That day the King's men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced andinvested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely,who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up herquarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates toher, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. Hewas set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labourso hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it thathe did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shakingtheir heads, for without cannon--and as yet they had none--the greatbuilding of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot indeedwas attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and farmsteadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been builtup to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the Abbeywall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry thatseveral rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a doublepalisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beamsof the old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade,protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from thewindows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if itcould be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives. Onething they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that inthe Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many: three days'supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.
That evening, then, they held another council, at which it wasdetermined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught iftheir spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to itsrelief.
"But," urged Cicely, "then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,"whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing thatthey were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at CranwellTowers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from thewalls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force ofthe besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenlythey let down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for asortie, but when they perceived the scores of Bolle's men waiting bowin hand and arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge upagain.
"They grow hungry and desperate," said the shrewd Jacob. "Soon we shallhave some message from them."
He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and aman, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across themoat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog,and advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbeygreen out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weakwith dread and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake thathad never been removed, to which once she was tied to be burned forwitchcraft.
"Who is that man?" said Emlyn to her.
Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like onethat is sick.
"I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!"
"Jeffrey it is and no other," said Emlyn, nodding her head. "Now whatnews does he bear, I wonder?"
Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just sucha heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up hisbrands to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunkeneyes fell upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, makinghis face look even more long and hollow than it had before.
"Ah!" he said, speaking to himself, "many wars and journeyings, monthsin an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat anda bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse,turn men's brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylightghost in homely Blossholme, who never met with one before."
Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added,"Lay-brother or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days,if you're not a ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf ofbread, for I'm empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so tospeak, who would stick upon this scurvy earth."
"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," broke in Cicely, "what news of your master? Emlyn,tell him that we still live. He does not understand."
"Oh, you still live, do you?" he added slowly. "So the fire could notburn you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there's hope forevery one, and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon's knives cannot killChristopher Harflete."
"He lives, then, and is well?"
"He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days' fast in ablack dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here's a writing on the matter forthe captain of this company," and, taking a letter from the folds of thewhite flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, ashe could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad broughtthe ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meatand bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in greatgulps and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
"By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey," said a yeoman who stood by."Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will takeharm," and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,read it aloud. It ran thus--
"To the Captain of the King's men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
"By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbeyand its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterellis your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the manshe calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child,a prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me awriting signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the Kingfor me and those with me for all that we may have done against him andhis laws, or privately against her, and freedom to go where we willwithout pursuit or hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know thatto-morrow at the dawn we put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, inpunishment of the murders and other crimes that he has committed againstus, and in proof thereof his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. Ifotherwise we will leave him unharmed here where you shall find him afterwe have gone. For the rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom wesend to you with this letter.
"Clement, Abbot."
Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
"Let us go to some private place and consider this matter," said Emlyn.
"Nay," broke in Cicely, "it is I, who in my lord's absence, hold theKing's commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a manunder flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls SirChristopher Harflete I'll put every living soul within the Abbey wallsto death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King.Set it in writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King'scommission for my warrant. At once, let it be done at once."
So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed byCicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. Thispaper, together with a copy of the King's commissions, Cicely with herown hand gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, whodeparted, carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath hisdoublet, for fear of treachery.
When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garmentsand still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
"Tell us all," said Cicely.
"It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When yourworshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day ofhis murder----"
"Nay, nay," interrupted Cicely, "that may stand, we have no time. Mylord and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, weretaken in the forest?"
"Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your v
oice and he heardand pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, thoughwithout hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrustus into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale."
"How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?"
"Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guardsunlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owlsin the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to thecamp of the King's party to offer Christopher Harflete's life againstthe lives of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he hadbrought ink and paper and that if he wished to save himself he would dowell to write a letter praying that this offer might be accepted, sinceotherwise he would certainly die at dawn."
"And what said my husband?" asked Cicely, leaning forward.
"What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that firsthe would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeonroughly enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. Butas the door closed he shouted after me, 'Tell the King's officers toburn this rats' nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, whodesires to die!'"
"Why does he desire to die?" asked Cicely again.
"Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes thatin the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her."
"Oh God! oh God!" moaned Cicely; "I shall be his death."
"Not so," answered Jeffrey. "Do you know so little of ChristopherHarflete that you think he would sell the King's cause to gain his ownlife? Why, if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust youaway, saying, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'"
"I believe it, and I am proud," muttered Cicely. "If need be, letHarflete die, we'll keep his honour and our own lest he should live tocurse us. Go on."
"Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then helifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, sworethat this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow's dawn, adding,though I knew not what he meant, 'I think you'll find one yonder whowill listen to that reasoning.' Now he was dismissing me when a soldiersaid--
"'Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that heis alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest andwill bear evidence.' 'Aye,' answered Maldon, 'I had forgotten who inthis press remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still,perhaps it would be best to choose a different messenger and to silencethis fellow at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, stroveto escape and was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him henceand let me hear no more.'
"Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a manmay on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed himprettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off,Brother Martin--do you remember him? he was our companion in sometroubles over-seas--stepped forward out of the shadow and said, 'Of whatuse is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since JohnFoterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and anyone of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he'll nothark back to Foterell's death, if, indeed, you were to blame in thatmatter.'
"'You speak roughly, Brother,' answered the Abbot; 'and acts of war arenot murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, tosave your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there's wisdom in yourwords. Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into themoat to swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.'
"Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living,and now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete's life is worth somuch," and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him--this gaunt, fierce manwho, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in ablack dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of blackbread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one ofthem, who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felonat the dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey's munching to break it, grewpainful, so that all were glad when the door opened and the messengerwhom they had sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having runfast, and somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were stickingin his back, or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stoppedthem.
"Speak," said old Jacob Smith; "what is your answer?"
"Look behind me, master, and you will find it," replied the man. "Theyset a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priesttripped to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard avoice hail me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldonstanding there, with a face like that of a black devil.
"'Hark you, knave,' he said to me, 'get you gone to the witch,Cicely Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse andexcommunicate from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watchfor the first light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they'll seeChristopher Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!'
"On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back--
"'If so, ere to-morrow's nightfall you shall keep him company, everyone of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to bequartered at Tower Hill and Tyburn.' Then I ran and they shot at me,hitting once or twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here amI, unhurt except for bruises."