Sir Ludar

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  HOW I PARTED WITH MY CLOAK.

  My mind was all in confusion as I hurried forward to the river-side inn.Everything seemed to be going wrong with me, and I wished heartily Iwas back in London with my fellow 'prentices, and my kind mistress, andthe sweet Jeannette. They, at least, believed in me; but here, everyonewith one consent conspired to tell me I was but a fool. I had mademyself a laughing-stock at Maidenhead; I had been pinned up against thewall, by a boy my own age, in this place; I had assaulted a Mayor atOxford; I had parted with my cloak, which contained life and death inthe lining of it, to a stranger; and more than all, I had given my loveto a fellow who, if the Welshman was right, was a horrible traitor andPapist! A fine piece of work, verily, and little wonder if my conceitwas somewhat abated after it all!

  Yet, as I ran on, I thought more about my wild friend at the inn, thanabout any one else. I could hardly believe him to be a rogue; althoughall that the Welshman said of him tallied with my own observation. Nay,more, to my dismay, I found by my heart that even were he all the roguehe was painted, I could scarcely bring myself to like him the less.

  "At least," thought I, "if he be a knave, he is an honest one; and mycloak will be safe with him."

  As I came to the inn, which I had scarcely yet seen by daylight, itseemed gayer and more bustling that I had found it last night. Threebrave horses stood saddled and bridled at the door, and voices of goodcheer from within showed me that mine host was having some little customfor his sack. I wondered if my solemn scholar was of the party, orwhether, the better to avoid detection, he still lay abed.

  As I entered, I recognised the chief of the four men who sat at thetable as my friend the Bishop's man, whom I had met on the road two daysago, but whom, as well as my promise to meet him to-day, I had sinceclean forgotten. He hailed me gaily, as if he expected me.

  "Welcome, lad; you are a man of your word. I knew you would come. Comeand join us, there is brave sport afoot."

  I coloured up, to be thus commended for what I did not merit.

  "Indeed," said I, "I--I am glad to meet you again, but--but (how Istammered), just now I am looking for my friend."

  "What! Have you not done your errand?" said he. "You told me it was inOxford."

  "It was. I have done it--but I left a friend here. Mine host," said I,turning to the man of the place, "is my comrade astir yet?"

  The host crammed his apron in his mouth to keep in a laugh.

  "Astir! Sir Ludar astir! I warrant thee half the bucks in ShotoverWood are astir too before now."

  "What!" said I, my face falling suddenly, "is he gone then?"

  "An hour since; and by your leave, young sir," added mine host, "I wouldtake leave to remind your grandeur that the score of last night'ssupper, and a trifle my lord took for his breakfast, with the shoeingand meat of the horse, and the price of your night's lodging, awaitsyour noble acquittance."

  "Gone!" cried I, not heeding all the rest. "And did he leave aught forme?"

  "I doubt not he left his blessing, but nothing else."

  "But my cloak, he had my cloak."

  "If he have it not still, ay, and the nag too, it will be because he hasmet a stronger man than ever I saw yet on earth," said mine host.

  "But the cloak!" roared I, "that cloak had papers in it; it was--"

  Here the Bishop's man put down his mug and pricked up his ears.

  "Which way did he go?" cried I. "Saddle me my horse. I must overtakehim or all is lost."

  "Papers?" said the Bishop's man. "What sort of papers, prithee?"

  "I know not," said I. "Oh, that cursed cloak!"

  "Harkee, my lad," said the man sternly, "answer me two questions, if youwill."

  He laid hold of my arm, and looked so menacing that I was fairly takenaback.

  "And if I do not," said I, as I began suddenly to see what it all ledto.

  "Then in the Queen's name I shall know what to do with you," said he,beckoning to his three men, who rose and approached me.

  I was fairly in a corner now, for a man who held the Queen's warrant wasnot one lightly to be resisted. Yet what could I tell him?

  "Let me hear your questions," said I, as civilly as I could, and edginga little towards the door, "perhaps I can answer them."

  "That's a wise lad," said he, mollified, "I know you are but a tool--men, stand back there--I blame you not for doing your duty, but you musttell me here, the name of the man, your master, who sent you thiserrand, and the name of him to whom you bore it."

  "I can tell you neither," said I.

  He turned to his men, but before they could rise, I had rushed to thedoor and was outside. A key stood in the outside of the lock, whichmine host used to turn and take with him when business called him toleave his inn empty. I had just time to turn this and vault on one ofthe three horses, when the window was flung open and the leader of theband sprang on to the casement.

  But he was too late; for before he could level his musket at me, I wastwenty yards away at a gallop, leading by the bridle the two sparehorses which had stood at the door beside the one I rode.

  The shot, badly aimed, whistled past my ear, and served to urge on thehorses to a wilder pace, so that, before even the party was outside,hallooing after me, I was a furlong off, plunging deep into the wood.

  I had no time to think if I had done well or ill, or what the upshot ofit all was like to be. Time enough for that when I had won clear. Theled horses, after their first fright, jibbed at the reins and struggledto get free. So, as they checked my speed, I let them go, and saw themplunge away among the trees, no easy capture for their lawful owners.Meanwhile, I dashed forward whithersoever the horse took me. Iremember, even amid my panic, what a delight it was to sit astride of sonoble a beast, who seemed to scorn my weight, and skim the earth aslightly as if he carried a child. Had it been my own sorry nag I shouldlong since have been by the heels.

  Once clear of the wood I suddenly sighted Oxford towers to my left, andfound myself on the road by which I had passed but an hour ago with theangry Welshman. I had forgotten him, and 'twas well for him that I had.

  I had no mind to put myself again within reach of his worship, the Mayorof Oxford, and his merry men; so I tugged my right rein and kept myhorse's head turned to the wooded hills northward. There, thought I, Ican at least find time to draw breath and determine what must be donenext. To the forest I sped, then, marvelling at the pace of my bravehorse, and wondering if the Bishop's man was yet on the road at myheels.

  On the steeper ground my horse slackened a bit, but I urged him forwardtill we were deep in the wood, with a choice of four or five paths, anyof which led, heaven knows where. Here I let him stand and get hiswind, while I turned over in my mind what should be my best course.

  While I was debating, to my surprise, my horse pricked up his ears andgave a loud neigh, which was answered from no great distance by another.At first I supposed his companions had followed us, or that ourpursuers were nearer than I reckoned for. But, on listening, Iperceived that the strange horse was ahead of us, not behind. Itherefore moved slowly forward in the direction of the sound. What wasmy surprise when I saw my own poor nag tethered to a tree, with mycloak--the cause of all this trouble--laid carelessly over his back.

  Master Penry's wild pupil was nowhere near, yet I scarce gave him athought at the time, so overjoyed was I to recover my long-lost prize.I sprang from my borrowed horse, letting him stray where he would, andfell upon the garment like a mother on her lost child, except that I,having taken it to my arms, whipped out my knife and proceeded to rip itup from top to bottom.

  Master Penry had been right! The cloak was stoutly padded with printedsheets, of which I took out fully three score. They were all the same,a short tractate of twelve pages duodecimo, set in my master's type (forI recognised the letter and the flowered initials), and printed, therewas no doubt now, at his secret press.

  The title of the tractate was "A Whip for the
Bishops," and to my wrathand confusion as I read, I found it contained wicked and scandalousabuse of their Graces of Canterbury and London, whom it called wolves insheep's clothing, antichrists, and I know not what horrid names besides!And it was to carry this wicked libel I had been sped on this journey,decked with my brave cloak, and commended to that Welsh varlet, who, nodoubt, was the author, and counted on me as the tool to help him todisseminate his blasphemous treason! He little knew Humphrey Dexter.Although I had put a queen's officer in the duck-pond; although I hadassaulted a mayor; although I had defied a bishop's warrant, and madeoff on a bishop's horse, I yet was a loyal subject of Her Majesty, andhated schismatics as I hated the Pope himself. They had played me atrick among them; I would play them one back.

  So I gathered up the libels, and dropped them one and all, together withthe false lining of the coat, into the hollow of a rotten tree; where,for all I know, they may be to this day. And if, years hence, somelover of the curious should seek to add to the treasures of his librarya true copy of that famous lost tract, "A Whip for the Bishops," let metell him in his ear, the book is to be had cheap, midway across Shotoverwood, somewhere to the left of the lower path which leads to Heddendon.Nowhere else was it ever published, to that I can vouch.

  I had scarcely finished my task when I heard a whoop from among thetrees, followed immediately by the whiz of an arrow which glancedbetwixt my cheek and my shoulder, and buried its head deep in the trunkof a near tree.

  I had scarcely time to face round and draw my sword, when I perceivedcoming down the glade my wild scholar with a bow in his hand, and a deadfox on his back. He had plainly not seen who I was at first, butrecognised me as soon as I turned. He marched gravely towards me,equally heedless of my drawn sword, and of the shaft which a moment agohad all but taken my life.

  "Is it you?" said he; "I took you, in your cap and gown, for my tutor."

  "You all but killed me, too," said I, wrathfully.

  "Ay, it was a bad shot. Yet, had you not moved your head, it would havespiked you by the ear to that tree. What brings you here?"

  I was taken aback by the coolness of the fellow, who talked aboutspiking me by the ear as if I had been the fox he carried on his back.

  "Marry," said I, "you should know what brings me here. My horse and mycloak, they brought me here, sirrah."

  "Nay, they brought me here; but I am not sorry to see you. I was aboutto return to the inn, to look for you."

  I flushed to the roots of my hair, to think how readily I had set thisman down as a runaway thief. Never was a face less deceitful, or amanner less suspicious; and I, if I had not been a fool, might haveknown as much.

  "I did you an injustice," said I, returning my sword, "I believed youhad given me the slip, and were--"

  "A thief," said he, with a scornful curl on his lips. "I thank you,master 'prentice."

  I would sooner he had cut at me with his dirk. But further parley wasended by a sudden noise of horns and a tramp of horses close by.

  I sprang to the alert in an instant.

  "The bishop's men!" cried I, "we are pursued. Fly!"

  "Too late for that," said my comrade, as a party of huntsmen, somemounted, some on foot, broke through the glade at the very spot where westood.

  It was not the bishop's men; but to my horror I recognised in theleading horseman, his worship the Mayor.

  At sight of me in my cap and gown, and of my comrade with his bow andthe dead fox, and of the horse tethered to the tree--(the bishop's horsehad strayed, I know not whither)--the hunters raised a loud cry, andclosed upon us.

  "Seize the varlets," cried the mayor, "they are caught at last. By mylife, a scholar, too. If he smart not for this, and something else,call me a dullard."

  I saw by that he did not recognise me, although he cherished a livelymemory of that morning's adventure.

  My comrade, somewhat to my surprise, submitted quietly to superiornumbers, and I was fain to do the like. It were better to be punishedfor poaching, than to be arraigned before the High Court of Star Chamberfor publishing seditious libels.

  "Bring them away, bring them away," cried the mayor, who was in noamiable mood. "I warrant they shall learn one lesson well, for once intheir lives. Scholars indeed! a parcel of lewd, blood-thirsty, poachingscoundrels, with no more conscience than a London apprentice. Come,away with them to the city."

  At this a gay young stripling rode up.

  "Father," he said, "is our day's sport to be spoiled for a brace ofrogues like these? Surely they will keep an hour or two, while we haveour chase. Let some one guard them in the ranger's house, and we cantake them up with us as we return at evening."

  His young companions seconded his request. So the Mayor, who would haveenjoyed more to clap us in the pillory than to win half the antlers inShotover woods, consented, and bade three of his men conduct us to theranger's lodge hard by, and keep us there till the party returned.

  I saw my comrade's eye light up at this, but he said nothing; andlooking very crestfallen and abashed we followed our guard, with handstied, and heard the huntsmen's horns tantivy merrily away for theirday's sport.

  The ranger's lodge was a hut of but a single room, into which ourkeepers thrust us with little ceremony, and made to the door. They werestout men, all of them, and carried cross bows, besides the daggers attheir girdles. We heard them grumble angrily to be baulked of theirday's sport by a couple of college boys like us, and to be shut up hereall day long with neither drink nor food nor anything with which to makegood cheer.

  Whereat one of the party pulled out a box of dice, and for lack ofbetter sport they began to play.

  Meanwhile, I watched my comrade, who, on entering, had thrown himself onthe floor, and composed himself as if to sleep. But though he lay withhis head on his hands, it was plain to see he was not dreaming; for themuscles of his face were working, and his body once or twice seemedexercised as with some effort. What this was, I guessed soon enough.He was gnawing the cord which bound his wrists; whereupon I set-to dothe same, and, in a quarter of an hour I was free. Already my comradehad signalled to me that he was rid of his bonds, but warned me to giveno sign, but wait the signal from him. So we both lay still, and I, thebetter to keep up the part, snored long and loud.

  Our keepers, meanwhile, gave us no heed, but played deep and eagerly.We could hear by the growls and oaths that kept company with the rattleof the dice, that the luck was not going even. One of the three won thethrow, time after time, and crowed so loud at each success, that theothers (as was only natural), turned first surly, then angry. But thewinner heeded not their wrath, but continued to cackle insultingly,until their patience being all spent, they knocked over the table, andfell to blows. Now, surely, thought I, is the time for us. But mycomrade still lay low, and signed to me to do the same. For we wereunarmed, and had we been too soon, all had been spoiled.

  The fight that followed was short and sharp. The single man held hisown for a few minutes, but fell at last, borne down by superior numbersand a stab in the thigh from one of his assailants. Then, when indismay, the two dropped their daggers and knelt to see if he were deador alive, my comrade gave the signal, and we sprang at one bound to ourfeet. In a moment the two men were in our grip, and at our mercy, andso taken aback were they by our sudden attack, that they cried quarter,even without a struggle, and let themselves be bound with the cords ofwhich we just now rid.

  As for the third, he was wounded, though not badly, and we left himunfettered. Then arming ourselves with a cross bow apiece (the spoilsof war), and our own blades, we locked the door on our keepers, and badethem farewell. One thing troubled me in our escape, which was this,that my nag (or rather, Master Udal's), and my cloak were both gone a-hunting with the mayor. However, we could not both have ridden the one,or worn the other, and we might perchance run less risk without themthan with them. As for the college cap and gown, my comrade nailed themwith our keeper's two daggers on the outside of the door when we lef
t,in token that here he bade farewell for ever to the life of a scholar.

  It was scarcely three o'clock in the afternoon when we made good ourescape. Before sundown, thanks to my comrade's knowledge of the country(which was all the more wonderful that he had been only two months atOxford), we had fetched a wide circuit round the north of the city, andwere safe on the Berkshire side of the river beyond Wightham, on theroad to Abingdon.

  For four hours my comrade had paced at my side without a word, and I,finding nothing to say, had been silent too. When, however, all dangerfrom our pursuers was past, and night invited us to halt at the firstconvenient shelter, he stopped in the road and broke silence.

  "Friend," said he, "what is your name?"

  "Humphrey Dexter, at your service," said I. "May I ask yours?"

  "You may call me Sir Ludar," said he, gravely. "And since we two havebeen comrades in peril, give me your hand, and let heaven witness thatwe are friends from this day."

  I gripped his hand in silence, for I knew not what to say. My heartwent out to this wild, odd comrade of mine, of whom I knew nothing; andhad he bidden me follow him to the world's end, I should yet havethought twice before I refused him.

  That night, as we lay in a wayside barn (for my purse was run too low toafford us an inn), Sir Ludar told me something of his history: and whathe omitted to tell, I was able to guess. He was the youngest son, hesaid, of an Irish rebel chieftain, Sorley Boy McDonnell by name; who,desiring at one time to cement a truce with the English, had given hischild in charge of a Sir William Carleton, an English soldier to whom heowed a service, to be brought up by him in his household, and educatedas an English scholar and gentleman. The boy had never seen his fathersince; for though his guardian began by treating him well, yet whenMcDonnell turned against the English, as he had done, Sir William'smanner changed. He kept hold of the boy, not so much as a ward but as ahostage, and ruled him with an iron rod. The lad had been handed overfrom governor to governor, from school to school, but they could donothing with him. Some of his masters he had defied, others he hadscorned, one he had nearly slain. His guardian had flogged him timeswithout number, and threatened him still oftener. His guardian's ladyhad tried to tame him with gentleness and coaxing. He had beenadmonished by clergy, and arraigned before magistrates. But all to nopurpose. He snapped his fingers at them all, and went his own way,consorting with desperate men, breaking laws and heads, flinging hisbooks to the four winds, making raids on her Majesty's deer, floutingthe clergy, denying the Queen, and daring all the Sir William Charletonson this earth to make an English gentleman of him. At last his guardian(who really, I think, meant well by the lad, rebel as he was), sent himto Oxford, to the care of Master Penry, the Welshman, who, by all signs,must have had a merry two months of it. At least, I could understandnow why he had been more anxious to get back my cloak than his truantpupil. Nor could I blame him if he sighed with relief when Ludar,having fallen foul of every one and everything at Oxford, and learnednothing save a smattering of Spanish from a Jesuit priest, took up hiscap and gown and shook the dust of the University from his feet.

  "And so," said my comrade, who, as I say, left me to guess the half ofwhat I have written down, "I am rid of them all; and, thank the saints,I am no gentleman yet."

  Whereupon he dropped asleep.