CHAPTER NINE.
MISCHIEF.
"I've nothing to do with better and worse--I haven't to judge for the rest: If other men are not better than I am, they are bad enough at the best."
When Ivo thought proper to see Kate approaching, he turned with anexclamation of hyperbolical admiration. He knew perfectly the type ofwoman with whom he had to deal. "Ah, it is den you, fair maid? You befair widout dem, but much fairer wid de ear-rings, I you assure. Ah, ifyou had but a comely ouche at your t'roat, just dere,"--and Ivo laid afat brown finger at the base of his own--"your beauty would be perfect--perfect!"
"Lack-a-day, I would I had!" responded silly Kate; "but ouches and suchbe not for the likes of me."
"How? Say no such a ting! I know of one jewel, a ruby of de best, andde setting of pure gold, fit for a queen, dat might be had by de maidwho would give herself one leetle pain to tell me only one leetle ting,dat should harm none; but you care not, I dare say, to trouble you-selfso much."
And Ivo thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle softly.
"Nay, now; do you?" said the bewitched fly, getting a little deeper intothe web. "Good Master Packman, do of your grace tell me how a maidshould earn that jewel?"
Ivo drew the brooch half out of his breast, so as just to allow Kate theleast glance at it possible.
"Is that the jewel?" she asked, eagerly. "Eh, but it shineth well-nighto match the sun himself! Come, now; what should I tell you? I'll doaught to win it."
Ivo came close to her, and spoke into her ear.
"Show me which is the prisoner's window."
"Well, it's yon oriel, on the inner side of--Eh, but I marvel if I doill to tell you!"
"Tell me noting at all dat you count ill," was the pious answer of Ivo,who had got to know all he needed except one item. "You can tarry alittle longer? or you are very busy? Sir Godfrey is away, is it not?"
"Nay, he's at home, but he'll be hence next week. He's to tilt at thetournament at Leicester."
"Ah! dat will be grand sight, all de knights and de ladies. But I amsure--sure--dere shall not be one so fair as you, sweet maid. Look you,I pin de jewel at your neck. It is wort von hundred pound, I do ensureyou."
"Eh, to think of it!" cried enchanted Kate.
"And I would not part wid it but to my friend, and a maid so fair anddelightsome. See you, how it shine! It shine better as de sun when itdo catch him. You sleep in de prisoner's chamber?--yes?"
"Nay, I'm but a sub-chambermaid, look you--not even an upper. MistressPerrote, she sleeps in the pallet whenas any doth; but methinks herLadyship lieth alone at this present. Howbeit, none never seeth hersave Mistress Perrote and Mistress Amphillis, and my Lady and SirGodfrey, of course, when they have need. I've ne'er beheld her myself,only standing behind the casement, as she oft loveth to do. My Ladyhath a key to her chamber door, and Mistress Perrote the like; and nonesave these never entereth."
Ivo drank in all the information which Kate imparted, while he onlyseemed to be carelessly trimming a switch which he had pulled from awillow close at hand.
"They be careful of her, it should seem," he said.
"You may say that. They're mortal feared of any man so much as seeingher. Well, I reckon I should go now. I'm sure I'm right full indebtedto you, Master Packman, for this jewel: only I don't feel as if I havepaid you for it."
"You have me paid twice its value, to suffer me look on your beautifulface!" was the gallant answer, with a low bow. "But one more word, andI go, fair maid, and de sun go from me wid you. De porter, he is whatof a man?--and has he any dog?"
"Oh ay, that he hath; but I can peace the big dog well enough, an' I didbut know when it should be. Well, as for the manner of man, he'spleasant enough where he takes, look you; but if he reckons you're afteraught ill, you'll not come round him in no wise."
"Ah, he is wise man. I see. Well, my fairest of maidens, you shall, ifit please you, keep de big dog looking de oder way at nine o'clock of deeven, de night Sir Godfrey goes; and de Lady Princess have not so fair acrespine for her hair as you shall win, so to do. Dat is Monday night,trow?"
"Nay, 'tis Tuesday. Well, I'll see; I'll do what I can."
"Fair maid, if I t'ought it possible, I would say, de saints make youbeautifuller! But no; it is not possible. So I say, de saints make youhappier, and send you all dat you most desire! Good-night."
"Good even, Master Packman, and good befall you. You'll not forget thatcrespine?"
"Forget? Impossible! Absolute impossible! I bear your remembrance onmine heart all de days of my life. I adore you! Farewell."
When Meg, the next minute, joined Kate under the tree, there was no moresign of Ivo than if he had been the airy creature of a dream.
The little pedlar had escaped dexterously, and only just in time. Hehid for a moment beneath the shade of a friendly shrub, and, as soon ashe saw Meg's back turned, ran downwards into the Derby road as lithelyas a cat, and took the way to that city, where he recounted to hiscompanions, when other people were supposed to be asleep, thearrangement he had made to free the Countess.
"Thou art sore lacking in discretion, my son," said Father Eloy, whosenormal condition was that of a private confessor in Bretagne, and whosetemporary disguise was that of a horse-dealer. "Such a maid as thoudescribest is as certain to want and have a confidant as she is to wearthat trumpery. Thou wilt find--or, rather, we shall find--the wholehouse up and alert, and fully aware of our intention."
Ivo's shoulders were shrugged very decidedly.
"_Ha, chetife_!" cried he; "she will want the crespine."
"Not so much as she will want to impart her secret," answered thepriest. "Who whispered to the earth, `Midas has long ears'?"
"It will not matter much to Ivo, so he be not taken," said the knight."Nor, in a sense, to you, Father, as your frock protects you. I shallcome off the worst."
"You'll come off well enough," responded Ivo. "You made an excellentmercer this morrow. You only need go on chaffering till you have soldall your satins, and by that time you will have your pockets well lined;and if you choose your route wisely, you will be near the sea."
"Well and good! if we are not all by that time eating dry bread at theexpense of our worthy friend Sir Godfrey."
"Mind _you_ are not, Sir Roland," said Ivo. "Every man for himself. Ialways fall on my feet like a cat, and have nine lives."
"Nine lives come to an end some day," replied Sir Roland, grimly.
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"On what art thou a-thinking thus busily, Phyllis?"
"Your pardon, Mistress Perrote; I was thinking of you."
"Not hard to guess, when I saw thine eyes look divers times my ways.What anentis me, my maid?"
"I cry you mercy, Mistress Perrote; for you should very like say thatwhereon I thought was none of my business. Yet man's thoughts will notalway be ruled. I did somewhat marvel, under your pleasure, at youranswer to yon pedlar that asked how you came to be hither."
"Wherefore? that I told him no more?"
"Ay; and likewise--"
"Make an end, my maid."
"Mistress, again I cry you mercy; but it seemed me as though, while yousore pitied our Lady, you had no list to help her forth of her trouble,an' it might be compassed. And I conceived [Note 1] it not."
"It could not be compassed, Phyllis; and granting it so should, to whatgood purpose? Set in case that she came forth this morrow, a freewoman--whither is she to wend, and what to do? To her son? He willhave none of her. To her daughter? Man saith she hath scantly morefreedom than her mother in truth, being ruled of an ill husband thatgiveth her no leave to work. To King Edward? It should but set him inthe briars with divers other princes, the King of France and the Duke ofBretagne more in especial. To my Lady Princess? Verily, she is goodwoman, yet is she mother of my Lady Duchess; and though I cast no doubtshe should essay to judge the matter righteousl
y, yet 'tis but like thatshe should lean to her own child, which doubtless seeth through herlord's eyes; and it should set her in the briars no less than KingEdward. Whither, then, is she to go for whom there is no room on middleearth [Note 2], and whose company all men avoid? Nay, my maid, for theLady Marguerite there is no home save Heaven; and there is none to beglad of her company save Him that was yet more lonely than she, andwhose foes, like hers, were they of His own house."
"'Tis sore pitiful!" said Amphillis, looking up with the tears in hereyes.
"`Pitiful'! ay, never was sadder case sithence that saddest of all inthe Garden of Gethsemane. Would God she would seek Him, and accept ofHis pity!"
"Surely, our Lady is Christian woman!" responded Amphillis, in a ratherastonished tone.
"What signifiest thereby?"
"Why she that doth right heartily believe Christ our Lord to have beenborn and died, and risen again, and so forth."
"What good should that do her?"
Amphillis stared, without answering.
"If that belief were very heartfelt, it should be life and comfort; butmeseemeth thy manner of belief is not heartfelt, but headful. Tobelieve that a man lived and died, Phyllis, is not to accept his help,and to affy thee in his trustworthiness. Did it ever any good andpleasure to thee to believe that one Julius Caesar lived over a thousandyears ago?"
"No, verily; but--" Amphillis did not like to say what she was thinking,that no appropriation of good, nor sensation of pleasure, had ever yetmingled with that belief in the facts concerning Jesus Christ on whichshe vaguely relied for salvation. She thought a moment, and then spokeout. "Mistress, did you mean there was some other fashion of believingthan to think certainly that our Lord did live and die?"
"Set in case, Phyllis, that thou shouldst hear man to say, `I believe inMaster Godfrey, but not in Master Matthew,' what shouldst reckon him tosignify? Think on it."
"I suppose," said Amphillis, after a moment's pause for consideration,"I should account him to mean that he held Master Godfrey for a trueman, in whom man might safely affy him; but that he felt not thus sureof Master Matthew."
"Thou wouldst not reckon, then, that he counted Master Matthew as afabled man that was not alive?"
"Nay, surely!" said Amphillis, laughing.
"Then seest not for thyself that there is a manner of belief far besideand beyond the mere reckoning that man liveth? Phyllis, dost thou trustChrist our Lord?"
"For what, Mistress? That He shall make me safe at last, if I do myduty, and pay my dues to the Church, and shrive me [confess sins to apriest] metely oft, and so forth? Ay, I reckon I do," said Amphillis,in a tone which sounded rather as if she meant "I don't."
"Hast alway done thy duty, Amphillis?"
"Alack, no, Mistress. Yet meseemeth there be worser folks than I. I amalway regular at shrift."
"The which shrift thou shouldst little need, if thou hadst never failedin duty. But how shall our Lord make thee safe?"
"Why, forgive me my sins," replied Amphillis, looking puzzled.
"That saith what He shall do, not how He shall do it. Thy sins are adebt to God's law and righteousness. Canst thou pay a debt withoutcost?"
"But forgiveness costs nought."
"Doth it so? I think scarce anything costs more. Hast ever meditated,Amphillis, what it cost God to forgive sin?"
"I thought it cost Him nothing at all."
"Child, it could only be done in one of two ways, at the cost of Hisvery self. Either He should forgive sin without propitiation--whichwere to cost His righteousness and truth and honour. Could that be? Inno wise. Then it must be at the cost of His own bearing the penalty dueunto the sinner. Thy sins, Amphillis, thine every failure in duty,thine every foolish thought or wrongful word, cost the Father His ownSon out of His bosom, cost the Son a human life of agony and a death ofuttermost terribleness. Didst thou believe that?"
A long look of mingled amazement and horror preceded the reply."Mistress Perrote, I never thought of no such thing! I thought--Ithought," said Amphillis, struggling for the right words to make hermeaning clear, "I thought our Lord was to judge us for our sins, and ourblessed Lady did plead with Him to have mercy on us, and we must do thebest we could, and pray her to pray for us. But the fashion you so putit seemeth--it seemeth certain, as though the matter were settled anddone with, and should not be fordone [revoked]. Is it thus?"
If Perrote de Carhaix had not been gifted with the unction from the HolyOne, she would have made a terrible mistake at that juncture. All thatshe had been taught by man inclined her to say "no" to the question.But "there are a few of us whom God whispers in the ear," and those whohear those whispers often go utterly contrary to man's teaching, beingbound only by God's word. So bound they must be. If they speak notaccording to that word, it is because there is no light in them--only an_ignis fatuus_ which leads the traveller into quagmires. But they areoften free from all other bonds. Perrote could not have told what madeher answer that question in the way she did. It was as if a soft handwere laid upon her lips, preventing her from entering into any doctrinaldisputations, and insisting on her keeping the question down to thepersonal level. She said--or that inward monitor said through her--
"Is it settled for thee, Amphillis?"
"Mistress, I don't know! Can I have it settled?"
"`He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.' `I give untothem eternal life.'" [John three verse 36; ten, verse 28.] Perrotesaid no more.
"Then, if I go and ask at Him--?"
"`My Lord God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou madest me whole.' `All yethat hope in the Lord, do manly, and your heart shall be comforted.'"[Psalm thirty, verse 3; thirty-one, verse 25; Hereford and Purvey'sversion.]
Once more it was as by a heavenly instinct that Perrote answered inGod's words rather than in her own. Amphillis drew a long breath. Thelight was rising on her. She could not have put her convictions intowords; and it was quite as well, for had she done so, men might havepersuaded her out of them. But the one conviction "borne in upon her"was--God, and not man; God's word, not men's words; God the Saviour ofmen, not man the saviour of himself; God the Giver of His Son for thesalvation of men, not men the offerers of something to God for their ownsalvation. And when man or woman reaches that point, that he sees inall the universe only himself and God, the two points are not likely toremain long apart. When the one is need longing for love, and the Otheris love seeking for need, what can they do but come close together?
Sir Godfrey set forth for his tournament in magnificent style, and LadyFoljambe and Mistress Margaret with him. Young Godfrey was alreadygone. The old knight rode a fine charger, and was preceded by hisstandard-bearer, carrying a pennon of bright blue, whereon wereembroidered his master's arms--sable, a bend or, between six scallops ofthe second. The ladies journeyed together in a quirle, and wereprovided with rich robes and all their jewellery. The house and theprisoner were left in the hands of Matthew, Father Jordan, and Perrote.Norman Hylton accompanied his master.
Lady Foljambe's mind had grown tolerably easy on the subject of Ivo, andshe only gave Perrote a long lecture, warning her, among other things,never to leave the door unlocked nor the prisoner alone. Either Perroteor Amphillis must sleep in the pallet bed in her chamber during thewhole time of Lady Foljambe's absence, so that she should never be leftunguarded for a single moment. Matthew received another harangue, towhich he paid little attention in reality, though in outward seeming hereceived it with due deference. Father Jordan languidly washed hishands with invisible soap, and assured his patrons that no harm couldpossibly come to the prisoner through their absence.
The Tuesday evening was near its close. The sun had just sunk behindthe western hills; the day had been bright and beautiful in the extreme.Amphillis was going slowly upstairs to her turret, carrying her littlework-basket, which was covered with brown velvet and adorned with silvercord, when she saw Kate standing in the window of the landing, as if shewere waitin
g for something or some person. It struck Amphillis thatKate looked unhappy.
"Kate, what aileth thee?" she asked, pausing ere ere she mounted thelast steps. "Dost await here for man to pass?"
"Nay, Mistress--leastwise--O Mistress Amphillis, I wis not what to do!"
"Anentis what, my maid?"
"Nay, I'd fain tell you, but--Lack-a-day, I'm all in a tumblement!"
"What manner of tumblement?" asked Amphillis, sitting down in thewindow-seat. "Hast brake some pottery, Kate, or torn somewhat, thatthou fearest thy dame's anger?"
"Nay, I've brake nought saving my word; and I've not done that _yet_."
"It were evil to break thy word, Kate."
"Were it so?" Kate looked up eagerly.
"Surely, without thou hadst passed word to do somewhat thou shouldstnot."
Kate's face fell. She had thought she saw a way out of her difficulty;and it was closing round her again.
"It's none so easy to tell what man shouldn't," she said, in a troubledtone.
"What hast thou done, Kate?"
"Nay, I've done nought yet. I've only passed word to do."
"To do what?"
Before Kate could answer, Agatha whisked into the corner.
"Thank goodness they're all gone, the whole lot of them! Won't we havesome fun now! Kate, run down stairs, and bring me up a cork; and I wanta long white sheet and a mop. Now haste thee, do! for I would faincause Father Jordan to skrike out at me, and I have scarce time to getmy work done ere the old drone shall come buzzing up this gait. Besharp, maid! and I'll do thee a good turn next time."
And Agatha fairly pushed Kate down the stairs, allowing her neitherexcuse nor delay--a piece of undignified conduct which would bitterlyhave scandalised Lady Foljambe, could she have seen it. By the timethat Kate returned with the articles prescribed, Agatha had possessedherself of a lighted candle, wherein she burnt the end of the cork, andwith it proceeded to delineate, in the middle of the sheet, a veryclever sketch of a ferocious Turk, with moustaches of stupendous length.Then elevating the long mop till it reached about a yard above herhead, she instructed Kate to arrange the sheet thereon in such a mannerthat the Turk's face showed close to the top of the mop, and gave theidea of a giant about eight feet in height.
"Now then--quick! I hear the old bumble-bee down alow yonder. Keep asstill as mice, and stir not, nor laugh for your lives!"
Kate appeared to have quite forgotten her trouble, and entered intoAgatha's mischievous fun with all the thoughtless glee of a child.
"Agatha," said Amphillis, "my Lady Foljambe should be heavy angered ifshe wist thy dealing. Prithee, work not thus. If Father Jordan verilybelieved thou wert a ghost, it were well-nigh enough to kill him, poorsely old man. And he hath ill deserved such treatment at thine hands."
In the present day we should never expect an adult clergyman to fallinto so patent a trap; but in the Middle Ages even learned men werecredulous to an extent which we can scarcely imagine. Priests were inthe habit of receiving friendly visits from pretended saints, andmeeting apparitions of so-called demons, apparently without the faintestsuspicion that the spirits in question might have bodies attached tothem, or that their imaginations might be at all responsible for thevision.
"Thank all the Calendar she's away!" was Agatha's response. "Thee holdthy peace, and be not a spoil-sport. I mean to tell him I'm a soul inPurgatory, and none save a priest named Jordan can deliver me, and heonly by licking of three crosses in the dust afore our Lady's altarevery morrow for a month. That shall hurt none of him! and it shallcause me die o' laughter to see him do it. Back! quick! here cometh he.I would fain hear the old snail skrike out at me, `Avaunt, Sathanas!'as he surely will."
Amphillis stepped back. Her quicker ear had recognised that the stepbeginning to ascend the stairs was not that of the old priest, and shefelt pretty sure whose it was--that healthy, sturdy, plain-spoken Meg,the cook-maid, was the destined victim, and was likely to be littleinjured, while there was a good chance of Agatha's receiving herdeserts.
Just as Meg reached the landing, a low groan issued from the uncannything. Agatha of course could not see; she only heard the steps, whichshe still mistook for those of Father Jordan. Meg stood calmly gazingon the apparition.
"Will none deliver an unhappy soul in Purgatory?" demanded a hollowmoaning voice, followed by awful groans, such as Amphillis had notsupposed it possible for Agatha to produce.
"I rather reckon, my Saracen, thou'rt a soul out o' Purgatory with abody tacked to thee," said Meg, in the coolest manner. "Help thee? Ohay, that I will, and bring thee back to middle earth out o' thy pains.Come then!"
And Meg laid hands on the white sheet, and calmly began to pull it down.
"Oh, stay, Meg! Thou shalt stifle me," said the Turk, in Agatha'svoice.
"Ay, I thought you'd somewhat to do wi' 't, my damsel; it were like you.Have you driven anybody else out o' her seven senses beside me wi' yonfoolery?"
"You've kept in seventy senses," pouted Agatha, releasing herself fromthe last corner of her ghostly drapery. "Meg, you're a spoil-sport."
"My dame shall con you but poor thanks, Mistress Agatha, if you travailfolks o' this fashion while she tarrieth hence. Mistress Amphillis,too! Marry, I thought--"
"I tarried here to lessen the mischief," said Amphillis.
"It wasn't thee I meant to fright," said Agatha, with a pout. "Ithought Father Jordan was a-coming; it was he I wanted. Never blameAmphillis; she's nigh as bad as thou."
"Mistress Amphillis, I ask your pardon. Mistress Agatha, you're a badun. 'Tis a burning shame to harry a good old man like Father Jordan.Thee hie to thy bed, and do no more mischief, thou false hussy! I'lltell my dame of thy fine doings when she cometh home; I will, so!"
"Now, Meg, dear, sweet Meg, don't, and I'll--"
"You'll get you abed and 'bide quiet. I'm neither dear nor sweet; I'm acook-maid, and you're a young damsel with a fortin, and you'd neither`sweet' nor `dear' me without you were wanting somewhat of me.Forsooth, they'll win a fortin that weds wi' the like of you! Get abed,thou magpie!"
And Meg was heard muttering to herself as she mounted the upper stairsto the attic chamber, which she shared with Joan and Kate.
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Note 1. Understood. The word _understand_ was then restricted to anoriginal idea; _conceive_ was used in the sense of understanding anotherperson.
Note 2. The term "middle earth" arose from the belief then held, thatthe earth was in the midst of the universe, equidistant from Heavenabove it and from Hell beneath.