The Story of Francis Cludde

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER III.

  "DOWN WITH PURVEYORS!"

  The first streak of daylight found me already footing it through theforest by paths known to few save the woodcutters, but with which manya boyish exploration had made me familiar. From Coton End the Londonroad lies plain and fair through Stratford-on-Avon and Oxford. But myplan, the better to evade pursuit, was, instead, to cross the forestin a northeasterly direction, and, passing by Warwick, to strike thegreat north road between Coventry and Daventry, which, running thencesoutheastward, would take me as straight as a bird might fly throughDunstable, St. Albans, and Barnet, to London. My baggage consistedonly of my cloak, sword, and dagger; and for money I had but a goldangel, and a few silver bits of doubtful value. But I trusted thatthis store, slender as it was, would meet my charges as far as London.Once there I must depend on my wits either for providence at home or apassage abroad.

  Striding steadily up and down hill, for Arden Forest is made up ofhills and dells which follow one another as do the wave and trough ofthe sea, only less regularly, I made my way toward Wootton Wawen. Assoon as I espied its battlemented church lying in a wooded bottombelow me, I kept a more easterly course, and, leaving Henley-in-Ardenfar to the left, passed down toward Leek Wootton. The damp, deadbracken underfoot, the leafless oaks and gray sky overhead, nay thevery cry of the bittern fishing in the bottoms, seemed to be at onewith my thoughts; for these were dreary and sad enough.

  But hope and a fixed aim form no bad makeshifts for happiness.Striking the broad London road as I had purposed I slept thatnight at Ryton Dunsmoor, and the next at Towcester; and the third day,which rose bright and frosty, found me stepping gayly southward,travel-stained indeed, but dry and whole. My spirits rose with thetemperature. For a time I put the past behind me, and found amusementin the sights of the road; in the heavy wagons and long trains ofpack-horses, and the cheery greetings which met me with each mile.After all, I had youth and strength, and the world before me; andparticularly Stony Stratford, where I meant to dine.

  There was one trouble common among wayfarers which did not touch me;and that was the fear of robbers, for he would be a sturdy beggar whowould rob an armed foot-passenger for the sake of an angel; and thegroats were gone. So I felt no terrors on that account, and even whenabout noon I heard a horseman trot up behind me, and rein in his horseso as to keep pace with me at a walk, step for step--a thing whichmight have seemed suspicious to some--I took no heed of him. I wasengaged with my first view of Stratford, and did not turn my head. Wehad walked on so for fifty paces or more, before it struck me as oddthat the man did not pass me.

  Then I turned, and shading my eyes from the sun, which stood just overhis shoulder, said, "Good-day, friend."

  "Good-day, master," he answered.

  He was a stout fellow, looking like a citizen, although he had a swordby his side, and wore it with an air of importance which the sunshineof opportunity might have ripened into a swagger. His dress was plain;and he sat a good hackney as a miller's sack might have sat it. Hisface was the last thing I looked at. When I raised my eyes to it, Igot an unpleasant start. The man was no stranger. I knew him in amoment for the messenger who had summoned me to the Chancellor'spresence.

  The remembrance did not please me; and reading in the fellow's slylook that he recognized me, and thought he had made a happy discoveryon finding me, I halted abruptly. He did the same.

  "It is a fine morning," he said, taken aback by my sudden movement,but affecting an indifference which the sparkle in his eye belied. "Arare day for the time of year."

  "It is," I answered, gazing steadily at him.

  "Going to London? Or may be only to Stratford?" he hazarded. Hefidgeted uncomfortably under my eye, but still pretended ignorance ofme.

  "That is as may be," I answered.

  "No offense, I am sure," he said.

  I cast a quick glance up and down the road. There happened to be noone in sight. "Look here!" I replied, stepping forward to lay my handon the horse's shoulder--but the man reined back and prevented me,thereby giving me a clew to his character--"you are in the service ofthe Bishop of Winchester?"

  His face fell, and he could not conceal his disappointment at beingrecognized. "Well, master," he answered reluctantly, "perhaps I am,and perhaps I am not."

  "That is enough," I said shortly. "And you know me. You need not lieabout it, man, for I can see you do. Now, look here, Master Steward,or whatever your name may be----"

  "It is Master Pritchard," he put in sulkily; "and I am not ashamed ofit."

  "Very well. Then let us understand one another. Do you mean tointerfere with me?"

  He grinned. "Well, to be plain, I do," he replied, reining his horseback another step. "I have orders to look out for you, and have youstopped if I find you. And I must do my duty, sir; I am sworn to it,Master Cludde."

  "Right," said I calmly; "and I must do mine, which is to take care ofmy skin." And I drew my sword and advanced upon him with a flourish."We will soon decide this little matter," I added grimly, one eye onhim and one on the empty road, "if you will be good enough to defendyourself."

  But there was no fight in the fellow. By good luck, too, he was sostartled that he did not do what he might have done with safety;namely, retreat, and keep me in sight until some passers-by came up.He did give back, indeed, but it was against the bank. "Have a care,"he cried in a fume, his eye following my sword nervously; he did nottry to draw his own. "There is no call for fighting, I say."

  "But I say there is," I replied bluntly. "Call and cause! Either youfight me, or I go where I please."

  "You may go to Bath for me!" he spluttered, his face the color of aturkey-cock's wattles with rage.

  "Do you mean it, my friend?" I said, and I played my point about hisleg, half-minded to give him a little prod by way of earnest. "Make upyour mind."

  "Yes!" he shrieked out, suspecting my purpose, and bouncing about inhis saddle like a parched pea. "Yes, I say!" he roared. "Do you hearme? You go your way, and I will go mine."

  "That is a bargain," I said quietly; "and mind you keep to it."

  I put up my sword with my face turned from him, lest he should see thecurl of my lip and the light in my eyes. In truth, I was uncommonlywell pleased with myself, and was thinking that if I came through allmy adventures as well, I should do merrily. Outwardly, however, Itried to ignore my victory, and to make things as easy as I could formy friend--if one may call a man who will not fight him a friend, athing I doubt. "Which way are you going?" I asked amicably; "toStratford?"

  He nodded, for he was too sulky to speak.

  "All right!" I said cheerfully, feeling that my dignity could takecare of itself now. "Then so far we may go together. Only do youremember the terms. After dinner each goes his own way."

  He nodded again, and we turned, and went on in silence, eying oneanother askance, like two ill-matched dogs coupled together. But,luckily, our forced companionship did not last long, a quarter of amile and a bend in the road bringing us to the first low, gray housesof Stratford; a long, straggling village it seemed, made up of innsstrewn along the road, like beads threaded on a rosary. And to besure, to complete the likeness, we came presently upon an ancientstone cross standing on the green. I pulled up in front of this with asigh of pleasure, for on either side of it, one facing the other, wasan inn of the better class.

  "Well," I said, "which shall it be? The Rose and Crown, or the Crownwithout the Rose?"

  "Choose for yourself," he answered churlishly. "I go to the other."

  I shrugged my shoulders. After all, you cannot make a silk purse outof a sow's ear, and if a man has not courage he is not likely to havegood-fellowship. But the words angered me, nevertheless, for a shabby,hulking fellow lounging at my elbow overheard them and grinned; ahiccoughing, blear-eyed man he was as I had ever met, with a red noseand the rags of a tattered cassock about him. I turned away inannoyance, and chose the "Crown" at hazard; and pushing my way thro
ugha knot of horses that stood tethered at the door, went in, leaving thetwo to their devices.

  I found a roaring fire in the great room, and three or four yeomenstanding about it, drinking ale. But I was hot from walking, so, aftersaluting them and ordering my meal, I went and sat for choice on abench by the window away from the fire. The window was one of a kindcommon in Warwickshire houses; long and low and beetle-browed, thestory above projecting over it. I sat here a minute looking idly outat the inn opposite, a heavy stone building with a walled courtyardattached to it; such an inn as was common enough about the time of theWars of the Roses when wayfarers looked rather for safety thancomfort. Presently I saw a boy come out of it and start up the road ata run. Then, a minute later, the ragged fellow I had seen on the greencame out and lurched across the road. He seemed to be making, thoughuncertainly, for my inn, and, sure enough, just as my bread andbacon--the latter hot and hissing--were put before me, he staggeredinto the room, bringing a strong smell of ale and onions with him."_Pax vobiscum!_" he said, leering at me with tipsy solemnity.

  I guessed what he was--a monk, one of those unfortunates still to befound here and there up and down the country, whom King Henry, when heput down the monasteries, had made homeless. I did not look on theclass with much favor, thinking that for most of them the cloister,even if the Queen should succeed in setting the abbeys on their legsagain, would have few attractions. But I saw that the simple farmersreceived his scrap of Latin with respect, and I nodded civilly as Iwent on with my meal.

  I was not to get off so easily, however. He came and planted himselfopposite to me.

  "_Pax vobiscum_, my son," he repeated. "The ale is cheap here, andgood."

  "So is the ham, good father," I replied cheerfully, not pausing in myattack on the victuals. "I will answer for so much."

  "Well, well," the knave replied with ready wit, "I breakfasted early.I am content. Landlord, another plate and a full tankard. The younggentleman would have me dine with him."

  I could not tell whether to be angry or to laugh at his impudence.

  "The gentleman says he will answer for it!" repeated the rascal, witha twinkle in his eye, as the landlord hesitated. He was by no means sodrunk as he looked.

  "No, no, father," I cried, joining in the general laugh into which thefarmers by the fire broke. "A cup of ale is in reason, and for that Iwill pay, but for no more. Drink it, and wish me Godspeed."

  "I will do more than that, lad," he answered. Swaying to and fromy cup, which he had seized in his grasp, he laid his hand on thewindow-ledge beside me, as though to steady himself, and stooped untilhis coarse, puffy face was but a few inches from mine. "More thanthat," he whispered hoarsely; and his eyes, peering into mine, werenow sober and full of meaning. "If you do not want to be put in thestocks or worse, make tracks! Make tracks, lad!" he continued. "Yourfriend over there--he is a niggardly oaf--has sent for the hundredmanand the constable, and you are the quarry. So the word is, Go! That,"he added aloud, standing erect again, with a drunken smile, "is foryour cup of ale; and good coin too!"

  For half a minute I sat quite still; taken aback, and wondering, whilethe bacon cooled on the plate before me, what I was to do. I did notdoubt the monk was telling the truth. Why should he lie to me? And Icursed my folly in trusting to a coward's honor or a serving-man'sgood faith. But lamentations were useless. What was I to do? I had nohorse, and no means of getting one. I was in a strange country, and totry to escape on foot from pursuers who knew the roads, and had thelaw on their side, would be a hopeless undertaking. Yet to be haledback to Coton End a prisoner--I could not face that. Mechanically Iraised a morsel of bacon to my lips, and as I did so, a thoughtoccurred to me--an idea suggested by some talk I had heard the eveningbefore at Towcester.

  Fanciful as the plan was, I snatched at it; and knowing each instantto be precious, took my courage in my hand--and my tankard. "Here," Icried, speaking suddenly and loudly, "here is bad luck to purveyors,Master Host!"

  There were a couple of stablemen within hearing, lounging in thedoorway, besides the landlord and his wife and the farmers. A villageror two also had dropped in, and there were two peddlers lying halfasleep in the corner. All these pricked up their ears more or less atmy words. But, like most country folk, they were slow to take inanything new or unexpected; and I had to drink afresh and say again,"Here is bad luck to purveyors!" before any one took it up.

  Then the landlord showed he understood.

  "Ay, so say I!" he cried, with an oath. "Purveyors, indeed! It is suchas they give the Queen a bad name."

  "God bless her!" quoth the monk loyally.

  "And drown the purveyors!" a farmer exclaimed.

  "They were here a year ago, and left us as bare as a shorn sheep,"struck in a strapping villager, speaking at a white heat, but tellingme no news; for this was what I had heard at Towcester the nightbefore. "The Queen should lie warm if she uses all the wool they took!And the pack-horses they purveyed to carry off the plunder--why, thepackmen avoid Stratford ever since as though we had the Black Death!Oh, down with the purveyors, say I! The first that comes this way Iwill show the bottom of the Ouse. Ay, that I will, though I hang forit!"

  "Easy! easy, Tom Miller!" the host interposed, affecting an air ofassurance, even while he cast an eye of trouble at his flitches. "Itwill be another ten years before they harry us again. There isPotter's Pury! They never took a tester's worth from Potter's Pury!No, nor from Preston Gobion! But they will go to them next, dependupon it!"

  "I hope they will," I said, with a world of gloomy insinuation in mywords. "But I doubt it!"

  And this time my hint was not wasted. The landlord changed color."What are you driving at, master?" he asked mildly, while the otherslooked at me in silence and waited for more.

  "What if there be one across the road now!" I said, giving way to thetemptation, and speaking falsely--for which I paid dearly afterward."A purveyor, I mean, unless I am mistaken in him, or he tells lies. Hehas come straight from the Chancellor, white wand, warrant, and all.He is taking his dinner now, but he has sent for the hundredman, so Iguess he means business."

  "For the hundredman?" repeated the landlord, his brows meeting.

  "Yes; unless I am mistaken."

  There was silence for a moment. Then the man they called Tom Millerdashed his cap on the floor and, folding his arms defiantly, lookedround on his neighbors. "He has come, has he!" he roared, his faceswollen, his eyes bloodshot. "Then I will be as good as my word! Whowill help? Shall we sit down and be shorn like sheep, as we werebefore, so that our children lay on the bare stones, and we pulled theplow ourselves? Or shall we show that we are free Englishmen, and notslaves of Frenchmen? Shall we teach Master Purveyor not to trouble usagain? Now, what say you, neighbors?"

  So fierce a growl of impatience and anger rose round me as at onceanswered the question. A dozen red faces glared at me and at oneanother, and from the very motion and passion of the men as theysnarled and threatened, the room seemed twice as full as it was. Theiroaths and cries of encouragement, not loud, but the more dangerous forthat, the fresh burst of fury which rose as the village smith andanother came in and learned the news, the menacing gestures of a scoreof brandished fists--these sights, though they told of the very effectat which I had aimed, scared as well as pleased me. I turned red andwhite, and hesitated, fearing that I had gone too far.

  The thing was done, however; and, what was more, I had soon to takecare of myself. At the very moment when the hubbub was at its loudestI felt a chill run down my back as I met the monk's eye, and, readingin it whimsical admiration, read in it something besides, and that wasan unmistakable menace. "Clever lad!" the eye said. "I will exposeyou," it threatened.

  I had forgotten him--or, at any rate, that my acting would betransparent enough to him holding the clew in his hand--and his lookwas like the shock of cold water to me. But it is wonderful how keenthe wits grow on the grindstone of necessity. With scarcely a second'shesitation I drew out my only piece of gold, and unn
oticed by theother men, who were busy swearing at and encouraging one another, Idisclosed a morsel of it. The monk's crafty eye glistened. I laid myfinger on my lips.

  He held up two fingers.

  I shook my head and showed an empty palm. I had no more. He nodded;and the relief that nod gave me was great. Before I had time, however,to consider the narrowness of my escape, a movement of the crowd--forthe news had spread with strange swiftness, and there was now a crowdassembled which more than filled the room--proclaimed that thepurveyor had come out, and was in the street.

  The room was nearly emptied at a rush. Though I prudently remainedbehind, I could, through the open window, hear as well as see whatpassed. The leading spirits had naturally struggled out first, andwere gathered, sullen and full of dangerous possibilities, about theporch.

  I suppose the Bishop's messenger saw in them nothing but a crowd ofcountry clowns, for he came hectoring toward the door, smiting hisboot with his whip, and puffing out his red cheeks mightily. He feltbrave enough, now that he had dined and had at his back three stoutconstables sworn to keep the Queen's peace.

  "Make way! Make way, there, do you hear?" he cried in a husky, pompousvoice. "Make way!" he repeated, lightly touching the nearest man withhis switch. "I am on the Queen's service, boobies, and must not behindered."

  The man swore at him, but did not budge, and the bully, brought upthus sharply, awoke to the lowering faces and threatening looks whichconfronted him. He changed color a little. But the ale was still inhim, and, forgetting his natural discretion, he thought to carrymatters with a high hand. "Come! come!" he exclaimed angrily. "I havea warrant, and you resist me at your peril. I have to enter thishouse. Clear the way, Master Hundredman, and break these fellows'heads if they withstand you."

  A growl as of a dozen bulldogs answered him, and he drew back, as achild might who has trodden on an adder. "You fools!" he spluttered,glaring at them viciously. "Are you mad? Do you know what you aredoing? Do you see this?" He whipped out from some pocket a short whitestaff and brandished it. "I come direct from the Lord Chancellor andupon his business, do you hear, and if you resist me it is treason.Treason, you dogs!" he cried, his rage getting the better of him, "andlike dogs you will hang for it. Master Hundredman, I order you to takein your constables and arrest that man!"

  "What man?" quoth Tom Miller, eying him fixedly.

  "The stranger who came in an hour ago, and is inside the house."

  "Him, he means, who told about the purveyor across the road,"explained the monk with a wink.

  That wink sufficed. There was a roar of execration, and in thetwinkling of an eye the Jack-in-office, tripped up this way and shovedthat, was struggling helplessly in the grasp of half a dozen men, whofought savagely for his body with the Hundredman and the constables.

  "To the river! To the Ouse with him!" yelled the mob. "In the Queen'sname!" shouted the officers. But these were to those as three to ascore, and taken by surprise besides, and doubtful of the rights ofthe matter. Yet for an instant, as the crowd went reeling and fightingdown the road, they prevailed; the constables managed to drag theirleader free, and I caught a glimpse of him, wild-eyed and frantic withfear, his clothes torn from his back, standing at bay like someanimal, and brandishing his staff in one hand, a packet of letters inthe other.

  "I have letters, letters of state!" he screamed shrilly. "Let mealone, I tell you! Let me go, you curs!"

  But in vain. The next instant the mob were upon him again. The packetof letters went one way, the staff was dashed another. He was throwndown and plucked up again, and hurried, bruised and struggling, towardthe river, his screams for mercy and furious threats rising shrillyabove the oaths and laughter.

  I felt myself growing pale as scream followed scream. "They will killhim!" I exclaimed trembling, and prepared to follow. "I cannot seethis done."

  But the monk, who had returned to my side, grasped my arm. "Don't be afool," he said sharply. "I will answer for it they will not kill him.Tom Miller is not a fool, though he is angry. He will duck him, andlet him go. But I will trouble you for that bit of gold, younggentleman."

  I gave it to him.

  "Now," he continued with a leer, "I will give you a hint in return. Ifyou are wise, you will be out of this county in twelve hours. Tetheredto the gate over there is a good horse which belongs to a certainpurveyor now in the river. Take it! There is no one to say you nay.And begone!"

  I looked hard at him for a minute, my heart beating fast. This washorse-stealing. And horse-stealing was a hanging matter. But I haddone so much already that I felt I might as well be hanged for a sheepas for a lamb. I was not sure that I had not incited to treason, andwhat was stealing a horse beside that? "I will do it!" I saiddesperately.

  "Don't lose time, then," quoth my mentor.

  I went out then and there, and found he had told the truth. Every soulin the place had gone to see the ducking, and the street was empty.Kicked aside in the roadway lay the bundle of letters, soiled but nottorn, and in the gutter was the staff. I stooped and picked up one andthe other--in for a lamb, in for a sheep! and they might be usefulsome day. Then I jumped into the saddle, and twitched the reins offthe hook.

  But before I could drive in the spurs, a hand fell on the bridle, andthe monk's face appeared at my knee. "Well?" I said, glaring down athim--I was burning to be away.

  "That is a good cloak you have got there," he muttered hurriedly."There, strapped to the saddle, you fool. You do not want that, giveit me. Do you hear? Quick, give it me," he cried, raising his voiceand clutching at it fiercely, his face dark with greed and fear.

  "I see," I replied, as I unstrapped it. "I am to steal the horse thatyou may get the cloak. And then you will lay the lot on my shoulders.Well, take it!" I cried, "and go your way as fast as you can."

  Throwing it at him as hard as I could, I shook up the reins and wentoff down the road at a gallop. The wind whistled pleasantly past myears. The sounds of the town grew faint and distant. Each bound of thegood hack carried me farther and farther from present danger, fartherand farther from the old life. In the exhilaration and excitement ofthe moment I forgot my condition; forgot that I had not a penny-piecein my pocket, and that I had left an unpaid bill behind me; forgoteven that I rode a--well, a borrowed horse.