CHAPTER VI
THE SNARE
About noon of the day on which Hugh and his company had ridden forLondon, another company entered Dunwich--namely, Sir John Clavering andmany of his folk, though with him were neither Sir Edmund Acour nor anyof his French train. Sir John's temper had never been of the best, forhe was a man who, whatever his prosperity, found life hard and made itharder for all those about him. But seldom had he been angrier than hewas this day, when his rage was mingled with real sorrow for the loss ofhis only son, slain in a fight brought about by the daughter of one ofthem and the sister of the other and urged for honour's sake by himself,the father of them both.
Moreover, the marriage on which he had set his heart between Eve and theglittering French lord whose future seemed so great had been brought tonaught, and this turbulent, hot-hearted Eve had fled into sanctuary. Herlover, too, the youngest son of a merchant, had ridden away to London,doubtless upon some mission which boded no good to him or his, leavinga blood feud behind him between the wealthy de Cressis and all theClavering kin.
There was but one drop of comfort in his cup. By now, as he hoped, Hughand his death's-head, Grey Dick, a spawn of Satan that all the countryfeared, and who, men said, was a de Cressi bastard by a witch, weresurely slain or taken by those who followed upon their heels.
Sir John rode to the Preceptory and hammered fiercely on its oaken door.Presently it was opened by Sir Andrew Arnold himself, who stood in theentrance, grey and grim, a long sword girt about his loins and armourgleaming beneath his monkish robe.
"What would you, Sir John Clavering, that you knock at this holy housethus rudely?" he asked.
"My daughter, priest, who, they say, has sheltered here."
"They say well, knight, she has sheltered here beneath the wings of St.Mary and St. John. Begone and leave her in peace."
"I make no more of such wings than if they were those of farmyardgeese," roared the furious man. "Bring her or I will pluck her forth."
"Do so," replied Sir Andrew, "if you live to pass this consecratedsword," and he laid his hand upon its hilt. "Take with her also thecurse of the Mother of God, and His beloved Apostle, and that of thewhole Church of Christ, by me declared upon your head in this world andupon your soul in the world to come. Man, this is sanctuary, and if youdare to set foot within it in violence, may your body perish and yoursoul scorch everlastingly in the fires of hell. And you," he added,raising his voice till it rang like a trumpet, addressing the followersof Sir John, "on you also let the curse of excommunication fall. Nowslay me and enter if you will, but then every drop of blood in theseveins shall find a separate tongue and cry out for vengeance on youbefore the judgment seat of God, where presently I summon you to meetme."
Then he crossed himself, drew the great sword, and, holding it in hisleft hand, stretched out his right toward them in malediction.
The Clavering men heard and saw. They looked at each other, and, asthough by common consent, turned and rode away, crossing themselvesalso. In truth, they had no stomach for the curse of the Church when itwas thundered forth from the lips of such a monk as Sir Andrew Arnold,who, they knew well, had been one of the greatest and holiest warriorsof his generation, and, so said rumour, was a white wizard to boot withall the magic of the East at his command.
"Your men have gone, Sir John," said the old priest; "will you followthem or will you enter?"
Now fear drove out the knight's rage and he spoke in another voice.
"Sir Andrew, why do you bring all these wrongs upon me? My boy is deadat the hand of Hugh de Cressi, your godson, and he has robbed me of mydaughter, whom I have affianced to a better and a nobler man. Now yougive her sanctuary and threaten me with the curse of the Church becauseI would claim her, my own flesh and blood; ay, and my heiress tooto-day. Tell me, as one man to another, why do you do these things?"
"And tell me, Sir John Clavering, why for the sake of pelf and ofhonours that you will never harvest do you seek to part those who loveeach other and whom God has willed to bring together? Why would you sellyour child to a gilded knave whom she hates? Nay, stop me not. I'd callhim that and more to his face and none have ever known me lie. Why didyou suffer this Frenchman or your dead son, or both of them, to tryto burn out Hugh de Cressi and Red Eve as though they were rats inrubbish?"
"Would you know, Father? Then I'll tell you. Because I wish to seemy daughter set high among lords and princes and not the wife of amerchant's lad, who by law may wear cloth only and rabbit fur. Because,also, I hate him and all his kin, and if this is true of yesterday, howmuch more true is it now that he has killed my son, and by the arrows ofthat wolf-man who dogs his heels, slain my guests and my grieve. Thinknot I'll rest till I have vengeance of him and all his cursed House.I'll appeal to the King, and if he will not give me justice I'll take itfor myself. Ay, though you are old, I tell you you shall live to see thede Cressi vault crowded with the de Cressi dead."
Sir Andrew hid his eyes for a moment with his hand, then let it fall andspoke in a changed voice.
"It comes upon me that you speak truth, Sir John, for since I met acertain great Master in the East, at times I have a gift of foresight.I think that much sorrow draws near this land; ay, and others. I thinkthat many vaults and many churchyards, too, will ere long be filled withdead; also that the tomb of the Claverings at Blythburgh will soon beopened. Mayhap the end of this world draws near to all men, as surelyit draws near to you and me. I know not--yet truth was in your lips justnow, and in mine as well, I think. Oh, man, man!" he went on after apause, "appeal not unto the world's Caesar lest Caesar render differentjudgment to that which you desire. Get you home, and on your kneesappeal unto God to forgive you your proud, vengeance-seeking heart.Sickness draws near to you; death draws near to you, and after death,hell--or heaven. I have finished."
As he heard these words Sir John's swarthy face grew pale and for alittle while his rage died down. Then it flared up again.
"Don't dream to frighten me with your spells, old wizard," he said."I'm a hale man yet, though I do lose my breath at times when my mind isvexed with wrongs, and I'll square my own account with God without yourhelp or counsel. So you'll not give me my daughter?"
"Nay, here she bides in sanctuary for so long as it shall please her."
"Does she in truth? Perhaps you married her to this merchant fellow erehe rode this morning."
"Nay, Sir John, they betrothed themselves before the altar and inpresence of his kin, no more. Moreover, if you would know, because ofyour son's blood which runs between them I, after thought and prayer,speaking in the name of the Church, swore them to this penance--that fora year from yesterday they should not wed nor play the part of lovers."
"I thank you, priest, for this small grace," answered Sir John, witha bitter laugh, "and in my turn I swear this, that after the year theyshall not wed, since the one of them will be clay and the other the wifeof the man whom I have chosen. Now, play no tricks on me, lest I burnthis sanctuary of yours about your head and throw your old carcass toroast among the flames."
Sir Andrew made no reply, only, resting his long sword on the threshold,he leant upon its hilt, and fixed his clear grey eyes upon Clavering'sface. What Sir John saw in those eyes he never told, but it wassomething which scared him. At least that shortening of the breath ofwhich he had spoken seemed to take a hold of him, for he swayed upon hishorse as though he were about to fall, then, recovering, turned and rodestraight for Blythburgh.
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