The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle
*CHAPTER XI.*
_*BREATHING-TIME.*_
As Aliva entered the little chapel on the bridge, she saw, in theuncertain twilight, two figures kneeling before the altar. One was thatof a stalwart young man in the garb of a lay-brother of the Benedictineorder, and the other that of an elderly woman in the dress of a peasant.
Both rose from their knees, disturbed by the hurried entrance of Aliva,and were surprised to see before them a lady of the upper classes sodamp and bedraggled and hoodless. The heart of the woman was touched.
"Lack-a-day, lady!" she exclaimed; "hast thou been in Ouse water?" sheadded, with a slight shudder.
"I have come here for rest," replied Aliva, not wishing to reveal herstory to peasant strangers. "I have indeed, as you say, sufferedsomewhat by mishap in a stream, and I have lost my horse."
As she spoke, the sound of her voice, and a closer scrutiny of herfeatures, increased the astonishment of the two listeners.
"Gramercy on us!" cried the woman; "if this is not our lady fromBletsoe!"
Aliva looked more narrowly at her, and then at the lay-brother.
"Our Lady be praised!" she murmured faintly; "I find friends. Are younot the wife of Goodman Hodges; and is this not your son, thelay-brother from St. Alban's?"
Mother and son both made a deep obeisance, and Aliva continued:--
"My friends, I am in sore plight. But I know ye to be faithful to yourlord, and I trow ye will aid his daughter. I have ridden far and fast,at peril of my life, to escape De Breaute and his men, who even nowfollow hard upon my track. But I trust I am safe in this holy house,and with--"
But here exhausted nature gave way, and the brave girl, now that shefound herself in comparative safety, fell senseless on the chapel floor.
Mistress Hodges, though but a peasant, was a woman of resource andenergy.
"Alack, alack! she will die of chill in this cold chapel," sheexclaimed. "Son, we must bear her hence!"
"But what if De Breaute's men be without, mother?" replied the cautiouslay-brother.
"In good sooth, you speak true," replied the woman, casting an anxiousgaze round the chapel, while she supported the head of the unconsciousAliva in her arms. Then she noticed a gleam of light shining through ahalf-open door on the south side of the altar.
"See, my son," she exclaimed, "whither that door leads. There may behelp near at hand."
The lay-brother opened the door and looked into the apartment within.
"'Tis a sacristy, or priest's room," he replied, with his knowledge ofecclesiastical arrangements. "There is no one within," he added,glancing hastily around, "and there is a fire on the hearth, and asettle with cushions."
The mother and son lifted up Aliva's senseless form, and carrying herinto the sacristy, laid her on the couch.
"Go thou now," said the Mistress Hodges, "and guard the chapel door, andI will see to the young lady. Praise be to our Lady, with warmth andcare I shall yet bring her round."
The young man shut the door of the sacristy behind him, and crossing thechapel to the entrance, closed the heavy door and drew its strong oakenbar across it. He then took up his position against it, keeping acareful and patient watch.
The woman, left alone with Aliva, proceeded to treat her with maternalcare; for had not the young lady herself once tended her when the feverravaged the peasants' huts round Bletsoe Manor House?
She removed her wet garments and chafed her cold hands and feet. As sheundressed her, she found, fastened round her waist, a wallet containinga small flask of cordial and some food, with which the good abbess ofElstow had provided Aliva for her journey. Mistress Hodges poured someof the wine down Aliva's throat, and she revived.
Delighted that her efforts had so far succeeded, the good womanredoubled her care. She even stripped herself of some of her rough butwarm clothing, and wrapped it round Aliva, as she lay on the settle.Then she busied herself in drying and cleaning the soiled and drippinggarments, for fortunately, in this room prepared for the priest whoserved the chapel, there was a good store of firewood.
Aliva lay watching her feebly, with the half-dazed gaze of returningconsciousness.
"Thanks to our Lady and the blessed saints," she murmured at last insuch weak voice, "that I have happed on you, good mother; else methinksthe cold of this chapel might have finished the work the stream began."
"The saints forfend!" ejaculated the worthy woman. "But, lady," sheadded, her curiosity getting the upper hand, "might I crave your pardon,and ask how comes it that you are in a woful plight? They said in thevillage you had gone to the retreat at Elstow, which the venerablearchdeacon--"
"Ah!" cried Aliva, "selfish wretch that I am, I had well-nigh forgottenhim in my own trouble! Know you, good mother, that it was even as heand I were leaving the abbey of Elstow, on our return home, that thisfierce company of De Breaute and his men rode down upon us. Theyscattered us as a hawk scattereth a flight of doves. I escaped by thelucky chance that my good genet can be stopped by no fence or dike inall this countryside. When I last saw my uncle, he was surrounded andclosed in upon by the horsemen. I wot not what became of him."
"Alack, alack!" said Mistress Hodges, shaking her head. "These be evildays now in the which we live, when that terrible Frenchman from overthe seas, Sir Fulke de Breaute (may the foul fiend fly off with him!),spares neither the ministers of Holy Church nor defenceless damsels--"
"Indeed, it would seem as if De Breaute had a grudge against me," Alivacould not help interposing, with a half smile. "He owes me somewhat, bymy faith. He asked for my hand; he cannot say he did not get it. Howlike to a drowned water-rat he looked, coated with our good honestEnglish mud! A pretty dance I led him, I trow," she added, with a rippleof laughter. "He'll ne'er forgive me."
Mistress Hodges grinned good-humouredly, pleased to see the lady'sspirits rising again.
"In good sooth, lady, but young knights find it hard to forgive fairladies who will have none of them when they come a-wooing."
The conversation was becoming too personal. Aliva flushed slightly, andtried to turn it.
"And now, prithee goody, it seems to me that I too may well ask, howcomes it that you and your son come so far from Bletsoe this evening?"
The smile faded from the woman's face.
"I am on a weary errand, fair lady," she replied. "I have come thus farin company with my son, who is on his journey back to the abbey of St.Alban, where he is a lay-brother. I have come but to say a prayer withhim, in this the wayfarer's chapel, to good St. Nicolas, who protectsall travellers. Alas! he will return to St. Alban's; he says it is hisduty. I have dissuaded him sore with tears and prayers, but it is ofnone avail. In these bad times there is no peace even in the religioushouses, nothing but wars and rumours of wars."
"Certes, I did hear from Dicky Dumpling--(ah, poor Dickon! how fares itwith him, I wonder? He presented a broad surface to the horsemen'scharge)--that your son had barely 'scaped with his life from thatfearful St. Vincent's Eve at St. Alban's!"
"Gramercy, lady," replied the woman, wiping her eyes, "'twas ahairbreadth 'scape, in good sooth! But, thanks to our Lady and the goodSt. Benedict--who, my son says, preserved the humblest of his servantsto serve him further--he got off scot-free from the fire and the sword,yea, and the water too!"
"The water! how mean you?" asked Aliva.
"Marry, lady, he was weary and worn, and he mistook the ford at Miltonas he was fleeing homewards. The Ouse was in full flood, and but forthat noble knight Sir Ralph de Beauchamp, whom the saints preserve--"
"Sir Ralph de Beauchamp!" murmured Aliva, now deeply interested. "Ah,"she added, with a blush, "I mind me how soaked he was with water!"
"Ay, a fair gallant he is," the other proceeded. "He thought naught ofriding boldly into the Ouse at full stream, and saving my poor lad inthe very nick of time, when he was being swept down the river like atruss of hay in a midsummer flood!"
Aliva lay listening, her large eyes fixed dreamily on the speaker.
"It sounds like a bold deed, and a truly marvellous turn of luck foryour son. Tell on, good mother, I prithee. I would fain hear more ofthe fishing out of the worthy lay-brother--thine only son, too--tellon," added the astute maiden, playing on maternal feeling.
Mistress Hodges' tongue was unloosed by the evident interest the younglady of the manor evinced. His recent dangers and escapes had made thelay-brother somewhat of a hero in the village of Bletsoe. His mother wasnothing loath to fight his battles over again, and prattled on withmaternal pride for some time ere she perceived that her fair charge hadsunk into a sound and healthful slumber, lulled by the account of herlover's daring.
Meanwhile De Breaute and his men had hurried up. They passed Aliva'sriderless palfrey.
"Ah, pardie! the fair hare has run to ground, and cannot be fardistant.--Lady, thy pride is nigh unto a fall," murmured William tohimself, chuckling.
But the rustic in charge of the horse was either naturally orintentionally stupid. De Breaute could make nothing of him.
Riding eagerly to the bridge-foot, he scanned its length. But he saw nosign of Aliva's retreating figure in the fast-falling twilight, andheard no sound save the swirl of the rushing river as it swept beneaththe arches.
Had she escaped him?
Leaving one of his men to guard the bridge, he proceeded to search thecottages round. But from the trembling peasants he could only gatherthat they had indeed seen a lady, in soiled and damp clothing, pass downthe village.
But as he was thus cross-questioning and searching, he was approached bya personage clad in ecclesiastical garb. He was a coarse-lookingindividual, the expression of whose features showed a mixture of greedand cunning.
"William de Breaute," he asked, "thou seekest a bird? Shall I show theethe nest where that bird is hidden?"
"If thou meanest that thou canst tell whither the lady has escaped whobut now made her way through the village," replied De Breaute, not muchrelishing the tone of familiarity in which he was addressed, "thou shaltbe well rewarded if thou dost direct me thither. And understand," headded, trying to speak with dignity, "no harm is intended to the lady.It is simply needful for her own protection that I conduct her to mybrother's castle at Bedford."
"Ay, in good sooth, all are in safe keeping there!" muttered the priestwith a sneer, not brooking haughty patronage from a soldier of fortune."But, perchance, my secret will remain with me, and she will not takethe road to Bedford."
William de Breaute saw that he was not going the right way to work, andaltered his tone. He had a shrewd guess that a bribe would both beexpected and received.
"Certes, reverend father," he replied, "but I mean a reward to HolyChurch in the person of one of her ministers."
"Knightly sir," answered the priest, "we understand each other. I ambut a minister, as you rightly say, and humblest, you would more rightlyhave said, of Holy Church. Whatever her ministers receive, it is reallythe Church who receiveth and benefiteth."
And if winking were the fashion in the thirteenth century, doubtless hewinked at De Breaute as he spoke.
"Follow me," he added.
And he led him to the door of the chapel on the bridge.