How long he remained thus, he knew not; but he was awakened by a loud and piercing scream. Raising himself, he listened intently. The scream was presently repeated in a tone so shrill and unearthly, that it filled him with apprehensions of a new kind. The outcry having been a third time raised, he was debating within himself whether he should in any way reply to it when he thought he beheld a shadowy figure glide along the passage. It paused at a short distance from him. A glimmer of light fell upon the arch on the left, but the place where the figure stood was buried in darkness. After gazing for some time at the mysterious visitant, and passing his hand across his brow to assure himself that his eyesight did not deceive him, Cholmondeley summoned courage enough to address it. No answer was returned; but the figure, which had the semblance of a female, with the hands raised and clasped together as if in supplication or prayer, and with a hood drawn over the face, remained perfectly motionless. Suddenly it glided forward, but with a step so noiseless and swift, that almost before the esquire was aware of the movement, it was at his side. He then felt a hand cold as marble placed upon his own, and upon grasping the fingers they appeared so thin and bony, that he thought he must have encountered a skeleton. Paralysed with fright, Cholmondeley shrunk back as far as he was able; but the figure pursued him, and shrieked in his ear—” My child, my child! — you have taken my child!”
Convinced from the voice that he had a being of this world to deal with, the esquire seized her vestment, and resolved to detain her till he had ascertained who she was and what was the cause of her cries; but just as he had begun to question her, a distant footstep was heard, and uttering a loud shriek, and crying—” He comes! — he comes!” — the female broke from him and disappeared.
Fresh shrieks were presently heard in a more piteous tone than before, mixed with angry exclamations in a man’s voice, which Cholmondeley fancied sounded like that of Nightgall. A door was next shut with great violence, and all became silent.
While he was musing on this strange occurrence, Cholmondeley heard footsteps advancing along the passage on the left, and in another moment Lawrence Nightgall stood before him.
The jailer, who carried a lamp, eyed the captive for a few moments in silence, and with savage satisfaction.
“It is to you, then, I owe my imprisonment, villain,” said Cholmondeley, regarding him sternly.
“It is,” replied the jailer; “and you can readily conjecture, I doubt not, why I have thus dealt with you.”
“I can,” resumed the esquire; “your jealousy prompted you to the deed. But you shall bitterly rue it.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Nightgall. “You are wholly in my power. I am not, however, come to threaten, but to offer you freedom.”
“On what terms?” demanded Cholmondeley.
“On these,” the jailer, scowling—” that you swear to abandon Cicely.”
“Never!” replied the esquire.
“Then your fate is sealed,” rejoined Nightgall. “You shall never quit this spot.”
“Think not to move me by any such idle threat,” returned Cholmondeley. “You dare not detain me.”
“Who shall prevent me?” laughed the jailor, scornfully. “I alone possess the key of these dungeons. You are their sole occupant.”
“That is false,” retorted the esquire. “There is another captive, — a miserable female, — whom I myself have seen.”
“Has she been here?” cried Nightgall, with a look of disquietude.
“Not many minutes since,” replied the other, fixing a scrutinizing glance upon him. “She came in search of her child. What have you done with it, villain?”
Cholmondeley had no particular object in making the inquiry. But he was astonished at the effect produced by it on the jailer, who started and endeavoured to hide his confusion by pulling his cap over his brows.
“She is a maniac,” he said, at length, in a hoarse voice.
“If it be so,” rejoined the esquire, severely; “she has been driven out of her senses by your barbarous usage. I more than suspect you have murdered her child.”
“Entertain what suspicions you please,” replied Nightgall, evidently relieved by the surmise, “l am not accountable for the ravings of a distracted woman.”
“Who is she?” demanded the esquire.
“The names of those confined within these cells are never divulged,” returned the jailer. “She has been a prisoner of state for nineteen years.”
“And during that term her child was born — ha?” pursued Cholmondeley.
“I will answer no further questions,” replied Nightgall, doggedly. “One word before I depart. I am hot your only enemy. You have others more powerful, and equally implacable. You have incurred the displeasure of the Privy Council, and I have a warrant, under the hands of its chief members, for your execution. I am now about to summon the headsman for the task.”
“Then your offer to liberate me was mere mockery,” observed the esquire.
“Not so,” replied the other; “and I again repeat it. Swear to abandon Cicely, and to maintain profound silence as to what you have just seen, and I will convey you by a secret passage underneath the Tower moat to a place of security, where you will be beyond the reach of your enemies, and will take the risk of your escape upon myself. Do you agree to this?”
“No,” replied Cholmondeley, firmly. “I distrust your statement, and defy your malice.”
“Obstinate fool!” growled the jailer. “Prepare to meet your fate in an hour.”
“Whenever it comes it will find me prepared,” rejoined the esquire.
Nightgall glared at him fiercely for a moment from beneath his shaggy brows. He then strode sullenly away. But his departure was prevented by Cicely, who suddenly appeared at the mouth of the dungeon.
“You here!” he exclaimed recoiling, and trembling as if an apparition had crossed his path. “How have you obtained admittance?”
“It matters not,” she answered. “I am come to purchase your prisoner’s freedom.”
“You know the terms?” rejoined the jailer, eagerly.
“I do,” she replied; “and will comply with them when you have fulfilled your share of the compact.”
“Cicely!” cried Cholmondeley, who had been to the full as much astonished at her unexpected appearance as the jailer. “Cicely!” he cried, starting to his feet, and extending his hands towards her. “Do not consent to his proposal. Do not sacrifice yourself for me. I would die a thousand deaths rather than you should be his.”
“Heed him not,” interposed Nightgall, grasping her arm, and preventing her from approaching her lover; “but attend to me. You see this warrant,” he added, producing a parchment. “It is from the Council, and directs that the prisoner’s execution shall take place in such manner as may best consist with despatch and secrecy. If I deliver it to Mauger, the headsman, it will be promptly obeyed. And I shall deliver it, unless you promise compliance.”
“The villain deceives you, dear Cicely,” cried Cholmondeley, in a voice of anguish. “The Council have not the power of life and death. They cannot — dare not — order my execution without form or trial.”
“The Council will answer for their actions themselves,” rejoined Nightgall, carelessly. “Their warrant will bear me and my comrades harmless. Mauger will not hesitate to act upon it. What is your determination, Cicely?”
“Free him,” she replied.
“Recall your words, sweet Cicely,” cried Cholmondeley, throwing himself at her feet, “if you have any love for me. You doom me to worse than death by this submission.”
“Cholmondeley,” she replied, in a mournful voice,” my resolution is taken, and even you cannot induce me to change it. The opening of our love has been blighted. My heart has been crushed, almost before it knew for whom it beat. It matters not now what becomes of me. If my life could preserve yours, or restore you to freedom, I would freely yield it. But as nothing will suffice except my hand, I give that. Think of me no more, — or think
of me only as another’s.”
“That thought were madness!” groaned Cholmondeley. “Master Lawrence Nightgall,” continued Cicely, “you say you can conduct the prisoner beyond the walls, of the Tower Bring me back some token that you have done so, and I am yours.”
“Willingly,” replied the jailer.
“Retire then for a moment, while I arrange with him what the token shall be.”
Nightgall hesitated.
“Refuse, and I retract my promise,” she added.
And the jailer, with a suspicious look, reluctantly left the cell. “Cicely, my beloved,” cried Cholmondeley, clasping her in his arms, “why — why have you done this?”
“To preserve you,” she replied, hurriedly. “Once out of this dungeon, I can bring assistance to liberate you.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated Nightgall, who having placed his ear to the wall, lost not a syllable of their discourse.
“It will be unavailing,” replied Cholmondeley. “No one will venture to oppose an order of the Council. You must make known my case to Lord Guilford Dudley. Take this ring. Explain all to him, and I may yet be saved, Do you hear me, Cicely?”
“I do,” she replied.
“And I,” added Nightgall.
“In case you fail,” continued the esquire, “the token of my escape shalt be—” — And placing his lips close to her ear, he spoke a few words in so low a tone, that they escaped the jailer. “Till you receive that token treat Nightgall as before.”
“Doubt it not,” she answered.
“I am content,” said the esquire.
“I see through the design,” muttered the jailer, “and will defeat it. Have you done?” he added, aloud.
“A moment,” replied Cholmondeley, again pressing the damsel to his bosom, “I would sooner part with my life’s-blood than resign you.”
“I must go,” she cried, disengaging herself from his embrace.
“Now, Master Nightgall, I am ready to attend you.”
“In an hour I shall return and release you,” said the jailer, addressing the prisoner. “Your hand, Cicely.”
“I will go alone,” she replied, shrinking from him with a look of abhorrence.
“As you please,” he rejoined, with affected carelessness. “You are mine.”
“Not till I have received the token. Farewell!” she murmured, turning her tearful gaze upon Cholmondeley.
“For ever!” exclaimed the youth.
And as they quitted the cell, he threw himself despairingly ort the ground.
Issuing from the outer door of the dungeon, Cicely and her companion took their way towards the Stone Kitchen. They had not proceeded far, when they perceived several persons approaching them, who, as they drew nearer, proved to be Dame Potentia, Xit, and the giants.
“What have you been doing, Cicely?” inquired her adoptive mother angrily. “I have been searching for you everywhere!”
“You shall know anon,” replied the maiden. “But come with me to the palace. I must see Lord Guilford Dudley, or the Duke of Northumberland, without a moment’s delay.”
“Warders,” interposed Nightgall, authoritatively: “go to Master Mauger’s lodging in the Bloody Tower. Bid him hasten with two assistants, and the sworn tormentor, to the dungeon beneath the Devilin Tower. He will know which I mean. Justice is about to be done upon a prisoner.”
“Oh no — no — do not go,” cried Cicely, arresting the giants. “He does not mean it. He is jesting.”
“Go home, then, and do not stir forth till I bring you the token,” rejoined Nightgall, in a deep whisper.
“In Heaven’s name, what is the meaning of all this?” cried Dame Potentia, in amazement.
“I will inform you,” replied the jailer, drawing her aside. “Your daughter was about to elope with the young esquire. I detected them trying to escape by the secret passage beneath the moat, of which you know I have the key. Lock her within her chamber. Pay no attention to her tears, entreaties, or assertions. And, above all, take care no one has any communication with her.”
“Trust me to guard her,” rejoined Dame Potentia. “I know what these court-gallants are. They will venture anything, and contrive anything, when a pretty girl is concerned. But what has happened to the esquire?”
“He is safe for the present,” answered Nightgall, significantly.
Cicely, meantime, had availed herself of their conversation, to whisper a few words to Xit.
“Take this ring,” she said, placing the ornament given her by her lover, in the hands of the dwarf, “and fly to the palace. Show it to Lord Guilford Dudley, and say that the wearer is imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Devilin Tower. Assistance must be speedily rendered, as he is ordered for immediate and secret execution. Do you understand?”
“Most precisely, lovely damsel,” replied Xit, kissing her hand, as he took the ring; “and I guess the name and condition of the prisoner, as well as the nature of the interest you take in him.”
“Fly!” interrupted Cicely. “Not a moment is to be lost. You shall be well rewarded for your trouble.”
“I desire no higher reward than your thanks, adorable maiden,” replied Xit. “Your behests shall be punctually obeyed.” So saying, he disappeared.
“Come, young mistress,” cried Dame Potentia, seizing her adoptive daughter’s arm, “you must to your chamber. You have led me and your father, and these worthy warders, a pretty dance. But you shall lead us all where you list, if I let you out of my sight in future.”
And thanking the giants, who had looked on in speechless astonishment, she dragged Cicely along with her.
“Remember!” whispered Nightgall, as he walked a few paces by the side of the latter.
“I shall expect the token in an hour,” she answered in the same tone.
“You shall have it,” he rejoined.
With this, he halted, and retraced his steps. The others then separated. Cicely was conveyed to the Stone Kitchen; and the giants, after looking in vain for Xit, and calling to him repeatedly but without effect, returned to the By-ward. Tower. Just as they reached it, a shot was fired from the battlements, and was immediately answered from those of the Middle Tower. Other reports followed. And, alarmed by the sounds, the huge brethren hastily unlocked the door of their lodging, and entering it, to their infinite dismay, found the prisoner gone.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW GILBERT ESCAPED FROM THE BY-WARD TOWER, AND SWAM ACROSS THE MOAT; HOW OG HUNG XIT UPON A HOOK; AND HOW LAWRENCE NIGHTGALL BROUGHT THE TOKEN TO CICELY.
GILBERT having freed himself from his bonds, and clambered into the chimney in the By-ward Tower in the manner previously related, ascended without any inconvenience, except what was occasioned by the pungent smoke arising from the blazing fagots beneath, until he reached the level of the upper story, where another fire-place, connected with the passage up which he was mounting, so narrowed its limits, that it seemed scarcely possible to proceed further. The sound of voices in the chamber on this floor also alarmed him, and for some minutes he suspended his labour to listen. But as nothing occurred to disturb him, and it was evident, from the conversation of the speakers, that he had not been noticed, he presently resumed his task, and redoubling his efforts, soon vanquished all obstacles, and gained the opening of the chimney.
Here a fresh difficulty awaited him; and one for which he was wholly unprepared. The smoke found a vent through a small circular opening or louver, as it was termed, — for there was no chimney-top to disperse it to the air, — in the battlements. Through this opening he must necessarily creep; and, provided he could accomplish the feat, he had to elude the vigilance of the sentinels stationed on the roof of the turret. Luckily, the night was profoundly dark; and the gloom, increased by a thick mist from the river, was so intense, that an object could scarcely be discerned at a foot’s distance. Thus favoured, Gilbert resolved to hazard the attempt.
Watching his opportunity, he drew himself cautiously through the louver, and without bein
g noticed by the sentinel, who was standing beside it, crouched beneath the carriage of a culverin. In this state, he remained for a short time, meditating what course he should next pursue, and nerving himself for some desperate attempt, when a door at the side of the southern turret suddenly opened, and three men-at-arms, the foremost of whom carried a torch, came to relieve guard.
Aware that he should now infallibly be discovered, Gilbert started to his feet, and drawing a dagger which he had picked up in the giants’ chamber, stood upon his defence. The movement betrayed him. Though confounded by his appearance, the sentinel nearest him presented his partizan at his breast and commanded him to surrender. Gilbert answered by striking up the man’s arm, and instantly sprang over the battlements.
A loud splash told that he had fallen into the moat. The men held the torch over the side of the turret. But it was too dark to distinguish any object below. Presently, however, a noise was heard in the water that convinced them the fugitive was swimming for the opposite bank. One of the soldiers instantly discharged his caliver in the direction of the sound, — but without effect.
This served as an alarm to the guards posted on the western ramparts, as well as to those on the Middle Tower, both of which commanded this part of the moat, and other shots were immediately fired. A signal was then rapidly passed from tower to tower, and from portal to portal, until it reached the Bulwark-gate, which formed the only entrance to the fortress on the west, and a body of armed men carrying lights instantly sallied forth and hurried towards the side of the moat.
Gilbert, meanwhile, swam for his life. Guided by the torches, which served to discover his enemies rather than to betray him, he effected a secure landing. But before he had climbed the steep bank, he was observed by a soldier, who, making towards him, shouted to his comrades for assistance. In the struggle that ensued, the torch borne by the soldier was extinguished, and, bursting from him, Gilbert darted at a swift pace up Tower-hill. His pursuers were close upon him. But, well acquainted with the spot, he contrived to baffle them, by flinging himself beneath the permanent scaffold, then standing upon the brow of the eminence, and thus eluded observation. As soon as his foes had passed, he struck off swiftly to the left, and leaping a low wall, skirted All-hallows Church, and speedily gained Tower-street.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 123