CHAPTER II
ON THE WAY TO CASTLE YEWE
The ceremony attending the departure of Sir Richard upon his singularerrand was quickly over; and well within the limits of that day themassive pile of ivy-grown walls, crenelated towers and copper-tippedturrets of Kenilworth Castle had dipped beneath the undulating massesof autumn tinted foliage behind the young knight and John Belwiggar,whom the King had nominated to be Sir Richard's squire and attendant.
Within Henry's mind the expedient of dispatching the young knightas bearer of his own death warrant had been conceived in a spiritof absurd bravado. So far as his calculating and selfish characterpermitted, he was fond of him. But if he suffered a regret, it waswholly personal, and because of circumstances that had compelled him topart from one in whose companionship he had derived a great deal ofpleasure. In respect of any feeling of genuine sorrow, the entire sceneenacted between himself and Stanley had been a complete farce. Thoughhe had invested that doughty warrior with many and distinguished honorsand great power, he had never entertained on the behalf of his chiefofficial that feeling of confidence so essential to the complaisance ofmind of any ruler. It was his intention to set before that individualan example of integrity and devotion that the King fancied would bewell worthy of emulation. As an additional safeguard, however, hecaused secret spies of his own selection to be dispatched in thetrain of Sir Richard. In adopting this course he believed himselfto be keeping the situation well in hand; at once guarding againstany interruption of the final delivery of the unusual warrant, andproviding him with the means of testing Lord Stanley's devotion to hiscause.
Thus, had not Sir Richard taken it into his head to follow an itineraryentirely different from either the one suggested by Henry, or thatsecretly transmitted to him beside the portcullis by Lord Stanley,some state problems of vast magniture and importance might then havebeen solved. As it subsequently transpired, all along and between theroads that it was definitely supposed the young knight and his squirewould make their pilgrimage, King's emissaries were constantly meetingand receiving entertainment of Stanley's lieutenants, as well as theother way about. Obviously, neither the one side nor the other daredto hint of its purpose of espionage or destination; nor yet dared todisplay any undue haste in parting to pursue its secret way. It alsobecame necessary for them to observe every possible precaution in thematter of covering up their trails, one from another; and, in this way,the innocent cause of this rather amusing game of cross-purposes waspermitted to go unmolested upon his way.
The route that Sir Richard had chosen rendered it necessary for himselfand squire to tread paths and by-ways used chiefly by peasant farmersand sheep-herders. At times, after a heavy fall of rain, such of theseas wound through the low lying valleys would become wholly impassable,making it needful for our pilgrims to await the draining of the floodinto the rivers, or to make long detours to come upon the other side.For this reason, it had reached well along into October before they hadpassed through the Liberties of Berwick and set foot upon Scottish soil.
It was growing late in the afternoon of their second day in Scotland,and while they were skirting the edge of a rock-tarn lying in gloomyseclusion in the middle of a desolate moor, that Sir Richard wasmurderously deprived of the services of his squire and brave attendant.There had been no hint of the approach of the tragedy; no clue as tothe identity or purpose of the cowardly perpetrators following itsoccurrence.
Mounted upon his mettlesome charger, which, though uncommonly powerful,was somewhat fatigued because of the many miles put behind him thatday, the young knight was riding slowly along some two hundred yardsin advance of Belwiggar. The sky was heavy, gray, and lowering; andthe boulder-strewn, monotonously level expanse of moor affording nopleasant aspect or interesting contrasts to the eye, Sir Richard'sgaze remained fixed upon the nodding head of his stallion. So near thebrink was the narrow path winding along the waters of the tarn, and sounruffled was its surface, that steed and armored rider were mirroredfaithfully, point for point, beneath.
Hearing a sharp rattling of steel-shod hoofs behind him, and vaguelymarveling as to the cause of this unexpected and unusual burst ofenergy upon the part of his squire, the young knight turned, with asmile upon his face, to greet Belwiggar's approach. To his horrifiedsurprise he was but just in time to see the honest fellow writhing inan agony of death, while the horse that he had so lately bestrode inthe prime vigor of rugged health whisked blindly ahead of the youngknight along the road, till, crashing against a huge boulder uprearedwithin its path, it stumbled, seemed to hang for an instant in mid-air,and then, neighing with wild affright, disappeared with a tremendoussplash beneath the surface of the tarn.
Apprehending some immediate danger to himself, Sir Richard, upon theinstant, drew his visor close. Just as he had accomplished this movea bolt struck fair upon the joint of his neck-guard; and, though itdid him no harm beyond causing his head to ring with the force of theimpact, it was the cunning of his armorer alone that had saved him froma death similar to that of Belwiggar.
Having no means of knowing the exact direction from whence the arrowshad been sped, and the nature of the ground precluding the possibilityof sending his horse over it, the young knight made no attempt to seekout and punish his assailant. He shot a glance of the keenest scrutinyfrom boulder to boulder, but there was no sign of a living being uponthe moor. Satisfied that Belwiggar's death must go unavenged for thetime, he rode back to where he lay with a feathered shaft, stillquivering, protruding from his broad breast.
He dismounted beside the body, tethering his horse in the hollowbetween two rocky promontories through which the path swung. He stoodlooking around him for a space, uncertain what to do. So overwhelminglyappalling and strange were the circumstances attending the tragedy,and to that degree was Sir Richard oppressed by his melancholysurroundings, that he became filled with a feeling of unspeakabledread, an almost uncontrollable desire to throw himself upon the backof his steed and gallop swiftly away. Torn by such emotions, it wasno light task to remain upon the scene for the purpose of making suchdisposition of poor Belwiggar's body as his limited means would permit.By employing the dead warrior's battle-ax in lieu of mattock, however,he contrived to hollow out a sufficient space to lay him decentlyaway. Then, piling up a mound of loose stones above the shallow grave,Sir Richard remounted and pursued his solitary way northward towardBannockburn and Castle Yewe.
As he journeyed onward the young knight made many determined efforts towhistle and sing away a feeling of deep melancholy that persisted insetting somberly down upon him. In the manner of a gloomy processionpassing in review before his mind's eye, he recalled all of the wildfolklore with which his ears had been beguiled since his advent intoScotland.
"Scour ye'r hoorse ower the Sauchieburn Pass," a toothless and horribleold hag had whispered into his unwilling ear upon the morning of thatvery day. "Dinna ye ken," she had croaked, "that the deil flees thereat fall o' nicht?" and the bare thought that he would be obliged topass the night there alone, with nothing between his head and thelimitless heavens but a possible shelving rock, caused icy shivers offear to creep along his back.
There was one weird tale in particular that he had heard repeated witha stubborn insistence that gave to it some semblance of verity. It wasthat concerning a certain red tavern, which, according to the peasant'slively imaginations, appeared suddenly along lonely and unfrequentedroadways, as though set there by the Evil One. After a time, then, itwas reported to vanish as suddenly and mysteriously as it had appeared,taking along with it into the Unknown any luckless wayfarer that hadchanced to seek shelter beneath its phantom roof.
"Now, I am free to own," Sir Richard argued with himself, "that thereare certain strange phenomena of which the human mind can give noproper accounting. But when it comes to tales of gibbering ghosts,shadowy, phantom shapes and flying taverns--why, by 'r Lady! I'll set abarrier of common sense against my credulity and refuse to believe."
He was quite aware, moreover, that
none of his countrymen had everjourneyed through Scotland without being bedeviled by somewhat ofthese same gruesome tales. While it was true that the wily Lord BishopKennedy had succeeded in effecting a truce of seven years' durationbetween England and Scotland, it was obviously beyond him to beguilethe yeomanry into viewing an Englishman with anything approachingfavor. Nor yet, by any possible chance or subterfuge, could he have seta truce to their wagging tongues. Legends and superstitions were a partof their daily existence, and in proportion as they were fearsome theyenjoyed spreading them about.
Revolving these matters within an uneasy mind, Sir Richard gave smallheed to his surroundings. By now, he had laid the moor well behindhim. Through a slight rift in the rolling cloud-pall peered the lastsegment of the setting sun; and away to the westward could be caught anoccasional glinting of the sea as the waves billowed through its goldenreflection.
Just ahead of him the road dipped into a valley. Along its bowl-likebed lay a morass, which gave off continuously a heavy, bluish, andprobably poisonous vapor. To the north of the morass the road ascendedin easy gradients till it clipped the sky line at the distance of aleague and a half, or thereabouts, from where he rode.
At the precise point where the road showed bold and clear against theclouds he fancied that he saw the expiring rays of the sun gleamingagainst a point of vivid color. As he descended into the valley towhere the road divided the morass, the point of color disappearedfrom view, and all of the landscape resumed its gray and monotonousappearance.
Not wishing to inhale the miasmic vapor, in which, he feared, mightlurk some dire fever, Sir Richard drank long and deep of untaintedair. So much so indeed that the flesh of his back and breast impingedstrong upon his steel harness. Then, setting spurs to his stallion, hegalloped through the dank cloud without a breath of it reaching intohis nostrils.
As he drew near the northern reaches of the valley and rounded agigantic boulder that stood sentinel to the upper plain, he camefull upon a tavern that he at once surmised to be the same of whichhe had heard so much. Upon the instant that he did so, he reined inhis steed to a dead stand. Aside from its brilliant though somewhatweather-beaten coat of scarlet, it differed in many respects from thetaverns then commonly to be seen along the highways. Saving at the veryapex of its steep gable, its front was unpierced by windows. Above itssingle, narrow door, which opened beneath the jut of the upper story,hung a signboard bearing upon its surface the device of a vulturefeeding its young. Withal, however, it appeared to be material enough,and this made it impossible for Sir Richard to account for a feeling ofunutterable dread that took complete possession of his mind.
Once he had almost decided upon riding straight to its entrance to beatupon the rude panels of the door for admittance within. But before hecould summon sufficient courage to carry out his half-formed design,a mortal terror returned strong upon him, and forthwith he sent hisstallion past it at a furious gallop.
It stood a full quarter of a league at his back before the ungovernablefear within him gave ground to shame. He pulled up sharp, thenwheeled, and rode slowly back to its sinister door.
As he knocked with the scabbard of his sword upon the heavy planks adrop of rain splashed against his helmet, trickled down over his closedvisor, and dripped through one of its orifices upon his chin.