Give you up! Give you up! Ha! The veil was lifted now, and I saw what the something with the cold breath going before it was. I looked quietly from her to her husband; and I asked — I fancy she thought my question strangely irrelevant at that moment, “How is he? Is he better?”
“Much better. He knew me for a moment,” she answered. “Then he seemed to sink away again. But his eyes were quite clear.”
I stood gazing down at his thin face, which had ever looked so kindly into mine. My fingers played idly with the knot of my sword. “He will live?” I asked abruptly, harshly.
She started at the sudden question. But, brutal as it must have sounded, she was looking at me in pity so great and generous that it did not wound her. “Oh, yes,” she said, her eyes still clinging to me. “I think he will live, thank Heaven!”
Thank Heaven! Ah, yes, thank Heaven!
I turned and went slowly toward the door. But before I reached it she was at my side, nay, was on her knees by me, clasping my hand, looking up to me with streaming eyes. “What are you going to do?” she cried, reading, I suppose, something in my face.
“I will see if Master Lindstrom cannot get better terms for us,” I answered.
She rose, still detaining me. “You are sure?” she said, still eying me jealously.
“Quite sure,” I answered, forcing a smile. “I will come back and report to you.”
She let me go then, and I went out and joined Lindstrom on the staircase.
“Are you certain,” I asked, speaking in a whisper, “that they will — that the town will keep its word and let the others go?”
“I am quite sure of it,” he replied nodding. “They are Germans, and hard and pitiless, but you may trust them. So far I will answer for them.”
“Then we accept,” I said gravely. “I give myself up. Let them take me.”
CHAPTER XV.
BEFORE THE COURT.
I had not seen the first moonbeams pierce the broken casement of the tower-room, but I was there to watch the last tiny patch of silver glide aslant from wall to sill, and sill to frame, and so pass out. Near the fire, which had been made up, and now glowed and crackled bravely on the hearthstone at my elbow, my three jailers had set a mattress for me; and on this I sat, my back to the wall and my face to the window. The guards lounged on the other side of the hearth round a lantern, playing at dice and drinking. They were rough, hard men, whose features, as they leaned over the table and the light played strongly on their faces, blazoning them against a wall of shadow, were stern and rugged enough. But they had not shown themselves unkindly. They had given me a share of their wine, and had pointed to the window and shrugged their shoulders, as much as to say that it was my own fault if I suffered from the draught. Nay, from time to time, one of them would turn from his game and look at me — in pity, I think — and utter a curse that was meant for encouragement.
Even when the first excitement had passed away, I felt none of the stupefaction which I have heard that men feel in such a position. My brain was painfully active. In vain I longed to sleep, if it were only that I might not be thought to fear death. But the fact that I was to be tried first, though the sentence was a certainty, distracted and troubled me. My thoughts paced from thing to thing; now dwelling on the Duchess and her husband, now flitting to Petronilla and Sir Anthony, to the old place at home and the servants; to strange petty things, long familiar — a tree in the chase at Coton, an herb I had planted. Once a great lump rose in my throat, and I had to turn away to hide the hot tears that would rise at the thought that I must die in this mean German town, in this unknown corner, and be buried and forgotten! And once, too, to torment me, there rose a doubt in my mind whether Master Bertie would recover; whether, indeed, I had not thrown my life away for nothing. But it was too late to think of that! And the doubt, which the Evil One himself must have suggested, so terrible was it passed away quickly.
My thoughts raced, but the night crawled. We had surrendered about ten, and the magistrates, less pitiful than the jailers, had forbidden my friends to stay with me. An hour or more after midnight, two of the men lay down and the other sat humming a drinking-song, or at intervals rose to yawn and stretch himself and look out of the window. From time to time, the cry of the watchman going his rounds came drearily to my ears, recalling to me the night I had spent behind the boarding in Moorgate Street, when the adventure which was to end to-morrow — nay, to-day — in a few hours — had lured me away. To-day? Was I to die to-day? To perish with all my plans, hopes, love? It seemed impossible. As I gazed at the window, whose shape began to be printed on my brain, it seemed impossible. My soul so rose in rebellion against it, that the perspiration stood on my brow, and I had to clasp my hands about my knees, and strain every muscle to keep in the cry I would have uttered! a cry, not of fear, but of rage and remonstrance and revolt.
I was glad to see the first streaks of dawn, to hear the first cock-crowings, and, a few minutes later, the voices of men in the street and on the stairs. The sounds of day and life acted magically upon me. The horror of the night passed off as does the horror of a dream. When a man, heavily cloaked and with his head covered, came in, the door being shut behind him by another hand, I looked up at him bravely. The worst was past.
He replied by looking down at me for a few moments without disclosing himself, the collar of his cloak being raised so high that I could see nothing of his features. My first notion that he must be Master Lindstrom passed away; and, displeased by his silent scrutiny, and thinking him a stranger, I said sharply, “I hope you are satisfied, sir.”
“Satisfied?” he replied, in a voice which made me start so that the irons clanked on my feet, “Well, I think I should be — seeing you so, my friend!”
It was Clarence! Of all men, Clarence! I knew his voice, and he, seeing himself recognized, lowered his cloak. I stared at him in stupefied silence, and he at me in a grim curiosity. I was not prepared for the blunt abruptness with which he continued — using almost the very words he had used when face to face with me in the flood: “Now tell me who you are, and what brought you into this company?”
I gave him no answer. I still stared at him in silence.
“Come!” he continued, his hawk’s eyes bent on my face, “make a clean breast of it, and perhaps — who knows? I may help you yet, lad. You have puzzled and foiled me, and I want to understand you. Where did my lady pick you up just when she wanted you? I had arranged for every checker on the board except you. Who are you?”
This time I did answer him — by a question. “How many times have we met?” I asked.
“Three,” he said readily, “and the last time you nearly rid the world of me. Now the luck is against you. It generally is in the end against those who thwart me, my friend.” He chuckled at the conceit, and I read in his face at once his love of intrigue and his vanity. “I come uppermost, as always.”
I only nodded.
“What do you want?” I asked. I felt a certain expectation. He wanted something.
“First, to know who you are.”
“I shall not tell you!” I answered.
He smiled dryly, sitting opposite to me. He had drawn up a stool, and made himself comfortable. He was not an uncomely man as he sat there playing with his dagger, a dubious smile on his lean, dark face. Unwarned, I might have been attracted by the masterful audacity, the intellect as well as the force which I saw stamped on his features. Being warned, I read cunning in his bold eyes, and cruelty in the curl of his lip. “What do you want next?” I asked.
“I want to save your life,” he replied lightly.
At that I started — I could not help it.
“Ha! ha!” he laughed, “I thought the stoicism did not go quite down to the bottom, my lad. But there, it is true enough, I have come to help you. I have come to save your life if you will let me.”
I strove in vain to keep entire mastery over myself. The feelings to which he appealed were too strong for me. My voice sounded strange
, even in my own ears, as I said hoarsely, “It is impossible! What can you do?”
“What can I do?” he answered with a stern smile. “Much! I have, boy, a dozen strings in my hands, and a neck — a life at the end of each!”
He raised his hand, and extending the fingers, moved them to and fro.
“See! see! A life, a death!” he exclaimed. “And for you, I can and will save your life — on one condition.”
“On one condition?” I murmured.
“Ay, on one condition; but it is a very easy one. I will save your life on my part; and you, on yours, must give me a little assistance. Do you see? Then we shall be quits.”
“I do not understand,” I said dully. I did not. His words had set my heart fluttering so that I could for the moment take in only one idea — that here was a new hope of life.
“It is very simple,” he resumed, speaking slowly. “Certain plans of mine require that I should get your friend the Duchess conveyed back to England. But for you I should have succeeded before this. In what you have hindered me, you can now help me. You have their confidence and great influence with them. All I ask is that you will use that influence so that they may be at a certain place at a certain hour. I will contrive the rest. It shall never be known, I promise you, that you — —”
“Betrayed them!”
“Well, gave me some information,” he said lightly, puffing away my phrase.
“No. Betrayed them!” I persisted.
“Put it so, if you please,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows. “What is in a word?”
“You are the tempter himself, I think!” I cried in bitter rage — for it was bitter — bitter, indeed, to feel that new-born hope die out. “But you come to me in vain. I defy you!”
“Softly! softly!” he answered with calmness.
Yet I saw a little pulse beating in his cheek that seemed to tell of some emotion kept in subjection.
“It frightens you at first,” he said. “But listen. You will do them no harm, and yourself good. I shall get them anyway, both the Duchess and her husband; though, without your aid, it will be more difficult. Why, help of that kind is given every day. They need never know it. Even now there is one of whom you little dream who has — —”
“Silence!” I cried fiercely. “I care not. I defy you!”
I could think of only one thing. I was wild with rage and disappointment. His words had aggravated the pain of every regret, every clinging to life I felt.
“Go!” I cried. “Go and leave me, you villain!”
“If I do leave you,” he said, fixing his eyes on me, “it will be, my friend — to death.”
“Then so be it!” I answered wildly. “So be it! I will keep my honor.”
“Your honor!” The mask dropped from his face, and he sneered as he rose from his seat. A darker scowl changed and disfigured his brow, as he lost hope of gaining me. “Your honor? Where will it be by to-night?” he hissed, his eyes glowering down at me. “Where a week hence, when you will be cast into a pit and forgotten? Your honor, fool? What is the honor of a dead man? Pah! But die, then, if you will have it so! Die, like the brainless brute you are! And rot, and be forgotten!” he concluded passionately.
They were terrible words; more terrible I know now than either he or I understood then. They so shook me that when he was gone I crouched trembling on my pallet, hiding my face in a fit of horror — taking no heed of my jailers or of appearances. “Die and be forgotten! Die and be forgotten!” The doom rang in my ears.
Something which seemed to me angelic roused me from this misery. It was the sound of a kindly, familiar voice speaking English. I looked up and found the Dutchman bending over me with a face of infinite distress. With him, but rather behind him, stood Van Tree, pale and vicious-eyed, tugging his scanty chin-beard and gazing about him like a dog seeking some one to fasten upon. “Poor lad! poor lad!” the old man said, his voice shaking as he looked at me.
I sprang to my feet, the irons rattling as I dashed my hand across my eyes.
“It is all right!” I said hurriedly. “I had a — but never mind that. It was like a dream. Only tell the Duchess to look to herself,” I continued, still rather vehemently. “Clarence is here. He is in Santon. I have seen him.”
“You have seen him?” both the Dutchmen cried at once.
“Ay!” I said, with a laugh that was three parts hysterical — indeed, I was still tingling all over with excitement. “He has been here to offer me my life if I would help him in his schemes. I told him he was the tempter, and defied him. And he — he said I should die and be forgotten!” I added, trembling, yet laughing wildly at the same time.
“I think he is the tempter!” said Master Lindstrom solemnly, his face very grim. “And therefore a liar and the father of lies! You may die, lad, to-day; perhaps you must. But forgotten you shall not be, while we live, or one of us lives, or one of the children who shall come after us. He is a liar!”
I got my hands, with a struggle, from the old man, and turning my back upon him, went and looked out of the window. The sun was rising. The tower of the great minster, seen row for the first time, rose in stately brightness above the red roofs and quaint gables and the rows of dormer windows. Down in the streets the grayness and chill yet lingered. But above was a very glory of light and warmth and color — the rising of the May sun. When I turned round I was myself again. The calm beauty of that sight had stolen into my soul. “Is it time?” I said cheerfully. For the crowd was gathering below, and there were voices and feet on the stairs.
“I think it is,” Master Lindstrom answered. “We have obtained leave to go with you. You need fear no violence in the streets, for the man who was hurt is still alive and may recover. I have been with the magistrates this morning,” he continued, “and found them better disposed to you; but the Sub-dean has joint jurisdiction with them, as the deputy of the Bishop of Arras, who is dean of the minster; and he is, for some reason, very bitter against you.”
“The Bishop of Arras? Granville, do you mean?” I asked. I knew the name of the Emperor’s shrewd and powerful minister, by whose advice the Netherlands were at this time ruled.
“The same. He, of course, is not here, but his deputy is. Were it not for him —— But there, it is no good talking of that!” the Dutchman said, breaking off and rubbing his head in his chagrin.
One of the guards who had spent the night with me brought me at this moment a bowl of broth with a piece of bread in it. I could not eat the bread, but I drank the broth and felt the better for it. Having in my pocket a little money with which the Duchess had furnished me, I put a silver piece in the bowl and handed it back to him. The man seemed astonished, and muttered something in German as he turned away.
“What did he say?” I asked the Dutchman.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he answered.
“But what was it? It was something,” I persisted, seeing him confused.
“He — well, he said he would have a mass said for you!” Lindstrom answered in despair. “It will do no harm.”
“No, why should it?” I replied mechanically.
We were in the street by this time, Master Lindstrom and Van Tree walking beside me in the middle of a score of soldiers, who seemed to my eyes fantastically dressed. I remarked, as we passed out, a tall man clothed in red and black, who was standing by the door as if waiting to fall in behind me. He carried on his shoulder a long broad-bladed sword, and I guessed who he was, seeing how Master Lindstrom strove to intercept my view of him. But I was not afraid of that. I had heard long ago — perhaps six months in time, but it seemed long ago — how bravely Queen Jane had died. And if a girl had not trembled, surely a man should not. So I looked steadfastly at him, and took great courage, and after that was able to gaze calmly on the people, who pressed to stare at me, peeping over the soldiers’ shoulders, and clustering in every doorway and window to see me go past. They were all silent, and it even seemed to me that some — but this
may have been my fancy — pitied me.
I saw nothing of the Duchess, and might have wondered, had not Master Lindstrom explained that he had contrived to keep her in ignorance of the hour fixed for the proceedings. Her husband was better, he said, and conscious; but, for fear of exciting him, they were keeping the news from him also. I remember I felt for a moment very sore at this, and then I tried to persuade myself that it was right.
The distance through the streets was short, and almost before I was aware of it I was in the court-house, the guard had fallen back, and I was standing before three persons who were seated behind a long table. Two of them were grave, portly men wearing flat black caps and scarlet robes, with gold chains about their necks. The third, dressed as an ecclesiastic, wore a huge gem ring upon his thumb. Behind them stood three attendants holding a sword, a crosier, and a ducal cap upon a cushion; and above and behind all was a lofty stained window, whose rich hues, the sun being low as yet, shot athwart the corbels of the roof. At the end of the table sat a black-robed man with an ink-horn and spectacles, a grave, still, down-looking man; and the crowd being behind me, and preserving a dead silence, and the attendants standing like statues, I seemed indeed to be alone with these four at the table, and the great stained window and the solemn hush. They talked to one another in low tones for a minute, gazing at me the while. And I fancied they were astonished to find me so young.
At length they all fell back into their chairs. “Do you speak German?” the eldest burgher said, addressing me gravely. He sat in the middle, with the Sub-dean on his right.
“No; but I speak and understand Spanish,” I answered in that language, feeling chilled already by the stern formality which like an iron hand was laying its grip upon me.
“Good! Your name?” replied the president.
“I am commonly called Francis Carey, and I am an Englishman.” The Sub-dean — he was a pale, stout man, with gloomy eyes — had hitherto been looking at me in evident doubt. But at this he nodded assent, and, averting his eyes from me, gazed meditatively at the roof of the hall, considering apparently what he should have for breakfast.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 61