CHAPTER XXIX.
Now fare thee well, my master--if true service Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-line, And let our barks across the pathless flood Hold different courses--THE SHIPWRECK.
Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the Castle scarce knowing whatto think of his late strange and most unexpected interview with AmyRobsart, and dubious if he had done well, being entrusted with thedelegated authority of her father, to pass his word so solemnly to leaveher to her own guidance for so many hours. Yet how could he have deniedher request--dependent as she had too probably rendered herself uponVarney? Such was his natural reasoning. The happiness of her futurelife might depend upon his not driving her to extremities; and since noauthority of Tressilian's could extricate her from the power of Varney,supposing he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what title had heto destroy the hope of domestic peace, which might yet remain to her,by setting enmity betwixt them? Tressilian resolved, therefore,scrupulously to observe his word pledged to Amy, both because it hadbeen given, and because, as he still thought, while he considered andreconsidered that extraordinary interview, it could not with justice orpropriety have been refused.
In one respect, he had gained much towards securing effectual protectionfor this unhappy and still beloved object of his early affection. Amywas no longer mewed up in a distant and solitary retreat under thecharge of persons of doubtful reputation. She was in the Castle ofKenilworth, within the verge of the Royal Court for the time, free fromall risk of violence, and liable to be produced before Elizabeth onthe first summons. These were circumstances which could not but assistgreatly the efforts which he might have occasion to use in her behalf.
While he was thus balancing the advantages and perils which attended herunexpected presence in Kenilworth, Tressilian was hastily and anxiouslyaccosted by Wayland, who, after ejaculating, "Thank God, your worship isfound at last!" proceeded with breathless caution to pour into his earthe intelligence that the lady had escaped from Cumnor Place.
"And is at present in this Castle," said Tressilian. "I know it, andI have seen her. Was it by her own choice she found refuge in myapartment?"
"No," answered Wayland; "but I could think of no other way of safelybestowing her, and was but too happy to find a deputy-usher who knewwhere you were quartered--in jolly society truly, the hall on the onehand, and the kitchen on the other!"
"Peace, this is no time for jesting," answered Tressilian sternly.
"I wot that but too well," said the artist, "for I have felt these threedays as if I had a halter round my neck. This lady knows not her ownmind--she will have none of your aid--commands you not to be named toher--and is about to put herself into the hands of my Lord Leicester.I had never got her safe into your chamber, had she known the owner ofit."
"Is it possible," said Tressilian. "But she may have hopes the Earl willexert his influence in her favour over his villainous dependant."
"I know nothing of that," said Wayland; "but I believe, if she is toreconcile herself with either Leicester or Varney, the side of theCastle of Kenilworth which will be safest for us will be the outside,from which we can fastest fly away. It is not my purpose to abide aninstant after delivery of the letter to Leicester, which waits but yourcommands to find its way to him. See, here it is--but no--a plague onit--I must have left it in my dog-hole, in the hay-loft yonder, where Iam to sleep."
"Death and fury!" said Tressilian, transported beyond his usualpatience; "thou hast not lost that on which may depend a stake moreimportant than a thousand such lives as thine?"
"Lost it!" answered Wayland readily; "that were a jest indeed! No, sir,I have it carefully put up with my night-sack, and some matters I haveoccasion to use; I will fetch it in an instant."
"Do so," said Tressilian; "be faithful, and thou shalt be well rewarded.But if I have reason to suspect thee, a dead dog were in better casethan thou!"
Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seeming confidence and alacrity,but, in fact, filled with the utmost dread and confusion. The letter waslost, that was certain, notwithstanding the apology which he had made toappease the impatient displeasure of Tressilian. It was lost--it mightfall into wrong hands--it would then certainly occasion a discoveryof the whole intrigue in which he had been engaged; nor, indeed, didWayland see much prospect of its remaining concealed, in any event. Hefelt much hurt, besides, at Tressilian's burst of impatience.
"Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin for services where my neck isconcerned, it is time I should look to myself. Here have I offended, foraught I know, to the death, the lord of this stately castle, whose wordwere as powerful to take away my life as the breath which speaks itto blow out a farthing candle. And all this for a mad lady, and amelancholy gallant, who, on the loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, hashis hand on his poignado, and swears death and fury!--Then there is theDoctor and Varney.--I will save myself from the whole mess of them. Lifeis dearer than gold. I will fly this instant, though I leave my rewardbehind me."
These reflections naturally enough occurred to a mind like Wayland's,who found himself engaged far deeper than he had expected in a trainof mysterious and unintelligible intrigues, in which the actors seemedhardly to know their own course. And yet, to do him justice, hispersonal fears were, in some degree, counterbalanced by his compassionfor the deserted state of the lady.
"I care not a groat for Master Tressilian," he said; "I have done morethan bargain by him, and I have brought his errant-damosel within hisreach, so that he may look after her himself. But I fear the poor thingis in much danger amongst these stormy spirits. I will to her chamber,and tell her the fate which has befallen her letter, that she may writeanother if she list. She cannot lack a messenger, I trow, where thereare so many lackeys that can carry a letter to their lord. And I willtell her also that I leave the Castle, trusting her to God, her ownguidance, and Master Tressilian's care and looking after. Perhaps shemay remember the ring she offered me--it was well earned, I trow; butshe is a lovely creature, and--marry hang the ring! I will not beara base spirit for the matter. If I fare ill in this world for mygood-nature, I shall have better chance in the next. So now for thelady, and then for the road."
With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat that steals on herprey, Wayland resumed the way to the Countess's chamber, sliding alongby the side of the courts and passages, alike observant of all aroundhim, and studious himself to escape observation. In this manner hecrossed the outward and inward Castle yard, and the great archedpassage, which, running betwixt the range of kitchen offices and thehall, led to the bottom of the little winding-stair that gave access tothe chambers of Mervyn's Tower.
The artist congratulated himself on having escaped the various perils ofhis journey, and was in the act of ascending by two steps at once, whenhe observed that the shadow of a man, thrown from a door which stoodajar, darkened the opposite wall of the staircase. Wayland drew backcautiously, went down to the inner courtyard, spent about a quarter ofan hour, which seemed at least quadruple its usual duration, in walkingfrom place to place, and then returned to the tower, in hopes to findthat the lurker had disappeared. He ascended as high as the suspiciousspot--there was no shadow on the wall; he ascended a few yardsfarther--the door was still ajar, and he was doubtful whether to advanceor retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and Michael Lambournebolted out upon the astonished Wayland. "Who the devil art thou? andwhat seekest thou in this part of the Castle? march into that chamber,and be hanged to thee!"
"I am no dog, to go at every man's whistle," said the artist, affectinga confidence which was belied by a timid shake in his voice.
"Sayest thou me so?--Come hither, Lawrence Staples."
A huge, ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of six feet high,appeared at the door, and Lambourne proceeded: "If thou be'st so fond ofthis tower, my friend, thou shalt see its foundations, good twelve feetbelow the bed of the lake, and tenanted by certain jolly toads, snakes,and so forth, which thou wilt find migh
ty good company. Therefore, oncemore I ask you in fair play, who thou art, and what thou seekest here?"
"If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me," thought Wayland, "I am agone man." He therefore answered submissively, "He was the poor jugglerwhom his honour had met yesterday in Weatherly Bottom."
"And what juggling trick art thou playing in this tower? Thy gang," saidLambourne, "lie over against Clinton's buildings."
"I came here to see my sister," said the juggler, "who is in MasterTressilian's chamber, just above."
"Aha!" said Lambourne, smiling, "here be truths! Upon my honour, for astranger, this same Master Tressilian makes himself at home among us,and furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all sorts of commodities.This will be a precious tale of the sainted Master Tressilian, and willbe welcome to some folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me.--Hark ye,fellow," he continued, addressing Wayland, "thou shalt not give Pussa hint to steal away we must catch her in her form. So, back with thatpitiful sheep-biting visage of thine, or I will fling thee from thewindow of the tower, and try if your juggling skill can save yourbones."
"Your worship will not be so hardhearted, I trust," said Wayland; "poorfolk must live. I trust your honour will allow me to speak with mysister?"
"Sister on Adam's side, I warrant," said Lambourne; "or, if otherwise,the more knave thou. But sister or no sister, thou diest on point offox, if thou comest a-prying to this tower once more. And now I think ofit--uds daggers and death!--I will see thee out of the Castle, for thisis a more main concern than thy jugglery."
"But, please your worship," said Wayland, "I am to enact Arion in thepageant upon the lake this very evening."
"I will act it myself by Saint Christopher!" said Lambourne. "Orion,callest thou him?--I will act Orion, his belt and his seven starsto boot. Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art--follow me! Orstay--Lawrence, do thou bring him along."
Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the unresisting juggler;while Lambourne, with hasty steps, led the way to that same sallyport,or secret postern, by which Tressilian had returned to the Castle, andwhich opened in the western wall at no great distance from Mervyn'sTower.
While traversing with a rapid foot the space betwixt the tower and thesallyport, Wayland in vain racked his brain for some device which mightavail the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding his own imminent danger,he felt deep interest. But when he was thrust out of the Castle, andinformed by Lambourne, with a tremendous oath, that instant death wouldbe the consequence of his again approaching it, he cast up his handsand eyes to heaven, as if to call God to witness he had stood to theuttermost in defence of the oppressed; then turned his back on the proudtowers of Kenilworth, and went his way to seek a humbler and safer placeof refuge.
Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while after Wayland, and thenturned to go back to their tower, when the former thus addressed hiscompanion: "Never credit me, Master Lambourne, if I can guess why thouhast driven this poor caitiff from the Castle, just when he was to beara part in the show that was beginning, and all this about a wench."
"Ah, Lawrence," replied Lambourne, "thou art thinking of Black JoanJugges of Slingdon, and hast sympathy with human frailty. But, corragio,most noble Duke of the Dungeon and Lord of Limbo, for thou art as darkin this matter as thine own dominions of Little-ease. My most reverendSignior of the Low Countries of Kenilworth, know that our most notablemaster, Richard Varney, would give as much to have a hole in this sameTressilian's coat, as would make us some fifty midnight carousals, withthe full leave of bidding the steward go snick up, if he came to startleus too soon from our goblets."
"Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right," said Lawrence Staples,the upper-warder, or, in common phrase, the first jailer, of KenilworthCastle, and of the Liberty and Honour belonging thereto. "But howwill you manage when you are absent at the Queen's entrance, MasterLambourne; for methinks thou must attend thy master there?"
"Why thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must keep ward in my absence.Let Tressilian enter if he will, but see thou let no one come out. Ifthe damsel herself would make a break, as 'tis not unlike she may, scareher back with rough words; she is but a paltry player's wench afterall."
"Nay for that matter," said Lawrence, "I might shut the iron wicket uponher that stands without the double door, and so force per force she willbe bound to her answer without more trouble."
"Then Tressilian will not get access to her," said Lambourne, reflectinga moment. "But 'tis no matter; she will be detected in his chamber, andthat is all one. But confess, thou old bat's-eyed dungeon-keeper, thatyou fear to keep awake by yourself in that Mervyn's Tower of thine?"
"Why, as to fear, Master Lambourne," said the fellow, "I mind it not theturning of a key; but strange things have been heard and seen in thattower. You must have heard, for as short time as you have been inKenilworth, that it is haunted by the spirit of Arthur ap Mervyn, awild chief taken by fierce Lord Mortimer when he was one of the LordsMarchers of Wales, and murdered, as they say, in that same tower whichbears his name."
"Oh, I have heard the tale five hundred times," said Lambourne, "and howthe ghost is always most vociferous when they boil leeks and stirabout,or fry toasted cheese, in the culinary regions. Santo Diavolo, man, holdthy tongue, I know all about it!"
"Ay, but thou dost not, though," said the turnkey, "for as wise as thouwouldst make thyself. Ah, it is an awful thing to murder a prisoner inhis ward!--you that may have given a man a stab in a dark street knownothing of it. To give a mutinous fellow a knock on the head with thekeys, and bid him be quiet, that's what I call keeping order in theward; but to draw weapon and slay him, as was done to this Welsh lord,THAT raises you a ghost that will render your prison-house untenantableby any decent captive for some hundred years. And I have that regardfor my prisoners, poor things, that I have put good squires and men ofworship, that have taken a ride on the highway, or slandered my Lord ofLeicester, or the like, fifty feet under ground, rather than I wouldput them into that upper chamber yonder that they call Mervyn's Bower.Indeed, by good Saint Peter of the Fetters, I marvel my noble lord, orMaster Varney, could think of lodging guests there; and if this MasterTressilian could get any one to keep him company, and in especial apretty wench, why, truly, I think he was in the right on't."
"I tell thee," said Lambourne, leading the way into the turnkey'sapartment, "thou art an ass. Go bolt the wicket on the stair, andtrouble not thy noddle about ghosts. Give me the wine stoup, man; I amsomewhat heated with chafing with yonder rascal."
While Lambourne drew a long draught from a pitcher of claret, which hemade use of without any cup, the warder went on, vindicating his ownbelief in the supernatural.
"Thou hast been few hours in this Castle, and hast been for the wholespace so drunk, Lambourne, that thou art deaf, dumb, and blind. But weshould hear less of your bragging were you to pass a night with us atfull moon; for then the ghost is busiest, and more especially when arattling wind sets in from the north-west, with some sprinkling of rain,and now and then a growl of thunder. Body o' me, what crackings andclashings, what groanings and what howlings, will there be at such timesin Mervyn's Bower, right as it were over our heads, till the matter oftwo quarts of distilled waters has not been enough to keep my lads andme in some heart!"
"Pshaw, man!" replied Lambourne, on whom his last draught, joined torepeated visitations of the pitcher upon former occasions, began to makesome innovation, "thou speakest thou knowest not what about spirits. Noone knows justly what to say about them; and, in short, least said mayin that matter be soonest amended. Some men believe in one thing, somein another--it is all matter of fancy. I have known them of all sorts,my dear Lawrence Lock-the-door, and sensible men too. There's a greatlord--we'll pass his name, Lawrence--he believes in the stars and themoon, the planets and their courses, and so forth, and that they twinkleexclusively for his benefit, when in sober, or rather in drunken truth,Lawrence, they are only shining to keep honest fellows like me outof the kennel. Well, sir, let h
is humour pass; he is great enough toindulge it. Then, look ye, there is another--a very learned man, Ipromise you, and can vent Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves'Latin he has an humour of sympathies and antipathies--of changing leadinto gold, and the like; why, via, let that pass too, and let him paythose in transmigrated coin who are fools enough to let it be currentwith them. Then here comest thou thyself, another great man, thoughneither learned nor noble, yet full six feet high, and thou, like apurblind mole, must needs believe in ghosts and goblins, and such like.Now, there is, besides, a great man--that is, a great little man, or alittle great man, my dear Lawrence--and his name begins with V, and whatbelieves he? Why, nothing, honest Lawrence--nothing in earth, heaven, orhell; and for my part, if I believe there is a devil, it is only becauseI think there must be some one to catch our aforesaid friend by the back'when soul and body sever,' as the ballad says; for your antecedent willhave a consequent--RARO ANTECEDENTEM, as Doctor Bircham was wont to say.But this is Greek to you now, honest Lawrence, and in sooth learning isdry work. Hand me the pitcher once more."
"In faith, if you drink more, Michael," said the warder, "you will bein sorry case either to play Arion or to wait on your master on such asolemn night; and I expect each moment to hear the great bell toll forthe muster at Mortimer's Tower, to receive the Queen."
While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank; and then setting down thepitcher, which was nearly emptied, with a deep sigh, he said, in anundertone, which soon rose to a high one as his speech proceeded, "Nevermind, Lawrence; if I be drunk, I know that shall make Varney upholdme sober. But, as I said, never mind; I can carry my drink discreetly.Moreover, I am to go on the water as Orion, and shall take cold unlessI take something comfortable beforehand. Not play Orion? Let us see thebest roarer that ever strained his lungs for twelve pence out-mouthme! What if they see me a little disguised? Wherefore should any man besober to-night? answer me that. It is matter of loyalty to be merry;and I tell thee there are those in the Castle who, if they are not merrywhen drunk, have little chance to be merry when sober--I name no names,Lawrence. But your pottle of sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on aloyal humour, and a merry one. Huzza for Queen Elizabeth!--for thenoble Leicester!--for the worshipful Master Varney!--and for MichaelLambourne, that can turn them all round his finger!"
So saying, he walked downstairs, and across the inner court.
The warder looked after him, shook his head, and while he drew close andlocked a wicket, which, crossing the staircase, rendered it impossiblefor any one to ascend higher than the story immediately beneath Mervyn'sBower, as Tressilian's chamber was named, he thus soliloquized withhimself--"It's a good thing to be a favourite. I well-nigh lost mineoffice, because one frosty morning Master Varney thought I smelled ofaqua vitae; and this fellow can appear before him drunk as a wineskin,and yet meet no rebuke. But then he is a pestilent clever fellow withal,and no one can understand above one half of what he says."