CHAPTER V
THOMAS SWEARS AN OATH
For a while I stood amazed with horror, staring down at the dead face ofmy beloved mother. Then I stooped to lift her and saw that she had beenstabbed, and through the breast, stabbed with the sword which I carriedin my hand.
Now I understood. This was the work of that Spanish stranger whom Ihad met as he hurried from the place of murder, who, because of thewickedness of his heart or for some secret reason, had striven to slayme also when he learned that I was my mother's son. And I had held thisdevil in my power, and that I might meet my May, I had suffered him toescape my vengeance, who, had I known the truth, would have dealt withhim as the priests of Anahuac deal with the victims of their gods. Iunderstood and shed tears of pity, rage, and shame. Then I turned andfled homewards like one mad.
At the doorway I met my father and my brother Geoffrey riding up fromBungay market, and there was that written on my face which caused themto ask as with one voice:
'What evil thing has happened?'
Thrice I looked at my father before I could speak, for I feared lest theblow should kill him. But speak I must at last, though I chose that itshould be to Geoffrey my brother. 'Our mother lies murdered yonder onthe Vineyard Hill. A Spanish man has done the deed, Juan de Garcia byname.' When my father heard these words his face became livid as thoughwith pain of the heart, his jaw fell and a low moan issued from his openmouth. Presently he rested his hand upon the pommel of the saddle, andlifting his ghastly face he said:
'Where is this Spaniard? Have you killed him?'
'No, father. He chanced upon me in Grubswell, and when he learned myname he would have murdered me. But I played quarter staff with him andbeat him to a pulp, taking his sword.'
'Ay, and then?'
'And then I let him go, knowing nothing of the deed he had alreadywrought upon our mother. Afterwards I will tell you all.'
'You let him go, son! You let Juan de Garcia go! Then, Thomas, may thecurse of God rest upon you till you find him and finish that which youbegan to-day.'
'Spare to curse me, father, who am accursed by my own conscience. Turnyour horses rather and ride for Yarmouth, for there his ship lies andthither he has gone with two hours' start. Perhaps you may still traphim before he sets sail.'
Without another word my father and brother wheeled their horses roundand departed at full gallop into the gloom of the gathering night.
They rode so fiercely that, their horses being good, they came to thegates of Yarmouth in little more than an hour and a half, and that isfast riding. But the bird was flown. They tracked him to the quay andfound that he had shipped a while before in a boat which was in waitingfor him, and passed to his vessel that lay in the Roads at anchor butwith the most of her canvas set. Instantly she sailed, and now was lostin the night. Then my father caused notice to be given that he would payreward of two hundred pieces in gold to any ship that should capture theSpaniard, and two started on the quest, but they did not find her thatbefore morning was far on her way across the sea.
So soon as they had galloped away I called together the grooms and otherserving men and told them what had chanced. Then we went with lanterns,for by now it was dark, and came to the thick brushwood where lay thebody of my mother. I drew near the first, for the men were afraid, andso indeed was I, though why I should fear her lying dead who living hadloved me tenderly, I do not know. Yet I know this, that when I came tothe spot and saw two eyes glowering at me and heard the crash of bushesas something broke them, I could almost have fallen with fear, althoughI knew well that it was but a fox or wandering hound haunting the placeof death.
Still I went on, calling the others to follow, and the end of it wasthat we laid my mother's body upon a door which had been lifted fromits hinges, and bore her home for the last time. And to me that path isstill a haunted place. It is seventy years and more since my mother diedby the hand of Juan de Garcia her cousin, yet old as I am and hardenedto such sad scenes, I do not love to walk that path alone at night.
Doubtless it was fancy which plays us strange tricks, still but a yearago, having gone to set a springe for a woodcock, I chanced to pass byyonder big oak upon a November eve, and I could have sworn that I sawit all again. I saw myself a lad, my wounded arm still bound with Lily'skerchief, climbing slowly down the hill-side, while behind me, groaningbeneath their burden, were the forms of the four serving men. I heardthe murmur of the river and the wind that seventy years ago whisperedin the reeds. I saw the clouded sky flawed here and there with blue,and the broken light that gleamed on the white burden stretched upon thedoor, and the red stain at its breast. Ay, I heard myself talk as Iwent forward with the lantern, bidding the men pass to the right of somesteep and rotten ground, and it was strange to me to listen to my ownvoice as it had been in youth. Well, well, it was but a dream, yet suchslaves are we to the fears of fancy, that because of the dead, I, who amalmost of their number, do not love to pass that path at night.
At length we came home with our burden, and the women took it weepingand set about their task with it. And now I must not only fight my ownsorrows but must strive to soothe those of my sister Mary, who as Ifeared would go mad with grief and horror. At last she sobbed herselfinto a torpor, and I went and questioned the men who sat round thefire in the kitchen, for none sought their beds that night. From them Ilearned that an hour or more before I met the Spaniard, a richly-dressedstranger had been seen walking along the church-path, and that he hadtied his horse among some gorse and brambles on the top of the hill,where he stood as though in doubt, till my mother came out, when hedescended and followed her. Also I learned that one of the men at workin the garden, which is not more than three hundred paces from wherethe deed was done, heard cries, but had taken no note of them, thinkingforsooth that it was but the play of some lover from Bungay and hislass chasing each other through the woods, as to this hour it is theirfashion to do. Truly it seemed to me that day as though this parish ofDitchingham were the very nursery of fools, of whom I was the first andbiggest, and indeed this same thought has struck me since concerningother matters.
At length the morning came, and with it my father and brother, whoreturned from Yarmouth on hired horses, for their own were spent. In theafternoon also news followed them that the ships which had put to seaon the track of the Spaniard had been driven back by bad weather, havingseen nothing of him.
Now I told all the story of my dealings with the murderer of my mother,keeping nothing back, and I must bear my father's bitter anger becauseknowing that my mother was in dread of a Spaniard, I had suffered myreason to be led astray by my desire to win speech with my love. Nor didI meet with any comfort from my brother Geoffrey, who was fierce againstme because he learned that I had not pleaded in vain with the maid whomhe desired for himself. But he said nothing of this reason. Also that nodrop might be lacking in my cup, Squire Bozard, who came with many otherneighbours to view the corpse and offer sympathy with my father in hisloss, told him at the same time that he took it ill that I should woohis daughter against his wish, and that if I continued in this course itwould strain their ancient friendship. Thus I was hit on every side; bysorrow for my mother whom I had loved tenderly, by longing for my dearwhom I might not see, by self-reproach because I had let the Spaniardgo when I held him fast, and by the anger of my father and my brother.Indeed those days were so dark and bitter, for I was at the age whenshame and sorrow sting their sharpest, that I wished that I were deadbeside my mother. One comfort reached me indeed, a message from Lilysent by a servant girl whom she trusted, giving me her dear love andbidding me to be of good cheer.
At length came the day of burial, and my mother, wrapped in fair whiterobes, was laid to her rest in the chancel of the church at Ditchingham,where my father has long been set beside her, hard by the brass effigiesthat mark the burying place of Lily's forefather, his wife, and manyof their children. This funeral was the saddest of sights, for thebitterness of my father's grief broke from him in sobs and my sister
Mary swooned away in my arms. Indeed there were few dry eyes in all thatchurch, for my mother, notwithstanding her foreign birth, was much lovedbecause of her gentle ways and the goodness of her heart. But it came toan end, and the noble Spanish lady and English wife was left to her longsleep in the ancient church, where she shall rest on when her tragicstory and her very name are forgotten among men. Indeed this is likelyto be soon, for I am the last of the Wingfields alive in these parts,though my sister Mary has left descendants of another name to whom mylands and fortune go except for certain gifts to the poor of Bungay andof Ditchingham.
When it was over I went back home. My father was sitting in the frontroom well nigh beside himself with grief, and by him was my brother.Presently he began to assail me with bitter words because I had let themurderer go when God gave him into my hand.
'You forget, father,' sneered Geoffrey, 'Thomas woos a maid, and it wasmore to him to hold her in his arms than to keep his mother's murderersafely. But by this it seems he has killed two birds with one stone, hehas suffered the Spanish devil to escape when he knew that our motherfeared the coming of a Spaniard, and he has made enmity between us andSquire Bozard, our good neighbour, who strangely enough does not favourhis wooing.'
'It is so,' said my father. 'Thomas, your mother's blood is on yourhands.'
I listened and could bear this goading injustice no longer.
'It is false,' I said, 'I say it even to my father. The man had killedmy mother before I met him riding back to seek his ship at Yarmouthand having lost his way; how then is her blood upon my hands? As for mywooing of Lily Bozard, that is my matter, brother, and not yours, thoughperhaps you wish that it was yours and not mine. Why, father, did younot tell me what you feared of this Spaniard? I heard some loose talkonly and gave little thought to it, my mind being full of other things.And now I will say something. You called down God's curse upon me,father, till such time as I should find this murderer and finish what Ihad begun. So be it! Let God's curse rest upon me till I do find him. Iam young, but I am quick and strong, and so soon as may be I start forSpain to hunt him there till I shall run him down or know him to bedead. If you will give me money to help me on my quest, so be it--if notI go without. I swear before God and by my mother's spirit that I willneither rest nor stay till with the very sword that slew her, I haveavenged her blood upon her murderer or know him dead, and if I suffermyself to be led astray from the purpose of this oath by aught that is,then may a worse end than hers overtake me, may my soul be rejected inheaven, and my name be shameful for ever upon the earth!'
Thus I swore in my rage and anguish, holding up my hand to heaven that Icalled upon to witness the oath.
My father looked at me keenly. 'If that is your mind, son Thomas, youshall not lack for money. I would go myself, for blood must be wiped outwith blood, but I am too broken in my health; also I am known in Spainand the Holy Office would claim me there. Go, and my blessing go withyou. It is right that you should go, for it is through your folly thatour enemy has escaped us.'
'Yes, it is right that he should go,' said Geoffrey.
'You say that because you wish to be rid of me, Geoffrey,' I answeredhotly, 'and you would be rid of me because you desire to take my placeat the side of a certain maid. Follow your nature and do as you will,but if you would outwit an absent man no good shall come to you of it.'
'The girl is to him who can win her,' he said.
'The girl's heart is won already, Geoffrey. You may buy her from herfather but you can never win her heart, and without a heart she will bebut a poor prize.'
'Peace! now is no time for such talk of love and maids,' said my father,'and listen. This is the tale of the Spanish murderer and your mother.I have said nothing of it heretofore, but now it must out. When I was alad it happened that I also went to Spain because my father willed it. Iwent to a monastery at Seville, but I had no liking for monks and theirways, and I broke out from the monastery. For a year or more I made myliving as I best might, for I feared to return to England as a runaway.Still I made a living and not a bad one, now in this way and now inthat, but though I am ashamed to say it, mostly by gaming, at which Ihad great luck. One night I met this man Juan de Garcia--for in his hatehe gave you his true name when he would have stabbed you--at play. Eventhen he had an evil fame, though he was scarcely more than a lad, but hewas handsome in person, set high in birth, and of a pleasing manner. Itchanced that he won of me at the dice, and being in a good humour, hetook me to visit at the house of his aunt, his uncle's widow, a lady ofSeville. This aunt had one child, a daughter, and that daughter was yourmother. Now your mother, Luisa de Garcia, was affianced to her cousinJuan de Garcia, not with her own will indeed, for the contract had beensigned when she was only eight years old. Still it was binding, morebinding indeed than in this country, being a marriage in all exceptin fact. But those women who are thus bound for the most part bear nowife's love in their hearts, and so it was with your mother. Indeed sheboth hated and feared her cousin Juan, though I think that he lovedher more than anything on earth, and by one pretext and another shecontrived to bring him to an agreement that no marriage should becelebrated till she was full twenty years of age. But the colder shewas to him, the more was he inflamed with desire to win her and alsoher possessions, which were not small, for like all Spaniards he waspassionate, and like most gamesters and men of evil life, much in wantof money.
'Now to be brief, from the first moment that your mother and I set eyeson each other we loved one another, and it was our one desire to meetas often as might be; and in this we had no great difficulty, for hermother also feared and hated Juan de Garcia, her nephew by marriage, andwould have seen her daughter clear of him if possible. The end of it wasthat I told my love, and a plot was made between us that we should flyto England. But all this had not escaped the ears of Juan, who had spiesin the household, and was jealous and revengeful as only a Spaniard canbe. First he tried to be rid of me by challenging me to a duel, but wewere parted before we could draw swords. Then he hired bravos to murderme as I walked the streets at night, but I wore a chain shirt beneath mydoublet and their daggers broke upon it, and in place of being slain Islew one of them. Twice baffled, de Garcia was not defeated. Fight andmurder had failed, but another and surer means remained. I know not how,but he had won some clue to the history of my life, and of how Ihad broken out from the monastery. It was left to him, therefore, todenounce me to the Holy Office as a renegade and an infidel, and this hedid one night; it was the night before the day when we should have takenship. I was sitting with your mother and her mother in their house atSeville, when six cowled men entered and seized me without a word. WhenI prayed to know their purpose they gave no other answer than to holda crucifix before my eyes. Then I knew why I was taken, and the womenceased clinging to me and fell back sobbing. Secretly and silently I washurried away to the dungeons of the Holy Office, but of all that befellme there I will not stop to tell.
'Twice I was racked, once I was seared with hot irons, thrice I wasflogged with wire whips, and all this while I was fed on food such as weshould scarcely offer to a dog here in England. At length my offence ofhaving escaped from a monastery and sundry blasphemies, so-called, beingproved against me, I was condemned to death by fire.
'Then at last, when after a long year of torment and of horror, I hadabandoned hope and resigned myself to die, help came. On the eve of theday upon which I was to be consumed by flame, the chief of my tormentorsentered the dungeon where I lay on straw, and embracing me bade me beof good cheer, for the church had taken pity on my youth and given memy freedom. At first I laughed wildly, for I thought that this was butanother torment, and not till I was freed of my fetters, clothed indecent garments, and set at midnight without the prison gates, would Ibelieve that so good a thing had befallen me through the hand of God.I stood weak and wondering outside the gates, not knowing where to fly,and as I stood a woman glided up to me wrapped in a dark cloak, whowhispered "Come." That woman was your mother. She had learne
d of my fatefrom the boasting of de Garcia and set herself to save me. Thrice herplans failed, but at length through the help of some cunning agent, goldwon what was denied to justice and to mercy, and my life and libertywere bought with a very great sum.
'That same night we were married and fled for Cadiz, your mother and I,but not her mother, who was bedridden with a sickness. For my sake yourbeloved mother abandoned her people, what remained to her of her fortuneafter paying the price of my life, and her country, so strong is thelove of woman. All had been made ready, for at Cadiz lay an Englishship, the "Mary" of Bristol, in which passage was taken for us. But the"Mary" was delayed in port by a contrary wind which blew so stronglythat notwithstanding his desire to save us, her master dared not takethe sea. Two days and a night we lay in the harbour, fearing all thingsnot without cause, and yet most happy in each other's love. Now thosewho had charge of me in the dungeon had given out that I had escaped bythe help of my master the Devil, and I was searched for throughout thecountry side. De Garcia also, finding that his cousin and affianced wifewas missing, guessed that we two were not far apart. It was his cunning,sharpened by jealousy and hate, that dogged us down step by step till atlength he found us.
'On the morning of the third day, the gale having abated, the anchor ofthe "Mary" was got home and she swung out into the tideway. As she cameround and while the seamen were making ready to hoist the sails, aboat carrying some twenty soldiers, and followed by two others, shotalongside and summoned the captain to heave to, that his ship might beboarded and searched under warrant from the Holy Office. It chanced thatI was on deck at the time, and suddenly, as I prepared to hide myselfbelow, a man, in whom I knew de Garcia himself, stood up and called outthat I was the escaped heretic whom they sought. Fearing lest his shipshould be boarded and he himself thrown into prison with the rest of hiscrew, the captain would then have surrendered me. But I, desperatewith fear, tore my clothes from my body and showed the cruel scars thatmarked it.
'"You are Englishmen," I cried to the sailors, "and will you deliver meto these foreign devils, who am of your blood? Look at their handiwork,"and I pointed to the half-healed scars left by the red-hot pincers; "ifyou give me up, you send me back to more of this torment and to deathby burning. Pity my wife if you will not pity me, or if you will pityneither, then lend me a sword that by death I may save myself fromtorture."
'Then one of the seamen, a Southwold man who had known my father, calledout: "By God! I for one will stand by you, Thomas Wingfield. If theywant you and your sweet lady they must kill me first," and seizing a bowfrom the rack he drew it out of its case and strung it, and setting anarrow on the string he pointed it at the Spaniards in the boat.
'Then the others broke into shouts of:
'"If you want any man from among us, come aboard and take him, youtorturing devils," and the like.
'Seeing where the heart of the crew lay, the captain found courage inhis turn. He made no answer to the Spaniards, but bade half of the menhoist the sails with all speed, and the rest make ready to keep off thesoldiers should they seek to board us.
'By now the other two boats had come up and fastened on to us with theirhooks. One man climbed into the chains and thence to the deck, and Iknew him for a priest of the Holy Office, one of those who had stood bywhile I was tormented. Then I grew mad at the thought of all that I hadsuffered, while that devil watched, bidding them lay on for the love ofGod. Snatching the bow from the hand of the Southwold seaman, I drew thearrow to its head and loosed. It did not miss its mark, for like you,Thomas, I was skilled with the bow, and he dived back into the sea withan English yard shaft in his heart.
'After that they tried to board us no more, though they shot at us witharrows, wounding one man. The captain called to us to lay down our bowsand take cover behind the bulwarks, for by now the sails began to draw.Then de Garcia stood up in the boat and cursed me and my wife.
'"I will find you yet," he screamed, with many Spanish oaths and foulwords. "If I must wait for twenty years I will be avenged upon you andall you love. Be assured of this, Luisa de Garcia, hide where you will,I shall find you, and when we meet, you shall come with me for so longas I will keep you or that shall be the hour of your death."
'Then we sailed away for England, and the boats fell astern.
'My sons, this is the story of my youth, and of how I came to wed yourmother whom I have buried to-day. Juan de Garcia has kept his word.'
'Yet it seems strange,' said my brother, 'that after all these years heshould have murdered her thus, whom you say he loved. Surely even theevilest of men had shrunk from such a deed!'
'There is little that is strange about it,' answered my father. 'Howcan we know what words were spoken between them before he stabbed her?Doubtless he told of some of them when he cried to Thomas that now theywould see what truth there was in prophecies. What did de Garcia swearyears since?--that she should come with him or he would kill her. Yourmother was still beautiful, Geoffrey, and he may have given her choicebetween flight and death. Seek to know no more, son'--and suddenly myfather hid his face in his hands and broke into sobs that were dreadfulto hear.
'Would that you had told us this tale before, father,' I said so soonas I could speak. 'Then there would have lived a devil the less in theworld to-day, and I should have been spared a long journey.'
Little did I know how long that journey would be!