CHAPTER XXXIX.
It was in the month of July, often a wet and rainy month, in this goodclimate of England; but the rain had exhausted itself, and sunshinehad come back again, bright and clear. The world looked fresh andbeautiful, as if a new spring had come; and light and pleasant airtempered the heat of the atmosphere; yet the door of the woodman wasshut and bolted; and, in the middle of the summer, a large fire burnedupon the hearth. With his leathern jerkin cast off, his powerful andsinewy arm bare, and a heavy hammer in his hand, he stood by the fireturning, from time to time, a piece of iron which lay amidst theashes. Then, approaching a sort of moveable anvil, which stood in themidst of the floor, he adjusted upon it some plates of iron, fastenedclosely together by rivets, one of which however was wanting. Next,bringing the red hot iron from the fire, he passed it through the twoholes where the lost rivet had been, and with heavy blows of thehammer fastened the whole together, while his large hound stood by andcontemplated his proceedings with curious eyes. Then throwing down theiron plates by the side of some others very similar, he took up abright corslet, grooved and inlaid with gold tracery, and gazed uponit with a thoughtful and a care-worn look. Through the hard iron, onthe right side, was a hole, of the breadth of three fingers, and allround it the crimson cloth, which lined the corslet, was stained of adeeper hue.
"Ay, Ban," said the woodman, speaking to the dog, "those are the holeswhich let life out! How is it to be mended? Nay, I will let it be--whyshould I care? 'Twere a lucky lance that found twice the sameentrance;" and he cast down the corslet on the floor.
The dog turned round towards the door, and growled; and the nextinstant some one raised the latch, and then knocked for admission. Inhaste, but yet with no agitation, the woodman lifted the variouspieces of armour which cumbered the ground, removed them to the innerroom, and locked the door. In the mean time the knock was repeatedtwice or thrice, and the dog bayed loud. The woodman drew the bolts,and threw back the door suddenly; but the only figure which presenteditself, was that of Sam, the piper.
"Why, what have you been about, Master Boyd?" he said. "You werehammering so loud but now, I could not make you hear."
"Mending my tools," said Boyd, with a grim smile. "But what want you,Sam? Have you brought me any news?"
"Ay, plenty," answered the piper. "First, let me put down my bag, andgive me a draught of beer, if it be but thin penny ale, for I amthirsty, and my mouth is full of dust."
"It has often been full of other things since day-break," said thewoodman; "but thou shalt have the beer. Sit you down there, outsidethe door, and I will bring it you."
The piper sat down on the rude seat at the door; and, while thewoodman departed "on hospitable thoughts intent," the hound came andlaid its head upon the lap of the wandering musician. But Sam, ascurious as any of his class, was seized with a strong desire to seewhat the woodman had been really doing, and was rising to look in. Themoment he attempted to move, however, the dog, though he knew himwell, began to growl, and thus kept him there, as if he had beenplaced on guard, till Boyd's return.
"Well, now for your tidings then," said Boyd, when the man had drunk.
"Which will you have first?" demanded the piper, "news from the court,the castle, or the field?"
"It matters not," said Boyd. "Shake them out of the bag, Sam, as theycome."
"Well then, from the court," said Sam. "It should have the place ofhonour, though there is but little honour in it. Well, the king ismighty wroth to hear that the Earl of Richmond has put to sea with afleet and army to invade England. He laughed, they say, when he wastold thereof; and, when he laughs, 'tis sure that he is angry."
"But is Richmond on the sea?" asked the woodman. "I doubt it."
"Nay, I speak but what men tell me," answered Sam. "They say he is onthe sea with a great power. Many men refuse to pay the benevolencetoo, and declare it is an exaction against the law. All this makesRichard angry; and he rages at trifles like a mad bear, when the dogshave got him by the muzzle."
"He'll need a bear-ward, soon," said Boyd; "and he may get one."
"Men say he is insane," continued Sam, "and that his brain has neverbeen right since his son died at Middleham. However, the queen'sfuneral was as glorious as could be; and Richard wept a basin full, Iam told. But yet men have cried more over a raw onion, and never feltit much at heart."
"Well, well, what is all this to me?" asked Boyd, impatiently. "Thequeen is dead and buried. God rest her soul! It had little rest here,since she married the murderer of her husband. The king might loveher, or might not, may grieve for her, or not. What is all that to me?She was not my wife;" and, seating himself on the bench, he bent hiseyes thoughtfully upon the ground.
"Well then, my court news is told," said Sam. "Now for my countrygossip. Know you, good man Boyd, that the Lord Chartley, whom you andI had to do with a good many months ago, when they burned the houseson the abbey green, is back at Tamworth?"
"Ay, I know," replied Boyd. "He has been here thrice, hovering aboutlike a fly round a lamp."
"He's a good youth," said the piper. "He promised me one gold angel,and he gave me two. He has a right loving remembrance of that nighttoo; for I never see him but I get a silver remembrance thereof, so Iam rich now, Master Boyd. Then, there's his good cousin, Sir WilliamArden. He hangs fondly about here too, and is, most days, at the grateof the convent."
"Ay, what does he there?" asked Boyd.
"Why, he talks to the Lady Constance by the hour," answered the piper;"and they all say it will be a match, although, if he be not wellstricken in years, he has been well stricken in wars. He's a good mantoo, and bountiful of silver groats; but his hair is getting mottledwith grey, so that he is not so good a man as the young lord, whosehair is all brown.
'Oh, give to me the bonny brown hair, The teeth so white, and the skin so fair, The lightsome step, and the dainty air, Of my sweet Meg of the May.'
"No, no. I like Chartley best; and I shall make a fortune by him too,before I've done. 'Tis the first luck that ever befel me, and I shallopen my cap to catch it."
"Then, will you let it all run out in drink?" said Boyd. "But, how maythis luck come to you?"
"Why, he has promised me," said the piper, "to fill me a gill stoupwith gold pieces, if I can find out for him where liggs the prettylass who watched with him in the forest through one live-long nightnot long ago. The Lady Iola, they call her. I know not if you knowsuch a one, woodman; but he has asked high and asked low, asked richand asked poor, and employed all sorts of cunning men to know wherethe lady is, so that, in sheer despair, he has betaken himself to apiper--and the piper is the man for his money, for he has found herout."
The woodman started at his words; and, turning upon him with a sternbrow, he said--
"And thou hast told him?"
The piper paused for a moment, and then laughed.
"No," he said, at length; "I have not told him yet. I thought that Iwould first speak with a certain person, who has sometimes oddthoughts of his own, and who, though a rough man at times, has oftenbeen kind to me, in days of trouble. When I meddle, I like to knowwhat I am meddling with; and though I be a poor wretch, who rarelyknows from one day to another where I shall get meat, or, what is moreimportant still, where I shall get drink; yet, to say truth, I wouldrather lose a gill stoup full of gold pieces than make mischief whichI cannot mend. I therefore determined to speak first of all with thisperson, who knows a good deal of the matter, and who, having hidden,can find. Am I not wise?"
"Thou art better than wise," said the woodman, laying his strong handupon his shoulder. "Thou art good, as this world goes."
The woodman paused thoughtfully for a few moments, and then said--
"Not yet. You must not tell him yet. There is a task for her toperform, a scene for her to pass through, before there can bedaylight. Said'st thou the earl of Richmond was on the sea?"
"'Tis so confidently reported," replied the other; "notices of greatpreparation at Harfleur, and of
troops collecting at Rouen, havereached the court, and are noised about the city; and the rumour is,that the good earl has sailed, intending to land in Dorsetshire orDevon."
"Then he must fight or fail at once?" said the woodman; "and he mustbe advised. Yet, doubtless, the tale is false; and at all events, itis too late to stop him. Let me think. To-day is the twenty-eighth ofJuly, is it not?"
"Ay," answered the piper; "'tis so by my calendar."
But the woodman seemed not to hear him, and went on in the samemeditating tone, saying--
"It is a memorable day--ay, it is a memorable day. Once more in armsHark you, my friend, will you be my messenger?"
"What, to the earl of Richmond?" cried Sam, with a start.
"Who said the earl of Richmond, fool?" asked Boyd, sternly. "No, to alady."
"Ay, right willing," answered the piper; "if I judge who the lady is;for she was always kind and good to me."
"Let not your wit run before your knowledge," said the woodman, "or itwill leave truth behind. I send you to a lady, whom you have seen, butwith whom you never spoke--"
He suddenly broke off, and seemed to let his mind ramble to otherthings.
"If Richmond has spread the sail," he said, "he may have touched landere now. But Richard is unprepared. He has no force in the field, nomuster called, that I can hear of. There must be an error, and theremay yet be time enough. Do you remember a lady who, with a train ofmaidens and grooms, passed through the forest several weeks ago?"
"Ay, right well," answered the piper. "She offered at the shrine ofSt. Clare, looked through all the church, examined the monuments, andread the books where strangers' names are written; and, moreover, shegave bountiful alms, of which I had my share. Then she went toAtherston, thence to Tamworth, and to many another place besides. Shewas at the court too."
"And is now gone to Tewksbury," said the woodman. "It is to her Iintend to send you."
"'Tis a far journey, good man Boyd," replied the piper; "andprincesses are too high for me. They say she was a princess. You hadbetter send some one more quick of limbs than I am, and softer ofspeech."
"I can spare none," replied the woodman; "and 'tis because thou artnot fitted to draw a sword or charge a pike that I send thee. As forspeed, thou shalt have means to make four legs supply a cure for thineown lameness. Canst thou ride a horse?"
"Draw a sword or charge a pike!" exclaimed Sam. "Art thou going tomake war, woodman?"
"May not the abbey need defence in these troublous times?" demandedBoyd. "Know you not, that I am bailiff now, as well as head woodman?Canst thou ride a horse, I say?"
"That can I," answered the man. "In my young days I rode the wildest.Would I had wild or tame to bear me now, for I hobble painfully."
"Well, then, thou shalt have one," said Boyd; "and, when thy journeyis done, keep him for thy pains. But mark me, thou shalt promise, onthy soul and conscience, to drink nought but water till thou hastdelivered my message----"
"'Tis a hard oath," said the piper. "I took one like it once before;and I was forced for a fortnight after to double the pint stoup, tomake up for lost time. Well, well, I will take it."
"That is not all," answered Boyd. "Thou shalt promise me, moreover, toutter no word regarding whom the message comes from, neither tomention my name, describe my person, nor tell my abode; but simply toseek that lady, and tell her that the fate of the person for whom shehas so long enquired may still be heard of, and that you can lead herto one who can give her all the tidings she desires."
"And bring her hither?" demanded Sam.
"No," answered the woodman. "First, let me be assured, if you reallyknow where the Lady Iola is. Tell me how you discovered her, andwhere. Do not hesitate; for it must be told."
"Nay, I hesitate not," answered the piper, "for thou wert there too;so I can little harm her. One night, as I was passing through the woodwhich lies between Atherston and Alanstoke--you know the wood rightwell, not the first coppice, but the bigger wood beyond--I heard asound of singing. There were many voices; and, as I love music, Icrept up, when in the little glade, beside the stream that runs intothe Tamworth water, I saw some thirty people, men and women too,singing right sweetly. I know not well what songs they were--assuredlynot the canticles of the church--but yet they seemed pure and holy;for ever and anon they praised God's name, and gave him honour andglory. They prayed too, but in the English tongue; and I could nothelp thinking it were better if all men did the same in the land. SureI am, if they did so, they would know better what they say than whenthey pray in Latin; and, though people, no doubt, would call themeeting Lollardy, I liked it well. Then, when they parted company, Isaw the Lady Iola, for she was one, walk away between two men. One wasabout your height, good man Boyd. The other, I knew by his long whitebeard--the good old franklin, Elias Ames. There was a lad followed, tosee that no one watched, I fancy; and he seemed to me wondrous likethe son of the gardener at the abbey. But I tricked his vigilance, andfollowed round by the other path, till I saw the Lady Iola and thegood old franklin go into his pretty wooden house, with the woodbineover the door, while the others went their way. Next morning, soonafter day-break too, I saw the lady peep forth from the window,through the honeysuckles, looking, to my mind, far sweeter than they."
"Well, then," said the woodman, after meditating for a moment, "go tothe lady I have mentioned; tell her what I have said, but not who saidit; and lead her to that house with as few followers as may be. Thereshe will hear more."
"But how shall I get admittance to her?" demanded Sam. "Why, thoseknaves, those grooms of hers, will look me all over from head to foot,and then drive me from the door. How should a poor piper get speech ofa princess?"
"You shall have the means," answered Boyd. "Wait here for a minute;"and, retiring once more into his cottage, he was a short time absent.When he returned, he bore a piece of written paper in hand, and gaveit to his messenger, saying. "There, take that to Sir WilliamStanley's bailiff at Atherston. He will help to send you on the way."
"A horse----believe him," said the piper, reading. "Does that mean heis to believe a horse?"
"No," replied the woodman, gravely, "to believe you, and give you ahorse. I knew not that you could read. Now look here," he continued,giving the man a large gold cross, of what is called the Greek form,set with five sardonix stones, and attached to two very beautifullywrought chains, terminating in the heads of serpents. It seemed ofvery ancient workmanship, but was so splendid as greatly to excite theadmiration of the poor piper.
"There, cease gazing!" said the woodman; "but take that cross, and putit up carefully, where it will be seen by no one, lest you should berobbed and murdered for its sake. When you meet with the lady'strain--you will find her either in Tewksbury or some of theneighbouring villages--ask to speak with her chief woman. Tell her totake the cross to her mistress, and ask if she will purchase it. Thereis money for your journey too. Methinks she will soon see you, whenshe looks upon that cross."
"But what if she do not?" asked Sam. "What then?"
"Return," replied the woodman, apparently greatly moved; and, withoutfurther words, he was re-entering his cottage, when the piper calledafter him aloud, saying:
"Hark ye, hark ye, yet a minute, Master Boyd. There are two words tothe bargain, remember. If I undertake your errand, you must not spoilmine."
"Thine, man!" exclaimed the woodman, turning upon him sharply. "Whatis thine?"
"If I understood you rightly," said Sam, with a tone of deference,"you said, or meant to say, that the secret of this dear lady's abodewas not to be told to the young lord as yet, but that it might be toldby and by. Now, I must be the teller; for I made the discovery."
"I understand thee," said the woodman. "Fear not, thou shalt have thegill measure of gold pieces, which is what thou carest about; and noone shall take it from thee. Now, quick upon thy way; for timepresses, and events are hurrying forward which admit of no delay."