That day it was given out that Sir Edmund Acour, those of his knightswho remained alive and all his following were about to leave for Londonand lay their cause before the King, having learned that Hugh de Cressihad gone thither to prejudice his Grace on his own behalf. It was added,moreover, that they would not return to Suffolk, but proposed whenthey had found justice or the promise of it, to take ship at Dover forFrance. Next morning, accordingly, they rode away from Blythburgh Manorand passed through Dunwich with much pomp, where the citizens of thattown, who were friends of the de Cressis, stared at them with no kindeyes. Indeed, one of these as they crossed the market-place called tothem to be careful not to meet Hugh de Cressi and Grey Dick upon theirjourney, lest there should be more midnight burials and men-at-armsturned into foot-soldiers, whereat all about him laughed rudely.
But Acour did not laugh. He ground his teeth and said into the ear ofNicholas:
"Register this vow for me, priest, that in payment for that jest I'llsack and burn Dunwich when our army comes, and give its men and childrento the sword and its women to the soldiers."
"It shall be done, lord," answered the chaplain, "and should your heartsoften at the appointed time I'll put you in memory of this solemnoath."
At the great house of the Mayor of Dunwich Sir Edmund drew rein anddemanded to see him. Presently this Mayor, a timid, uncertain-lookingman, came in his robes of office and asked anxiously what might be thecause of this message and why an armed band halted at his gate.
"For no ill purpose, sir," answered Acour, "though little of justicehave I found at your hands, who, therefore, must seek it at the Court ofmy liege lord, King Edward. All I ask of you is that you will cause thisletter to be delivered safely to the lady Eve Clavering, who lies insanctuary at the Preceptory of St. Mary and St. John. It is one offarewell, since it seems that this lady who, by her own will and herfather's, was my affianced, wishes to break troth, and I am not a manwho needs an unwilling bride. I'd deliver it myself only that old knave,half priest and half knight, but neither good----"
"You'd best speak no ill of Sir Andrew Arnold here," said a voice in thecrowd.
"Only the master of the Preceptory," went on Acour, changing his tonesomewhat, "might take fright and think I wished to violate his sanctuaryif I came there with thirty spears at my back."
"And no fool either," said the voice, "seeing that they are Frenchspears and his is an English sanctuary."
"Therefore," continued Acour, "I pray you, deliver the letter. Perchancewhen we meet again, Master Mayor," he added with a venomous glance ofhis dark eyes, "you will have some boon to ask of me, and be sure I'llgrant it--if I can."
Then without waiting for an answer, for the mob of sturdy fishermen,many of whom had served in the French wars, looked threatening, heand his following rode away through the Ipswich gate and out on to themoorlands beyond, which some of them knew but too well.
All the rest of that day they rode slowly, but when night came, havinghalted their horses at a farm and given it out that they meant to pushon to Woodbridge, they turned up a by-track on the lonely heath, and,unseen by any, made their through the darkness to a certain empty housein the marshes not far from Beccles town. This house, called Frog Hall,was part of Acour's estate, and because of the ague prevalent there inautumn, had been long unattended. Nor did any visit it at this season ofthe year, when no cattle grazed upon these salt marshes.
Here, then, he and his people lay hid, cursing their fortunes, since,notwithstanding the provisions that they had conveyed thither in secret,the place was icy cold in the bitter, easterly winds which tore overit from the sea. So lonely was it, also, that the Frenchmen swore thattheir comrades slain by Grey Dick haunted them at nights, bidding themprepare to join the number of the dead. Indeed, had not Acour vowed thathe would hang the first man who attempted to desert, some of them wouldhave left him to make the best of their way back to France. For alwaysas they crouched by the smoking hearth they dreamed of Grey Dick and histerrible arrows.
Sir Edmund Acour's letter came safely into the hands of Eve, brought toher by the Mayor himself. It read thus:
Lady,
You will no more of me, so however much you should live to ask it, Iwill have no more of you. I go hang your merchant lout, and afterwardaway to France, who wish to have done with your cold Suffolk, where youmay buy my lands cheap if you will. Yet, should Master Hugh de Cressichance to escape me, I counsel you to marry him, for I can wish you noworse fate, seeing what you will be, than to remember what you mighthave been. Meanwhile it is my duty as a Christian to tell you, in caseyou should desire to speak to him ere it be too late, that your fatherlies at the point of death from a sickness brought on by his grief atthe slaying of his son and your cruel desertion of him, and calls foryou in his ravings. May God forgive you, as I try to do, all the evilthat you have wrought, which, perhaps, is not done with yet. Unless Fateshould bring us together again, for as aught I know it may, I bid youfarewell forever. Would that I had never seen your face, but well areyou named Red Eve, who, like the false Helen in a story you have neverheard, were born to bring brave men to their deaths. Again farewell,
De Noyon.
"Who is this Helen?" asked Eve of Sir Andrew when the letter had beenread.
"A fair Grecian, daughter, over whom nations fought when the world wasyoung, because of her beauty."
"Ah, well! she did not make herself beautiful, did she? and, perchance,was more sinned against than sinning, since women, having but one lifeto live, must follow their own hearts. But this Helen has been deada long while, so let her rest, if rest she may. And now it seems thatAcour is away and that my father lies very sick. What shall I do? Returnto him?"
"First I will make sure that the Frenchman has gone, and then we willsee, daughter."
So Sir Andrew sent out messengers who reported it to be true that Acourhad ridden straight to London to see the King and then sail for Dover.Also they said that no Frenchmen were left at Blythburgh save those whowould never leave the place again, and that Sir John Clavering lay sickin his bed at the manor.
"God fights for us!" said Sir Andrew with a little laugh. "This Acour'sgreeting at Court may be warmer than he thinks and at the least you andDunwich are well rid of him. Though I had sooner that you stayed here,to-morrow, daughter, you shall ride to Blythburgh. Should your fatherdie, as I think he will ere long, it might grieve you in the after yearsto remember that you had bid him no farewell. If he recovers or is harshwith you it will be easy for you to seek sanctuary again."