The Story of Francis Cludde

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XII.

  ANNE'S PETITION.

  We coasted along in this silent fashion, nearly as far as the hamletand bridge, following, but farther inshore, the course which MasterLindstrom and I had taken when on our way to bury the Spaniard. Acertain point gained, at a signal from our host we struck out into theopen, and rowed swiftly toward the edge of the marsh. This was thecritical moment; but, so far as we could learn, our passage wasunnoticed. We reached the fringe of rushes; with a prolonged hissingsound the boat pushed through them; a flight of water-fowl rose,whirring and clapping about us, and we floated out into a dim mistylake, whose shores and surface stretched away on every side, alikedark, shifting, and uncertain.

  Across this the Dutchman steered us, bringing us presently to a narrowopening, through which we glided into a second and smaller mere. Atthe farther end of this one the way seemed barred by a black,impenetrable wall of rushes, which rose far above our heads. But thetall stems bent slowly with many a whispered protest before our silentonset, and we slid into a deep water-lane, here narrow, there wideninginto a pool, in one place dark, in another reflecting the gray nightsky. Down this we sped swiftly, the sullen plash of the oars and thewalls of rushes always with us. For ourselves, we crouched still andsilent, shivering and listening for sounds of pursuit; now starting atthe splash of a frog, again shuddering at the cry of a night-bird. TheDuchess, her child, and I were in the bows, Master Lindstrom, hisdaughter, and Mistress Anne in the stern. They had made me comfortablewith the baggage and some warm coverings, and would insist on treatingme as helpless. Even when the others began to talk in whispers, theDuchess enjoined silence on me, and bade me sleep. Presently I did so,my last impression one of unending water-ways and shoreless, shadowylakes.

  When I awoke the sun was high and the scene was changed indeed. We layon the bosom of a broad river, our boat seeming now to stand still asthe sail flapped idly, now to heel over and shoot forward as the lightbreeze struck us. The shores abreast of us were still low and reedy,but ahead the slopes of green wooded hills rose gently from thestream. Master Bertie was steering, and, seeing me lift my head,greeted me with a smile. The girls in the stern were covered up andasleep. Amidships, too, Master Lindstrom and Van Tree had curledthemselves up between the thwarts, and were slumbering peacefully. Iturned to look for the Duchess, and found her sitting wide awake at myelbow, her eyes on her husband.

  "Well," she said smiling, "do you feel better now? You have had a goodsleep."

  "How long have I been asleep, please?" I asked, bewildered by thesunshine, by the shining river and the green hills, by the freshmorning air, by the change in everything; and answering in a question,as people freshly aroused do nine times out of ten. "Where are we?"

  "You have been asleep nearly six hours, and we are on the Rhine, nearEmmerich," she answered, smiling. She was pale, and the long hours ofwatching had drawn dark circles round her eyes. But the old undauntedcourage shone in them still, and her smile was as sweet as ever.

  "Have we passed the frontier?" I asked eagerly.

  "Well, nearly," she answered. "But how does your wound feel?"

  "Rather stiff and sore," I said ruefully, after making an experimentby moving my body to and fro. "And I am very thirsty, but I couldsteer."

  "So you shall," she said. "Only first eat something. We broke our fastbefore the others lay down. There is bread and meat behind you, andsome hollands and water in the bottle."

  I seized the latter and drank greedily. Then, finding myself hungrynow I came to think about it, I fell upon the eatables.

  "You will do now, I think," she said, when she had watched me for sometime.

  I laughed for answer, pleased that the long dark night, its gloom andtreachery were past. But its memories remained and presently I said,"If Van Tree did not try to kill me--and I am perfectly sure he didnot----"

  "So am I," she said. "We were all wrong."

  "Then," I continued, looking at her gravely, "who did? that is thequestion. And why?"

  "You are sure that it was not the Spaniard whom you hurt in defense ofDymphna?" my lady asked.

  "Quite sure."

  "And sure that it was not Clarence?" she persisted.

  "Quite sure. It was a short man," I explained again, "and dressed in acloak. That is all I can tell about him."

  "It might be some one employed by Clarence," she suggested, her facegloomy, her brows knit.

  "True, I had not thought of that," I answered. "And it reminds me. Ihave heard so much of Clarence----"

  "And seen some little--even that little more than was good for you."

  "Yes, he has had the better of me, on both occasions," I allowed. "ButI was going to ask you," I continued, "to tell me something about him.He was your steward, I know. But how did he come to you? How was ityou trusted him?"

  "We are all fools at times," she answered grimly. "We wanted to havepersons of our own faith about us, and he was highly commended to usby Protestants abroad, as having seen service in the cause. He appliedto us just at the right moment, too. And at the first we felt a greatliking for him. He was so clever in arranging things, he kept suchexcellent order among the servants; he was so ready, so willing, soplausible! Oh!" she added bitterly, "he had ways that enabled him totwist nine women out of ten round his fingers! Richard was fond ofhim; I liked him; we had talked more than once of how we might advancehis interests. And then, like a thunderbolt on a clear day, theknowledge of his double-dealing fell upon us. We learned that he hadbeen seen talking with a known agent of Gardiner, and this at a timewhen the Bishop was planning our ruin. We had him watched, and justwhen the net had all but closed round us we discovered that he hadbeen throughout in Gardiner's pay."

  "Ah!" I said viciously. "The oddest thing to me is the way he hastwice escaped me when I had him at the sword's point!"

  "The third time may bring other fortune, Master Francis," she answeredsmiling. "Yet be wary with him. He is a good swordsman, as my husband,who sometimes fenced with him, will tell you."

  "He can be no common man," I said.

  "He is not. He is well-bred, and has seen service. He is at once boldand cunning. He has a tongue would win most women, and a hardihoodthat would chain them to him. Women love bold men," my lady addednaively. And she smiled on me--yet humorously--so that I blushed.

  There was silence for a moment. The sail flapped, then filled again.How delicious this morning after that night, this bright expanse afterthe dark, sluggish channels! Far away in front a great barge,high-laden with a mighty stack of rushes, crept along beside the bank,the horse that drew it covered by a kind of knitted rug. When my ladyspoke next, it was abruptly. "Is it Anne?" she asked.

  I knew quite well what she meant, and blushed again. I shook my head.

  "I think it was going to be," she said sagely, "only Mistress Dymphnacame upon the scene. You have heard the story of the donkey haltingbetween two bundles of hay, Master Francis? And in the multitude ofsweethearts there is safety."

  "I do not think that was my case," I said. Instinctively my hand wentto my breast, in which Petronilla's velvet sword-knot lay safe andwarm. The Duchess saw the gesture and instantly bent forward andmimicked it. "Ha! ha!" she cried, leaning back with her hands claspedabout her knees, and her eyes shining with fun and amusement. "Now Iunderstand. You have left her at home; now, do not deny it, or I willtell the others. Be frank and I will keep your secret, on my honor."

  "She is my cousin," I said, my cheeks hot.

  "And her name?"

  "Petronilla."

  "Petronilla?" my lady repeated shrewdly. "That was the name of yourSpanish grandmother, then?"

  "Yes, madam."

  "Petronilla? Petronilla?" she repeated, stroking her cheek with herhand. "She would be before my time, would she not? Yet there used tobe several Petronillas about the court in Queen Catherine of Aragon'sdays, I remember. There was Petronilla de Vargas for one. But there, Iguess at random. Why do y
ou not tell me more about yourself, MasterFrancis? Do you not know me well enough now?"

  "There is nothing to tell, madam," I said in a low voice.

  "Your family? You come, I am sure, of a good house."

  "I did, but it is nothing to me now. I am cut off from it. I ambuilding my house afresh. And," I added bitterly, "I have not mademuch way with it yet."

  She broke, greatly to my surprise, into a long peal of laughter. "Oh,you vain boy!" she cried. "You valiant castle-builder! How long haveyou been about the work? Three months? Do you think a house is to bebuilt in a day? Three months, indeed? Quite a lifetime!"

  Was it three months? It seemed to me to be fully three years. I seemedto have grown more than three years older since that February morningwhen I had crossed Arden Forest with the first light, and looked downon Wootton Wawen sleeping in its vale, and roused the herons fishingin the bottoms.

  "Come, tell me all about it!" she said abruptly. "What did you do tobe cut off?"

  "I cannot tell you," I answered.

  A shade of annoyance clouded her countenance. But it passed awayalmost on the instant. "Very well," she said, with a little nod ofdisdain and a pretty grimace. "So be it. Have your own way. But Iprophesy you will come to me with your tale some day."

  I went then and took Master Bertie's place at the tiller; and, helying down, I had the boat to myself until noon, and drew no littlepleasure from the placid picture which the moving banks and the wideriver presented. About noon there was a general uprising; and, comingimmediately afterward to a little island lying close to one bank, weall landed to stretch our legs and refresh ourselves after theconfinement on board.

  "We are over the border now and close to Emmerich," said MasterLindstrom, "though the mere line of frontier will avail us little ifthe Spanish soldiers can by hook or crook lay hands on us! Therefore,we must lose no time in getting within the walls of some town. Weshould be fairly secure for a few days either in Wesel or Santon."

  "I thought Wesel was the point we were making for," Master Bertie saidin some surprise.

  "It was Wesel I mentioned the other day," the Dutchman admittedfrankly. "And it is the bigger town and the stronger. But I have morefriends in Santon. To Wesel the road from Emmerich runs along theright bank. To Santon we go by a cross-country road, starting from theleft bank opposite Emmerich, a road longer and more tedious. But weare much less likely to be followed that way than along the Weselroad, and on second thoughts I incline to Santon."

  "But why adopt either road? Why not go on by river?" I asked.

  "Because we should be overtaken. The wind is falling, and the boat,"our late host explained, more truly than politely, "with the women init is heavy."

  "I understand," I said. "And you feel sure we shall be pursued?"

  For answer he pointed with a smile to his plate-chest. "Quite sure,"he added. "With that before them they will think nothing of thefrontier. I fancy that for you, if the English Government be inearnest, there will be no absolutely safe place short of the free cityof Frankfort. Unless indeed you have interest with the Duke ofCleves."

  "Ah!" said the Duchess. And she looked at her husband.

  "Ah!" said Master Bertie, and he looked very blankly at his wife. Sothat I did not derive much comfort from that suggestion.

  "Then it is Santon, is it?" said my lady.

  "That first, at any rate. Then, if they follow us along the Weselroad, we shall still give them the slip."

  So it was settled, neither Van Tree nor the girls having taken anypart in the discussion. The former and Dymphna were talking aside, andMistress Anne was sitting low down on the bank, with her feet almostin the water, immersed to all appearance in her own thoughts. Therewas a little bustle as we rose to get into the boat, which we haddrawn up on the landward side of the island so as to be invisible fromthe main channel; and in the middle of this I was standing with onefoot in the boat and one on shore, taking from Anne various articleswhich we had landed for rearrangement, when she whispered to me thatshe wanted to speak to me alone.

  "I want to tell you something," she said, raising her eyes to my face,and then averting them. "Follow me this way."

  She strolled, as if accidentally, twenty or thirty paces along thebank; and in a minute I joined her. I found her gazing down the riverin the direction from which we had come. "What is it?" I saidanxiously. "You do not see anything, do you?" For there had been ahint of bad news in her voice.

  She dropped the hand with which she had been shading her eyes andturned to me. "Master Francis, you will not think me very foolish?"she said. Then I perceived that her lip was quivering and that therewere tears in her eyes. They were very beautiful eyes when, as now,they grew soft, and appeal took the place of challenge.

  "What is it?" I replied, speaking cheerfully to reassure her. She hadscarcely got over her terror of last night. She trembled as she stood.

  "It is about Santon," she answered with a miserable little catch inher voice. "I am so afraid of going there! Master Lindstrom says it isa rough, long road, and when we are there we are not a bit fartherfrom those wretches than at Wesel, and--and----"

  "There, there!" I said. She was on the point of bursting into tears,and was clearly much overwrought. "You are making the worst of it. Ifit were not for Master Lindstrom I should be inclined to choose Weselmyself. But he ought to know best."

  "But that is not all," she said, clasping her hands and looking up atme with her face grown full of solemn awe; "I have had a dream."

  "Well, but dreams----" I objected.

  "You do not believe in dreams?" she said, dropping her headsorrowfully.

  "No, no; I do not say that," I admitted, naturally startled. "But whatwas your dream?"

  "I thought we took the road to Santon. And mind," she added earnestly,"this was before Master Lindstrom had uttered a word about going thatway, or any other way save to Wesel. I dreamt that we followed theroad through such a dreadful flat country, a country all woods anddesolate moorland, under a gray sky, and in torrents of rain, to----"

  "Well, well?" I said, with a passing shiver at the picture. Shedescribed it with a rapt, absent air, which made me creep--as if evennow she were seeing something uncanny.

  "And then I thought that in the middle of these woods, about half-wayto Santon, they overtook us, and there was a great fight."

  "There would be sure to be that!" I muttered, with shut teeth.

  "And I thought you were killed, and we women were dragged back! There,I cannot tell you the rest!" she added wildly. "But try, try to getthem to go the old way. If not, I know evil will come of it. Promiseme to try?"

  "I will tell them your dream," I said.

  "No, no!" she exclaimed still more vehemently. "They would only laugh.Madam does not believe in dreams. But they will listen to you if yousay you think the other way better. Promise me you will! Promise me!"she pleaded, her hands clasping my arm, and her tearful eyes lookingup to mine.

  "Well," I agreed reluctantly, "I will try. After all, the shortest waymay be the best. But if I do," I said kindly, "you must promise me inreturn not to be alarmed any longer, Anne."

  "I will try," she said gratefully; "I will indeed, Francis."

  We were summoned at that minute, for the boat was waiting for us. TheDuchess scanned us rather curiously as we ran up--we were the last.But Anne kept her word, and concealed her fears so bravely that, asshe jumped in from the bank, her air of gayety almost deceived me, andwould have misled the sharpest-sighted person who had not been presentat our interview, so admirably was it assumed.

  We calculated that our pursuers would not follow us down the river forsome hours. They would first have to search the island, and the watchwhich they had set on the landing-stage would lead them to suspectrather that we had fled by land. We hoped, therefore, to reachEmmerich unmolested. There Master Lindstrom said we could get horses,and he thought we might be safe in Santon by the following evening.

  "If you really think we had better go to Santon," I said. Thi
s was anhour or two after leaving the island, and when we looked to sightEmmerich very soon, the hills which we had seen in front all day, andwhich were grateful to eyes sated with the monotony of Holland, beingnow pretty close to us.

  "I thought that we had settled that," replied the Dutchman promptly.

  I felt they were all looking at me. "I look at it this way," I said,reddening. "Wesel is not far from Emmerich by the road. Should we nothave an excellent chance of reaching it before our pursuers come up?"

  "You might reach it," Master Lindstrom said gravely. "Though, again,you might not."

  "And, Wesel once reached," I persisted, "there is less fear ofviolence being attempted there than in Santon. It is a larger town."

  "True," he admitted. "But it is just this. Will you be able to reachWesel? It is the getting there--that is the difficulty; the gettingthere before you are caught."

  "If we have a good start, why should we not?" I urged; and urged itthe more persistently, the more I found them opposed to it. Naturallythere ensued a warm discussion. At first they all sided against me,save of course Anne, and she sat silent, though she was visiblyagitated, as from minute to minute I or they seemed likely to prevail.But presently when I grew warmer, and urged again and again thestrength of Wesel, my own party veered round, yet still with doubt andmisgiving. The Dutchman shrugged his shoulders to the end and remainedunpersuaded. But finally it was decided that I should have my own way.We would go to Wesel.

  Every one knows how a man feels when he comes victorious out of such abattle. He begins on the instant to regret his victory, and to see thepossible evils which may result from it; to repent the hot words hehas used in the strife and the declarations he has flung broadcast.That dreadful phrase, "I told you so!" rises like an avenging furybefore his fancy, and he quails.

  I felt all this the moment the thing was settled. But I was too youngto back out and withdraw my words. I hoped for the best, and resolvedinwardly to get the party mounted the moment we reached Emmerich.

  I soon had the opportunity of proving this resolution to be moreeasily made than carried out. About three o'clock we reached thelittle town dominated, as we saw from afar, by an ancient minster,and, preferring not to enter it, landed at the steps of an inn aquarter of a mile short of the gates, and marking a point where wemight take the road to Wesel, or, crossing the river, the road toSanton. Master Lindstrom seemed well known, but there weredifficulties about the horses. The German landlord listened to hisstory with apparent sympathy--but no horses! We could not understandthe tongue in which the two talked, but the Dutchman's questions,quick and animated for once, and the landlord's slow replies, remindedme of the foggy morning when in a similar plight we had urged themaster of the _Lion's Whelp_ to put to sea. And I feared a similarresult.

  "He says he cannot get so many horses to-night," said Master Lindstromwith a long face.

  "Offer him more money!" quoth the Duchess.

  "If we cannot have horses until the morning, we may as well go on inthe boat," I urged.

  "He says, too, that the water is out on the road," continued theDutchman.

  "Nonsense! Double the price!" cried my lady impatiently.

  I suppose that this turned the scale. The landlord finally promisedthat in an hour four saddle-horses for Master Bertie and the Duchess,Anne and myself, should be ready, with a couple of pack-horses and aguide. Master Lindstrom, his daughter, and Van Tree would start alittle later for Cleves, five miles on the road to Santon, ifconveyance could be got. "And if not," our late host added, as we saidsomething about our unwillingness to leave him in danger, "I shall besafe enough in the town, but I hope to sleep in Cleves."

  It was all settled very hastily. We felt--and I in particular, sincemy plan had been adopted--an unreasonable impatience to be off. As westood on the bank by the inn-door, we had a straight reach of river amile long in full view below us; and now we were no longer movingourselves, but standing still, expected each minute to see the Spanishboat, with its crew of desperadoes, sweep round the corner before oureyes. Master Lindstrom assured us that if we were once out of sightour pursuers would get no information as to the road we had taken,either from the inn-keeper or his neighbors. "There is no love lostbetween them and the Spaniards," he said shrewdly. "And I know thepeople here, and they know me. The burghers may not be very keen tocome to blows with the Spaniards or to resent their foray. But thelatter, on their part, will be careful not to go too far or to makethemselves obnoxious."

  We took the opportunity of supping then, not knowing when we might getfood again. I happened to finish first, and, hearing the horses'hoofs, went out and watched the lads who were to be our guidesfastening the baggage on the sumpter beasts. I gave them a hand--notwithout a wince or two, for the wound in my chest was painful--andwhile doing so had a flash of remembrance. I went to the unglazedwindow of the kitchen in which the others sat, and leaned my elbows onthe sill. "I say!" I said, full of my discovery, "there is somethingwe have forgotten!"

  "What?" asked the Duchess, rising and coming toward me, while theothers paused in their meal to listen.

  "The letter to Mistress Clarence," I answered. "I was going to get itwhen I was stabbed, you remember, and afterward we forgot all aboutit. Now it is too late. It has been left behind."

  She did not answer then, but came out to me, and turned with me tolook at the horses. "This comes of your foolish scruples, MasterFrancis!" she said severely. "Where was it?"

  "I slipped it between the leathers of the old haversack you gave me,"I answered, "which I used to have for a pillow. Van Tree brought mythings down, but overlooked the haversack, I suppose. At any rate, itis not here."

  "Well, it is no good crying over spilt milk," she said.

  She called the others out then, and there was no mistaking MistressAnne's pleasure at escaping the Santon road. She was radiant, andvouchsafed me a very pretty glance of thanks, in which her relief aswell as her gratitude shone clearly. By half-past four we had got,wearied as we were, to horse, and with three hours of daylight beforeus hoped to reach Wesel without mishap. But for most of us the startwas saddened by the parting--though we hoped it would be only for atime--from our Dutch friends. We remembered how good and stanch theyhad been to us. We feared--though Master Lindstrom would not hear ofit--that we had brought misfortune upon them, and neither theDuchess's brave eyes nor Dymphna's blue ones were free from tears asthey embraced. I wrung Van Tree's hand as if I had known him formonths instead of days, for a common danger is a wondrous knitter ofhearts; and he only smiled--though Dymphna blushed--when I kissed hercheek. A few broken words, a last cry of farewell, and we four, withour two guides behind us, moved down the Wesel road, the last I heardof our good friends being Master Lindstrom's charge, shouted after us,"to beware of the water if it was out!"