The Lady of Blossholme. H. Rider Haggard

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СКАЧАТЬ or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as a traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but I will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had gone, that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the Pope would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led you on, ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people in these parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who know and love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain Cardinal Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution of the Pope, and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish Emperor?”

      “Never,” answered the Abbot.

      “And did I not,” went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, “did I not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were traitorous, and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house, I, as in duty bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and have you not from that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?”

      “I deny it all,” said the Abbot again. “These be but empty lies bred of your malice, Sir John Foterell.”

      “Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are all written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you knew naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them behind my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?”

      “Aye, master,” answered the serving-man. “I chanced to be in the little chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot home, and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon the writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is not the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I might be wronged.”

      “It will serve my turn,” said the enraged knight, “though it is true that I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King’s Council. To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and then you shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of his own.”

      Now it was the Abbot’s turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his chaplains and hung to it.

      “Man,” he hissed, “do you think that you can utter such false threats and go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I have power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but strive to defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir John,” and he whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of one of his chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.

      “Now it seems that we are getting to business,” said Jeffrey Stokes, as, lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk and the door.

      “That’s it, Jeffrey,” cried Sir John. “Stop the rat’s hole. Look you, Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the King’s commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor, and afterward answer for it if I win out.”

      The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old knight before him. Then he said slowly—

      “Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill.”

      Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead, upon it appeared something strange—a breath of foresight, an inspiration, call it what you will.

      “By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,” he muttered. “Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the rest of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have a brain to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however much your superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and again will come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right hand and say, ‘Benedicite, my son,’ and ‘Your sins are forgiven you’; and just now the God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell you what it is. I stand near to death, but you stand not far from the gallows. I’ll die an honest man; you will die like a dog, false to everything, and afterwards let your beads and your masses and your saints help you if they can. We’ll talk it over when we meet again elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your gate, remembering that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those carrion crow in front of you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am your servant; march!”

CHAPTER II

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THE MURDER BY THE MERE

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      For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed loudly.

      “Jeffrey,” he called, “that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards, as we lay dying, to salve his conscience.”

      “Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should be saved till bed-time.”

      “What do you mean, man?”

      “I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and played the fool.”

      “Who are you to teach me?” asked Sir John angrily. “I meant that he should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor.”

      “Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London upon a certain errand?”

      “Why not? I’ll be there before him.”

      “Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues.”

      “Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please you, we will take the longer path through the forest.”

      “A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of us are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there’s wealth yonder which some may need more even than your lands,” he added meaningly. “Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call up your tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with twenty good men at your back.”

      “And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell’s ear, and through him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with you, or, if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken no harm.”

      “None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or devil,” answered the old soldier, colouring. “Your road has been good enough for me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned you it was not for my own sake, who care little СКАЧАТЬ