The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Peace!” thundered the jailer.

  “You will get an extra turn of the rack for your folly, you crack-brained jackanapes,” laughed Wolfytt.

  Luckily the remark did not reach Xit’s ears. He was too much frightened by Nightgall’s savage look to attend to anything else.

  They had now reached a third door, which Nightgall unlocked and fastened as soon as the others had passed through it. The passage they entered was even darker and damper than the one they had quitted. It contained a number of cells some of which, as was evident from the groans that issued from them, were tenanted.

  “Is Alexia here?” inquired Xit, whose blood froze in his veins as he listened to the dreadful sounds.

  “Alexia!” vociferated Nightgall in a terrible voice. “What do you know of her?”

  “Oh, nothing, nothing,” replied Xit. “But I have heard Cuthbert Cholmondeley speak of her.”

  “She is dead,” replied Nightgall in a sombre voice; “and I will bury you in the same grave with her, if her name ever passes your lips again.”

  “It shall not, worthy sir,” returned Xit, “it shall not. Curse on my unlucky tongue, which is forever betraying me into danger!”

  They had now arrived at an arched doorway in the wall, which being opened by Nightgall discovered a flight of steps leading to some chamber beneath. Nightgall descended, but Xit refused to follow him.

  “I know where you are taking me,” he cried. “This is the way to the torture-chamber.”

  Wolfytt burst into a loud laugh, and pushed him forward.

  “I won’t go,” screamed Xit, struggling with all his force against the tormentor. “You have no authority to treat me thus. Help! kind Og! good Gog! dear Magog! — help! or I shall be lamed for life. I shall never more be able to amuse you with my gambols, or the tricks that so much divert you. Help! help! I say.”

  “Your cries are in vain,” cried Wolfytt, kicking him down the steps: “no one can save you now.”

  Precipitated violently downwards, Xit came in contact with Nightgall, whom he upset, and they both rolled into the chamber beneath, where the latter arose, and would have resented the affront upon his comrade, or, at all events, upon the dwarf, if he had not been in the presence of one of whom he stood in the greatest awe. This was Simon Renard, who was writing at a table. Disturbed by the noise, the Ambassador glanced round, and on perceiving the cause immediately resumed his occupation. Near him stood the thin erect figure of Sorrocold, his attenuated limbs appearing yet more meagre from the tight-fitting black hose in which they were enveloped. The chirurgeon wore a short cloak of sad-colored cloth, and a doublet of the same material. His head was covered by a flat black cap, and a pointed beard terminated his hatchetshaped, cadaverous face. His hands rested on a long staff and his dull heavy eyes were fixed upon the ground.

  At a short distance from Sorrocold stood Mauger, bareheaded and stripped to his leathern doublet, his arms folded upon his bosom, and his gaze bent upon Renard, whose commands he awaited. Nightgall’s accident called a smile to his grim countenance, but it instantly faded away, and gave place to his habitual sinister expression.

  Such were the formidable personages in whose presence Xit found himself. Nor was the chamber less calculated to strike terror into his breast than its inmates. It was not the torture-room visited by Cholmondeley, when he explored the subterranean passages of the fortress, but another and larger chamber contiguous to the former, yet separated from it by a wall of such thickness that no sound could penetrate through it. It was square shaped, with a deep round-arched recess on the right of the entrance, at the farther end of which was a small cell surmounted with a pointed arch. On the side where Renard sat, the wall was decorated with thumbscrews, gauntlets, bracelets, collars, pincers, saws, chains, and other nameless implements of torture. To the ceiling was affixed a stout pulley with a rope, terminated by an iron hook, and two leathern shoulder-straps. Opposite the doorway stood a brazier filled with blazing coals, in which a huge pair of pincers were thrust; and beyond it was the wooden frame of the rack, already described, with its ropes and levers in readiness. Reared against the side of the deep dark recess, previously mentioned, was a ponderous wheel, as broad in the felly as that of a wagon, and twice the circumference. This antiquated instrument of torture was placed there to strike terror into the breasts of those who beheld it, but it was rarely used. Next to it was a heavy bar of iron employed to break the limbs of the sufferers tied to its spokes.

  Perceiving in whose presence he stood, and what preparations were made for him, Xit gave himself up for lost, and would have screamed aloud, had not his utterance failed him. His knees smote one another; his hair, if possible, grew more erect than ever; a thick damp burst upon his brow; and his tongue, ordinarily so restless, clove to the roof of his mouth.

  “Bring forward the prisoner,” cried Renard, with a stern voice, but without turning his head.

  Upon this, Nightgall seized Xit by the hand, and dragged him towards the table. A quarter of an hour elapsed, during which Renard continued writing as if no one were present; and Xit, who at first was half dead with fright, began to recover his spirits.

  “Your Excellency sent for me,” he ventured at length.

  “Ha!” ejaculated Renard, pausing and looking at him; “I had forgotten thee.”

  “A proof that my case is not very dangerous,” thought Xit. “I must let this proud Spaniard see I am not so unimportant as he seems to imagine. Your Excellency, I presume, desires to interrogate me on some point,” he continued aloud. “I pray you proceed without further delay.”

  “Is it your Excellency’s pleasure that we place him on the rack?” interposed Nightgall.

  “Or shall we begin with the thumbscrews,” observed Mauger, pointing to a pair upon the table; “I dare say they will extort all he knows. It would be a pity to stretch him out.”

  “I would not be an inch taller for the world,” rejoined Xit, raising himself on his tiptoes.

  “I have a suit of irons that will exactly fit him,” observed Wolfytt, going to the wall and taking down an engine that looked like an exaggerated pair of sugar-tongs. “These were made as a model, and have never been used before, except on a monkey belonging to Hairun the bearward. We will wed you to the ‘Scavenger’s Daughter,’ my little man.”

  Xit knew too well the meaning of the term to take any part in the merriment that followed this sally.

  “The embraces of the spouse you offer me are generally fatal,” he observed. “I would rather decline the union, if his Excellency will permit me.”

  “What is your pleasure?” asked Nightgall, appealing to Renard.

  “Place him in the irons,” returned the latter. “If these fail, we can have recourse to sharper means.”

  Xit would have flung himself at the Ambassador’s feet, to ask for mercy, but he was prevented by Wolfytt, who, slipping a gag into his mouth, carried him into the dark recess, and by the help of Mauger, forced him into the engine. Diminished to half his size, and bent into the form of a hoop, the dwarf was then set on the ground and the gag taken out of his mouth.

  “How do you like your bride?” demanded Wolfytt, with a brutal laugh.

  “So little,” answered Xit, “that I care not how soon I am divorced from her. After all,” he added, “uncomfortable as I am, I would not change places with Magog.” This remark was received with half-suppressed laughter by the group around him, and Wolfytt was so softened that he whispered in his ear, that if he was obliged to put him on the rack, he would use him as tenderly as he could. “Let me advise you as a friend,” added the tormentor, “to conceal nothing.”

  “Rely upon it,” replied Xit in the same tone. “I’ll tell all I know — and more.”

  “That’s the safest plan,” rejoined Wolfytt dryly.

  By this time, Renard having finished his despatch and delivered it to Nightgall, he ordered Xit to be brought before him. Lifting him by the nape of his neck, as he would have carried a lapdog, W
olfytt placed him on the edge of the rack opposite the Ambassador’s seat. He then walked back to Mauger, who was leaning against the wall near the door, and laid his hand on his shoulder, while Nightgall seated himself on the steps. All three looked on with curiosity, anticipating much diversion. Sorrocold, who had never altered his posture, only testified his consciousness of what was going forward by raising his lack-lustre eyes from the ground, and fixing them on the dwarf.

  Wheeling round on the stool, and throwing one leg indolently over the other, Renard regarded the mannikin with apparent sternness, but secret entertainment. The expression of Xit’s countenance as he underwent this scrutiny was so ludicrous, that it brought a smile to every face except that of the chirurgeon.

  After gazing at the dwarf for a few minutes in silence, Renard thus commenced: “You conveyed messages to the Earl of Devonshire when he was confined in the Bell Tower?”

  “Several,” replied Xit.

  “And from whom?” demanded Renard.

  “Your Excellency desires me to speak the truth, I conclude?” rejoined Xit.

  “If you attempt to prevaricate I will have you questioned by that engine,” returned Renard, pointing to the rack. “I again ask you by whom you were employed to convey these messages?”

  “Your Excellency and your attendants will keep the secret if I tell you?” replied Xit. “I was sworn not to reveal my employer’s name.”

  “No further trifling, knave,” cried Renard, “or I shall deliver you to the tormentors. Who was it?”

  “The Queen,” replied Xit.

  “Impossible!” exclaimed Renard in surprise.

  “Nothing is impossible to a woman in love,” replied Xit; “and her Highness, though a queen, is still a woman.”

  “Beware how you trifle with me, sirrah,” rejoined Renard. “It was M. de Noailles who employed you.”

  “He employed me on the part of her Majesty, I assure your Excellency,” returned Xit.

  “He deceived you if he told you so,” replied Renard. “But now, repeat to me the sum of your conversations with the Earl.”

  “Our conversations all related to his escape,” replied Xit.

  “Hum!” exclaimed Renard. “Now mark me, and answer me truly as you value a whole skin. Was nothing said of the Princess Elizabeth, and of a plot to place her on the throne, and wed her to Courtenay?”

  “Nothing that I remember,” answered Xit.

  “Think again!” cried Renard.

  “I do recollect that upon one occasion his lordship alluded to the Princess,” answered Xit, after a moment’s pretended reflection.

  “Well, what did he say?” demanded Renard.

  “That he was sorry he had ever made love to her,” replied Xit.

  “And well he might be,” observed Renard. “But was that all?”

  “Every syllable,” replied Xit.

  “I must assist your memory, then,” said Renard. “What ho! tormentors?”

  “Hold!” cried the dwarf; “I will hide nothing from you.”

  “Proceed, then,” rejoined Renard, “or I give the order.”

  “Well, then,” returned Xit, “since I must needs confess the whole truth, the reason why the Earl of Devonshire was sorry he had made love to the Princess was this. Her Majesty sent him a letter through me, promising to forgive him, and restore him to her affections.”

  “You have been either strangely imposed upon, or you are seeking to impose upon me, knave,” cried Renard. “But I suspect the latter.”

  “I carried the billet myself, and saw it opened,” returned Xit, “and the Earl was so transported with its contents, that he promised to knight me on the day of his espousals.”

  “A safe promise, if he ever made it,” rejoined Renard; “but the whole story is a fabrication. If her Majesty desired to release the Earl, why did she not issue her orders to that effect to Sir Henry Bedingfeld?”

  “Because — but before I proceed, I must beg your Excellency to desire your attendants to withdraw. You will perceive my motives, and approve them, when I offer you my explanation.”

  Renard waved his hand, and the others withdrew, Wolfytt observing to Mauger, “I should like to hear what further lies the little varlet will invent. He hath a ready wit.”

  “Now, speak out — we are alone,” commanded Renard. “The reason why her Majesty did not choose to liberate the Earl of Devonshire was the fear of offending your Excellency,” replied Xit.

  “How?” exclaimed Renard, bending his brows.

  “In a moment of pique she had affianced herself to Prince Philip of Spain,” continued Xit. “But in her calmer moments she repented her precipitancy, and feeling a return of affection for the Earl, she employed M. de Noailles to make up the matter with him. But the whole affair was to be kept a profound secret from you.”

  “Can this be true?” cried Renard. “But no — no — it is absurd. You are abusing my patience.”

  « If your Excellency will condescend to make further inquiries you will find I have spoken the truth,” rejoined the dwarf. “But I pray you not to implicate me with the Queen. Her Majesty, like many of her sex, has changed her mind, that is all. And she may change it again for aught I know.”

  “It is a strange and improbable story,” muttered Renard; “yet I am puzzled what to think of it.”

  “It was no paltry hope of gain that induced me to act in the matter,” pursued Xit; “but, as I have before intimated, a promise of being knighted.”

  “If I find, on inquiry, you have spoken the truth,” rejoined Renard, “and you will serve me faithfully on any secret service on which I may employ you, I will answer for it you shall attain the dignity you aspire to.”

  “I will do whatever your Excellency desires,” returned Xit eagerly. “I shall be knighted by somebody, after all.”

  “But if you have deceived me,” continued Renard sternly, “every bone in your body shall be broken upon that wheel. Your examination is at an end.” With this, he clapped his hands together, and at the signal the attendants returned.

  “Am I to remain in these irons longer?” inquired Xit.

  “No,” replied Renard. “Release him, and take him hence. I shall interrogate him at the same hour tomorrow night.”

  “I pray your Excellency to desire these officials to treat me with the respect due to a person of my anticipated dignity,” cried Xit, as he was unceremoniously seized and thrown on his back by Wolfytt; “and above all, command them to furnish me with provisions. I have tasted nothing to-night.”

  Renard signified a wish that the latter request should be complied with, and the dwarf’s irons being by this time removed, he was led back, by the road he came, to his chamber in the Constable Tower, where some provisions and a flask of wine were placed before him, and he was left alone.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  HOW XIT ESCAPED FROM THE CONSTABLE TOWER; AND HOW HE FOUND CICELY.

  WHILE satisfying his appetite, Xit could not help reflecting upon the probable consequences of the ridiculous statement he had made to Renard, and the idea of the anger of the Ambassador when he discovered the deception practised upon him, occasioned him much internal trepidation. It did not, however, prevent him from doing full justice to the viands before him, nor from draining to the last drop the contents of the flask. Inspired by the potent liquid, he laughed at his former fears, sprang upon the bench, and committed a hundred other antics and extravagances. But as the fumes of the wine evaporated, his valor declined; until, like Acres’s, it fairly “oozed out at his fingers’ ends.”

  He then began to consider whether it might not be possible to escape. With this view he examined the embrasures, but they were grated and defied his efforts to pass through. He next tried the door, and to his great surprise found it unfastened; having, most probably, been left open intentionally by Wolfytt. As may be supposed, Xit did not hesitate to avail himself of the chance thus unexpectedly offered him. Issuing forth, he hurried up a small spiral stone staircase, which brought
him to the entrance of the upper chamber. The door was ajar, and peeping cautiously through it, he perceived Nightgall and Wolfytt, both asleep; the former reclining with his face on the table, which was covered with fragments of meat and bread, goblets and a large pot of wine; and the latter, extended at full length on the floor. It was evident, from their heavy breathing and disordered attire, they had been drinking deeply.

  Stepping cautiously into the chamber, which in size and form exactly corresponded with that below, Xit approached the sleepers. A bunch of keys hung at Nightgall’s girdle — the very bunch he had taken once before — and the temptation to possess himself of them was irresistible. Creeping up to the jailer, and drawing the poignard suspended at his right side from out its sheath, he began to sever his girdle. While he was thus occupied the keys slightly jingled, and Nightgall, half-awakened by the sound, put his hand to his belt. Finding all safe, as he imagined, he disposed himself to slumber again, while Xit, who had darted under the table at the first alarm, as soon as he thought it prudent, recommenced his task, and the keys were once more in his possession.

  As he divided the girdle a piece of paper fell from it, and glancing at it, he perceived it was an order from the Council to let the bearer pass at any hour whithersoever he would, through the fortress. Thrusting it into his jerkin, and carrying the keys as carefully as he could to prevent their clanking, he quitted the room, and mounted another short staircase, which brought him to the roof.

  It was just getting light as Xit gained the battlements, and he was immediately challenged by the sentinel. On producing the order, however, he was allowed to pass, and crossing the roof towards the south, he descended another short spiral staircase, and emerged from an open door on the ballium wall, along which he proceeded.

  On the way he encountered three more sentinels, all of whom allowed him to pass on sight of the order. Passing through an arched doorway he mounted a flight of steps, and reached the roof of the Broad-Arrow Tower.