V
THE RAT'S-HOLE
It was a warm, cloudy night some two weeks later, and Constans sat inthe great hall of the keep, listlessly regarding the preparations thatwere being made for the evening meal. Six or seven of the house-servantswere bustling to and from the buttery laden with flagons and dishes,which they deposited with a vast amount of noise and confusion upon thetables. These latter were of the most primitive construction, nothingmore than puncheons smoothed down with the adze and supported by woodentrestles.
The main table ran nearly the full length of the hall, and was intendedto accommodate the men-at-arms and the superior servants, together withsuch strangers of low degree as might chance to be present. Thefurniture was of the rudest pattern--platters of bass and white wood,which were daily scoured with sand to keep them clean and sweet,earthenware pitchers of a bricklike hue, drinking-cups of pewter andleather, and clumsy iron forks. There was no provision of cutlery;evidently the guests were expected to use their hunting-knives anddaggers for the dismemberment of the viands.
At the upper or dais end of the hall there was a second table, placed atright angles to the long one and elevated above it by the height of thesuperior flooring upon which it stood. This principal board was, ofcourse, for the exclusive use of the family and distinguished guests,and from the circumstance of its being raised above the main level themaster could command an unobstructed view of the entire household in theevent of any overt disorder or indecorum.
The viands were quite in keeping with the simplicity of the table-gear.Huge chines of beef and mutton, with spare-rib and fowl in apparentlyunlimited quantity, formed the staple of the repast, and were reinforcedby vast bowls of the commoner garden vegetables and by bread made ofunbolted flour. Sweetmeats were scarce, for the products of thesugarcane are difficult to procure in these northern latitudes. Maplesugar and honey serve as the ordinary substitutes, and even these areregarded as luxuries, since maple-trees are few in number andbee-keeping is but little practised. Finally, there were the drinkables,these including hard cider and a thin, acid wine made from the wildgrape.
Annoyed by the clatter of the dishes and the half-whispered conversationof the domestics, Constans rose and walked to the dais end of the hall,where his mother and sister were seated, engaged in the agreeableoccupation of inspecting the contents of a peddler's pack. It was animposing array to the eye, and the chapman, kneeling on the floor closeby Issa's stool, kept handing up one article after another for closerexamination. The stuff seemed worthless enough to Constans--trumperypieces of quartz crystal set in copper and debased silver, rings andbangles of a hue unmistakably brassy, hair ribbons, parti-colored dressgoods, pins, needles, and a miscellaneous assortment of uselesstrinkets. Constans was genuinely astonished that Issa, who had beenhitherto something of a good-fellow, should seem interested in suchrubbish; but then women were all alike when it was a question of prettythings to buy. He looked sharply at the peddler, but the latter appearedcommonplace enough, a man of forty or thereabouts, and dressed in thelooped-up gray gaberdine peculiar to the guild of itinerant chapmen.Possibly he was bald, for he wore a close-fitting skull-cap; his beard,however, was luxuriant and effectually hid the contour of the lower halfof his face. Constans stood by frowning lightly, but he had noreasonable pretext for interfering with his sister's amusement, and inthe feminine catalogue of diversions the peddler's infrequent visit helda prominent place.
The major-domo, wearing a silver chain about his neck by virtue of hisoffice, advanced to his mistress's chair and announced that the meal wasready for serving. The Lady Rayne nodded, a brazen gong sounded, the bigfolding-doors at the south end were thrown open, and the hall wasquickly filled with the customary throng of retainers and hangers-on.But all remained standing in silence until the master and mistress hadtaken their places. Sir Gavan entered from his workshop, and, offeringhis hand to his wife, led her ceremoniously to her seat, Issa andConstans following.
To Constans's indignant amazement the peddler stepped forward, as thoughto take the vacant seat alongside of Issa. But before Constans couldmove or speak the chapman appeared to recognize the impropriety ofwhich he had been so nearly guilty; with a profound genuflection, hewithdrew from the dais and found a place at the lower table. Theincident had been so momentary that it had passed entirely unnoticed byhis father and the Lady Rayne; Constans could not even be sure that Issahad understood, and certainly she gave no sign of discomposure.
"What presumption!" muttered Constans, under his breath. "These fellowsare becoming more insufferable every day, and my father sees nothing."Constans resolved that the man should be packed off immediately upon theconclusion of the meal. He could easily persuade Sir Gavan that thefellow had none too honest a look, while his wares were assuredly thecheapest trash. He must be got rid of before the women had been beguiledinto spending all their pin-money.
The repast dragged out to its end, and the women withdrew to the upperend of the hall, comparative privacy being secured by large leatherscreens set up along the edge of the dais. The men remained at the tablefor deeper potations and the smoking of rank black kinnectikut tobacco inhuge wooden pipes.
A heavy thunderstorm, the first of the season, had come up, and Constansrecognized, to his vexation, that he would have no decent excuse forturning the peddler out-of-doors. So he kept his seat at the table insulky silence, watching the man closely, and ready to note anything offurther suspicion in his actions and bearing. But he had his trouble forhis pains, for the fellow was the itinerant chapman to the life, even tothe stock of gross stories with which he kept his bucolic audience in anuninterrupted guffaw. Pah! would Sir Gavan never finish his second pipeand give the signal to rise?
The storm had turned into a heavy downpour, and the peddler wasconsequently sure of his night's lodging. He had been summoned again tothe presence of the ladies, and, as before, Constans stood aloof andwondered irritably how his fastidious sister could find aught in commonwith this wayside huckster. She was talking to him now with an animationrare with her, her checks flushed and her eyes glowing.
"And you have been in Doom--in the city itself?" she asked,incredulously.
"Yes, gracious lady; and not once, but a score of times. The brocadesthat I promised to show you after supper will be my witness. And thereare some superlative satin and silk lengths which my Lady Rayne wishedparticularly to see. Will you allow me, then?"
The peddler, opening an inner compartment of his pack, drew out severalpieces of stuff wrapped up in brown linen. Removing the covering, hespread the goods upon the rug before the ladies, holding up eachseparate piece to the light and expatiating upon its merits in theapproved fashion of the shopman. The two women gave a little gasp ofastonishment; never had they seen such wondrous beauty of color andfinish; their little market-town of Croye held nothing to compare tothis.
"I must send for Meta to advise me," said the Lady Rayne, glancingfondly from one rich fabric to another. "She ought to know good silkwhen she sees it, after living so long in Croye; and you, Issa, seemstrangely indifferent to-night. You hardly looked at this piece ofbrocade."
Meta, the Lady Rayne's bedwoman, speedily appeared, and mistress andmaid fell into earnest converse. Issa, as in duty bound, listened; thenher attention seemed to flag again. She bent over the open pack andpicked up a chain of filigree work. It was beautifully fashioned andlooked like gold.
"It is gold," said the chapman, answering the question in her eyes. "Thepure gold of the ancients; you never see that pale yellow nowadays. Ah,yes, a pretty trinket to have brought from the heart of Doom for thedelight of a fair woman's eyes, and well worth its price of a man'slife. But, then, fortune was kind, and I did not have to pay."
"Tell me about it," said the girl, beseechingly, and her breath cameshort and hot.
Whereupon the chapman drew a little nearer and began a wondrous tale ofa secret visit that he had lately made to Doom, the Forbidden; of how hehad crossed the river on a raft, the moon being in its dark quarter
; ofhis landing upon a shaking wharf, where each foot-fall left a print ofphosphorescent fire on the rotting planks; then of the marvels that hehad seen there--vast warehouses covering whole acres of ground andfilled with incalculable store of goods; lofty buildings, whosechimney-pots were in the clouds; palaces of sculptured stone, now emptyand despoiled, the habitation of foxes and unclean nocturnal creatures.
Then again of hidden treasure, heaps and heaps of yellow gold; of thefierce Doomsmen who guarded it so well; of pitfalls and gins and sirenvoices that lured the soul astray; of ghastly shapes that crept alongthe crumbling walls; of mystery in every sound and shadow; oftreacheries and alarms and the ever present terror of death--a tale ofamazing wonder, at which the blood ran alternately warm and cold and theheart fluttered with a certain fearful joy.
How the maid hung upon the word, her little breasts heaving and her lipsparted! "You have seen all these things?" she panted. "How wonderful!And you were not afraid? That was like a man--to be brave----" Sheblushed deeply, stammered, and turned to the neglected brocades.Constans, standing close at hand, was moved to new anger. Theimpertinent, how dared he! Yet he had listened himself, and in spite ofhimself, for assuredly the fellow talked well.
The evening was now well advanced and the customary hour of retirementwas at hand. It was still raining, but Guyder Touchett, who came indripping from his nightly task of posting the watch, remarked that thewind was changing and that it was likely to clear when the moon rose. Ofcourse the peddler would now spend the night at the keep, and at his ownrequest he was allowed to remain in the hall, a straw pallet beingbrought in for his accommodation.
* * * * *
"The Rat's-Hole!"
Constans repeated the words half aloud, holding the paper close to theguttering candle. It was but a tiny scrap, scarce large enough for thewriting that it held. But paper of any kind is rare in these days, andso the gleam of white had caught his eye as he went up-stairs to hissleeping apartment. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and besides it wasin back-hand, and it may be disguised as well; he was hardly an expertin such fine distinctions. But it was plainly a message, and itspossible import startled him. For the Rat's-Hole was the secret exitthat existed behind the jamb of the fireplace at the upper end of thehall. So cunningly had the panelled door been joinered into thewainscoting that a man might search for hours and yet not discover thespring that threw it open. Furthermore, the wainscoting was but a screenfor the real door of iron-bound oak giving passage directly through theouter wall of the keep to the open country. A jealously guarded secret,this matter of the Rat's-Hole, and supposed to be known only to themaster of the household and his immediate family. Even among them itsexistence was never referred to in ordinary conversation, while itsactual use was restricted to the gravest of emergencies.
"The Rat's-Hole!" A message, an agreement, an appointment? By whose handhad these words been written? For whose eye had they been intended?
It would have been the wiser course to have communicated at once withSir Gavan, but the latter, feeling somewhat indisposed, had retiredearly, and Constans hesitated to disturb him. Moreover, the boy stood inawe of his father, and of late a feeling of estrangement had beengrowing up between them. To Sir Gavan, Constans, with his dreamy,inactive nature, was a keen disappointment--so different from hisbrother Tennant. And Constans felt that his father did not understandhim nor, indeed, cared to do so. Latterly, they had gone their own ways,and now at this perplexing juncture Constans could not bring himself totake his father into his confidence.
When, a few moments later, the lights had been formally extinguished forthe night, Constans made his way back to the hall; he had to pass closeby the pallet occupied by the peddler, and he paused an instant tolisten to his deep and measured breathing. Surely the man slept.
Even in the dark Constans knew how to put his hand on the spring in thewainscoting, and it yielded to his touch. It was discomposing to findthe key of the real door standing, ready for turning, in the lock. Intheory, the key was never out of the master's immediate possession. Anoversight, then? Constans's mind reverted to the one occasion in hisremembrance on which the Rat's-Hole had been used, that day a fortnightback, when his sister Issa came out of the birch-copse, with her handsfull of May-bloom and Quinton Edge had waited under cover of the alders.It was possible; his father might have forgotten. And yet----
Constans took the key and slipped it into the bosom of his doublet. Thenclosing the secret door in the wainscoting, he drew one of the bigleather screens into convenient position and crouched down behind it.The dying fire gave out a flickering and uncertain light; he watched thegrotesque procession of the shadows on the opposite wall until his eyesgrew heavy. The odor of a smouldering bough of balsam-fir hung in theair--warm, spicy, soporific. He slept.