The Red Tavern

by C. R. Macauley

  CHAPTER XXIII

  OF A VISION IN THE FOREST OF LAMMERMUIR

  Now that he was no longer moving under the masterful influence ofTyrrell, Sir Richard began to feel brave to throw aside the honorsthat had been peremptorily thrust upon him. After the manner of anill-wrought suit of armor, they were galling and wearing upon hisunwilling shoulders.

  Being innately modest and not desiring fame or power, Sir Richardhad always shirked positions in which any obligation of assuming theinitiative was concerned; and certainly now he felt no desire to leapat once to the very pinnacle of such positions. Contrariwise, he felt adeep and genuine yearning to be once again, to himself and those abouthim, just plain Sir Richard Rohan, knight, free lance, and good fellowwelcome met to all of his friends. He was moved by no impulse to seekrevenge upon King Henry. "For," he argued with himself, "the Kingdid but attempt to do the thing which I, were I in his place, wouldhave been deficient of the courage to do; to render my sovereigntyunassailable. An such a momentous matter be at stake, of what slightconsequence becomes a life more, or a life less? and if, forsooth, itchanced to be the life of a friend ... well, so much the worse for thefriend."

  It never dawned upon Sir Richard in his youthful exuberance to considerthat there were two questions involved: the one of claiming the throne,and the other of securing a seat thereon. His belief was genuine thatthe fate of a great empire was suspended upon the slender thread of hischoice.

  As to his breaking faith with Tyrrell and stealing away without firstjourneying to the Red Tavern, he did not consider that for a moment.

  Overburdened with a sense of the grave responsibility thus imposedupon him, he rode straight through the Forest of Lammermuir withoutonce thinking to open the parcel that Isabel had given into his hand.Had this not been so, Sir Richard would doubtless have suspecteda circumstance that was soon to burst upon him in the nature of awonderful surprise.

  The Red Tavern, which, upon each previous occasion when Sir Richardhad approached it, had appeared so forbiddingly lonely, was now becomea veritable hive of buzzing industry. It was early evening when theyoung knight arrived there; and, in the obscure twilight, he could justmake out the shadowy outlines of many horses tethered to the trees uponboth sides of the pass. Scores of blazing, smoking torches set uprightinto the ground shed a weird illumination over this scene of strangeactivity.

  Guards were stationed closely round about. "Richard Rohan, knight... and squire," the young knight passed word to a pair of them whohalted and challenged him. Plainly he could hear, then, his name passedswiftly forward from lip to lip. When he rode within the circle ofyellow light and dismounted before the door above which swung the signof the vulture, his coming was greeted by an uproarious cheering, inthe midst of which he could distinguish loud cries of "_Long live KingRichard IV!_"

  Lord Bishop Kennedy was even then awaiting the young knight's arrival,welcoming him after a courteous, formal and dignified fashion. The LordBishop laid command upon one of his lieutenants; after which, in almostthe flutter of an eyelid, the noise of talking hushed, the lightedtorches vanished, and, when the dwindling sound of hoofbeats had diedaway, the tavern resumed its wonted somber and solitary aspect.

  Zenas spread table in the cozy warmth of the chimney-side, where BishopKennedy and Sir Richard took sup and drink together. Since his firstsight of the tavern the young knight had invested it within his mindwith an atmosphere of dark lugubriousness; thus was his surprise allthe more great when, upon Zenas clearing table, the dessert was bornein by a silvery-haired woman of a most refined and motherly air, whomLord Kennedy introduced as grandam Sutherland.

  "It doth astonish me," said Lord Kennedy, when she had gone from theroom, "how the good grandam hath preserved her sweetness of temperthroughout all these years of turmoil and dangers. It was the saddestof haps to her when the young prince died--she was like the gentlestof mothers to him withal."

  "And the young maiden must e'en have been a sore burdensome care," SirRichard suggested.

  "Why," quoth Lord Kennedy, "she, sire, is the most noble, amiable, andpretty-mannered of all young maidens I have ever known."

  It was the first scintilla of emotion Sir Richard had observeddisplayed by Bishop Kennedy. His championship certainly appearedgenuine. The young knight gathered that the goodman was notparticularly well acquainted with her volatile tempers. He bethoughthim also that it would ill become him to speak belittlingly of one who,by now, was doubtless become his dearest friend's wife. He made shift,therefore, to take up another subject, and one that for long had been asore weight upon his mind.

  "My lord," said he; "an thou wouldst consent to enlighten myunderstanding of the mysteries surrounding this tavern wherein we sit,I would consider it right kind of thee."

  "In respect of what, sire?" he asked, between sippings of his wine.

  "An it be not a fantasy," said Sir Richard, "when I first tarriedbeneath its roof it was surely three days' journey removed from whereit now stands."

  Bishop Kennedy answered not by word of mouth, but, clapping togetherhis hands, summoned Zenas and bade him to fetch them a lighted torch.Then, leading the way through the rear door, he depressed the blazingrush-light till it revealed a great hole in that which had appeared tobe a solid foundation of stone. Its rays discovered to Sir Richard apair of broad and heavy wheels set firmly beneath the tavern sill.

  "Let these clear away that mystery, sire," Kennedy said. "There areseven more similarly disposed beneath the building, which is parlouslightly set up. By the dual aid of long, dark nights, and a multitudeof tugging horses, the Red Tavern became soon a weird and hauntedthing; moving magically from place to place, discussed in loweredwhispers by the yeomanry, and shunned by passing wayfarers. Thus, notalone was the lamented prince afforded a safe asylum, comparativelyfree from the dangers of discovery, but we were provided as well with ameeting place for the captains of our gathering hosts. It has servedright happily its purpose, sire; and I would that my life had been asuseful to those about me. Now its work is done. Eftsoons its blazingtimbers shall proclaim a new light to a tyrant-darkened people."

  After that he took his leave to join the army, which was stationed somenine miles to the eastward upon the shores of the sea.

  By now the moon, a pallid disc, was sailing high in the greenish-blueheavens. Feeling the need of an hour or two of solitude wherein tomeditate upon the wonders by which Sir Richard discovered himself to besurrounded, and, if possible, to reconcile his vacillating mind withthe new complexion which the face of the world had turned upon him,he gathered his cloak about his shoulders and walked alone into theforest. Once there, he laid himself down upon the soft, dry carpet ofpine needles, and resigned his thoughts to the ineffable delights offantastical castle-building.

  How long Sir Richard lay thus, with his face upturned to the sky, hehad no means of knowing. It seemed that his eyes began playing a kindof game with the interwoven branches of the trees and the moon. Thenhe fell into a sort of doze, where everything withdrew into a haze ofoblivion till the moment he became suddenly conscious that his earswere being ravished by the strains of a charming melody. For quite aspace he remained like one dreaming; passively drinking in each sweet,pure and quivering note. He was dimly aware that this same gloriousvoice had been for days and days singing its wonderful song of love tohim.

  Then, like a flashing of intense light, it came upon Sir Richard thatthis was the voice which he had heard steal out upon the night at themoment when Tyrrell, Zenas, and he were burying the dead hound.

  Cautiously getting to his feet, and dodging warily from tree to tree,he made his way in the direction whence the voice seemed to be coming.

  As he ever after regarded it, all of the adventures through whichhe had passed, and which are here set down, were but the prelude tothe vision of fair loveliness which suddenly presented itself to hisdazzled eyes.

  With her arm linked within that of the silvery-haired old lady, shewas walking slowly along the forest road, her head uplift
ed in song. Itseemed to Sir Richard that the soft moonlight enveloped her lovingly,imparting to her wondrous beauty an essence of unreality. The goldennimbus encompassing her head added immeasurably to the impression thathe was but gazing upon an ephemeral picture,--fairy-painted--the whichmust become soon a floating radiance above the roadway and then blendinsensibly with the air before his captive eyes.

  Silently the young knight stood there, with the better part of himgoing out to vie with the silvery moonbeams in tenderly caressing her.That grosser portion of him stationed beneath the tree remained, asthough hewn in stone and clutching deep into the rough bark, till themaiden turned to retrace her way into the tavern. When she had gone herushed madly back, stealing furtively to the rear of the building, andtremblingly tore open the covering of Isabel's packet.

  In it was the cutting of saffron velvet.

  Then, impatiently biding his time till they should again draw nigh, hesauntered around the corner of the building with his gaze fastenedupon the moon. He could have made oath that he saw, first, a dozen ofthem, and then none at all.

  "Give thee a fair good-night, dame Sutherland," Sir Richard said in anagitated voice, "art thou, too, enjoying the moon?"

  The grandam dropped him a pretty curtsy, the while the other stood withdrooping and averted head.

  "Thank thee much, sire; I am," the old lady gave him answer.

  "'Tis a bonnie night, i' faith."

  "Yes, sire, 'tis," curtsying again.

  "And the moon--'tis extraordinary bright?"

  "Yes, sire, 'tis," curtsying once more.

  "I trust the ... young lady--may not suffer an indisposition from thedank airs?"

  "We have grown accustomed, sire," with another curtsy.

  Sir Richard noted for the first time that the aged grandam's head, aswell as that of her beautiful young companion, was uncovered.

  "Yet ... 'tis parlous dank," said he, edging between them and the door.

  "I have the honor to present to thy august notice, sire, my belovedgranddaughter--Rocelia Tyrrell," dame Sutherland yielded.

  Sir Richard knew not what he answered. He took her hand, he rememberedafterward, turned instantly light-headed, and made out to salute itrather awkwardly with his lips.

  When the young knight came to himself he was intently watching the doorthrough which Rocelia had disappeared.

  "I wonder whether her robe was of a color saffron?" he kept mentallyrepeating over and over again.