CHAPTER VII.
It was a dark night; and the appearance of the cottage or hut was, inthe inside at least, gloomy enough. The large wooden boards, whichshut out wind and storm, covered the apertures that served forwindows; and neither lamp nor taper, nor even a common resin candle,gave light within. Yet it was only a sort of half darkness thatreigned in the first chamber, as one entered from the forest; for alarge fire was burning on the hearth, and a log weighing somehundredweight had just been put on. The dry unlopped shoots, andwithered leaves which still hung around the trunk of the decayed tree,had caught fire first, and the flame they produced went flashing roundthe walls with a sort of fitful glare, displaying all that theycontained.
The room was a large one, larger indeed than many, in buildings withfar greater pretensions; for the chief woodman had upon particularoccasions to assemble a great number of his foresters under that roof.Whole deer were often brought in to be broken and flayed, as the termswere, and prepared for cooking, before they were sent down to the moredelicate hands of the abbey. Besides, the woodman's house was usuallyin those days a place of general hospitality; and, indeed, the goodladies of the abbey always passed right willingly the charges which hesometimes had to make for the entertainment of strangers and wayfarerson their lands.
As compared with a poor man's cottage of the present day, that of thewoodman was a large but very wretched abode; but as compared with thehuts of the ordinary peasantry of the time, it was a splendid mansion.The walls were formed of large beams of wood, crossing and supportingeach other in various strange directions, forming a sort of pattern orfigure inside and out, not unpleasant to look upon. The intersticeswere filled up with mud, mingled with small gravel stones and thickloam; and the floor was of mud, well battened down and hardened,though, in spite of all care, it presented various inequalities to thefoot. Ceiling, as may well be supposed, the chamber had none. Large,heavy, roughly hewn rafters appeared above, with the inside of thethatch visible between the beams. A partition wall, with a rude doorin it, crossed the building at about one third of its length, but thiswall was raised no higher than those which formed the enclosure, thatis to say, about seven or at most eight feet; and thus, though thelower part of the building was divided into several chambers, a clearpassage for air, or sound, or rats, or mice, existed immediately underthe roof, from one end of the building to the other. The most solid ormassive piece of architecture in the whole structure was the chimney,with its enormously wide hearth and projecting wings. These were allbuilt of hewn stone, the same as that of which the abbey was composed;and before the cottage was raised around it--for the chimney was builtfirst--the mass must have looked like an obelisk in the midst of theforest.
Although we have greatly abandoned that sort of building at present,and doubtless our houses are more warm and air-tight than those ofthat day; yet the plan of these large wooden frame-works, with thebeams shown on the inside and the out, was not without itsconvenience. Thus nails and hooks, and shelves and cupboards, wereeasily fixed in, or against the walls, without any danger of knockingdown the plaster, or injuring the painting. Indeed, I do not know whatthe woodman would have done without this convenience, for the wholewalls, on three sides at least, were studded with hooks and pegs, fromwhich were suspended all sorts of implements belonging to his craft,and a variety of other goods and chattels. There were axes, knives,saws, bills, wedges, mallets, hammers, picks; long bows, cross bows,sheaves of arrows, bags of quarrels, boar-spears, nets, and two orthree pronged forks, some serrated at the edges like Neptune'strident, and evidently intended to bring up unwilling eels out oftheir native mud. Then again there were various garments, such as awoodman might be supposed to use, leathern coats, large boots, a clothjerkin, apparently for days of ceremony, gloves made of the thickestparts of a buck's hide, and a cap almost shaped like a morion, ofdouble-jacked leather, which would have required a sharp sword andstrong arm to cut it through. But, besides this defensive piece ofclothing, which was probably intended rather for the forest than thefield, was the ordinary steel cap, back and breastplate of a feudalarcher of the period; for each woodman was bound to serve the abbey inarms for a certain period, in case of need.
Hanging from the beams above, was a very comfortable store of winterprovision, several fat sides of bacon, half a side of a fallow deersalted and dried, and several strings of large sausages smoked in themost approved manner. Bunches of dried herbs too were there, and asalt fish or two, to eke out the lentil soup and eggs upon a fast day.
Within the wings of the large chimney, on a coarse wooden settle, andwith his foot resting upon the end of one of the iron dogs orandirons, sat the woodman himself. His arms were crossed upon hischest. His back rested against the wall of the chimney; and his eyeswere fixed upon the blazing fire, as if one of those musing fits hadseized him, in which eye and fancy are at work, seeing castles, andtowers, and landscapes, and faces in the mouldering embers, while themind, abstracted from the outward scene, is busy in the quiet secrecyof the heart with things of more deep and personal interest. By hisside sat a large wolf dog, of a kind not often seen in England, inform like a gigantic greyhound, covered with shaggy slate-colouredhair, thickly grizzled with grey, especially about the head and paws.
His long gaunt jaws rested on the woodman's knee; and sometimes heturned his contemplative eyes upon the fire, seeming to watch it, andmuse upon its nature; and sometimes he raised them with a sleepy butaffectionate look to his master's face, as if he would fain havespoken to him and asked him, "What shall we do next?"
Not a look did the poor hound get for some time, however, for hismaster had other things to think of; but at last the good man laid hishand upon the shaggy head, and said "Honest and true, and the onlyone!"
He then resumed his musing again, till at length the dog rose up, and,with slow and stately steps, advanced to the door, and putting downhis nose, seemed to snuff the air from without. The woodman lifted uphis head and listened; but the only sounds which were audible werethose produced by the footfalls of a horse at a distance; and, turninground to the fire again with a well-pleased look, the woodmanmurmured, "Good. He is coming this way."
He did not budge from his settle, however, nor seem to pay muchattention, till the rapid footfalls of the horse seemed to ceasealtogether, or turn, in a different direction. Then he looked up andsaid, "That is strange. He cannot have missed his way after havingtwice found it before."
He listened attentively; but still there was no sound audible to hisear; and it was the dog who first discovered that a stranger wasapproaching. A low growl and then a fierce sharp bark were theintimations which he gave, as soon as his ear caught the sound of astep, and his master immediately called him to him, saying, "Hither,Ban, hither. Down to foot--down, sir;" and the obedient houndimmediately stretched himself out at length beside the fire.
The woodman, in the mean time, gave an attentive ear, and at lengthdistinguished the steps of a man approaching, mixed occasionally withthe slow fall of horses' hoofs upon turfy ground, where the iron shoefrom time to time struck against a pebble, but otherwise made nonoise. Nevertheless he sat still till the noise, after becoming louderand louder, stopped suddenly, as if the traveller had paused upon asmall green which stretched out before the door, comparatively openand free from trees for the space of about three quarters of an acre,although here and there a solitary beech rose out of the turf,overshadowing the greater part of the space. No brushwood was there,however, and the small forest road traversed the green on its waytowards the distant town, spreading out into a wide sort of sandytrack, nearly opposite to the woodman's house.
As soon as the sound of footsteps ceased, the first inhabitant of thecottage strode across, and threw open the door, demanding, "Who goesthere?"
The answer was as usual--"a friend;" but, before he gave him admissionor credence, the woodman was inclined to demand further explanations,saying, "Every man in this day professes himself a friend, and isoften an enemy. Say, what friend, and whence?"
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The visitor, however, without reply, proceeded to fasten his horse toa large iron hook, which projected from one of the beams of thecottage, and then advanced straight towards the woodman, who stillstood in his doorway. The man eyed him as he came near, and then,seeming better satisfied, retired a step or two to give him entrance.The traveller came forward with a bold free step, and without ceremonywalked into the cottage, and took a seat by the fire.
"Now let us talk a little, my friend," he said, turning to thewoodman; "but first shut the door."
The other did as he was bid, and then, turning round, gazed at thestranger from head to foot with a slight smile. After hiscontemplation was finished, he pulled his own settle to a littledistance and seated himself, saying, "Well?" while the large hound,after snuffing quietly at the stranger's boots, laid his head upon hisknee and looked up in his face.
"You are a hospitable man, I doubt not," said the visitor, "and willgive me shelter for an hour or two, I trust. I have ridden hard, asyou may see."
"But not far or long since supper time," rejoined the woodman: "butwhat want you with me, my lord?"
"You seem to know me," said Lord Chartley, "and indeed are a veryknowing person, if I may believe all.--Are you alone here?"
"Yes, we are man to man," answered the woodman with a laugh.
"Is there no one at the back of that door?" demanded Lord Chartley.
"Nothing more substantial than the wind," replied the other. "Of thatthere is sometimes too much."
"Pray how do you know me?" demanded Lord Chartley.
"I never said I know you," answered the woodman. "Are not your silksand satins, your gilt spurs, the jewel in your bonnet, to say nothingof the golden St. Barnabas, and your twisted sword hilt, enough tomark you out as a lord? But Lord, Lord, what do I care for a lord?However, I do know you, and I will tell you how far it is marvellous.I was in Tamworth yesterday, and saw a man wonderfully gaily dressed,upon a horse which must have cost full three hundred angels, with someforty or fifty followers, all gaily dressed too; so I asked one of thecunning men of the place, who the gay man on the fine horse was, andhe answered, it was the young Lord Chartley. Was not that surprising?"
"Not very," replied Lord Chartley laughing; "but what came after wasmore marvellous; how this cunning man should have known that the youngLord Chartley would sup at the abbey of Atherston St. Clare tonight."
"It was," answered the woodman, in the same sort of ironical tone,"especially as the Lord Chartley mentioned his purpose gaily to SirEdward Hungerford, and Sir Edward Hungerford told it to Sir CharlesWeinants, and Sir Charles Weinants to his servant Dick Hagger, who, asin duty bound, told it to Boyd the woodman, and asked if there werereally any pretty girls to be seen at the abbey, or whether it was amere gibe of the good lord's."
"The good lord was a great fool for his pains," said Lord Chartley,thoughtfully; "and yet not so much so either, for it was needful togive a prying ass some reason for going."
"Take care, my good lord," replied the woodman, nodding his headsententiously, "Take care that you don't find the prying ass a viciousass too. Those donkies kick very hard sometimes, and there is noknowing when they will begin."
"Oh, this is a soft fool," replied the nobleman. "I fear him not.There are others I fear more."
"And none too much," replied the woodman, "though this man you feartoo little."
Lord Chartley sat and mused for several moments without reply. Then,raising his head suddenly, he looked full in the woodman's face,saying, "Come, come, my friend, we must speak more clearly. If whatthe abbess told me be true, you should know that we are upon nojesting matters."
"Good faith, I jest not, my lord," said the woodman. "I speak in assober seriousness as ever I can use in this merry world, whereeverything is so light that nothing deserves a heavy thought. Why,here the time was, and I remember it well, when taking a man's lifewithout battle or trial was held to be murder by grave old gentlemenwith white beards. Now heads fall down like chesnuts about the yellowautumn time of the year, and no one heeds it any more than if theywere pumpkins. Then again I recollect the time when a man confided inhis wife and she did not betray him, and might lend his purse to hisfriend without having his throat cut as payment of the debt. Learnedclerks, in those days, sang songs and not lewd ballads; and even acourtier would tell truth--sometimes. It is long ago indeed; but now,when life, and faith, and truth cannot be counted upon for lastingmore than five minutes beyond the little present moment in which westand, how can any man be very serious upon any subject? There isnothing left in the world that is worth two thoughts."
"Methinks there is," answered Lord Chartley; "but you touch upon thethings which brought me here. If faith and truth be as short-lived asyou would have it, master woodman, how would you, that either theabbess or I, or a person to whom I will at present give no name,should trust you in a matter where his life, ay, and more than hislife, is perilled?"
"Faith, only as a dire necessity," answered the woodman, in anindifferent tone, "and because there is none other whom you can trust.The abbess will trust me, perhaps, because she knows me; you, becauseit is too late to think of any other means; and your nameless person,because he cannot help it."
"I know not that it is too late," replied Lord Chartley. "You have notgot the tally board so completely in your hand, my friend, as to runup the score without looking at the other side. But, in a word, I havemade a good excuse to leave my friends and servants, in order to seewhether I could obtain some warrant for trusting you, in a matter ofsuch deep importance as that which may perhaps be soon cast upon you."
"The best of all warrants for a man's good faith, my lord," answeredthe woodman, "is the certainty that he can gain nothing by breakingit. Now to speak plainly, I knew yesterday that good old FatherMorton, bishop of Ely, was housed at Tamworth under the gown of afriar. To-night I know that he is lodged in the abbey. Had it sopleased me either yesterday or to-day, I could have brought over asmany of King Richard's bands from Coleshill as would have soonconveyed his right reverence to the tower, and if reward is to be got,could have got it. Therefore, it is not a bit more likely that Ishould betray him, were he now standing under this roof, thanyesterday in Tamworth, or to-day at Atherston St. Clare."
"There is some truth in what you say," answered Lord Chartley; "and Ibelieve the best plan is to let a good dog beat the ground his ownway. Yet I would fain know how you were informed that such a personwas with me."
"What has that to do with the matter?" answered the woodman. "Take itall for granted. You see I am informed. What matters how?"
"Because it is somewhat suspicious," answered Lord Chartley at once,"that you should gain intelligence having no reference to your callingor station, while others both shrewd and watchful have gained none."
"I have no intelligence," replied the woodman. "Everything is simpleenough when we look at it close. I saw the bishop dismount, knew him,and understood the whole business in a minute. He was kind to somewhom I loved in years long past; and I do not forget faces--that isall. But now, my good lord, you have somewhat squeezed me withexaminations. Let me ask you a question or two, of quite as muchmoment. On what excuse did you leave your friends and servants?"
"Good faith, you know so much," replied Lord Chartley, "that methinksyou might know that also. However, as I must trust you in more weightymatters, I may as well tell that too. I have some doubts of one of ourparty, who joined us just on the other side of Tamworth, and hasadhered closely to us ever since."
"Like a wet boot to a swelled ancle, I will answer for it," said thewoodman, "if you mean the knave Weinants."
"I mean no other," answered Lord Chartley; "but however to my tale;"and he proceeded to relate all that had occurred that night in thewood. "I did not follow the man, I pretended to follow," he continued,"because I knew that was in vain. He had got too far away from me;and, moreover, had I caught him, what could I have done? I have nopower over Sir Charles Weinant's servants, and he had but to name hislord, and
plead his orders, and my authority was at an end; but as thegood lady abbess was very confident she could, by your help, insureour friend's safety, even should the abbey be searched, I came hitherto make myself more sure, by talking with you myself."
While the young nobleman had been speaking, the woodman had risen up,with a somewhat eager and anxious eye, but continued gazing upon him,without interrupting him, till he had done.
"This must be looked to," he said, at length; "there is no time to belost. Are you sure these excellent friends of yours have gone on?"
"So I besought them," answered the other.
"Besought them!" said the woodman. "We must have better security thanbeseechings;" and, taking a horn that was hanging against the wall, hewent to the door and blew two notes, twice repeated.
"We shall soon have some tidings," he said, returning into the hut. "Ihave got my deer-keepers watching in different places; for our rogueshere are fond of venison, as well as their neighbours, and care notmuch whether it be in or out of season."
"So then you are head keeper, as well as head woodman?" said LordChartley.
"Ay, my lord," answered the other. "We have no fine degrees anddistinctions here. We mix all trades together, woodman, verderers,keepers, rangers. 'Tis not like a royal forest, nor an earl's park,where no man ventures out of his own walk. This Sir Charles Weinants,"he continued, in a musing tone; "so he joined you on the other side ofTamworth. 'Tis strange he did not betray you earlier."
"He seemed not to know there was anything to betray," replied theyoung lord; "looked innocent and unconscious, and talked of points anddoublets, and the qualities of Spanish leather, women, and perfumes,with Sir Edward Hungerford; or of horses, and suits of armour, cannon,and such like things, with Arden; or with me of sheep, poetry, andpolicy, the fit furnishing of an old hall, or a great feast forChristmas Day."
"He knew his men belike," said the woodman, with a cynical smile.
"Perhaps he did," replied the young lord, somewhat sternly, "and mightbe sure that, if he betrayed my friend in my company, I would cut histhroat without waiting for royal permission, though he had all thekings in Christendom for his patrons."
"That might have a share in his discretion, it is true," answered thewoodman; "but we must not have him hear our counsels now, and mustmake sure that he and his, as well as your own people, have riddenon."
"How can we learn that?" demanded Chartley.
"We shall hear anon," answered the woodman; and in a minute or twoafter the door opened, and a man in a forester's garb put in a roundhead covered with curly hair, demanding--
"What would you, master Boyd?"
"How goes all above?" demanded the woodman.
"All well," answered the forester.
"Upon the road," said Boyd; "upon the Hinckley road?"
"The company from the abbey just passed, all but three," replied theman. "One rode away first, and took the Coleshill road, so Tim Harrissays. The other followed five minutes after, and came hither."
"Who was the third?" asked Lord Chartley eagerly.
The man did not answer for a moment, but looked to the woodman, whonodded his head, and then the other replied--
"'Twas the tawny Moor. He is up the road there, within sight of thedoor."
"Let him rest, let him rest," said the woodman. "Can you trust him, mygood lord?"
"Better than I could trust a king, a minister, or a lover," repliedChartley. "If ever there was true faith, out of a big dog, it liesunder that brown skin."
"To Coleshill?" said the woodman, musing and turning round the horn inhis hand, as if he were examining it curiously. "Ten miles by thenearest way. We shall hear more soon, but not for three hours, I wot.Go along Dick, and get two or three more upon the Coleshill road,about half a mile or so from the abbey. Set one up in a tree; and ifhe sees a band of men coming down, let him sound three notes upon hishorn, over and over, till he is answered. You, yourself, as soon asyou hear the sound, run down to the abbey, and make St. Clare's babycall out aloud. Tell the portress to let the lady abbess know thereare enemies coming near, and that she had better take counselimmediately. Then draw altogether here, as many men as you can get,for we may have work to do. Away with you! And now, my good lord," hecontinued, as the man shut the door, "I must have my supper, and ifyou like to share it, you shall have woodman's fare."
"I have supped already," replied Lord Chartley; "and methinks you eatlate for a forester. They are always ready enough for their meals."
"I am ready enough for mine," replied the woodman, "seeing that nomorsel has passed my lips this day. I never touch food, of any kind,till midnight is near at hand. I am like a hunting dog, which, to doits work well, should have but one meal a-day."
"Your habits are somewhat strange, for a man of your condition," saidLord Chartley, "and your language also."
"Oh," said the woodman, "as for my language, I have seen courts, andam courtly. Why, I was for several years a lackey to a great man; butmy preferment was spoiled by the jealousy of other lackeys, so, tosave myself from worse, I ran away and betook myself to the woods andwilds; but I can be as delicate and mincing as a serving maid shouldneed be, and as full of courtesies as a queen's ape. I am like everywidow of sixty, and like every parson in rusty black without a parish;I have had my sorrows and seen my best days, which makes me at timesmelancholic; but I haven't forgot my gentility, when it suits my turn,nor the choice words which one perfunctorily gathers up in courts."
All this was said in a bitter and sneering manner, as if he made amockery of the very acquirements he boasted of; and Lord Chartleyreplied: "By my faith, I believe your last trade is honester than yourfirst, my good friend. However, get your supper, and tell me in themean while, in plain English, what you think all this will come to."
The woodman took down a large bowl from a shelf on the one side of theroom, and poured a part of the milk that it contained into an ironpot. This he suspended over the fire, by a hook which hung danglingover the blaze, and when the milk began to boil, scattered a handfulof oatmeal in it, stirring it round at the same time, till it was of atolerable thick consistency. Upon this mess, when he had removed itfrom the fire and placed it on the table, he poured the rest of themilk cold. But it must not be supposed that all this time he hadrefrained from speaking. On the contrary, in brief and brokensentences, he replied to the young nobleman's question, saying, "Whatwill become of it? Why, simply Richard's bands will be down about theabbey in an hour or two, and will search every corner of it--or set iton fire, perchance, or any thing else that they please to do."
"They will hardly dare, I think," said Lord Chartley. "This abbey, Iam told, has the privilege of sanctuary, and if King Richard has aquality on earth, on which he can justly pride himself, it is hisstrictness in repressing the lawless violence which has risen up intimes of long and fierce contention."
"Ay, lawless violence in other men," said the woodman; "but crimescommitted in our own cause become gentle failings in the eyes oftyrants. The man who punishes a robber or assassin, rewards a murdercommitted on the king's behalf. Was princely Buckingham the other dayjudged by the laws or sentenced by his peers? No, no. The king's wordwas warrant enough for his death, and would be for the sacking of theabbey. There is but one respect which could save it. This king wouldfain be thought religious; and he has respected sanctuary beforenow--where it served the purposes of a prison as well as a refuge; buthe is cunning as well as resolute; and he will find means to hide hisshare in the deed he profits by. Look you here now, my good lord;suppose some band of mere plunderers attacks the abbey, as was donenot very long ago; then an obnoxious bishop may fall into the king'shands, without his avowing the deed."
"But his officers would be recognised," replied Lord Chartley.
"True, if the deed were committed by regular troops under nobleleaders," said the woodman; "but these bands at Coleshill are meremercenaries, gathered together in haste when the report first ran thatthe earl of Richmond was coming over hither. Sin
ce then, the kingknows not what to do with them; and there they lie, living at freequarters upon the people. These are men, easily disavowed. But it willbe as I have said; of that be you assured. If the bishop is now withinthe abbey, it will go hard but they will seek him there. Then, if theabbess is wise and follows counsel, she will send him forth to me, andI will provide for his safety."
"But where? But how?" demanded Lord Chartley. "This forest is not ofsuch extent that you could shelter him from any keen pursuit."
The woodman looked at him with a smile, and then replied: "We do nottrust all its secrets to every one. They are more intricate than youimagine. There are a thousand places where he might be hid, not tomention the old castle on the hill. It was a stronghold of the familyof the Morleys, taken and sacked in the civil wars, under the fourthHarry, and the lands given over to the abbey. There is many a chamberand many a hall there, which would puzzle the keenest-scented talbotof all the king's pack, to nose out a fugitive therein. You mightalmost as well hunt a rat through the cript of an old church as seekfor any one hiding there. That is one place; but there are a dozenothers; and whither I will take him must be decided at the time.However, rest you sure that, once out of the abbey walls, and in mycharge, he is safe."
"We must trust so," replied the young nobleman; "and your goodwill andintentions, I doubt not; but fate is out of any man's keeping, my goodfriend, and indeed we are all in hers. However, we must do as we can,and leave the rest to God's good will, who shapes all things as seemsfit unto him, and often overrules our wishes and designs for excellentpurposes that we cannot foresee. While you take your supper--asomewhat poor one for a strong man--I will go out and tell my goodArab, Ibn Ayoub, that I am safe and well. Otherwise, having marked mehither, he will stay watching near, till I or the sun come forth."
"Well bethought," answered the woodman. "'Tis strange how faithfulthese heathens sometimes are. Bring him in hither, and let him stablehis horse and yours in the shed behind the cottage. He will find theway there, round to the left."