helps nor hinders, therefore, I say, it comes not in my reckoning."
"That being so," I thundered, whipping out my sword, "I will dispense with it and settle with you now!"
With that I sprang into the hollow bent on killing him, but even as I did so, his hands came from behind him, and in them I beheld the little bow with one of its poisoned arrows ready fitted to the string.
"Stop!" said he. "I give thee warning. Truly this will not carry far, some twenty paces maybe; but come against me and I will promise thee sure death within an hour. Go back, or die! Which shall it be, friend? Choose!"
I did so instantly; for this was like waging warfare with the devil, not with man. Shuddering with horror I leapt back to the crest and once more faced my enemy.
"You have chosen wisely, friend," said he.
"I have chosen as a man must choose when matched against a cruel, murderous demon such as you," I answered.
"Well, now, there is some truth in that," replied the shameless knave.
"Yes, but more in this," I put in fiercely. "Listen Tubal Ammon, limb of Satan, as you surely are! Standing here I utterly defy you, dare you, as an honest man may dare the devil! Do your worst or best, I care not! Nay, I flout both you and your accursed master with those murderous plans which I have overheard this night. I care no more for them or you than that!"
Here I shook my sword at him, and having sheathed it with a loud, emphatic smack, turned and strode down the bank and made for home.
That I was far from easy as to what lay behind me needs no saying, and doubtless it was this that made me hurry when I reached the level ground. Hurry, at least, I did, with long, quick strides; and thus, with a moon to light the way, I should have reached The Havering (whose chimneys rose above the distant trees) in no time, but for the wicked wiles of Tubal Ammon.
I had left him standing, bow in hand, when I turned my back upon the ridge; and it seemed to me assured that ere he moved he would gather up the gold that yet remained strewn upon the grass: so much seemed certain in a man so greedy, and, by way of proving it, I more than once glanced cautiously behind me.
I had thus gone perhaps a hundred yards, when suddenly I heard what sounded like the gentle clink of coins.
Turning, I drew my sword and looked back, listening carefully, but there was nothing to be seen or heard. The night was still as death, and so, perhaps, thought I, the sound of Ammon gathering up his gold had carried thus far.
At any rate, I saw no reason for alarm, and therefore, with my sword still drawn in readiness, strode on again a little quicker.
Another dozen yards or so, then--chink! chink! chink! Yes, there could be no doubt about it; and 'twas nearer this time.
Remembering my experience with the oak tree, I went on a few more steps as though unheeding, then turned sharply round. The plan succeeded well; for there, sure enough, some fifty yards away, I saw a head pop down behind a gorse bush.
And then, as in a flash, I saw it all. This was Tubal Ammon's latest plan for dealing death; this was why he had remained and waited, and allowed me to depart, as it appeared, without the least concern. I understood. He had meant to follow me in stealth--to creep upon me from behind, and shoot me in the back!
On realizing this I broke out in a sweat of fear and horror. I am no coward, and vow that had it been a clean, straight sword-fight, man to man, I would have waited for my foe without a qualm. But to be done to death in that heathenish and most atrocious fashion was utterly beyond me. I could not face it. Sheathing my sword I turned and fled for my very life.
A low, fierce cry, and the pad of swiftly-running feet broke out behind. Ammon was after me. Taking a quick, back shoulder glance, I saw him coming like the wind. His feet seemed scarce to touch the ground. It was as though the Evil One himself were in pursuit. Never before, I trow, had such a breathless race 'twixt life and death gone forward on those ancient, wave-washed cliffs.
Putting forth all the strength and length of limb which God had given me, I strove to win, but all in vain. The light-toed villain gained upon me every yard, the clink of gold grew nearer, louder, every moment, until there could not have been twenty yards between us, and I could even hear his hissing breath. At any moment now the poisonous prick might come. The thought was unendurable. Better turn round and face sure death than wait for it to strike me from behind, I knew not when.
With this thought in my head, I leapt aside, and such was Ammon's speed that he had gone flying past a good ten yards ere he could stop himself; then, as he turned, I drew my sword out and rushed at him. But he was all too quick for me; with one great, cat-like spring, he saved himself, so that my upraised weapon clave the air: then, as I turned to face him, I saw his evil eye beyond the little bow as he took a hurried, deadly aim.
Hiss! the murderous arrow struck me full in the breast and quivered there, while by the sound of it, it had cut clean through to the bone.
I felt no pain--nay, not a prick--and yet, so certain was I that a slow and hideous death would surely follow, that in the terror of that awful moment my strength seemed to forsake me, my sword fell to the ground, and thus I stood and stared at Tubal Ammon, as some dumb stricken beast might at the giver of its death-blow. I saw his drooping eyelids rise and fall, his body quivered for a moment, then, with a ravening cry, he sprang upon me.
So fierce and sudden was his rush that I had no chance to pick my sword up, and as he leapt upon me I was driven staggering backwards for a yard or two. Then such a fight began beneath that staring moon as makes me shudder when I think upon it.
[image]"THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK UPON IT"
[image]
[image]
"THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK UPON IT"
My strength must have been three times that of Ammon's in the way of common wrestling, but so close and snake-like were his methods that from the first he had the best of it. His legs and arms wound round me like the tentacles of an octopus, every moment tightening with a crushing, suffocating power.
In vain I struck and tore and wrenched: he seemed to have no flesh to bruise, no bones to break; a thing of steel and hide had not been more impervious to blows. His fetid breath was on my face, his cruel eyes were close to mine; it was a very nightmare of a fight, in which all skill and knowledge counted for nothing and were powerless to avail.
Thus to and fro we swayed like one, first this way and then that, until my strength and breath began to fail by reason of the hopeless, stifling struggle. With one last desperate wrench I tried in vain to cast the clinging demon from me. His bony hand shot out and gripped me by the throat, his left leg wound about my right, I staggered for a moment, then fell crashing backward. My head struck something hard, the moon shot zigzag down the sky, and with it went the grinning face of Tubal Ammon. Black darkness followed.
CHAPTER IX
The Shadow of Death
"Coome, now, zur, another soop o' this and you'm a man agen."
The words fell on my muffled ears as though the voice were calling from a distance; then the murmur of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen roar, as, with a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.
And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling like a sack of flour were better words for it), with a knee and arm behind me, while my head, which ached abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I made out in that first dim gleam of consciousness, but for the rest of it I was still half-dazed and could not think.
"Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.
Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out afterwards) was pressed against my lips. I drew upon it with a will, then nearly choked. Hot, burning stuff it was, that sent the blood a-dancing through my veins like wildfire.
"Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me.
"Aye, aye, you'm right, zur. Brandy it be--best French, too."
The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the voice was now familiar. Glancing up I met the keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was called), the greatest thorn in Dassell's side, because he was the king of cargo runners.
"Smuggled?" said I.
"Right agen," he nodded, with a wink. "Smuggled sure enough it were, but mebbe none the worse for that."
"Nay, surely, Rat," I murmured; then sat silent for a time, striving to collect my scattered thoughts, which so far had remained a wild unruly throng. The moon, which I had last seen shooting down the sky with Ammon's head for company, now shone brightly; and what was that which flashed its light back from the grass? My sword! When I saw that, the past rushed on me pell-mell. The poisoned arrow! Surely it was time that death was stealing over me! The throbbing of my head--was that not part of it?
I gave a shuddering downward glance towards my breast. The murderous little shaft was hanging from my coat. Ratlaw's eyes had followed mine and seen it also.
"Whoy, what be that?" says he, and tried to seize it, but I dashed his hand away.
"Have a care!" I cried, "'tis poisoned!"
And with that I plucked the arrow out and cast it clear into the bushes at my back.
"Poisoned!" gasped Dan, and very nearly let me drop.
"Yes," said I, "tipped with deadly poison. Say," I added, "do I look strange? Is my face black, or green, or blue?"
He laughed and answered:
"Nay, 'tis a lovely red, I vow."
That relieved me greatly; still, being far from satisfied, my hand went creeping to the spot where, as it seemed, the arrow had struck clean through to the breastbone, and there, beneath my coat, I felt the Black Box.
"Heaven be thanked!" said I aloud. "It saved me."
"What saved thee, friend?" asked Ratlaw with a puzzled look.
"Nothing," I answered quickly; then added, "or rather, you did, surely."
"Mebbe I did," said he; "you'm right agen, I reckon. Another minute--and----"
"Yes, yes," I put in eagerly; "pray, tell me all about it"--for indeed it seemed astonishing that Tubal Ammon had not finished me while yet he had the power to do so.
"Well, 'twere like this," quoth Ratlaw. "As I were a-cooming 'long oop over from--well, from minding that as needs the minding, I saw what looked like one great whopping man a-swaying in the moonlight. 'Twere a terror of a thing, I tell 'ee, and I were just a bit afeard; but on I coome, and then may I be drownded if that whopping man did not break clean in two, and one half of it (that's you) went flop. I heard your head go crack upon yon stump, then t'other half jumped on you, and I saw the flashing of a knife. I were close by then--a dozen yards away, not more--so I whips out my hanger here and cooms on roarin' like a lion. Joost in toime and only joost. The knife wor raised to stroike, when, hearing me, he joomps oop, snarls at me loike any dog, and flies off cursing. And oh, the face of en! Zur, if 'twere not the Evil One hisself, who wor it?"
"The Evil One himself," I answered slowly.
"Aye, sure, or you had killed a dozen such as he wi' that." He pointed to my sword.
I nodded, then asked:
"How long have I been here?"
"Mebbe the quarter of an hour."
"Ah! so long? And which way ran this villain?"
"Ran? 'Twere no running, zur," replied Dan Ratlaw. "He flew! Yea, as I live, he sailed above yon bushes like a bat. And may I be clean drownded, zur," he added in an awful whisper, "if blazing fire did not drop from en as he flew."
I understood. Ammon had shed gold in flight.
"But which way did he go?" I asked again.
"Straight for The Havering yonder," answered Rat, "and like enough he'll be a-perching on the roof of it."
Then, for the second time that night, a clammy sweat broke out upon my face. Ammon! The Havering! My father!
"Rat," said I, "I must for home at once."
"Whoy, zur, what's wrong?" he asked.
"Naught, but I must away at once."
"I be afeard thou canst not walk," said he. "Take one more pull at this fust."
He held the bottle to my lips.
"No, not a drop. Give me a hand up, man, that's all," said I.
He did it, and, staggering to my feet, I stood there swaying for a moment, giddy and bewildered. Then, when I had mastered this unsteadiness, I took Dan's hand and said: "You've saved my life, and I shall not forget it."
The trusty fellow rubbed a sleeve across his mouth but answered nothing; then his hand went down into his pocket and came forth glittering with gold.
"See here," said he, with something of a shame-faced look, "I found this on the grass beside thee. Doubtless he meant to take it with him, but----"
"Nay," I put in quickly, "'tis not mine. 'Twas his, and now is yours by right. Therefore keep it."
"What, his?--the--the devil's?"
"Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled you will, methinks, find more of it. That was the falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged with gold."
So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground, and, leaving Ratlaw gaping with amazement, sped for home.
How I ran I know not, for my head was singing like a sea-shell, and my thoughts (if thoughts they could be called) were such a seething medley as it beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about that, scarce knowing how (as one but half-awake, that is), I reached The Havering gates. There I stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like a thief into the house, and, having gently closed the door behind me, listened. All was silent, save for the mournful ticking of the great hall clock, which in such awful stillness broke on me like a death-knell.
Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I tried to think. My father might perhaps yet be up there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must be ready with that great surprise which could not fail to put his care to flight.
Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle, brought the Black Box forth, untied the binding cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled cry, I staggered back, as though a blow had struck me. The box was empty! Ferguson had put the papers in his pocket--not in this; and, in his hurried flight, had left behind what was to me of no more value than a stone!
I could have cursed, or wept, or both, at such a bitter mockery as that; but I did neither. For a moment I stood staring blankly at the gaping box; then, having taken off my shoes, I seized the faithless thing, and, stealing silently upstairs, knocked at the study door. No answer came. I tried the latch. The door was locked. Strange! I had never known my father lock his door by night, though, to be sure, he sometimes did so in the day-time when he did not wish to be disturbed. I knocked again--much louder. Still no answer; then, listening, I heard a stealthy, creeping noise within. I did not wait a moment longer; hurling myself upon the door, I drove it crashing inwards.
Even as I thus burst in, the figure of a man shot past me, and, springing through the open casement, disappeared. Running to the window I looked forth, and saw the black, satanic form of Tubal Ammon fleeing down the moonlit garden. I watched him till he vanished like an evil shadow in the darkness of the trees; then, turning slowly, cast a fearful glance about the room.
At first I could make nothing out, for the candle had burned down into its socket, and all was dark; but, as I left the window, a straggling moonbeam, struggling through the chestnut tree (that fatal chestnut tree!), fell on a silvery patch above a high-backed chair. Slowly, with feet of lead, I moved towards it for a step or two, then stopped. My father sat there, with bowed head, as though he slumbered. What!--had he slept through such a turmoil?
Shaking from head to foot, I went close up and laid a trembling hand upon his shoulder--spoke to him. He neither stirred nor answered. Nay, he would speak no more, for when I took him in my arms I found that he was dead!
CHAPTER X
I Make a Solemn Vow
It may be that I am of a different make from other men--I know not; but in that awful moment, when heaven and earth alike were crashing round me, and my very life itself seemed rent asunder, I neither grieved nor wept. It was, indeed, as though a band of steel had forged itself about my heart and turned me into stone.
If it be hard to have no softened feelings at a time like that, then am I hard as granite; if it be wicked to be filled with vengeful thoughts in face of death, then am I wicked as the Evil One himself: for as I stood there with my father's icy hand in mine (the hand of him who had been everything to me), one thought, and only one, possessed my mind--the fierce resolve to be avenged on those who were his murderers, as truly as was Cain the murderer of Abel.
There was no mark of violence on him, save that his vest had been ripped open, and the key (that proof which was to win the price of blood!) torn from its ribbon. He had been dead some time--the brave, albeit weakened heart had given way at last beneath the strain of threatening danger, and Tubal Ammon, coming to give death, had found it there before him.
So much I noted, swiftly, clearly, as I stood there in that moonlit room of death; then, with the sense of having added years, in moments, to my life, I drew my sword, and holding it above the poor, bowed head, took one deliberate vow of vengeance.
Even as I did so, heavy hurrying footsteps sounded on the stairs, and glancing round, I saw a bunch of wondering, awestruck faces staring at me from the doorway. My crashing entrance had aroused the house, and here, half-dressed and ghost-like, were the servants.
The very sight of such a gaping, helpless throng stirred wild, unreasoning anger in a brain which hitherto had felt like lead. I must have turned upon them with a threatening fierceness, for they one and all fell backward with a fearful look.
"What now! What do you here?" I said.
"Oh, by the love o' Heaven, sir, what be wrong?" asked Tom, the groom, who held a flaring candle high above his head.
I paused a moment, then pointed to the chair, and answered:
"Your master sits there, dead!"
No cry or movement followed, but the glances cast upon me and my naked sword spoke plainly of the awful thought which filled each horror-stricken mind. Yes, for one throbbing instant it was clear to me that I was counted my father's slayer.
"Dead!" gasped Tom at last. "How, sir? Not--not killed?"
The hand which held the candle shook.
"No, not killed;" I answered slowly, for even in that blank, bewildering moment it flashed upon me that the truth could not be told to anyone without great danger. "No, not killed; he died as he had always wished to die--swiftly. Come now," I added, in a voice that sounded strange and far-off to my ears, "help me to bear him to his chamber."
No more was spoken.
The dawn of that the blackest day in all my life broke with a mocking splendour. The sun rose gloriously upon a green glad earth; the joyous song of birds, the scent of many flowers, the gentle whisper of the soft June breeze, the murmur of the sea--all these, the joyous signs of one more resurrection from the things of darkness, were there in plenty; but as I stood and looked down on my father's white, set face, I took no heed of them; they were less than nothing. The present was as a thing I had no part in; the past alone seemed real. A thousand memories of bygone years came flooding over me. It was as though I lived through all my life again, within that silent room of death.
Yet, notwithstanding this, my heart was still like stone; nor grief nor tears were mine. Instead, I vowed fresh vengeance. There should be no rest for me till both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon had been made to answer for their wickedness; until, that is, they had been hunted down and killed. The sword which had been girded on me by the hands now cold and stiff should also know no rest until it had avenged its giver's death. Henceforward that should be its work and mine.
So much I swore, and felt the better for it, yet not without some vision of the perils and the pitfalls which must certainly beset me ere my vow could be fulfilled.
And first among these stumbling-blocks there came the thought that none could help me. The truth about my father's death was one with which I could not trust a living soul; the threatening danger which had hovered over him, and killed him, now just as surely hovered over me; the secret which he had confided to my keeping scarce a day before was still a secret, though now known to three instead of four. Henceforth, in fact, 'twould be a deadly, silent warfare betwixt one and two, and well I knew that God's earth did not hold a blacker pair of villains than the chaplain and his creature Tubal Ammon. But that did not dismay me; nay, rather was I heartened by the thought that now, at least, I had a real work (however desperate) in life. For the rest of it, come rack, come rope, I would not flinch or turn aside. My course was clearly marked, and I was minded to run it with a will. My father's blood flowed in my veins, and though a cruel fate had snatched him from my side, he still was mine, and this that I was bent upon seemed but a poor plain duty due to one who had done everything for me. At any rate, 'twas all I could do now for him, and I would gladly give my life for its accomplishment.
It was such feelings and such fierce resolves as these which kept me up and made me adamant (I know it now--for afterwards, long afterwards, the crash came), and, looking back through many years, I see no reason to regret it; for it was this alone which made it possible for me to go about my many pressing duties firm-jawed, silent, and clear-headed. And this, I knew, was as my father would have had it, for he had ever little tolerance or sympathy for those who wailed and whimpered in the face of sorrow.
I will not dwell upon the many happenings of that dolorous day, for, indeed, they have no business in these pages, and so may be told swiftly in fewest words.
First, then, summoned hastily, came the family physician, an old grey-headed, owl-eyed man, who, as I always felt, knew far more about me than he ought to. He asked divers questions, got, I fear, short answers; then shook his head, and murmured:
"Ah! 'tis as I feared; 'tis as I always said; the heart hath failed."
He said this with a solemn sadness, but yet, as it seemed to me, with some small pride in that his prophecy had been fulfilled.
Next, eagerly (for ill news flies apace, and many messengers had been dispatched) came kith and kin, flocking like crows into the old ancestral tree, and, for the most part, trying hard (but vainly) to hide an eager curiosity by means of sighs and tears. In truth, their plaintive caws were little to my liking; and verily they must have thought me something of a hardened monster as I moved about among them, dry-eyed, immovable, and, as it seemed, bent only on cold business.
Thus the day passed swiftly, crowded as it was with thronging duties (for, in spite of everyone and everything, I had decided that my father should be buried on the morrow), and evening came before I found a chance of going out. But when the sun had set, I left the dismal cawing of the family crows, and, slipping forth, went down by unfrequented ways into the town. Moreover, I went fully armed, for who could tell what ugly violence or treachery might be abroad?
CHAPTER XI
I Live and Learn
The little town was all agog with men both young and old (farm hands for the most part), who had come in to join a cause which ignorance persuaded them would turn the kingdom upside down and make them so much richer by the doing of it. Most of them were armed; some wore green boughs stuck in their hats, while others waved them wildly; and everyone was shouting out these words, which already I was sick of hearing:
"A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"
Faith, 'twas as if the countryside had gone clean mad. "If this be how they go about the changing of a king," thought I, "then Heaven have mercy on them!"
There were many in this bawling throng who knew me, and not a few showed signs of speaking to me of my loss; but I would have none of it, and so passed by with nods or scanty greetings.
The Duke, I learned, had taken up his quarters at the "George", and thither, though scarce knowing why, I went; and what a sight and babel greeted me on drawing near the inn-yard! That of the previous night had been as nothing to it.
The yard, and half the narrow street besides, were packed with men whose one desire in life appeared to be to get inside the inn itself as speedily as possible; and, to that end, they elbowed, pushed, and wellnigh fought each other. They shouted, waved green boughs, sang hymns and psalms; while ever and anon an oath or curse rang strangely out as some poor wretch was crushed beyond endurance.
I watched them from a distance for a while in wondering silence, then going up I touched a burly, pushing yokel on the arm, and asked what was the meaning of so great a pother.
"Whoy, dost not know?" says he, regarding me with pity. "They be a-takin' down the na-ams i'soide thur, and we be all a-goin' to sign on."
"For Monmouth, eh?" said I.
"Aye, sure," says he. "Who else?"
"Have many joined?"
"Aye, hun'reds--thoosands! And you'm be just the sort o' man they be a-wantin', zurr," he added, looking me up and down admiringly. "Coom on! Coom! We be a-moovin' now. Kape tha' close behoind me, zurr."
And spreading out his arms he booed and barked as though the crowd before him were a flock of sheep intended for the slaughter--as, alas! full many of them were.
But although his words had made me quite as keen as he to get inside the "George", methought I knew an easier, swifter way of doing it than his, which, as it seemed to me, must surely take some hours.
So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to take heed of me, and slipping round into that quiet street from which I had escaped the night before, went up a narrow passage to the private side door of the inn. 'Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but when I knocked the bolts were hastily withdrawn, the door was opened cautiously, and there before me stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to rob me of my horse.
He started back and stared. I frowned upon him boldly.
"What now?" said he when we had taken our fill of one another. "What is thy business, friend?"
His speech was thick, his face deep red, while as he stood there with a hand upon the door, he swayed a little.
"The same as yesternight," I answered.
"Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he.
I nodded sternly.
"Ah, and what then?" he mumbled, stroking his beard as though unable to collect his thoughts. "Look you, friend, my orders are to keep the door 'gainst all intruders. Yet an your business be in truth with---- Ah, by my soul, friend, yes--that's it--the password of the night; what is it? Give it quickly, and pass on."
At first I felt inclined to turn and flee for it while yet there was a chance, not knowing whom the drunken lout might bring about my ears; but second thoughts constrained me to go boldly through with it, for verily I was in that state which cares not what may happen. Therefore I said:
"I do not know the password of the night."
"What's that?" roared he. "Business with godly chaplain and don't know password? Ho! ho! now, if that be not pretty!"
With that he put his arms akimbo and burst into a roaring laugh, so that for a moment I had half a mind to knock him down and stride across his barrel of a body. But cautiousness prevailed.
"Pretty enough, but true," said I. "For, look you, I have been away on very urgent business of the chaplain's since yesternight, and have but just returned here. Prithee, what is the password, friend?" I added quickly.
Perhaps it was the very brazenness of such a question that threw the muddled fellow off his guard; at any rate, he lurched towards me, and whispered underneath his ale-soaked breath:
"'Tis Zion, friend--Zion--mark you, Zion. Make sure on't, for it may serve thee well enough ere night be ended."
Little knowing how prophetic were those latter words, he drew aside; then, as I would have passed him by, he plucked me by the sleeve, and, with a knowing wink, said:
"A favour, friend, a favour. Speak well of one John Coram to his reverence, for verily my zeal is most abounding. Hark!" he added, raising a shaking hand as a great shout reached us from the street. "Doth not the Lord's cause prosper mightily? Yea, I trow it doth indeed. And what am I, John Coram, to be spoken well of to his reverence? Friend, it might seem to thee that I am overfull of ale, but 'tis not so; nay, I vow I never touch the stuff. 'Tis burning zeal which fills me, nothing else. Zeal, I say, zeal! zeal!"
Nodding heavily, he staggered over to a bench, and crashing down thereon, sat staring in amazement at his jack boots.
But having got thus far I craved some information.
"Where is the Duke?" I asked.
The fellow waved his hand and said:
"He sits in yon great room receiving followers."
"And is the chaplain with him?"
"Aye, verily, why not? Our godly chaplain is the friend of kings, and nigh as full of zeal as me, John Coram. Ho! ho! methinks that's good; ah, passing good be that. Ho! ho!"
I waited till his roaring laugh had sunk into a rumble, then fired a random shot.
"Did'st ever meet a man called Tubal Ammon?"
John Coram tapped his steel-cap, shook his head, and answered:
"Never heard that name; but say, what be he like?"
"A tall, thin, bony fellow; legs like broomsticks; face like parchment; eyes like slits; and short-cropped hair that grows straight up like grass. Moreover, he----"
"Stop!" broke in Coram, who had been following me with wondering eyes and gaping mouth. "What did you call him?"
"Tubal Ammon."
"Ah, then, it cannot be the same, and yet 'tis very like the man I met five years agone. His name was Israel Stark. 'Twas said that he had been a preacher of the Word, though when I knew him he was more a breaker of it, though, to be sure, he had some store of Latin ever ready on his tongue. Yet, for all that, he was the swiftest runner that I ever came across. Moreover, he could climb a tree like any squirrel. Aye, right well I mind me how I once did see him go clean up a----"
"Stay," I put in eagerly, "'tis the same man sure enough, in spite of names."
"What! hast thou met him too, then, friend?" asked Coram.
"Yes, I have met him too," I answered grimly.
"When?"
"Not many hours ago."
"And where?"
"Not very far from here."
John Coram rose up slowly from his seat, and so stood staring at me for a moment in a hungry fashion; then said he:
"I would with all my heart it had been me instead of you, friend; for with these hands of mine I would have wrung his wicked skinny neck."
"Ah, so you have a grudge against him, eh?" I asked, as carelessly as wellnigh throttling eagerness would let me.
"A grudge!" growled Coram. "Aye, friend, that doth not name the tithe of it. I would account it heaven itself to kill the fellow; for, verily, there's not a blacker villain on God's earth than Israel Stark, and well I know it."
"Ah, and how so?"
"Why, hearken. He came to me in sore distress--half-starved--a thing of skin and bones. He told me tales of savages and shipwrecks. I listened to those tales, had pity on him, took him in, fed, clothed him. And in the end he robbed me vilely; moreover, would have murdered me had not a friend come in the nick of time and saved my life. That friend he slew, and so escaped."
"Ah, then, we are one," said I.
"What mean you?" asked John Coram wonderingly. "Hath he injured thee as well, then?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"No matter. We are one, I say, and this our meeting may be fortunate for both of us. Listen! I would give you five gold pieces if you could find this Stark or Ammon for me so that I might kill him."
"What!" gasped Coram. "Five--gold--pieces--to do that which I would gladly do for nothing! But say, friend, if you met this fellow but a few hours back, hast now no sort of knowledge where he is?"
"No, none."
"Nor is that any cause for marvel," rejoined Coram; "for verily the fellow is a thing of darkness, passing like a shadow--well I know 'tis so. But count on me, friend, count on me; for if this mischief-worker still be in these parts, and catchable, he shall be caught. But stay, how shall I let thee know? Where shall I find thee, friend, in case of news?"
I paused a moment, looking fixedly at Coram. Could I trust the fellow? Yes, methought I could. "You will find me at The Havering," I said, "a house out yonder on the Uplime road. 'Tis a well-known place, and anyone will guide you thither."
"The Havering, The Havering," murmured Coram slowly, like one who conned a lesson. "Yes, methinks I've got that. And now for thy name, friend?"
Again I paused to scan his face; for verily the whole thing struck me as a most uncanny echo of that fateful meeting by the roadside less than a week before. But now, for all his bloodshot eyes and ale-marked face, it seemed as though I stood before a lusty, honest fellow. Moreover, when I came to think on it, a risk the more or less was of but small account, for who could suffer now except myself? Therefore:
"Fane--Michael Fane," I answered.
"Fane!" muttered Coram, with a thoughtful stroking of his beard. "Fane! That sounds familiar. Where did I hear it, now? Ah, I have it! 'Twas yesternight, as I kept guard in yonder street, I heard two fellows muttering round a corner. Their voices were so low that I could make little of the conversation, but more than once I caught the words 'Black Box' and 'Fane'. I tried to creep a little closer, but they heard me, and, coming out, slunk off."
"Ha! so? And could you see them? Didst make out who they were?" I asked, scarce able to prevent my hands from clutching him.
"Nay, for the moon was hid, the night full dark, and they passed by upon the other side. But they were friends--not foes--of that I am assured, for when I challenged them they gave the password of the night."
"You could make nothing of them, then?"
"Nay, naught; save that both were tall, and one--him nearest to me--wore a long black cloak."
"And did you mark which road they went?"
"Aye, verily, I followed them a little way, and saw them hurrying off towards the sea. But, say, why show you so much interest in this matter? Truly, they used thy name, but that doth count for little, being friends. Stay, though," he added quickly, "hast lost anything--a box, for instance?"
"No," I answered slowly. "I have lost my father."
John Coram eyed me for a moment in a startled fashion.
"Not killed?" said he at last.
"No; but lost no less for that," I answered.
"Aye, lad, I see--I know--I understand, for I, too, lost mine when I was young like thee. Yea, 'tis a grievous thing, indeed, to lose a father."
The bloodshot eyes that gazed into my own were sad; the voice, though rough and thick, yet rang with kindness. The things about me seemed to fade away, and I saw nothing save that waxen, upturned face at home. John Coram's voice recalled me. "Say, friend," said he, laying a hand upon my arm, "what secret lies behind this matter? Go you in fear of anyone?"
For a moment I was tempted to trust the fellow and tell everything, but wisdom pointed otherwise.
"In fear of anyone!" I echoed with a mocking laugh. "Nay, save me that, I pray you. 'Twas but an idle fancy, nothing else. I only wondered (foolishly enough) if Stark could have been one of them."
"Stark!" cried Coram, springing back. "Now, by my life, how came you to think that?"
"An idle fancy, as I said before, and nothing else. These fellows gave the password of the night, and so were friends. They used my name; and, pray, why not, when it is free to all? Enough, let's say no more about it." I stopped and looked at him, then put a last, most daring question, saying: "I wonder if our godly chaplain knows Israel Stark or Tubal Ammon (to give him both his names). Think you he does?"
On hearing this, John Coram drew away, and stared at me as though I had gone daft; then, throwing back his head, laughed loud and long.
"Ho! ho! if that be not a merry jest, then show me one," cried he. "Doth Master Ferguson know Israel Stark? Oh, by my life, 'tis good--'tis passing good. But, look you, friend, I'll answer it by asking thee a question. Doth Satan mix with angels?"
"It seems to me it may be so," I answered darkly.
John Coram started back, and cast a swift, uneasy glance at me.
"What mean you by such words as those?" he asked.
"Naught," I answered quickly; "nor must I tarry longer. Remember, five gold pieces if you bring me certain news of Tubal Ammon's whereabouts; and here, by way of token, is a crown-piece on account."
"Thou art a rare good fellow, friend," he murmured, staring at the coin; "strange, indeed, but passing good. Nor will I fail thee. True, there is much mystery in the matter, yet I ask no questions. We both want Israel Stark--that's quite enough for me. Yea, 'tis a handsome bargain, friend, and I, John Coram, will stick unto it like glue."
He held a big rough hand out, and I grasped it tightly, for, notwithstanding too much ale and a rather muddled pate, I looked upon him as a kind of brother.
"Yes," said I, "'tis true there is some mystery in this affair; but, as we have one end in view, that matters nothing. Let us not fail each other, that is all."
"Aye, true," said he; "but, look you, friend, 'tis said the Duke rides out of Lyme within a day or two from now. What then?"
"Ah! what then?"
"Well, go you with us?"
"I know not where I go," I answered, turning with my hand upon the door-latch; "but much may happen ere the Duke rides forth. In the meantime I will not lose sight of you; rely on that."
With that I would have gone, but Coram stopped me.
"Stay! one moment, friend," said he, raising his blinking eyes no higher than my waist-belt. "That small affair about thy horse last night. Is it forgiven me?"
"Forgiven and forgotten," I replied.
He heaved a mighty sigh; and I went forth to seek the "godly chaplain".