I.
Of the Compact between Sir Thomas Wyat and Herne the Hunter.
On the day after his secret interview with Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas Wyatreceived despatches from the king for the court of France.
"His majesty bade me tell you to make your preparations quickly, SirThomas," said the messenger who delivered the despatches; "he cares nothow soon you set forth."
"The king's pleasure shall be obeyed," rejoined Wyat.
And the messenger retired.
Left alone, Wyat remained for some time in profound and melancholythought. Heaving a deep sigh, he then arose, and paced the chamber withrapid strides.
"Yes, it is better thus," he ejaculated. "If I remain near her, I shalldo some desperate deed. Better--far better--I should go. And yet toleave her with Henry--to know that he is ever near her--that he drinksin the music of her voice, and basks in the sunshine of her smile--whileI am driven forth to darkness and despair--the thought is madness! Iwill not obey the hateful mandate! I will stay and defy him!"
As he uttered aloud this wild and unguarded speech, the arras screeningthe door was drawn aside, and gave admittance to Wolsey.
Wyat's gaze sunk before the penetrating glance fixed upon him by theCardinal.
"I did not come to play the eavesdropper, Sir Thomas," said Wolsey; "butI have heard enough to place your life in my power. So you refuse toobey the king's injunctions. You refuse to proceed to Paris. You refuseto assist in bringing about the divorce, and prefer remaining here tobrave your sovereign, and avenge yourself upon a fickle mistress. Ha?"
Wyat returned no answer.
"If such be your purpose," pursued Wolsey, after a pause, during whichhe intently scrutinised the knight's countenance, "I will assist you init. Be ruled by me, and you shall have a deep and full revenge."
"Say on," rejoined Wyat, his eyes blazing with infernal fire, and hishand involuntarily clutching the handle of his dagger.
"If I read you aright," continued the cardinal, "you are arrived at thatpitch of desperation when life itself becomes indifferent, and when butone object remains to be gained--"
"And that is vengeance!" interrupted Wyat fiercely. "Right,cardinal--right. I will have vengeance--terrible vengeance!"
"You shall. But I will not deceive you. You will purchase what you seekat the price of your own head."
"I care not," replied Wyat. "All sentiments of love and loyalty areswallowed up by jealousy and burning hate. Nothing but blood can allaythe fever that consumes me. Show me how to slay him!"
"Him!" echoed the cardinal, in alarm and horror. "Wretch! would you killyour king? God forbid that I should counsel the injury of a hair ofhis head! I do not want you to play the assassin, Wyat," he added morecalmly, "but the just avenger. Liberate the king from the thraldom ofthe capricious siren who enslaves him, and you will do a service to thewhole country. A word from you--a letter--a token--will cast her fromthe king, and place her on the block. And what matter? The gory scaffoldwere better than Henry's bed."
"I cannot harm her," cried Wyat distractedly. "I love her still,devotedly as ever. She was in my power yesterday, and without your aid,cardinal, I could have wreaked my vengeance upon her, if I had been sominded."
"You were then in her chamber, as the king suspected?" cried Wolsey,with a look of exultation. "Trouble yourself no more, Sir Thomas. I willtake the part of vengeance off your hands."
"My indiscretion will avail you little, cardinal," replied Wyat sternly."A hasty word proves nothing. I will perish on the rack sooner thanaccuse Anne Boleyn. I am a desperate man, but not so desperate as yousuppose me. A moment ago I might have been led on, by the murderous andtraitorous impulse that prompted me, to lift my hand against the king,but I never could have injured her."
"You are a madman!" cried Wolsey impatiently, "and it is a waste of timeto argue with you. I wish you good speed on your journey. On your returnyou will find Anne Boleyn Queen of England."
"And you disgraced," rejoined Wyat, as, with a malignant and vindictivelook, the cardinal quitted the chamber.
Again left alone, Wyat fell into another fit of despondency from whichhe roused himself with difficulty, and went forth to visit the Earl ofSurrey in the Round Tower.
Some delay occurred before he could obtain access to the earl. Thehalberdier stationed at the entrance to the keep near the Norman Towerrefused to admit him without the order of the officer in command of thetower, and as the latter was not in the way at the moment, Wyat had toremain without till he made his appearance.
While thus detained, he beheld Anne Boleyn and her royal lover mounttheir steeds in the upper ward, and ride forth, with their attendants,on a hawking expedition. Anne Boleyn bore a beautiful falcon on herwrist--Wyat's own gift to her in happier days--and looked full ofcoquetry, animation, and delight--without the vestige of a cloud uponher brow, or a care on her countenance. With increased bitternessof heart, he turned from the sight, and shrouded himself beneath thegateway of the Norman Tower.
Soon after this, the officer appeared, and at once according Wyatpermission to see the earl, preceded him up the long flight of stonesteps communicating with the upper part of the keep, and screened byan embattled and turreted structure, constituting a covered way to theRound Tower.
Arrived at the landing, the officer unlocked a door on the left, andushered his companion into the prisoner's chamber.
Influenced by the circular shape of the structure in which it wassituated, and of which it formed a segment, the farther part of thischamber was almost lost to view, and a number of cross-beams and woodenpillars added to its sombre and mysterious appearance. The walls were ofenormous thickness, and a narrow loophole, terminating a deep embrasure,afforded but scanty light. Opposite the embrasure sat Surrey, at a smalltable covered with books and writing materials. A lute lay beside him onthe floor, and there were several astrological and alchemical implementswithin reach.
So immersed was the youthful prisoner in study, that he was not aware,until a slight exclamation was uttered by Wyat, of the entrance of thelatter. He then arose, and gave him welcome.
Nothing material passed between them as long as the officer remainedin the chamber, but on his departure Surrey observed laughingly to hisfriend, "And how doth my fair cousin, the Lady Anne Boleyn?"
"She has just ridden forth with the king, to hawk in the park," repliedWyat moodily. "For myself, l am ordered on a mission to France, but Icould not depart without entreating your forgiveness for the jeopardy inwhich I have placed you. Would I could take your place."
"Do not heed me," replied Surrey; "I am well content with what hashappened. Virgil and Homer, Dante and Petrarch, are the companions ofmy confinement; and in good sooth, I am glad to be alone. Amid thedistractions of the court I could find little leisure for the muse."
"Your situation is, in many respects, enviable, Surrey," replied Wyat."Disturbed by no jealous doubts and fears, you can beguile the tedioushours in the cultivation of your poetical tastes, or in study. Still, Imust needs reproach myself with being the cause of your imprisonment."
"I repeat, you have done me a service," rejoined the earl, "I would laydown my life for my fair cousin, Anne Boleyn, and I am glad to be ableto prove the sincerity of my regard for you, Wyat. I applaud the king'sjudgment in sending you to France, and if you will be counselled by me,you will stay there long enough to forget her who now occasions you somuch uneasiness."
"Will the Fair Geraldine be forgotten when the term of your imprisonmentshall expire, my lord?" asked Wyat.
"Of a surety not," replied the earl.
"And yet, in less than two months I shall return from France," rejoinedWyat.
"Our cases are not alike," said Surrey. "The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgeraldhas plighted her troth to me."
"Anne Boleyn vowed eternal constancy to me," cried Wyat bitterly; "andyou see how she kept her oath. The absent are always in danger; and fewwomen are proof against ambition. Vanity--vanity is the rock theysplit upon. May you never expe
rience from Richmond the wrong I haveexperienced from his father."
"I have no fear," replied Surrey.
As he spoke, there was a slight noise in that part of the chamber whichwas buried in darkness.
"Have we a listener here?" cried Wyat, grasping his sword.
"Not unless it be a four-legged one from the dungeons beneath," repliedSurrey. "But you were speaking of Richmond. He visited me this morning,and came to relate the particulars of a mysterious adventure thatoccurred to him last night."
And the earl proceeded to detail what had befallen the duke in theforest.
"A marvellous story, truly!" said Wyat, pondering upon the relation. "Iwill seek out the demon huntsman myself."
Again a noise similar to that heard a moment before resounded from thelower part of the room. Wyat immediately flew thither, and drawing hissword, searched about with its point, but ineffectually.
"It could not be fancy," he said; "and yet nothing is to be found."
"I do not like jesting about Herne the Hunter," remarked Surrey, "afterwhat I myself have seen. In your present frame of mind I advise you notto hazard an interview with the fiend. He has power over the desperate."
Wyat returned no answer. He seemed lost in gloomy thought, and soonafterwards took his leave.
On returning to his lodgings, he summoned his attendants, and orderedthem to proceed to Kingston, adding that he would join them thereearly the next morning. One of them, an old serving-man, noticing theexceeding haggardness of his looks, endeavoured to persuade him togo with them; but Wyat, with a harshness totally unlike his customarymanner, which was gracious and kindly in the extreme, peremptorilyrefused.
"You look very ill, Sir Thomas," said the old servant; "worse than Iever remember seeing you. Listen to my counsel, I beseech you. Plead illhealth with the king in excuse of your mission to France, and retire forsome months to recruit your strength and spirits at Allington."
"Tush, Adam Twisden! I am well enough," exclaimed Wyat impatiently. "Goand prepare my mails."
"My dear, dear master," cried old Adam, bending the knee before him, andpressing his hand to his lips; "something tells me that if I leave younow I shall never see you again. There is a paleness in your cheek, anda fire in your eye, such as I never before observed in you, or in mortalman. I tremble to say it, but you look like one possessed by thefiend. Forgive my boldness, sir. I speak from affection and duty. I wasserving-man to your father, good Sir Henry Wyat, before you, and I loveyou as a son, while I honour you as a master. I have heard that thereare evil beings in the forest--nay, even within the castle--who lure mento perdition by promising to accomplish their wicked desires. I trust nosuch being has crossed your path."
"Make yourself easy, good Adam," replied Wyat; "no fiend has temptedme."
"Swear it, sir," cried the old man eagerly--"swear it by the HolyTrinity."
"By the Holy Trinity, I swear it," replied Wyat.
As the words were uttered, the door behind the arras was suddenly shutwith violence.
"Curses on you, villain! you have left the door open," cried Wyatfiercely. "Our conversation has been overheard."
"I will soon see by whom," cried Adam, springing to his feet, andrushing towards the door, which opened upon a long corridor.
"Well!" cried Wyat, as Adam returned the next moment, with cheeks almostas white as his own--"was it the cardinal?"
"It was the devil, I believe!" replied the old man. "I could see noone."
"It would not require supernatural power to retreat into an adjoiningchamber!" replied Wyat, affecting an incredulity he was far fromfeeling.
"Your worship's adjuration was strangely interrupted," cried the oldman, crossing himself devoutly. "Saint Dunstan and Saint Christophershield us from evil spirits!"
"A truce to your idle terrors, Adam," said Wyat. "Take these packets,"he added, giving him Henry's despatches, "and guard them as you wouldyour life. I am going on an expedition of some peril to-night, anddo not choose to keep them about me. Bid the grooms have my steed inreadiness an hour before midnight."
"I hope your worship is not about to ride into the forest at that hour?"said Adam, trembling. "I was told by the stout archer, whom the kingdubbed Duke of Shoreditch, that he and the Duke of Richmond venturedthither last night, and that they saw a legion of demons mounted oncoal-black horses, and amongst them Mark Fytton, the butcher, who washanged a few days ago from the Curfew Tower by the king's order, andwhose body so strangely disappeared. Do not go into the forest, dear SirThomas!"
"No more of this!" cried Wyat fiercely. "Do as I bid you, and if I joinyou not before noon to-morrow, proceed to Rochester, and there await mycoming."
"I never expect to see you again, sir!" groaned the old man, as he tookhis leave.
The anxious concern evinced in his behalf by his old and trusty servantwas not without effect on Sir Thomas Wyat, and made him hesitate inhis design; but by-and-by another access of jealous rage came on, andoverwhelmed all his better resolutions. He remained within his chamberto a late hour, and then issuing forth, proceeded to the terrace atthe north of the castle, where he was challenged by a sentinel, but wassuffered to pass on, on giving the watch-word.
The night was profoundly dark, and the whole of the glorious prospectcommanded by the terrace shrouded from view. But Wyat's object in comingthither was to gaze, for the last time, at that part of the castle whichenclosed Anne Boleyn, and knowing well the situation of her apartments,he fixed his eyes upon the windows; but although numerous lightsstreamed from the adjoining corridor, all here was buried in obscurity.
Suddenly, however, the chamber was illumined, and he beheld Henry andAnne Boleyn enter it, preceded by a band of attendants bearing tapers.It needed not Wyat's jealousy-sharpened gaze to read, even at thatdistance, the king's enamoured looks, or Anne Boleyn's responsiveglances. He saw that one of Henry's arms encircled her waist, while theother caressed her yielding hand. They paused. Henry bent forward, andAnne half averted her head, but not so much so as to prevent the kingfrom imprinting a long and fervid kiss upon her lips.
Terrible was its effect upon Wyat. An adder's bite would have been lesspainful. His hands convulsively clutched together; his hair stood erectupon his head; a shiver ran through his frame; and he tottered backseveral paces. When he recovered, Henry had bidden good-night to theobject of his love, and, having nearly gained the door, turned and waveda tender valediction to her. As soon as he was gone, Anne looked roundwith a smile of ineffable pride and pleasure at her attendants, but acloud of curtains dropping over the window shrouded her from the sightof her wretched lover.
In a state of agitation wholly indescribable, Wyat staggered towardsthe edge of the terrace--it might be with the design of flinging himselffrom it--but when within a few yards of the low parapet wall defendingits precipitous side, he perceived a tall dark figure standing directlyin his path, and halted. Whether the object he beheld was human or nothe could not determine, but it seemed of more than mortal stature. Itwas wrapped in a long black cloak, and wore a high conical cap on itshead. Before Wyat could speak the figure addressed him.
"You desire to see Herne the Hunter," said the figure, in a deep,sepulchral tone. "Ride hence to the haunted beechtree near the marsh, atthe farther side of the forest, and you will find him."
"You are Herne--I feel it," cried Wyat. "Why go into the forest? Speaknow."
And he stepped forward with the intention of grasping the figure, but iteluded him, and, with a mocking laugh, melted into the darkness.
Wyat advanced to the edge of the terrace and looked over the parapet,but he could see nothing except the tops of the tall trees springingfrom the side of the moat. Flying to the sentinel, he inquired whetherany one had passed him, but the man returned an angry denial.
Awestricken and agitated, Wyat quitted the terrace, and, seeking hissteed, mounted him, and galloped into the forest.
"If he I have seen be not indeed the fiend, he will scarcely outstrip mein the race," he cried,
as his steed bore him at a furious pace up thelong avenue.
The gloom was here profound, being increased by the dense masses offoliage beneath which he was riding. By the time, however, that hereached the summit of Snow Hill the moon struggled through the clouds,and threw a wan glimmer over the leafy wilderness around. The deepslumber of the woods was unbroken by any sound save that of the frenziedrider bursting through them.
Well acquainted with the forest, Wyat held on a direct course. Hisbrain was on fire, and the fury of his career increased his fearfulexcitement. Heedless of all impediments, he pressed forward--now dashingbeneath overhanging boughs at the risk of his neck--now skirting theedge of a glen where a false step might have proved fatal.
On--on he went, his frenzy increasing each moment.
At length he reached the woody height overlooking the marshy tractthat formed the limit of his ride. Once more the moon had withdrawn herlustre, and a huge indistinct black mass alone pointed out theposition of the haunted tree. Around it wheeled a large white owl,distinguishable by its ghostly plumage through the gloom, like asea-bird in a storm, and hooting bodingly as it winged its mysticflight. No other sound was heard, nor living object seen.
While gazing into the dreary expanse beneath him, Wyat for the firsttime since starting experienced a sensation of doubt and dread; and thewarning of his old and faithful attendant rushed upon his mind. He triedto recite a prayer, but the words died away on his lips--neither wouldhis fingers fashion the symbol of a cross.
But even these admonitions did not restrain him. Springing from hisfoaming and panting steed, and taking the bridle in his hand, hedescended the side of the acclivity. Ever and anon a rustling among thegrass told him that a snake, with which description of reptile the spotabounded, was gliding away from him. His horse, which had hithertobeen all fire and impetuosity, now began to manifest symptoms of alarm,quivered in every limb, snorted, and required to be dragged alongforcibly.
When within a few paces of the tree, its enormous rifted trunk becamefully revealed to him; but no one was beside it. Wyat then stood still,and cried in a loud, commanding tone, "Spirit, I summon thee!--appear!"
At these words a sound like a peal of thunder rolled over head,accompanied by screeches of discordant laughter. Other strange andunearthly noises were heard, and amidst the din a blue phosphoric lightissued from the yawning crevice in the tree, while a tall, gaunt figure,crested with an antlered helm, sprang from it. At the same moment aswarm of horribly grotesque, swart objects, looking like imps, appearedamid the branches of the tree, and grinned and gesticulated at Wyat,whose courage remained unshaken during the fearful ordeal. Not so hissteed. After rearing and plunging violently, the affrighted animal brokeits hold and darted off into the swamp, where it floundered and waslost.
"You have called me, Sir Thomas Wyat," said the demon, in a sepulchraltone. "I am here. What would you?"
"My name being known to you, spirit of darkness, my errand should bealso," replied Wyat boldly.
"Your errand is known to me," replied the demon. "You have lost amistress, and would regain her?"
"I would give my soul to win her back from my kingly rival," cried Wyat.
"I accept your offer," rejoined the spirit. "Anne Boleyn shall be yours.Your hand upon the compact."
Wyat stretched forth his hand, and grasped that of the demon.
His fingers were compressed as if by a vice, and he felt himself draggedtowards the tree, while a stifling and sulphurous vapour rose aroundhim. A black veil fell over his head, and was rapidly twined around hisbrow in thick folds.
Amid yells of fiendish laughter he was then lifted from the ground,thrust into the hollow of the tree, and thence, as it seemed to him,conveyed into a deep subterranean cave.
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