The Coming of the King

by Joseph Hocking

  CHAPTER X

  THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON

  "I am not sure," he said, "that you are not a youth worth considering. Iam not sure, I say. There are not six people in England who know mysecret, not one who knows it fully; but among those who do there is notone that I would go hand in glove with. But you may be of a differentorder. You may be, but I have not made up my mind. It may be," and helooked furtively around him again, "it may be that I shall make shortwork of you, and that your father and mother, if you possess them, mayhave to mourn the untimely loss of a promising son."

  I laughed quietly, as though I were amused, but as I did so I had asense of uneasiness as to what was in his mind.

  "Oh, you laugh, do you?" he snarled; "but wait a little, young master,and you will see that you have nothing to laugh at. Not that you are nota youth of courage. I do not deny that. Nay, more: for one so young youhave some sense. I saw that at the start, else you would not be alivenow."

  Again I laughed; partly because the laugh seemed natural, and partlybecause I was anxious to impress him with the fact that I had no fear ofhim.

  "I tell you the truth," he cried angrily, "and I bid you not to provokeme too far, for I am somewhat short of temper. There is more than onewho has dared to brave me here, and have never been heard of again.What, you defy me! Look. If I put this handful of dust," and he took asmall packet from a drawer which contained perhaps an ounce ofbrown-coloured powder, "I say, if I put this handful of dust in thatpot, you would in three minutes be asleep--asleep, ay, with a sleep likeunto death. And then what would your swords and pistols avail, my youngbantam?"

  "Methinks if I fell asleep so would you," I replied, "so we should sleeptogether, Father Solomon, and perchance I might awake as soon as you."

  "But think you that I have not other potions, potions which would resistthe action of the fumes which would arise from the pot?"

  "Possibly; but let me tell you this, Father Solomon: before the sleepmastered me I would give good account of you."

  I spoke like a man deadly in earnest, as in truth I was, for his wordshad made me feel that my position might be more serious than I hadimagined. My earnestness impressed him too, for he turned somewhathurriedly to me and said--

  "Have I not said that you may be a youth worth considering? But, lookyou, before we go further into this matter I must know with assurancehow we stand. For, let me tell you this: if you play the game which isin your mind it will not be for boys' stakes. Neither will it be a gameeasy to play."

  At this I was silent, for I did not wish to use a word which might givehim the mastery over me.

  "And so, young master, before I tell you the things you are longing toknow, I must first know who you are, how you came to know of me, how youfell in with Lucy Walters' mother, and how much you know of the matterwhich brings you here."

  "If I told you these things you would be but little wiser," I replied;"besides, I may not tell them till I know who you are, and whether it isworth my while."

  "How old are you?"

  "But twenty-three."

  "You might be older than that," and I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Let mespeak plainly, young master. It is long since I met a youth oftwenty-three with so much sense."

  There was so much of wheedling in his voice that I was put on my guardagain. What he had failed to do by threats he would accomplish byflattery.

  "One need not be young to be a fool," I replied.

  He darted another angry glance at me, and then seemed on the point ofuttering a savage threat. But he mastered this desire, and with a shrugof his shoulders he said--

  "Bah! we are playing at see-saw. Let me understand. You came to me witha desire to know certain things. You would know first more of the womanwhom you name Constance, then you would know more of the man who senther here. That springs from young blood and a boy's heart. But that isnot all. There is the man's brain as well as the boy's heart to beconsidered. Let me think of that. You, like others, have heard the storyof the king's marriage, but, unlike others, you have been able to locatethe place where the secret is kept. You desire to possess it. Why?Because, like a thousand others, you desire to have power over the king.How came you to find out this place? What is the purpose you have inyour mind? You will not tell me. Nevertheless I shall find out. What isyour name? Well, for the present one name will do as well as another. Sofar so good. Now, then, for the other side. Here am I. Who am I? Ah, whoknows? Elijah Pycroft once lived here. Some say he died and was buried.But was he? If he was, who am I? Am I Elijah Pycroft come to life again?For years this old house hath been shunned as though it were, the houseof pestilence. Why? Witches' revels are held here, dark deeds are donehere. Spirits of darkness haunt this place. But then men have come herethrough the day and found nought. What then becomes of the old man whohaunts it through the night? Who is he? Who is he? Ha, ha! Thou art abold youth to come here. But, come, let us to business. Thou art a braveyouth, and thou art not without a smattering of wit. Still thou art buta boy with a boy's rattlepate."

  He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me during the latterpart of his soliloquy. Evidently he was simply thinking aloud, andtrying to understand our relations more clearly.

  "Now, then," he went on presently, "you want me to give you certaininformation, and you want to put your hand upon that which might changethe history of the nation. I have given you credit for some wit, youngmaster, but do you think I am such a fool as to tell all this to anameless boy, because he dared to break in upon my privacy?"

  "Well, what would you, Master Pycroft?" said I, for I saw that he hadsense on his side. If a bargain was to be made it could not be all onone side. My work was to learn all I could from him, without placing myfuture in his power.

  "I would know this. First, your name and history. Second, the reasonwhich led you to come hither. And third--nay, that is all. Answer methose fully, and you will have answered all I wish to know."

  "And if I do?" I responded. "What shall I gain?"

  "That for which you have come," he replied eagerly.

  "How do I know? Suppose I tell you what you ask, and you have sucked theorange dry--what then? Can I be sure you will tell me what I want toknow? The confidence must be mutual, Master Pycroft."

  "You have called me by name. Therefore what is there to tell youfurther?"

  "How do I know that you are Master Pycroft? How do I know that you arenot some other man, one perhaps a thousand times more dangerous?"

  A ghastly pallor came over his face as I spoke. For the first time I hadmade him fear me. Rightly or wrongly, it came to me that he was notElijah Pycroft at all, but a man who greatly feared his name becomingknown.

  "If I am to tell you who I am, tell me who you are," I replied. "If I amto tell you how I was led to believe that you have in your possessionthe king's marriage contract, you must tell me how you got hold of it.If I am to tell you how I learnt to know anything about the woman youcall Constance, you must tell me what you know of her, ay, and thereason why the man believed to be Sir Charles Denman hath such powerover her."

  "And if I will not?"

  "Then several courses are open to me. You have told me I have some wit.Well, I can use that wit. I can find out who the man is who comes tothis room during the night, while during the day he is not to be foundhere."

  "Who's to tell you?"

  "Perhaps Father Rousseau, who hath a little church at Boulogne," I madeanswer.

  Again the ashy pallor passed across his face, and I saw him tremble.

  "He--he doth not know a word of English--that is--how do you know thereis such a man?"

  I know he would have given much not to have spoken these words, but theyhad escaped him while under the influence of the words I had spoken.

  "Enough to say that I do know," I replied, "and moreover, I am not theonly Englishman who can speak the French tongue."

  He saw he had taken the wrong road, and he sought to retrace his steps.

  "Let us understand each other," he r
epeated.

  "Methinks we are understanding each other with great haste," I replied."Mark you, I wish to use no harsh methods, otherwise I could easily makemany things known to King Charles when he lands at Dover."

  "And yet you speak angrily," he cried. "I am an old man, and cannot bearto have an enmity towards any man. I would live peaceably. Besides, myheart goes out to you. Let us act as friends. But I cannot tell you whatyou want to know without knowing who you are."

  "I will tell you this," I replied, "I seek not to harm you. You have asecret; that I know, and I can see my way to finding out that secret."

  "But you will not--you must not!"

  There was terror in his voice, terror in his eyes, as he spoke.

  "Look, look; we will act together. I saw you were a youth of courage andwit the first moment I cast my eyes on you. You are of gentle blood,too. You would not break a promise--that I know. You would stand by abargain, too. Oh, you would, I know you would. Would you not?"

  "If I make a bargain I will stand by it," I replied. "If I make apromise I will keep it."

  "Even in the face of death?" he replied.

  "A gentleman doth not break a promise because of the fear of death," Ianswered. "He will keep to it under all circumstances, unless the man towhom he hath made it hath forfeited his right to have the promise kept."

  "Ah, then, look here, look at me, straight in the eyes--that's it! If Itell you what you wish to know you will promise me this. First, you willnot seek to discover anything more about me. You understand that? Youwill not try and find out who I am, where I spend my days or my nights.You will say nothing about me to man, woman, nor child. If you hearaught at any time or at any place of the old man who hath been seenunder strange circumstances at Pycroft, you will say nought, nor show bysign of any sort that you have ever heard or seen him."

  "Well, go on," I replied, as he kept his eyes on me, and waited as iffor an answer, "Tell me the other things you wish me to promise."

  "You must also promise me that whatever advantage can be gained by whatI shall tell you shall be shared by me. Look you, I have the marriagecontract--that is, I know where it is. It is all in order. It has thesignatures of Charles Stuart, of--of--well, the woman who was calledLucy Walters, and that of the priest whose name you mentioned. I knowwhere it is, and besides me there is no other who knows it. You must notask how I obtained it. But I know. I know where I put it. It is in asafe place. But if I tell you, you must be my friend. In the time tocome I shall need a friend such as you, with a quick brain and a strongarm. You know French, you say?"

  "Yes, I know it enough to speak, and to understand the speech ofothers."

  "That is well. You will promise these two things?"

  "Let us be clear," I made answer, for I knew that he had not beenspeaking idle words. I could see by the way his hands trembled, and bythe eager gleam in his eyes, that he was deeply in earnest. "You wish meto promise not to learn the secret of your life, to seek to know nothingmore about you than I know now?"

  "Yes, yes. Nothing, nothing. That is vital."

  "And, second, you wish me to promise that whatever advantage may begained by what I shall find out shall be shared by you?"

  "Yes, you state it clearly."

  "The first I might promise, but not the second."

  "Why?"

  "Because you could not share in that which I desire. I desire neitherfavour nor position at the hands of the king--only justice. This couldnot affect you. Stay! if I gain my desire, you should never want a homeor a friend."

  "Neither favour nor position!" he said like a man in astonishment. "Asecret like that, and demand neither riches nor honour!"

  "Neither," I replied.

  "Then what would you do with your power?"

  "Justice," I replied.

  "You would seek to place the--the boy on the throne?"

  "If he is the king's lawful son, yes, when his father dies."

  He grasped my hand eagerly.

  "But you would do nothing without consulting me first. You must promisethat."

  "But I might not abide by your counsels."

  "Oh, I fear not that. If you come to me before you take action--all willbe well. You will see the wisdom of my words."

  "Yes, I would promise that," I said slowly, for the full meaning of whatI was saying was not clear to me.

  "That is well--that is well!"

  He spoke like a man from whose shoulders a burden had rolled, and Ijudged that he was mightily pleased.

  "But remember," I said, "in return you promise to tell me what you knowof the woman Constance who came to you here last night, and you alsopromise to place in my hands the marriage contract of the king with LucyWalters."

  "That is, I will take you to the place where it is. I will share withyou this secret. And in return you will seek to do justice, justice! Andyou will do nothing without consulting me. You will also be my friend,and will seek to shelter me. And you are a gentleman. You speak only thetruth, and you keep your promises."

  The whole question had been settled so easily that I wondered at my goodfortune. I had told the man nothing, and yet he had promised to give methe information I coveted. In truth, so easily was my work accomplishedthat I feared lest I had pledged myself more fully than I realized. Andyet all seemed straightforward. I had touched the old man's fear, and hehad yielded. His great dread was that I should discover his secret, thesecret of his name and identity. Well, what were his name and identityto me? Then I had promised to befriend him. That was more serious. Itmight be that in making this promise I had undertaken more than I knew.And yet all might be simple. I believed that he was afraid to make useof the secret he guarded, and that he was eager to obtain the servicesof some one like myself. Besides, nothing could be obtained withoutrisk, and I had made my promise.

  He moved the pot from the fire, and then threw some dry wood upon thesmouldering embers.

  "The night is cold, although summer is approaching fast," he said."Besides, it is well for us to be warm and comfortable. You will drinkwine with me. No? Ah, you fear. You are cautious for one so young, butit is well. We shall need caution as well as courage. There, the fireflames. Draw up that chair, good youth, and let us talk in a friendlyway. Our skirmish is over, and we have arranged a truce. Nay, more thanthat, we have agreed to fight on the same side, and I am content. Do youknow that for three days following I have dreamt that I shall have ayouth, brave and strong and wise, like you, who shall be my friend?Well, I took every precaution before taking you into my confidence, butnow I believe you are the fulfilment of my dream. But it will be easierfor us to talk if we each have a name. You can call me Father Solomon;what may I call you?"

  "You may call me Master Roland," I made answer.

  "Master Roland. Ah, it sounds well. It brings to me memories of greatcourage, great wisdom, and great fidelity. Master Roland; but MasterRoland what?"

  "That is enough. Master Roland and nothing else."

  "Ah, very good. A sagacious youth. Ha, ha!"

  His tone had changed. He evidently desired to be friends; he evenregarded me with an air that was almost affectionate. I could have swornthat my presence was in accord with his strongest desires.

  He sat on one side of the fire, and I on the other--he with his headsunk between his shoulders, and his long beard almost resting on hisknees; I alert and watchful, for as yet I had no confidence in him.Around the walls of the room were strange mystic charts, while on thetable were grinning skulls and much peculiar apparatus, of the meaningof which I knew nothing.

  "I will e'en drink some water of life," he said, filling a goblet from abottle which stood on a shelf. "Ah, it warms my blood and cheers mybrains! That is well. Now I will tell you the things you desire toknow."

  He gave me a keen furtive glance as he spoke, but I simply nodded myhead and waited for him to proceed.

  "You would know more of the fair Constance," he said. "That is natural.She is fair of face, and hath a sweet voice; but, Master Roland, tak
e myadvice and seek not her company. You cannot help her. She is in dangerof her life, and a price is set upon her head!"

  "What hath she done?" I asked.

  "Many things. She is the daughter of Master John Leslie, who is thebosom friend of Master Hugh Peters, who was friend and chaplain ofOliver Cromwell. Master John Leslie hated the late king more than anyman in the kingdom, and took a principal part in the beheading ofCharles. He is a great Independent, Master Roland, and he gave hisdaughter in marriage to Sir Charles Denman, a man old enough to be herfather, but who is also a great Independent, and who fears as much as hehates the thought of the coming of Charles II."

  He hesitated here, and looked towards me as if he expected me to speak,but I held my peace, for I knew he was only at the beginning of hisstory.

  "Do you not know the rest?" he asked.

  "No," I replied, "I know nothing."

  He heaved a sigh like one well satisfied. "Ah, thou art a simple youth,after all," he said; "thou knowest nought of what hath been takingplace."

  "Well, tell me," I said sharply, for I grew impatient at his slowness.

  "Oh yes, I will tell thee. It is a part of the bargain, and I will tellthee. When it was known that General Monk seemed to favour the coming ofthe new king, Master Leslie, Sir Charles Denman, and his wife conceiveda scheme for the murdering of Monk. They believed they would be doinggood service. They knew that if Charles came back, in spite of all thepromises he might make, it would go hard with those who took part in thedeath of the new king's father. The question was, who was to do thedeed? The presence of Master Leslie or Sir Charles Denman, men known tohate the royalty, would destroy any chance of success. So they settledupon the wife of Sir Charles, whose person was unknown either to Monk orhis retainers. Well, the plan was carried out, Master Roland; that is,the attempt was made. The woman, never dreaming of disobeying herhusband and also mad with fear as to what should take place if CharlesStuart came back, attempted the deed. If Monk was killed, Lambert wouldhave power--you follow, Master Roland? Oh, it was not a bad plan, andhad it succeeded--well, methinks there would not be at this moment agaping crowd waiting to welcome another Stuart. But it did notsucceed--that is, not fully. Mark you, she did succeed in reaching theroom where Monk lay asleep. She stabbed young James Carew, who acted asMonk's secretary, ay, and so badly that he hath not yet recovered; butMonk awoke before she was able to harm him much. Oh, but she made adesperate fight. She wounded Monk in the arm, and fled. Moreover, socleverly had she arranged everything that she managed to escape, andalthough every attempt hath been made, she hath not yet been captured."

  "But how dare she ride abroad?" I cried.

  "That woman would dare anything," cried the old man. "Besides, Monkdescribed a woman different from the beautiful Constance. You see, shehad taken steps to alter her appearance before she attempted the deed.Nevertheless, the thing hath been traced to her. Master John Leslie iseven now in disgrace, while spies be everywhere trying to track downSir Charles Denman and his wife. Not that guilt hath been proved againstSir Charles on that count, nevertheless his life is not worth tengroats."

  "But how dare he ride to the _Barley Sheaf_ while it was yet daylight?"I cried. "I saw him myself."

  "Sir Charles hath many friends; besides, what kind of man did you see?"

  "A tall strong man with an iron-grey beard and a grey ashen countenance;one who speaks with a rough harsh voice."

  "Sir Charles hath a yellow beard, brown hair, and hath a sweet mellowvoice," he replied. "Ay, but he is cleverer than any play-actor inLondon. Besides, he knows that just now the search is somewhat lax,seeing that every one is at Dover waiting to welcome the new King."

  "Then--then----"

  "Ah, more I may not tell you. Ay, and seek to know no more, MasterRoland. The chase cannot last long: she will be taken, and then God havemercy on her!"

  "And Sir Charles?"

  A cloud crossed his face, and that harsh, cruel look which I had seen inhis eyes when first we met came back.

  "Who knows?" he snarled. "Who knows, if he----but enough of that, MasterRoland. There is something of more importance. There is that for whichyou came hither; your fate, and perchance mine, depend on that."