The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  But the young man could not reply. Another and another agonising spasm shook his frame, and cold damps broke out upon his pallid brow, showing the intensity of his suffering. Nicholas and Sherborne regarded each other anxiously, as if doubtful how to act.

  “Shall I summon assistance?” said the latter in a low tone. But, softly as the words were uttered, they reached the ears of Richard. Rousing himself by a great effort, he said —

  “On no account — the fit is over. I am glad it has seized me now, for I shall not be liable to a recurrence of it throughout the day. Lead me to the window. The air will presently revive me.”

  His friends complied with the request, and placed him at the open casement.

  Great bustle was observable below, and the cause was soon manifest, as the chief huntsman, clad in green, with buff boots drawn high up on the thigh, a horn about his neck, and mounted on a strong black curtal, rode forth from the stables. He was attended by a noble bloodhound, and on gaining the middle of the court, put his bugle to his lips, and blew a loud blithe call that made the walls ring again. The summons was immediately answered by a number of grooms and pages, leading a multitude of richly-caparisoned horses towards the upper end of the court, where a gallant troop of dames, nobles, and gentlemen, all attired for the chase, awaited them; and where, amidst much mirth, and bandying of lively jest and compliment, a general mounting took place, the ladies, of course, being placed first on their steeds. While this was going forward, the hounds were brought from the kennel in couples — relays having been sent down into the park more than an hour before — and the yard resounded with their joyous baying, and the neighing of the impatient steeds. By this time, also, the chief huntsman had collected his forces, consisting of a dozen prickers, six habited like himself in green, and six in russet, and all mounted on stout curtals. Those in green were intended to hunt the hart, and those in russet the wild-boar, the former being provided with hunting-poles, and the latter with spears. Their girdles were well lined with beef and pudding, and each of them, acting upon the advice of worthy Master George Turbervile, had a stone bottle of good wine at the pummel of his saddle. Besides these, there were a whole host of varlets of the chase on foot. The chief falconer, with a long-winged hawk in her hood and jesses upon his wrist, was stationed somewhat near the gateway, and close to him were his attendants, each having on his fist a falcon gentle, a Barbary falcon, a merlin, a goshawk, or a sparrowhawk. Thus all was in readiness, and hound, hawk, and man seemed equally impatient for the sport.

  At this juncture, the door was thrown open by Faryngton, who announced Sir John Finett.

  “It is time, Master Nicholas Assheton,” said the master of the ceremonies.

  “I am ready to attend you, Sir John,” replied Nicholas, taking a parchment from his doublet, and unfolding it, “the petition is well signed.”

  “So I see, sir,” replied the knight, glancing at it. “Will not your friends come with you?”

  “Most assuredly,” replied Richard, who had risen on the knight’s appearance. And he followed the others down the staircase.

  By direction of the master of the ceremonies, nearly a hundred of the more important gentlemen of the county had been got together, and this train was subsequently swelled to thrice the amount, from the accessions it received from persons of inferior rank when its object became known. At the head of this large assemblage Nicholas was now placed, and, accompanied by Sir John Finett, who gave the word to the procession to follow them, he moved slowly up the court. Passing through the brilliant crowd of equestrians, the procession halted at a short distance from the doorway of the great hall, and James, who had been waiting for its approach within, now came forth, amid the cheers and plaudits of the spectators.

  Sir John Finett then led Nicholas forward, and the latter, dropping on one knee, said —

  “May it please your Majesty, I hold in my hand a petition, signed as, if you will deign to cast your eyes over it, you will perceive, by many hundreds of the lower orders of your loving subjects in this your county of Lancaster, representing that they are debarred from lawful recreations upon Sunday after afternoon service, and upon holidays, and praying that the restrictions imposed in 1579, by the Earls of Derby and Huntingdon, and by William, Bishop of Chester, commissioners to her late Highness, Elizabeth, of glorious memory, your Majesty’s predecessor, may be withdrawn.”

  And with this he placed in the King’s hands the petition, which Was very graciously received.

  “The complaint of our loving subjects in Lancashire shall not pass unnoticed, sir,” said James. “Sorry are we to say it, but this county of ours is sair infested wi’ folk inclining to Puritanism and Papistry, baith of which sects are adverse to the cause of true religion. Honest mirth is not only tolerable but praiseworthy, and the prohibition of it is likely to breed discontent, and this our enemies ken fu’ weel; for when,” he continued, loudly and emphatically— “when shall the common people have leave to exercise if not upon Sundays and holidays, seeing they must labour and win their living on all other days?”

  “Your Majesty speaks like King Solomon himself,” observed Nicholas, amid the loud cheering.

  “Our will and pleasure then is,” pursued James, “that our good people be not deprived of any lawful recreation that shall not tend to a breach of the laws, or a violation of the Kirk; but that, after the end of divine service, they shall not be disturbed, letted, or discouraged from, any lawful recreation — as dancing and sic like, either of men or women, archery, leaping, vaulting, or ony ither harmless recreation; nor frae the having of May-games, Whitsun ales, or morris dancing; nor frae setting up of May-poles, and ither sports, therewith used, provided the same be had in due and convenient time, without impediment or neglect of divine service. And our will further is, that women shall have leave to carry rushes to the church, for the decoring of it, according to auld custom. But we prohibit all unlawful games on Sundays, as bear-baiting and bull-baiting, interludes, and, by the common folk — mark ye that, sir — playing at bowls.”

  The royal declaration was received with loud and reiterated cheers, amidst which James mounted his steed, a large black docile-looking charger, and rode out of the court, followed by the whole cavalcade.

  Trumpets were sounded from the battlements as he passed through the gateway, and shouting crowds attended him all the way down the hill, until he entered the avenue leading to the park.

  At the conclusion of the royal address, the procession headed by Nicholas immediately dispersed, and such as meant to join the chase set off in quest of steeds. Foremost amongst these was the squire himself, and on approaching the stables, he was glad to find Richard and Sherborne already mounted, the former holding his horse by the bridle, so that he had nothing to do but vault upon his back. There was an impatience about Richard, very different from his ordinary manner, that surprised and startled him, and the expression of the young man’s countenance long afterwards haunted him. The face was deathly pale, except that on either cheek burned a red feverish spot, and the eyes blazed with unnatural light. So much was the squire struck by his cousin’s looks, that he would have dissuaded him from going forth; but he saw from his manner that the attempt would fail, while a significant gesture from his brother-in-law told him he was equally uneasy.

  Scarcely had the principal nobles passed through the gateway, than, in spite of all efforts to detain him, Richard struck spurs into his horse, and dashed amidst the cavalcade, creating great disorder, and rousing the ire of the Earl of Pembroke, to whom the marshalling of the train was entrusted. But Richard paid little heed to his wrath, and perhaps did not hear the angry expressions addressed to him; for no sooner was he outside the gate, than instead of pursuing the road down which the King was proceeding, and which has been described as hewn out of the rock, he struck into a thicket on the right, and, in defiance of all attempts to stop him, and at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, rode down the precipitous sides of the hill, and reaching the bottom i
n safety, long before the royal cavalcade had attained the same point, took the direction of the park.

  His friends watched him commence this perilous descent in dismay; but, though much alarmed, they were unable to follow him.

  “Poor lad! I am fearful he has lost his senses,” said Sherborne.

  “He is what the King would call ‘fey,’ and not long for this world,” replied Nicholas, shaking his head.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII — HOW KING JAMES HUNTED THE HART AND THE WILD-BOAR IN HOGHTON PARK.

  Galloping on fast and furiously, Richard tracked a narrow path of greensward, lying between the tall trees composing the right line of the avenue and the adjoining wood. Within it grew many fine old thorns, diverting him now and then from his course, but he still held on until he came within a short distance of the chase, when his attention was caught by a very singular figure. It was an old man, clad in a robe of coarse brown serge, with a cowl drawn partly over his head, a rope girdle like that used by a cordelier, sandal shoon, and a venerable white beard descending to his waist. The features of the hermit, for such he seemed, were majestic and benevolent. Seated on a bank overgrown with wild thyme, beneath the shade of a broad-armed elm, he appeared so intently engaged in the perusal of a large open volume laid on his knee, that he did not notice Richard’s approach. Deeply interested, however, by his appearance, the young man determined to address him, and, reining in his horse, said respectfully, “Save you, father!”

  “Pass on, my son,” replied the old man, without raising his eyes, “and hinder not my studies.”

  But Richard would not be thus dismissed.

  “Perchance you are not aware, father,” he said, “that the King is about to hunt within the park this morning. The royal cavalcade has already left Hoghton Tower, and will be here ere many minutes.”

  “The king and his retinue will pass along the broad avenue, as you should have done, and not through this retired road,” replied the hermit. “They will not disturb me.”

  “I would fain know the subject of your studies, father?” inquired Richard.

  “You are inquisitive, young man,” returned the hermit, looking up and fixing a pair of keen grey eyes upon him. “But I will satisfy your curiosity, if by so doing I shall rid me of your presence. I am reading the Book of Fate.”

  Richard uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

  “And in it your destiny is written,” pursued the old man; “and a sad one it is. Consumed by a strange and incurable disease, which may at any moment prove fatal, you are scarcely likely to survive the next three days, in which case she you love better than existence will perish miserably, being adjudged to have destroyed you by witchcraft.”

  “It must indeed be the Book of Fate that tells you this,” cried Richard, springing from his horse, and approaching close to the old man. “May I cast eyes upon it?”

  “No, my son,” replied the old man, closing the volume. “You would not comprehend the mystic characters — but no eye, except my own, must look upon them. What is written will be fulfilled. Again, I bid you pass on. I must speedily return to my hermit cell in the forest.”

  “May I attend you thither, father?” asked Richard.

  “To what purpose?” rejoined the old man. “You have not many hours of life. Go, then, and pass them in the fierce excitement of the chase. Pull down the lordly stag — slaughter the savage boar; and, as you see the poor denizens of the forest perish, think that your own end is not far off. Hark! Do you hear that boding cry?”

  “It is the croak of a raven newly alighted in the tree above us,” replied Richard. “The sagacious bird will ever attend the huntsman in the chase, in the hope of obtaining a morsel when they break up deer.”

  “Such is the custom of the bird I wot well,” said the old man; “but it is not in joyous expectation of the raven’s-bone that he croaks now, but because his fell instinct informs him that the living-dead is beneath him.”

  And, as if in answer to the remark, the raven croaked exultingly; and, rising from the tree, wheeled in a circle above them.

  “Is there no way of averting my terrible destiny, father?” cried Richard, despairingly.

  “Ay, if you choose to adopt it,” replied the old man. “When I said your ailment was incurable, I meant by ordinary remedies, but it will yield to such as I alone can employ. The malignant and fatal influence under which you labour may be removed, and then your instant restoration to health and vigour will follow.”

  “But how, father — how?” cried Richard, eagerly.

  “You have simply to sign your name in this book,” rejoined the hermit, “and what you desire shall be done. Here is a pen,” he added, taking one from his girdle.

  “But the ink?” cried Richard.

  “Prick your arm with your dagger, and dip the pen in the blood,” replied the old man. “That will suffice.”

  “And what follows if I sign?” demanded Richard, staring at him.

  “Your instant cure. I will give you to drink of a wondrous elixir.”

  “But to what do I bind myself?” asked Richard.

  “To serve me,” replied the hermit, smiling; “but it is a light service, and only involves your appearance in this wood once a-year. Are you agreed?”

  “I know not,” replied the young man distractedly.

  “You must make up your mind speedily,” said the hermit; “for I hear the approach of the royal cavalcade.”

  And as he spoke, the mellow notes of a bugle, followed by the baying of hounds, the jingling of bridles, and the trampling of a large troop of horse, were heard at a short distance down the avenue.

  “Tell me who you are?” cried Richard.

  “I am the hermit of the wood,” replied the old man. “Some people call me Hobthurst, and some by other names, but you will have no difficulty in finding me out. Look yonder!” he added, pointing through the trees.

  And, glancing in the direction indicated, Richard beheld a small party on horseback advancing across the plain, consisting of his father, his sister, and Alizon, with their attendants.

  “’Tis she!— ’tis she!” he cried.

  “Can you hesitate, when it is to save her?” demanded the old man.

  “Heaven help me, or I am lost!” fervently ejaculated Richard, gazing on high while making the appeal.

  When he looked down again the old man was gone, and he saw only a large black snake gliding off among the bushes. Muttering a few words of thankfulness for his deliverance, he sprang upon his horse.

  “It may be the arch-tempter is right,” he cried, “and that but few hours of life remain to me; but if so, they shall be employed in endeavours to vindicate Alizon, and defeat the snares by which she is beset.”

  With this resolve, he struck spurs into his horse, and set off in the direction of the little troop. Before, however, he could come up to them, their progress was arrested by a pursuivant, who, riding in advance of the royal cavalcade, motioned them to stay till it had passed, and the same person also perceiving Richard’s purpose, called to him, authoritatively, to keep back. The young man might have disregarded the injunction, but at the same moment the King himself appeared at the head of the avenue, and remarking Richard, who was not more than fifty yards off on the right, instantly recognised him, and shouted out, “Come hither, young man — come hither!”

  Thus, baffled in his design, Richard was forced to comply, and, uncovering his head, rode slowly towards the monarch. As he approached, James fixed on him a glance of sharpest scrutiny.

  “Odds life! ye hae been ganging a fine gait, young sir,” he cried. “Ye maun be demented to ride down a hill i’ that fashion, and as if your craig war of nae account. It’s weel ye hae come aff scaithless. Are ye tired o’ life — or was it the muckle deil himsel’ that drove ye on? Canna ye find an excuse, man? Nay, then, I’ll gi’e ye ane. The loadstane will draw nails out of a door, and there be lassies wi’ een strang as loadstanes, that drag men to their perdition. Stands the mag
net yonder, eh?” he added, glancing towards the little group before them. “Gude faith! the lass maun be a potent witch to exercise sic influence, and we wad fain see the effect she has on you when near. Sir Richard Hoghton,” he called out to the knight, who rode a few paces behind him, “we pray you present Sir Richard Assheton and his daughter to us.”

  Had he dared so to do, Richard would have thrown himself at the King’s feet, but all he could venture upon was to say in a low earnest tone, “Do not prejudge Alizon, sire. On my soul she is innocent!”

  “The King prejudges nae man,” replied James, in a tone of rebuke; “and like the wise prince of Israel, whom it is his wish to resemble, he sees with his ain een, and hears with his ain ears, afore he forms conclusions.”

  “That is all I can desire, sire,” replied Richard. “Far be it from me to doubt your majesty’s discrimination or love of justice.”

  “Ye shall hae proofs of baith, man, afore we hae done,” said James. “Ah! here comes our host, an the twa lassies wi’ him. She wi’ the lintwhite locks is your sister, we guess, and the ither is Alizon — and, by our troth, a weel-faur’d lass. But Satan is aye delusive. We maun resist his snares.”

  The party now came on, and were formally presented to the monarch by Sir Richard Hoghton. Sir Richard Assheton, a middle-aged gentleman, with handsome features, though somewhat haughty in expression, and stately deportment, was very graciously received, and James thought fit to pay a few compliments to Dorothy, covertly regarding Alizon the while, yet not neglecting Richard, being ready to intercept any signal that should pass between them. None, however, was attempted, for the young man felt he should only alarm and embarrass Alizon by any attempt to caution her, and he therefore endeavoured to assume an unconcerned aspect and demeanour.