CHAPTER XIX
As soon as might be, Montjoy would go that pilgrimage to Canterbury.Had it been true, that frightful story, were Mark and Westforesttreacherous, Silver Cross down in the mire, evened and more than evenedwith Hugh across the river, he would have gone not to Canterbury only,but to Rome, to Palestine! Only there, in Gethsemane garden--
He sat, a slight, dark man with a worn, handsome face, beneath a cedarin his castle garden. This was lord’s corner. A castle, God wot, is apublic place! But just here was retirement, appropriated long since andpossessed for long. Wall and ivy and cedar row, and hardly a narrowwindow to overlook! Montjoy once had been quick for company, but nowfor long he sighed toward solitariness. Solitariness that still shouldbe splendour!
Silver Cross--Silver Cross--Silver Cross! The splendour must runthrough it, bathing the tomb of Isabel, bathing the life-above-deathof Isabel! Bathing also Silver Cross, church and abbey, the old form,antique, fair, one’s Lady, old yet young through the centuries!
The soul. How to keep the soul in joy? If not in joy, at least inhumble peace.
Montjoy saw himself a grey palmer, state and place laid down. Hisdaughter wedded come Martinmas to Effingham--another year and her sonborn--then he might go and have word with his own suzerain. Palmer--theroad, the shrines, the houses of the religious; quiet, quiet,unobstructed room for dreams of God.
The sky was lead, the light greenish, the air hot and still. He wouldbe glad when the storm burst and the land was drenched. Afterward itwould smile once more. He thought, “The Flood is needed again, sowicked is the earth! Oh, my God, am I of the family of Noah? Do I buildwith gopher wood the Ark that saves? Do I enter Christ? Doth He enterme?”
The cedars clung dark, they darkened the day yet more. Montjoy lookedinto a cell at Westforest and saw there Richard Englefield. Surely heis mad, though he lies so still, with his face buried in his arms!
_Brother Richard._
Montjoy looked into the prison under the castle hill and saw Morgen Fay.
_Not for five years have I touched her, O Christ!_
The prison closed. The sky hung so still and hung so heavy! Lightningand thunder would be welcome, rising wind and splash of rain. Fridaywould be welcome. The bramble burned, the hindering, evil bramble,harmful to the sheep, vexful to the shepherd--“O Christ, is therehardness? But the field must be cleared of bramble. Aye, it is worsethan bramble. Mandrake and hemlock and helebore, and the children areendangered!”
Montjoy saw Holy Well and the great picture, and that fine, finereliquary of pure gold that rejoicing--Satan afar and all the mind inhealth--Brother Richard had wrought for the Rose, Montjoy bringing thegold. Yesterday Montjoy had gone to Silver Cross and to Holy Well.There had been pilgrims a hundred, and they kneeled, praying andsinging. The day was fair as this was foul, and had bubbled and laughedthat crystal well, sunlight into sunlight! They had cups of silver andof horn and of tree and of clay, and one by one they drank while thesinging rose around. He, Montjoy, had seen a cripple fling away hiscrutch and stand and run, and a palsied man grow firm. “Who healeththem? Thou, thou, who truly didst appear to Brother Richard!”
Even now, in this oppressive day, under this dull sky, Montjoy feltagain that exaltation. He looked around him and up to the loweringheaven. “Little, weak castle--murky roof of ignorance--yet is thereclear power!”
The rain began to fall.
In the night-time, waking, he found horror with him, something cold,something forlorn and suspicious. It deepened. He left his greatbed and Montjoy’s wife sleeping, put thick gown around him and wentnoiseless into the oratory opening from the great chamber, cold in thebeams of a moon growing old. No peace! At the turn of the night, whenafar he heard cock crow and his dogs bark, he determined that he wouldgo that morning to confession to Father Edmund at Saint Ethelred’s.That was the sternest, the most dedicated, the most single of eye andwill! To him he would confess everything that he would if he could savefrom her death the harlot and witch.
Morning came and all the castle took up busy and talkative life.Montjoy rode to Saint Ethelred’s. Father Edmund? Oh, aye! he would hearhim, and Father Edmund thought. “Time that lords give over slothful andunwise confessors! Father Ambrosius hath forever done him hurt.”
Montjoy was long upon his knees. He accepted heavy penance, took shrifthumbly, came forth from Saint Ethelred’s with a colourless face like agem.
Riding back to the castle, when he came to prison street he turned hisblack horse and rode slowly by the dark prison. He had told FatherEdmund all his thoughts and in the bale was the thought, “I will visither there in that dungeon before Friday. Is not that Christian, OGod, if my deepest heart that is now thine seems to bid me to go?”But Father Edmund had been greatly stern. “Satan wrestleth for thydeepest heart! Hear me now! It is forbidden! Go not to, speak not tothat All-Evil! If thou dost she will draw thee with her into hell!Thou thinkest, ‘Once I was familiarly with her’, and cowardice andheartlessness now only to think and never to say, ‘God have mercy uponthee, poor soul!’ Son, son, that is devil’s bait! He will come andstand and ask thee, ‘Is it knightly?’ It is his wile, to clothe himselfin light! As for the witch, she lacks not soul counsel! Since she wastaken, each day have I preached to her. I will hold the cross beforeher chained to stake. She shall see it, lifted high, till flame takeseyes. But thou, my son, I lay it upon thee, leaving here, to ride bythe prison, and to say as thou ridest. ‘Sin, I will no longer sin withthee, nor come into thy company!’ Say it!”
“Sin, I will no longer sin with thee, nor come into thy company.”
“So! And son, thou wilt come with thy squires and thy men on Friday totown cross.”
So Montjoy rode by the prison.
It was dark in there, fetid and dark, and Morgen Fay the sinner hadlittle to think of but her sins. She could not blink them that theywere many.
Her sins and death, and after that the Judgment. Death and Judgment andfor her Hell, or at the best the direst corner of dire Purgatory andthe longest stay. Ages there, while souls of thieves and murderers lefther one by one and went upward, and never a word for the one who muststay. At the best, the very best, and perhaps even that gleam had noreality! Not Purgatory, but everlasting Hell.