"Ay—marry, is this true, eh? Well, he is a good enough looking young fellow. But, 'tis no more than fair that the traveler should well requite us for thus depriving us of the comforts of a cheery room—eh!" muttered a bearded warrior, who, because of a conspicuous absence of stools or chairs, was obliged to take what ease he could upon the floor. "I would that friend Zenas might fetch bench or stool," he added, "so that I might listen to thy tale in seemly comfort—eh!"
"Have done with thy grumblings, de Claverlok," spoke up another member of the quartet. "Pray, Sir James, keep not longer from us the identity of this God-given substitute. We are all ears to hear."
"Ay, so must we be," de Claverlok interrupted. "But one great ear, for 'tis from a great height we must listen—eh!"
"First," resumed Tyrrell, unheedful of the interruption, "I would hear thy separate oaths registered that no hint shall escape thee of that which I am about to tell. This oath of secrecy, noble gentlemen, doth most of all include the solitary traveler now asleep in the outer room. Until such time as I shall give thee warrant, him must we keep in ignorance of our purpose. It is my firm resolve to bring him within view of our great armed force, before laying bare our plans. Zenas, my good brother," Sir James pursued, turning to the dwarf, "do thou, for a time, stand sentinel above our honorable guest. I charge thee, guard him zealously from harm till I am ready to join thee."
After Zenas had closed the door behind his retreating figure, the inn-keeper, turning toward the three men remaining, divulged to them at great length and with fine regard to details our traveler's true name and titles, as well as the nature of his errand to Douglas.
"My good wife, gentles," he said, concluding the explanation of the source of his knowledge, "was nurse and godmother to the suckling infant. Full oft did we, in secret, discuss the significanceof these marks that I have but this moment again looked upon. And, now, Friar Diomed," he said, addressing himself to the churchman, "art thou skilled enough in the assembling of herb and root to prepare me a sleeping potion that for three days or more will not lose its hold upon the senses?"
"Aye—that can I," replied the monk cheerfully. "An you but set it to the nostrils thrice in the day 'twill sleep a man safely the week through."
"Then do thou have it ready betwixt this hour and midnight. De Claverlok, do thou, with all dispatch, ride to our nearest encampment. Bring back with thee a dozen mounted men and a covered litter. Whilst awaiting Sir Lionel's speedy return, we will give our time to the further discussion of plans and expedients."
By now the storm had abated. The wind, no longer a shrieking tornado, had died away to a plaintive sighing about the eaves. The rain had entirely ceased, and in the dead solitude of the night the hoofbeats of de Claverlok's charger, as he galloped away upon his errand, were plainly audible to those within the tavern; to all savingSir Richard, who, still sleeping beside the fire, was all unconscious of an eye, a patient, gleaming, malevolent eye, which remained fixed upon the interior through a narrow window set high in the eastern wall of the room.
Theeye at the window was the hunchback's, who was perched upon the top of a boulder, which he had rolled to the side of the building for the purpose of enabling him to see within. His attitude was as that of a spider awaiting its victim, and betrayed his anticipation of a pleasurable event to come. If Sir James could have witnessed his brother's unaccountable demeanor, he would doubtless have been convinced of the truth of a rumor that was commonly traded among his men to the effect that Zenas was of unsound mind, and a menace to his ambitious plans.
The tottering of Zenas's reason was directly due to the circumstance of his having been Sir James's intimate confederate in one of the most brilliant and daring conspiracies in a time when conspiracies were among the chief products ofEngland's soil. The plot in question had been conceived in Tyrrell's brain at the time when he had been commissioned by Richard III to make away with his two nephews in the room in which they were then imprisoned in the Tower; and involved the secret transportation of the young princes to a place of safety till such time as a sufficiently armed force could be gathered to set the older of the two upon the throne. That one of the boy dukes was actually murdered and only one so transported, Sir James attributed to the egregious blunder or willful defection of one Dighton, his groom, who was bribed handsomely by Tyrrell to assist him in his gigantic enterprise. Dighton had suffered a summary death as the penalty of his fault. Zenas, garbed in the habit of a Sister of the Faith, had received into his charge in one of the by-ways of London a fair-haired young girl, who was the escaped prince in disguise. Together they had traveled from hamlet to hamlet till they had come to the haven of refuge prepared for them in Scotland. From whence he had been so indiscreet as to return to England and hint, while in his cups, of the incubation of avast uprising in the North, in consequence of which he had been seized, thrown into the torture chamber, and released only after he had been blinded in one eye and reduced to a repulsive caricature of his former self. While he had incurred Sir James's stern displeasure because of his indiscretion, he had also won his highest regard and confidence because of his stubborn refusal to divulge a single secret through the whole of his agonized sufferings.
Now, as Zenas patiently maintained his post upon the top of the boulder, he kept up an almost incessant mumbling. "I'll keep guard over him," he was saying. "Aye—I'll see that no harm comes to ourhonorableguest!" whereupon he would smile craftily and press his face more closely to the window. "They know not—ha, ha! not one of them hath divined that it was I—I, Zenas, the detestable hunchback, who put the quietus to the young prince. Slow poison—that's the thing.Slow poison!I'll teach them to steal from me the affections of my beloved and noble brother. Zenas, the crookback, will teach them! Slow poison put an end to the last, and now 'twill be Demon's turn to finish this one. Athim, good Demon!At him, sir!" he concluded, with a sibilant hiss that penetrated every corner of the interior of the room.
It was just at this moment that Sir Richard awakened with a sudden and violent start. During the interval of several seconds he remained in a sort of drowsy stupor, with his gaze fixed upon the curling flames. Doubtless from that instinct that gives warning of impending peril, he set his first sentient glance upon the forbidding beast lying before him upon the hearth. The hound's red eyeballs were glaring straight into his own. In the dim firelight he could see that its hair was bristling over its entire savage body, and that slowly and with deadly menace the brute was gathering its huge paws beneath it and assuming a crouching posture. Feeling certain that the slightest perceptible movement upon his part would precipitate the threatened spring, the young knight's fingers, under cover of the table, crept warily toward his sword-hilt. Distinctly he could hear the tap—tap—tapping of the raindrops as they splashed upon the ground from off the eaves. What, with the deathlike quiet, the red eyeballs and gleaming fangs of the hound,and the uncanniness of it all, it is a matter of wonderment that Sir Richard maintained his faculties to the degree that he did.
Inch by inch his hand neared the familiar point where his sword-hilt should have been. Groping beyond, however, it encountered but an empty scabbard. His blade was gone!
A crooked mouth beneath the malevolent eye at the window smiled exultingly.
As the young knight started in a maze of utter bewilderment upon discovering his loss, the hound, straight and true as an arrow sped from a cross-bow, sprang full at his unprotected throat. With a light bound Sir Richard gained the top of the bench, and the powerful jaws of the bloodthirsty brute closed upon his greaves at the precise point where his unprotected throat had been but the instant before. It had been a right lucky stroke for him when he had bestowed a second thought to the matter of unlocking his stout leg-pieces.
Discovering that it could inflict no hurt upon its enemy at that point, and not fancying, in all likelihood, the grating of the tough steel against its teeth, the hound released its hold, gave back,and now, with jaws afoam, and giving tongue the while to deep, fierce growls, it crouched low upon the hearth and gathered its body for another spring. By this time Sir Richard was aware of the circumstance that he was without a weapon of any description, as his dagger had been removed with his baldric, which had evidently been unbuckled from off his shoulder during his sleep. Quick as a flash the young knight swept up one of his heavy metal gauntlets from off the top of the table. Again good fortune was with him, for it turned out to fit upon his right hand. It was but the work of a moment to adjust it, and he met the brute's second leap with a blow set fair between its eyes and delivered with every ounce of weight and strength at his command. After the manner of a doe pierced through by a shaft in mid-leap the hound crashed lifeless to the floor, with a great spout of blood issuing from its mouth and nostrils.
The burning eye at the window withdrew its gaze. The crooked lips, so lately smiling, were now muttering curse upon curse to the sighing winds.
"Hoa! Well, by my soul, sir knight! I am,indeed, happily come to witness a blow so true and mightily delivered."
The voice was that of the inn-keeper, and sounded out of the darkness beyond the semi-circle of wavering light shed by the now expiring fire.
As Sir Richard leapt from off the bench to the floor, Tyrrell strode into the zone of illumination and, stooping, hung above the still quivering body of the dying hound. For quite a space he remained thus, as though graven in stone, with the gentle raindrops tap-tapping outside for an accompaniment.
"Knowest thou, sir knight," he observed at length, "that thou art the very first successfully to withstand the onslaught of this savage brute?" Tyrrell straightened up, folded his arms, and touched the dead hound lightly with the point of his foot. "Methought," said he, "that Demon was the nearest thing to me upon earth, and, mayhap, the dearest. Like me, sir, he was savage, cruel, and unrelenting; and, like me, expatriated by his kind."
The deep cadence of the inn-keeper's voice, the knitting of his brows, and a slight, mournfuldrooping of his shoulders betrayed to the young knight that his host was touched with a genuine sorrow. Filled ever with a generous-spirited goodwill, he felt himself entertaining a sense of regret for the deed that he had been compelled to do.
"In very truth it grieves me," said he, "that necessity bade me to set a period to a life that you held so precious. I can, good sir, but make offering of reparation in the way of gold."
Tyrrell turned toward the young knight and smiled sadly.
"Gold?" he softly answered. "It doubts me much whether all the gold in Christian England could salve the wound made by the death of this hound. An outcast, sir knight, he came to me, an outcast. I took him in and suffered him to tarry here till he grew kindred to my every wish, and the very manner of my likes and dislikes. As I am, noble sir, he was a bitter misanthrope, and would permit none, besides me, to approach him but Zenas, my unfortunate brother." He paused in his speech, regarding Sir Richard intently. As was habitual with this inimitable conspirator, he was but playing a part. If he hadit in mind thereby to win his way to Sir Richard's sympathies, he was succeeding admirably.
"Whilst thou wert sleeping," he resumed at the proper moment, "I caused thy sword and baldric to be removed, so that thy rest might forsooth give thee a greater measure of comfort. I likewise laid command upon Zenas to stand guard over thy slumbers. Much sorrow doth it give me that he should have left thee without the protection of his presence whilst I was absent. But, marry, noble knight, the deed can now no more be recalled than can the sped shaft be returned from mid-flight to the string."
From top to toe Tyrrell was habited in somber black; and, as he talked, his lank body loomed anon through the half-circle of flickering light, and then would be blotted out in the deep shadows beyond, as he continued to pace slowly back and forth before the chimney. To the imaginative Sir Richard's mind it recalled a play that he had once witnessed with Henry and his court in London. In it there had been an actor who had affected to play the part of the devil; and who had appeared suddenly, and then as suddenlyvanished, in a manner designed to appear miraculous.
"Though, in very truth," decided the young knight, "he did not resemble that grisly character one half so much as my mysterious landlord."
The scene in which Sir Richard was playing an involuntary part brought back to him the many evil tales that had been dinned into his ears since coming to Scotland of this same Red Tavern, together with a vivid recollection of the reported fate of the unwary, who, through any misadventure, chanced to seek the hospitality of its shelter. A dozen times it had been upon the tip of his tongue to make mention of these rumors, but the words persisted in halting upon the threshold of utterance. In the light of the reality and substance of his surroundings they appeared as nothing more than weirdly fantastic creations, or ridiculous superstitions, and as such he did his utmost to dismiss them from his mind.
He was just meditating some appropriate subject of conversation by which the prolonged and somewhat uncomfortable silence might be interrupted, when the hunchback came into the room,bearing upon his back a billet of wood that was vastly greater in length and girth than he.
"Dost know, Zenas," said Tyrrell sternly, "that thou hast committed a most grievous fault in not remaining to stand watch over our honored guest? Where hast thou been?"
"I did but go without to fetch this log. The night hath grown cold, and I was but bethinking me of the sir knight's comfort," Zenas explained.
"'Tis an ill excuse, I tell thee, Zenas. Prithee bestow the log upon the fire. Then bring in a torch, and a mattock and spade. We will bury at once the body of yonder hound."
Arching his brows the dwarf looked toward his brother, toward Richard, and then upon the body of the hound.
"But he does but sleep, good brother," he said, depositing the log amidst a shower of sparks within the fireplace.
"Aye, 'tis true he sleeps," replied Tyrrell. "And a sleep, Zenas, from which none shall again awaken him. Our good knight yonder of the wondrous thews, dealt him a buffet that would have felled the stoutest ox in broad Scotland. Methinks it might e'en have staggered a PapistBull, with such a hearty goodwill was it delivered."
Going to the side of the hound, the hunchback bent above it, fondled the massive head and shook the fast stiffening paws. Then, with a furtive look toward his brother, who happened to be unobservant of his actions, he shot a black look of malignant hate in Sir Richard's direction.
"And wilt thou suffer this——"
With a finger upon his lips Tyrrell warned Zenas to instant silence. Then, leading him toward the outer door, he talked earnestly with him for several minutes. During a pause in their animated conversation the hunchback stooped and peered at the young knight in something of an odd manner. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he took his way without further ado through the door.
In a little while he returned, carrying a gnarl of pine wood, which he set to blazing at the fire. Thus did Tyrrell, in a most respectful manner, beg Sir Richard to carry, whilst he and Zenas, he said, would drag out the carcass of the hound and make ready its grave.
"'Twould be better that thy brother shouldbear the light," said Sir Richard. "I'll lend thee a hand to the carrying of the hound, and then wield either the mattock or the spade."
"Tut, tut! Of the two, dost think thou art the stronger?" queried the hunchback sharply, addressing himself to Sir Richard for the first time. "Then," he added, "let me show thee."
Unceremoniously thrusting the torch within the young knight's hand he lifted a heavy iron bar standing against the chimney. With but little more effort, apparently, than one would have bestowed upon the breaking of a twig he thereupon bent it fair double across his knee. Tossing aside the twisted rod he looked into Sir Richard's eyes and smiled. Rather, it was a mirthless leer, cunning, cruel, menacing. The young knight easily gathered that between Zenas and himself there remained yet an unsettled score.
"Have done with this childish vaunting of thy strength," said Tyrrell. "An thou wilt but expend thy energies to the task in hand, 'twill soon be done."
"But, can our honored guest be of a mind to exchange me a buffet, good my brother, I should be remiss in the matter of common courtesy didI not stand ready to favor him," returned Zenas.
"Come, come!" impatiently exclaimed Tyrrell, allowing Sir Richard no opportunity of answering the implied challenge. "Let us have done at once with the burial of poor Demon."
He and his brother then led the way outside, carrying between them the body of the hound. Sir Richard followed them to where they laid it down at the foot of the jagged rock that, in the daylight, could be seen at a great distance along the roadway. By this hour the night had turned keen, as nights are wont to do along the Highlands, and as he stood idly by watching the inn-keeper and the hunchback busily plying spade and mattock, he grew uncomfortably sensible of the increasing cold, which seemed to set its chill touch upon his very bones.
At rare intervals the pale disc of the moon could be vaguely distinguished when one of the thinner clouds scudded across its face. But when the heavier clouds rolled beneath it, the land was blotted out in deepest darkness, which the splotch of light shed by the wavering torch served well to accentuate.
Fantastic shadows wove themselves about thegrave-diggers' feet. These, as they rippled away, grew to tremendous proportions as they merged with the circle of gloom that hemmed them in after the manner of an ebon wall. It was during this dismal half-hour, more than ever after, that Sir Richard missed the jovial companionship of poor Belwiggar. The thought came to him that he was a being apart, who had been set down there alone in a mystic environment, and, willy-nilly, his mind again became tenanted with calamitous forebodings. He fair ached again to stretch his legs before the fire, and hailed with unmingled delight the moment when the inn-keeper and his brother clambered from out the grave and lowered the hound within.
It was as they were heaving back the loosened earth that he heard a faint, clear sound steal out upon the silence of the night. It seemed to him as the sound of a maiden's voice released in song. He was straining eagerly to catch the next sweet, quivering note when Tyrrell's deep voice broke suddenly into an English war song, and with a tuneful lilt that came far from appealing unpleasantly to the ear. Moreover, with such ahearty goodwill did he sing it that the echoes of the resonant notes were flung reverberating far across the plain.
So unexpected was this occurrence, and so foreign did it seem to the inn-keeper's melancholy character, that Sir Richard was no less startled than surprised. When the young knight turned toward his host he discovered that grim individual engaged in shoveling great clods of earth into the grave, and unconcernedly timing each movement of his body in a rhythmical beat with his song.
Not until the last bit of clay had been firmly tamped above the hound, and they had started for the tavern door, did he for a moment relax his stentorian singing.
"Didst thou not hear that sound as of a woman's voice?" Sir Richard made bold to inquire as they were passing indoors.
"Not I," Tyrrell brusquely replied. "For long, sir knight, my ears hath grown accustomed to the plaint of bird and beast, and the shrieking of the wraiths of shipwrecked mariners along the coast. An I had heard a sound, I should, belike, have attributed it to one of these. Zenas," hepursued, thus dismissing the subject of the young knight's inquiry, "look well to our guest's steed for the night. After thou hast done, return and conduct the good knight to his bed."
Turning toward Sir Richard as the hunchback took himself from the room, Tyrrell, linking within the young knight's arm his own, led him toward the comfortable warmth of the fire.
"Thou hast marked, I know, the shattered form of my brother," he said sadly, as they seated themselves together beside the table. "'Tis what remains of the cursed rack and wheel. 'Tis near beyond belief that Zenas was once as supple and straight as either thou or I. And this good body, too, Sir Richard" (the young knight started at the utterance of his name), "they would have drawn, twisted and maimed like unto his had I not defeated their evil purposes by fleeing the borders of my beloved country. God's direst curse rest upon them—dead and living—one and all!" He paused for some moments, looking gloomily into the fire. "Most humbly do I crave thy pardon for this unseemly display of emotion, sir knight," he added, "and permit me to requite thy forgiveness by setting before thee anotherstoup of wine. 'Twill certes not come amiss after thy prolonged stay in the crisp air."
He arose from the table accordingly, opened a cupboard upon the farther side of the chimney and took from a shelf the wine, which he set before his guest. As he was making fast the door, Sir Richard noted within the cupboard's shadowy depths the bright points of reflection against pieces of steel harness—swords, battle-axes, and shields.
"No doubt thou art deliberating now within thy mind," Tyrrell resumed, again seating himself, "as to the manner, Sir Richard, in which I came upon thy name?"
Abruptly pausing, he gazed reflectively for quite a space upon the young knight's puzzled countenance.
"Know then," said he, "that as thou wert sleeping, thy helmet rested there upon the table. The light of yon blaze shone full upon thy name and thy armorial bearings, which thou seest fit to carry within that safe receptacle."
Sir Richard flushed to his temples. He tried his best, despite his embarrassment, to answer in an indifferent manner.
"Gramercy for thy caution, good my landlord," he returned, with a careless smile; "and hereafter I shall keep that receptacle upon my foolish noddle, where, i' faith, 'twill be safe from prying eyes."
"From me, sir knight, thou hast no cause to fear," Tyrrell hastened to assure his guest. "It may even transpire that the momentary relaxation of thy caution hath earned for thee a friend. Mayhap, a friend in need—who knows?"
"In need of nothing at present above a restful pillow, a roof, and a bite to eat before I fare away in the morning," replied Sir Richard.
"Ah—yea, yea! Art thou so fortunate, sir knight, as to be making thy lonely pilgrimage upon matters of state? or art merely seeking lightsome pleasures, as is the manner of many a young court buck?"
"As for making my pilgrimage alone, sir, 'tis the fault of an evil accident that befell but this very day. Till he was foully murdered not many leagues from here, I had, for attendant, a squire as faithful and brave as any in England, mauger the fact that he was a trifle weak at sword-play. Give him in hand a battle-axe, though, and hewould have cleaved through the stoutest wrought bonnet in all Scotland. Poor Belwiggar! God rest his bones, say I. Concerning thy inquiry as to my mission, sir, I am not free to answer," concluded Sir Richard.
"Then, an it be not a further dire impertinence, good sir knight," persisted Tyrrell, "lesson me from whom thou hast thy cognizance? Marry, I, who bethought me acquainted with every scroll in England, know thine not at all."
"From whom else but my good sovereign," Sir Richard replied. "By his royal command did the College of Heralds issue it. Thus much do I please to tell thee. Of my parentage I can lesson thee naught. My progenitors I have never seen, never known. That I am alive, well, and the free subject of a generous and noble king is sufficient for me, sir; and, by my good sword, must be sufficient for all to whom I am known."
"'Tis well and bravely said," the inn-keeper replied. "But more upon this subject at a later time, my dear Sir Richard. The night doth grow apace, and here cometh Zenas, who is now ready to conduct thee to thy couch." Upon which hearose and bade the young knight a kindly and respectful good-night.
Bearing a rush-light, the hunchback led Sir Richard up a narrow stairway to a room immediately above the one he had just quitted. Bidding his sour visaged guide to set the basin, in which burned the rush-light, in the center of the floor, he bespoke for him a peaceful rest and dismissed him from his chamber. Zenas, answering never a word, backed toward the door. Then, from its threshold, he dropped a curtsey that would have made a fitting obeisance to a monarch, after which he silently took himself off.
The room in which the young knight now found himself was of an ample size, but exceedingly raw and cold, as no fire burned within the deep-throated chimney. The four walls were roughly coated with mortar. The rafters overhead were bare. In the gloom of the space between the steep gabled roof and the skeleton beams he could hear the occasional whirring of a bat's wings, as it darted hither and thither across the room. He lost precious little time in speculating upon his surroundings and, quickly removing his steel gear, sought the comforts of the bed,which he discovered, with much inward gratification, to be of a good and easeful kind.
A few vagrant thoughts, some of them being of the wild tales he had heard of the tavern wherein he was now tarrying, flitted vaguely across his mind. Then, very soon after laying his head against the pillow, he sank into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep.
Thewalls of the room adjoining that in which Sir Richard was now sleeping framed a scene that provided a singular and pleasing contrast to the bleak and uninviting rooms within the tavern with which the reader is already somewhat familiar. So beautifully, and in such exquisite taste were its rich trappings disposed, that a princess might have found comfort and contentment within its cosy precincts. Indeed, not anything seemed to be missing that could have been demanded in the surroundings of the most refined and fastidious of royal personages.
Upon one of the pillowed couches two young maidens were reclining gracefully at their ease. One was lying at full length and resting upon her elbows, with her chin pressed against her interlockedfingers; the other was engaged with needles and some bright colored silk in weaving a design upon a piece of linen cloth. Without risking hyperbole it may be said of them that the jewels they wore were scarce an adornment to their distinguished setting, for it would have offered a difficult task to have set out to discover two lovelier types of young womanhood. It was unusual in that between them there existed no conflict of beauty; rather did the bewitching charms of the one serve the complimentary purpose of enhancing the pure and almost ethereal comeliness of the other.
"It would surely be a famous prank, Rocelia," said the one who was lounging upon her elbows. "I cannot understand why you should oppose me. Are we not come to an age, my over-discreet cousin, where a champion should be ours by right?"
"By right of what, pray, madcap Isabel?" queried Rocelia, laying aside her needlework upon a table that stood near the couch.
"Why—by right of conquest, little dunce," returned Isabel with a gay laugh. "Here does my stern guardian—and by the same token your implacablefather—see fit to keep us mewed within this dismal, fly-by-night prison, deprived of every pleasure and innocent pastime that other maids, similarly stationed, are permitted to enjoy. I tell you, sweet Rocelia, 'tis nothing less than downright cruel."
"Say not so, ungracious maid," observed Rocelia in mild disapproval. "Are we not surrounded with everything, my dear, that heart of maid could wish?"
"Everything, say you? Why—far, far from everything," demurred Isabel, tossing back a strand of raven black hair that persisted in straying over her shoulder. "A champion! Give to me a champion!" she cried with a mock seriousness, raising on high her right arm, from which her loose robe fell, displaying a dazzling array of captivating curves and dimples.
Rocelia smiled in a gentle toleration of the other's extravagance of manner.
"Your wondrous beauty, my dear cousin," she said, "will win for you a champion all in good time."
"Time?" retorted Isabel, gathering her lips in a pretty pout and arching her brows. "Time,say you? And what, I pray you, haveweto do with time? Does not time fade and wither that beauty by which, but a moment ago, you have recommended to me a champion? Is not time our mortal and deadly foe?"
"Too much of it, mayhap, would be," admitted Rocelia; "but a little of it should serve well in rounding out our minds, and in providing us with that sane discretion which, as you remember, Lord Bishop Kennedy, our kind tutor, has taught us is the most precious of earthly perquisites."
"Bah! a murrain upon Bishop Kennedy and his dry pedantries. An I had that old prate-apace inside an oven, right well would I warm his icy blood for him. Look not upon me, sweet coz, with such wideopen eyes of ravished virtue! I declare to you, Rocelia, I'll have me a champion—and before this very night is over. You could never divine, I'm sure, why I begged you awhile ago to sing without yon open window. Of a truth, you knew not, or your voice would never have left your throat. It was vicariously to beguile my brave champion's ears that you were singing so sweetly, dear. He was then outside with your father and Zenas burying the hound.Ah! you should have seen him fell the savage brute, Rocelia. A single mighty blow of his mailed fist and 'twas all over."
"Were you not afraid? 'Twould have fared ill with you, an Father had seen you standing at the tap-room door."
"Nay—I was not afraid. Your father was in another room with the men. Zenas had gone outside. I heard him go muttering through the door as I crept softly down the steps. I peeped through the split panel—my champion was there ... sleeping. But, already have I told you the story. Ah! how brave was he. Not once did he flinch the battle, or look about him, or call for help. And he is handsome; marry, sweet coz, but he is handsome! All girded up in shining, inlaid armor. His brown-gold hair flowing almost to his shoulders. His health-bronzed cheeks smooth and shapely. And his mouth! Um-m-m! Well——"
"Why, cousin! some wicked witch has cast a spell above you, I fear."
"Nay—'tis not witchery, sweetest Rocelia," said Isabel, seating herself beside her fair-haired cousin and lovingly entwining her arms about herslender form. "I am but filled to overflowing with the joy of living. A something of excitement is both sup and drink to me. Now listen. Bear with your madcap cousin whilst she discourses with you in deepest earnest. A champion I must and will have. But he need not know me, or even look upon my face."
"I cannot understand. You are speaking in riddles, Isabel."
"Nay, give ear till I've finished and you shall see it plain enough. My knight of the brown-gold curls, an I mistake me not, is even at this moment slumbering within the next chamber. With a bodkin a cleft in the wall can be used as a slight avenue of secret communication. Then a missive, and a bit of cloth clipped from my—no yours, 'tis of a more enticing color—your saffron gown, I'll say, dear cousin; and thus I have my champion and no soul but you and I the wiser. Do not say me nay, good, generous Rocelia. It will be a right merry and harmless frolic, think you not?"
"'Twould be a sorry one for you, I fear, an my father found you out," replied Rocelia, half in jest, half earnestly.
"Enough. Let the hazard be mine, sweet. And now to business. Whilst I am at work with the bodkin, do you shear me a strip from off your saffron velvet kirtle."
*****
Sir Richard, sleeping soundly, was all unconscious of the widely varying activities of which he was now become the center. Beneath the room in which Isabel, now singing, now laughing, was engaged upon the wall, Friar Diomed had finished brewing and mixing the herbs and chemicals of his narcotic.
"My oath on 't, Friar Diomed," Tyrrell was saying from his seat beside the fire, "your cloth shall not save your shaven pate, an this potion bring one jot of harm to the young noble."
"An it be administered with your usual skill and caution, Sir James," returned the monk, elevating a phial filled with the liquid between his squinting eyes and the light of the fire, "'twill bring no more harm than so muchaqua pura. But, by my church! 'tis beside my understanding why you must observe all of these dark ceremonies. Let the young knight but read the King'swarrant in his slop pouch, an he were a long-eared ass not to embrace our cause."
"Have I not already said, my stupid friend, that he would at once charge us with substitution and false writing? Think you not that the young noble hath heard a many an evil tale of this tavern along the way? Marry, an he had not, all our trouble and precaution to shield the young prince from discovery and harm would have been but of slight avail. But only once again, good friar, need this phantom inn disappear, and then 'twill serve as a blazing torch to light the start of our movement southward."
"Pity 'tis that the young prince died," observed the monk, giving the phial into Tyrrell's hand and standing with his broad back to the blaze. "And just at the point, too, when you had gathered a sufficient power to hurl effectively against Henry. So fire shall consume our refuge, you say? Well, Sir James,ab igne ignem, say I."
"Yea, and I. But regarding the young prince, regret not that which is beyond mending. In truth, Friar Diomed, I like this young Earl of Warwick mightily. He's a right goodly youth tolook upon, and brave—aye, as fearless as a lion cub. Nay—let us not regret, but rather return thanks to a generous God for having thus dropped down upon us a proper and legal substitute."
"An you'll be good enough to bid Zenas to bring out the flagons, Sir James, I'll e'en now down a measure or twain to the health of the new. Which is more to my liking, by my Faith, than the uplifting of mere dry thanks.Ad majorem Dei gloriam!'Twill be a good hour ere de Claverlok and his band return, and I am grievously athirst and, ah-ha-ha, ho-e-e, sleepy."
"Then why not call your drink night-cup and betake yourself to your couch? 'Tis not necessary that you should remain abroad to await their coming. Zenas, the flagon of wine," Tyrrell then called. "Drink, and to your rest, my good friar. Yea—the blessed pair of you."
Whereupon, with a loud smacking of his lips, the rotund friar introduced his red and bulbous nose within his tipped cup and made for his couch. Zenas followed him, leaving Tyrrell to keep solitary vigil by the side of the crackling fire, and all unaware of the little comedy which,at that very moment, was being enacted above his head.
*****
For the second time that night Sir Richard awakened with a violent start. Upon doing so he raised his head from off his pillow. Hearing no sound, however, he attributed this second awakening to a fanciful dream of a ponderous battle-ax striking upon his helm, and had just composed himself for the purpose of resuming his interrupted rest when he became aware of a distinct rapping upon the headboard of his bed. As he threw aside the covering and sat erect the strange tapping ceased. With every sense upon the alert he listened for a repetition of the sound. It came soon again, distinct, deliberate, unmistakable. He passed his hand carefully over the smooth headboard, but went altogether unrewarded for his pains. Concluding, therefore, that the sounds emanated from between the wall and the bed, he sprang to the floor and pulled aside the heavy piece of furniture.
The inexplicable rapping was then followed by a dry, scraping noise, which seemed almost impossible to locate. The room being cast in utterdarkness, his sense of touch was required to answer for his useless sense of sight. In the passing of his hand along the wall it met with a slight protuberance. This he instantly grasped, and a part of it came away within his clutched fingers. He discovered it to be a wisp of paper, neatly rolled, and surmised it to be a written message. By the side of the basin upon the floor he found tinder, flint, and steel. Contriving speedily to have a light, he thereupon read the following message:
"Whoever or whatever thou art, an semblance of heart of man beats within thy brave bosom, rescue a maiden from a living death."
"Whoever or whatever thou art, an semblance of heart of man beats within thy brave bosom, rescue a maiden from a living death."
This was the message from Isabel. She had been careful to sign no name, and Sir Richard had no means of knowing by whom it had been inscribed. But, even so, he was entirely equal to the occasion, and felt his heart leaping in deepest sympathy with the unknown maiden in distress. So, then and there, upon the cross of his sword, he made a sacred vow to adventure her rescue, repeating in a solemn manner the usual form of oath: "So may God and St. George prosper meat my need, as I will do my devoir as thy champion, fair maid, knightly, truly, and manfully."
This ceremony concluded, he hurried again to the wall. Protruding from a narrow aperture in the mortar he noted a thin piece of steel, such as he fancied was used by women in the shaping of their apparel. Upon withdrawing it, he discovered it to be of about a length with his forearm.
Then, placing his lips to the opening thus disclosed, "Courage, fair maiden," he whispered. "An wilt thou grant the boon of sending a most willing champion thy colors?"
"Yea, gladly," came back the answer, sweet and low; "and a kiss, too, my brave knight."
"Ye gods of Love!" exclaimed Sir Richard beneath his breath. "The very yearnings of Tantalus are at this moment put to the blush! Was ever a champion avowed under like romantic circumstances? Was ever a maiden wooed through a two-foot, key-cold wall?"
He then sent the pliant steel back through the wall, which he erroneously supposed to be constructed out of solid stone. In another moment there came to his impatiently waiting hand a very small cutting of saffron velvet, the which hetouched reverently to his lips, as was becoming in a loyal champion, and then placed devoutly next his heart.
He whispered again, and again he whispered, but no answer came. Observing the precaution of scraping away a bit of mortar from another wall, he carefully concealed the opening. Upon which he replaced the bed in its former position, secured the note within the fillet of his helmet and once more sought his pillow, where he fell asleep presently in the midst of meditating as to the means through which he might, in safety to her, effect the deliverance of the fair unknown.
Yet not half so fair, nor yet half so lovely, was the vision that he materialized from the scrap of saffron velvet as was its beautiful owner, whom an unkind Fate decreed he should not set eyes upon till many days crowded with many misadventures had passed away.
Itwas a trifle past midnight when de Claverlok and the men he had commissioned to bring with him halted in the highroad before the door of the Red Tavern. Coincident with their arrival the hitherto deserted and lonely appearing hostelry was magically metamorphosed into a hive of buzzing industry. The near vicinity of the building became brilliantly illuminated with the flare of many links, the iron pikes of which had been struck into the earth from the roadway to the entrance of the inn. That the scene was one of martial activities could in no wise be mistaken, for the yellow light of the torches was reflected and repeated against a goodly number of steel cuirasses and polished bucklers.
Beside Tyrrell, near the doorway, stood a thin and rather under-sized man, wearing an intricatelyplaited coat of light chain mail, over which was drawn a white linen tunic, with a crimson Maltese cross emblazoned upon the breast, after the fashion of the ancient Crusaders. This individual, conspicuous alone because of the simplicity of his dress when contrasted with those about him, was the famed diplomatist, warrior, statesman, shrewd conspirator, and eminent churchman, Lord Bishop Kennedy, to whom Tyrrell looked ever for council and advice, and who, in reality, had been the brains and backbone of the movement that had been designed to set the youthful Duke of York upon the throne of England. Here was a man possessing that strength of character that permitted him to remain always in the background. From whence he was wont to view the vast schemes in which he became involved as a whole, much as the successful general might select a high eminence from which to overlook and direct the maneuvres of his army. While indolence was at times attributed to him, on account of a certain reserve and unobtrusiveness of manner, to those who knew him well he was known to be indefatigably energetic. It was said of him, indeed, that he neverslept, saving with an open eye to his tent-flap, or doorway. In Sir James Tyrrell, Bishop Kennedy had achieved a notably brilliant confederate—a man of ideas, a born inventor, but visionary to a perilous degree. Tyrrell was not suffered to be awakened out of his dream that he was the real leader; though, in point of truth, he was but nominally such. If, however, the block were to claim its tithe of vengeance, Tyrrell's head, and not Lord Kennedy's, would have been among those selected. Kennedy regarded politics as he did a game of chess, and was marvelously proficient in playing both. "A knight, or even a despised pawn," he was known to have said, "may say 'check' to a king, but it is a wise precaution to have a bishop stationed on the long diagonal."
"Thou art certain beyond all peradventure," he was saying to Tyrrell, "that thou canst not be mistaken as to the identity of thy find?"
"Aye—marry, am I, my lord," Tyrrell confidently replied. "I could scarce be amiss in my recognition of the unusual birthmark. Besides, good bishop, did not the youth make confession of his lack of knowledge of his progenitors?"
"Yea. But 'tis a common ignorance—that, friend Tyrrell. Of a truth, the stroke seemeth too timely and well-favored to be genuine," said Kennedy, who was never ready to accept the semblance of a fact for the fact itself. "Here hath the earth had scarce time to grow cold above the young duke, when up crops another candidate every whit as legitimate and proper. 'Twould appear, my friend, as though an incipient monarch were being reared in every wayside hovel. Yet—as thou hast said—thou couldst scarce have been mistaken in the birthmark. If proven true, 'tis indeed a most providential stroke. But this very day have I learned that Lord Douglas is meditating a move like unto thine. Already have I laid plans to gather more intimate particulars—for thy express benefit, understand me. But I can lesson thee now that some hint of the young prince's existence and death hath flown into his yawning ear. Keep a firm hold upon thy wits and tongue, for there is surely a traitor abroad, Sir James. More; I have it that Douglas doth lay open claim to the possession of the living person of the genuine heir, and that there is now a gathering of the clansfor the purpose of raising the counterfeit claimant to the throne. Emissaries from Castle Yewe will come here to treat with thee for the combining of thy forces with Douglas's. An this youth of thine be indeed the Earl of Warwick, son of George, Duke of Clarence, thou canst laugh in Douglas's teeth. An it were not so, friend Tyrrell, thou couldst do naught wiser than amalgamate issues. For thy life would be worth no more than a leaden farthing from the fury of thine own troop, an they were to be disbanded without chance of giving battle to Henry."
At this juncture four men drew beside the speakers, through the door, carrying Sir Richard, who had been rendered unconscious through the medium of Friar Diomed's narcotic. As gently as their rough hands could accomplish it, the young knight was placed in the covered litter, which had been standing along the highway awaiting his reception.
"I beg of thee, Sir James," said Lord Kennedy then, "procure for me from this young knight's wallet the warrant of which thou wert speaking. I would I might know well its contents." The keen politician might easily havetaken it himself, as it was his intention to travel northward with the horsemen and litter-bearers, but he desired to assure himself that the document would not remain behind in Tyrrell's keeping. The time was likely to come when this piece of parchment would be an invaluable political perquisite.
When the warrant had been secured and surrendered into his hands, Bishop Kennedy made quick work of breaking the seal that Tyrrell had so deftly mended. By the light of one of the links he read it slowly through, nodding his head the while.
"'Tis well," he said when he had finished; "and I doff my bonnet to thee, Sir James, for a most fortunate and successful general."
Whereupon he folded up the parchment and thrust it carelessly within his bosom. Then, grasping Tyrrell's hand, he bade him adieu, swung himself upon his horse and started in the train of the cavalcade, which had already begun its march from the inn.
In the light of the single torch remaining, Tyrrell stood beside the door till the noise of the moving company had dwindled to silence in the distance,after which he extinguished the blazing link and disappeared within the lonely tavern.
It was nearing daybreak when the cavalcade, led by de Claverlok and Lord Bishop Kennedy, filed past the sentinel outposts within the area of the encampment. The bivouac had been set along the shore, within sight and sound of the sea, and not above a dozen miles from the Red Tavern; but, because of the litter-bearers, the men had been put to the necessity of moving in a slow and deliberate manner, which fact accounted for their tardy progress in effecting the distance.
As Sir Lionel de Claverlok is destined to play a most important part in this narrative of tangled conspiracies, it would doubtless be well now to introduce him to the reader.
To begin with, he was a man who was loved and admired by his enemies, which, though it may appear anomalous, was nevertheless true. He was as refreshing as a shower in spring; as open in his manner as a wind-swept plain. Saving in the arts of warfare, however, of all of which he had proven himself to be a surpassing master, he was uneducated. Every rugged feature displayed between the shaggy thatch of his wiry,silver-shot hair, and the thick tangle of his disordered, curly beard bespoke at once the good fellow and indomitable warrior. Whilst, intuitively, one would take him for a person of gentle extraction, there was about him little, if anything, of the polished courtier. He had been too industriously engaged upon the business of his life, which was to conquer a complete understanding of war-craft, to yield thought or time to the cultivation of the softer attainments of the court gallant. As to his physical attributes, he was stockily set up, not above the average in height, and in the noontide of a vigorous and healthful manhood.
"Men," said Bishop Kennedy as he drew up before his tent, "raise me the silken pavilion of purple and black upon yonder hill. When thou hast done, set up the bed thou didst bring with thee, and dispose the young knight, now asleep in the litter, within. Bid the Renegade Duke to set a close guard above his slumbers. Haste thee, go!" Then, turning to de Claverlok, "attend me within my tent, Sir Lionel," he added, "I would have a moment's speech of thee."
Whereupon they dismounted, gave their horsesinto the charge of waiting equerries and went inside.
"This fanciful plan of our dreamy friend of the flying inn," he pursued when they had seated themselves, "to keep the Earl of Warwick in the grip of Friar Diomed's decoction is both impracticable and dangerous. 'Twould be a good three days ere he could be brought to our main stronghold in the mountains." So saying, he took from his wallet the phial that Tyrrell had entrusted to his keeping and emptied its sparkling contents upon the ground.
"I would, my lord," said de Claverlok soberly, "that I could pour a phial of it within my tent—eh! Mayhap 'twould put the blessed ants to sleep, and keep them from crawling beneath my gorget ... eh!"
Bishop Kennedy acknowledged the grizzled knight's sally with a mere suspicion of a smile.
"Lay our commands upon the Renegade Duke," he pursued, "that he shall permit the prisoner, for as such we must for the present regard him, to rest till such time as he may naturally awaken from his stupor. I desire, de Claverlok, that thou shalt say but little to the duke ofthe haps of this night. By all means, keep from his knowledge the identity of the young earl. My reasons for this are most urgent, I would have thee to know. Meanwhile, keep a close eye to the prisoner thyself. We may deem it expedient later to give him wholly into thy charge. And now, good sir, to thy cot—and may pleasing visions await thee there."
When de Claverlok issued from Lord Kennedy's tent he glanced upward toward the knoll whereupon the folds of the purple and black pavilion were billowing gracefully in the crisp morning air. Betaking himself up the slope, he waited there till the unconscious Sir Richard had been comfortably disposed beneath its silken roof, the same, by the way, which had been intended as a covering for the dead prince.
Then, when he had done with appointing and setting the guard, the grizzled warrior made in the direction of the renegade duke's tent for the purpose of imparting to him Lord Kennedy's instructions.
Thesun was hanging high above the sea ere the young knight in the pavilion upon the hill began to arouse himself from his profound stupor. Being of a healthful body it was his usual habit to start into broad wakefulness, with every faculty alive, equally upon the alert, and ready upon the instant for the work or pleasure that chanced to be forward for the day. So, in this instance, he was wholly unable to account for an extreme heaviness of the eyelids, combined with a sense of oppression that weighed painfully upon his chest. He grew conscious of a foreign odor in his nostrils that seemed to him to be wafted from an incalculably vast distance; and from the same distance was borne to his ears the confused murmuring of many voices. It appeared to Sir Richard that he had been years upon years lying upon his back exerting a vain thoughceaseless endeavor to summon together his scattered faculties. He would be aware, in a vague sort of way, that his truant mind was slowly settling upon some solid point of fact. But when it was just about arriving at the spot where memory awaited it, nothing remained but baffling space, and he would discover himself to be again hanging in the awful abyss of Nothingness.
For quite a space Sir Richard struggled thus mightily to recover his wits from the enthralling opiate. Slowly, now, the events of the immediate past were coming back to him. The first being that returned to tenant his recreant memory was the gaunt, tall figure of the inn-keeper. Then crept in, stealthily, mysteriously, the misshapen hunchback, Zenas. The fog lifted from off the episode of the hound. "The voice," he whispered. "Ah! the voice! The note—yea, the note! And the precious strip of saffron velvet!"
Feebly he thrust his hand within the breast of his doublet and found it there, whereupon he contrived to open his eyes and struggle to his elbow.
An expression of indescribable amazement sat upon the young knight's countenance when hiseyes encountered, above his head, the waving folds of the purple and black pavilion in the place of the uncovered beams of the room in the Red Tavern in which he had fallen asleep. He looked at the bed, and noted that it was the same, or one exactly similar in pattern. Upon a chair alongside his steel gear had been neatly disposed. De Claverlok had seen to it that it was scrupulously burnished in every part. Sir Richard's headpiece confronted him jauntily from its position upon one of the lower bed-posts. He saw, as he took it up, that its scarlet plume had been daintily curled. Turning it over, he raised the fillet. The message from Isabel was not there.
Round about the pavilion he could hear men talking and laughing. From the volume of sound, he estimated it to be a considerable company. They were conversing together for the most part, however, in the Spanish tongue, and he could gather nothing above a fragmentary word here and there. The perplexity was growing upon him as to which was the dream, the singular circumstance of the night before, or that in which he then discovered himself. But the cutting of saffron velvet, which he thereuponwithdrew from its hiding place, proved to his apparent satisfaction that his charming adventure with the imprisoned maid had been a sweet reality. Examining it minutely, he pressed it once more to his lips, and then restored it to its place next his heart.
Against one side of the pavilion, which was closely curtained at every point, stood a bench upon which rested a basin of clear water. He arose from bed and laved his aching head within its grateful coldness. It had the effect of clearing it wonderfully. Before buckling on his armor, it occurred to him to ascertain whether the King's warrant were yet secure. He discovered, much to his chagrin, that it was missing. He congratulated himself, however, upon Lord Stanley's foresight in having provided him with a duplicate copy, which he had taken the precaution to have sewn within the lining of the skirt of his doublet, and was overjoyed to find that this had been overlooked. He then finished buckling on his steel gear, fastened on the casque, drew the visor close, and in this manner, armed in proof, he walked straight to the entrance and thrust aside the damask hangings.
The pair of stalwart guards outside tumbled awkwardly together in their haste to arise, muttering confused sentences in Spanish as they did so and touching their fingers to their bonnets in a respectful salute. This rather humorous happening drew the attention of a score or more of armed men seated about a roaring fire, which burned at the foot of the steep incline that fell away from the pavilion on every hand. Upon catching sight of Sir Richard they arose in a body to their feet, standing at soldierly attention. Several of them bowed. One from among them started quickly up the hill to where the young knight stood.
He was a man of admirable proportions, and the ease and grace with which he swung up the sharp slope, all encumbered as he was in a suit of heavy, inlaid armor, bespoke for him great strength and activity of limb and body. The guards, obedient to his terse commands, withdrew themselves beyond earshot. He then approached Sir Richard, removed his feathered cap that he was wearing in temporary lieu of helmet, and saluted him with an elaborate bow.
"Good-morrow, sir knight," he gave him greeting."Thy slumber, I trust, hath proved as restful as it was prolonged and deep?"
"By'r lady!" the young knight curtly rejoined, affronted by that which he considered but mock ceremony. "And what meaneth this thing, pray? Why am I entented here and surrounded by guards and warriors ... free-lances, outlaws ... i' truth, I know not which? Torment me not with suspense, sir, but tell me ... where is the Red Tavern wherein I went to sleep? And, by all the gods, sirrah, who art thou?"
"The last shall be first, good my knight, and the first last," the other answered flippantly. "As for myself, I am known here in Scotland as the Knight of the Double Rook. In England I am styled the Renegade Duke, and the bloody block in the Tower, sir, doth this moment itch for my head. To bring the history of my variegated and not uninteresting career down to the present time, I have the distinguished honor to have been nominated as thy squire and secretary. And as such, sir knight, I respectfully await thy commands."
"Then," answered Sir Richard upon the instant, "show me now the road to the Red Tavern.And be good enough to explain the mystery of how I am come to be here without either my knowledge or consent. Who may it be, sir, that is at bottom of this damnable piece of device and practice?"
"By St. Peter, sir knight," replied the Renegade Duke, "I miss my shot, an the Red Tavern be now even three cock-crows removed from here. For that, good sir, hath been the duration of thy sleep. As to its cause, ... well, Friar Diomed, the secret chymist, could doubtless better acquit himself of that answer than I."
"But thou canst tell me why I am here," Sir Richard insisted, "and who is responsible for this stealthy abduction."
"Why thou art here, sir knight, I may not say," declared the Renegade Duke, "for I have pledged my knightly word to maintain secrecy upon that point. As to the responsibility," he added boastingly, "I would fain accept my share of that along with the forty other knights and nobles who conspired to bring thee here."
"Pray," Sir Richard went on, "of what advantage is a truce, an a loyal subject of the King may not travel abroad without adventuring theperils of captivity, detention, or such other discourtesies as thy august body of forty may have under consideration? Have done with this errant nonsense, my good Duke ... an, indeed, thou be such ... and tell me where I shall find my horse, so that I may fare away upon my journey?"
"Thy steed, sir knight," said the Renegade Duke, apparently not heeding Sir Richard's unveiled insult, "is now being groomed by an equerry. After thou hast broken thy fast it shall be led around to thee, wearing as fine a coat of glossy satin as ever graced my lady's shoulders. Thou shalt then be at liberty ... or in a manner at liberty, I should have said, ... to resume thy journey, as henceforth thou shalt travel under the protection of our estimable body of men here."
There are ways without number of accepting an involuntary and compulsory situation. Sir Richard chose to embrace it after a lightsome and cheery fashion, believing thus that the open eye for an opportunity of effecting his escape would be thus more effectually disguised and concealed.
"Well, ... so must it be," said he, laughing. "And since, mayhap, we are to travel in the same direction, I shall be all the gainer by thy famous company."
After they had breakfasted, the Renegade Duke signified his desire to escort Sir Richard about the grounds of the encampment.
He found it to be composed of some threescore of tents set in a wide circle around the purple and black pavilion. These, his loquacious guide informed him, but served to give shelter to the leaders, the men-at-arms and archers, of which there were near a thousand, had thatched, rude coverings beneath the trees and shelving rocks. It was a perfect morning, the sun blazing upon the sea out of a cloudless sky. The site of the encampment was matchless in the beauty of its surroundings. To the north an apparently limitless forest started out of a purple haze on the line of the horizon, far above; and, slipping down in terrace beneath terrace of parti-colored foliage, halted abruptly, as though the red moor had forbidden the trees to trespass within its boundaries. Southward, one overlooked the gorse-grown plain, the level monotony of which wasbroken, at wide intervals, by the sudden uprearing of an isolated brae.
When Sir Richard and the Duke returned from their circuit of the place of the encampment, the purple and black pavilion had been struck, and a cavalcade of fifty horsemen, superbly armed and caparisoned, awaited but the command to move. An equerry led forward the young knight's horse, which neighed with joy upon beholding its master. As to the perfection of its condition, the Renegade Duke had not exaggerated, for, between its burnished trappings, its ebon coat shone with the soft and velvety sheen of the finest satin. As he leapt into the saddle a bugler winded a silvery blast and the company at once set into motion. The horsemen were equally disposed forward of the noble prisoner and to the rear. Upon his right hand rode the Renegade Duke, who had mounted himself upon a gigantic white stallion. To his left rode Lord Bishop Kennedy, to whom the Duke introduced Sir Richard as they began their march.
The Renegade Duke's range of subjects of conversation was limited to the discussion of his wonderful prowess in armed encounters upon thefield of battle and within the lists, and of his innumerable conquests in that other and fairer field of the heart's affections. Sir Richard had disliked the fellow from the first, and his feelings toward him were rapidly undergoing a change into something more robust than mere dislike. But to have sought a quarrel with him then would have defeated the purpose that was even then assuming a definite shape within the young knight's mind. Sir Richard despised the Duke not alone because of his manner of speaking, but also for the way he had of twisting his fierce mustachios till they pointed heavenward from each of his round cheeks.
When he could no longer tolerate listening to his idle boasting, Sir Richard turned and addressed himself to Lord Bishop Kennedy, who had spoken no word to the young knight since their first brief interchange of courtesies at the start of their journey.
"Surely," thought Sir Richard, "if Verbosity attends me upon my right hand, Taciturnity doth ride gloomily along at my left," for the worthy Bishop did not even condescend to raise his sharp chin from out of his white tunic whilst deliveringhimself of a curt negative or affirmative in response to the young knight's conversational advances.
Ahead of where they were riding, a jagged spur of the forest, composed of stunted pines and dense underbrush, swept defiantly down upon the moor. They were forced to describe a wide detour to the southward in order to avoid it and come upon the other side. As they were passing its nethermost point, Sir Richard glanced back to the place of his strange awakening beneath the sumptuous pavilion. He saw a great ship, with snowy sails bellying in the wind, making straight for that point of the coast, and the men, whom they had left behind, were swarming after the manner of an army of busy ants to the sandy beach.
Passing the spur of stunted pines, they skirted the forest in a northwesterly direction till they had arrived upon a well defined road that plunged directly into the dense wood. Up this rocky way the cavalcade slowly defiled. Far above their heads the maze of branches met and intertwined, making it seem as though the company had been swallowed up within the cool mouth of a tremendouslylofty green cavern. The sound of the hoof-beats of their horses was smothered in the thick carpet of pine needles underfoot, and the rich, sweet scent of them filled all the air.
Since Sir Richard had displayed a disinclination to give ear to his cant, the Renegade Duke had drawn ahead to join the leading horsemen, and for an interval of more than two hours Bishop Kennedy and his prisoner rode onward side by side without exchanging a single word.
"What road may this be, good Bishop?" he ventured finally to inquire.
"'Tis the continuation of the Sauchieburn Pass," Lord Kennedy briefly replied.
Sir Richard was more than contented, for he knew then that the way led to Castle Yewe and Lord Douglas, into whose hands he intended soon to deliver the duplicate of the parchment that had been pilfered from out of his wallet.