Chapter XXV.
BROTHER BASIL.
Dan Pengelly, the sailor with the Cornish patronymic and Devonianbirthplace, found an excellent boon companion in the littlesallow-faced fellow who had overtaken him a few miles south ofGloucester. And he found the "New Inn," boastful of having given anight's lodging to the Queen and the Earl of Leicester, an expensivebut comfortable tavern. Its dimensions were goodly, its position asheltered one, its kitchens ample and well-managed, and its October alebeyond reproach. At first the little man in black doublet and hosenwas inclined to be moody and taciturn; the public whipping, apparently,had seared his kindly and humane temperament. But jolly Dan pouredoil--not to say ale--on the wounds and eased them. As it was neitherdinner-time nor supper-time, the sailor ordered a repast ample enoughfor both, and fell to his trencher with hearty good will. Hiscompanion did his best to emulate him, and for a spare man didexcellently. Dan paid the reckoning.
They spent a merry evening. As far as the sailor was concerned, whenale went in, wit went out; he poured out confidences, and was artfullyled into babbling secrets he had never intended to disclose. To allappearances the little man was just as communicative; he talked gliblyenough about places in France, Holland, and Spain, and answered a scoreof eager questions about Antwerp, Amsterdam, Paris, Lisbon, Cadiz, andother places. But when Pengelly reeled off to his mattress of fragranthay he knew nothing definite about his comrade--neither name, station,occupation, nor religious or political opinions. On the other hand,the sallow man knew Dan's lineage for four generations back, at least;knew his hopes, fears, recent deeds--good and bad; could have told to apenny what money he had in his pocket; knew the reason why he soughtRob of Paignton, and a great deal of the latter worthy's past career.Perhaps most important of all, he knew where Dan had hidden certainSpanish papers in Plymouth, and guessed at the secret hidden in them.He had been merry with the bluff sailor to good purpose, and he layawake and quietly smiling at a star that peeped in at the lattice, longafter the bibulous Dan had started snoring like a drenched hog on thepallet beside him. Before he closed his eyes and settled himself tosleep, he had resolved to be the sailor's companion for a day longer.This meant an alteration of his previous plans, but the change would beworth the making.
The next morning the two travellers were astir with the first robin,and over breakfast Dan learned that his companion had suddenlyremembered that he ought to pay a visit to Westbury before he quittedthe neighbourhood. The Devonian knew nothing of Westbury, but wasspeedily informed that it lay about ten miles along his own route, andwas, in fact, almost at the eastern verge of the forest itself. Thesailor expressed his joy at this news in a practical manner; heinsisted on paying the reckoning for bed and breakfast. The little manmade a show of protest, but submitted amicably enough. The generousDan slapped him on the back, and declared that he was growing to lovehim.
"I did not like thee over well at first," he said; "there are none ofthe roses of innocence in thy face, thy jaws are too lean and hungrylooking, and thine eyes have an odd sort of stare in them. But'handsome is that handsome does' is my motto, and I find thee adownright pretty fellow."
The "pretty fellow" laughed good-humouredly. "Thou hast queer ways ofpaying compliments, Dan Pengelly, and folk who did not understand theemight take offence. But it's 'peace and good fellowship' betwixt ustwain; so let us take to the road and hope for a pleasant journey."
The sun shone frostily but cheerily. Down the Westgate Street and outat the West Gate that abutted on the turbid Severn went the twostrangely assorted comrades. The sailor had a remark or two--notaltogether complimentary--to make about the river. Then they strodealong the causeway that spanned the marshy isle of Olney and led to thewestern arm of the river. From thence a broad, tree-bordered highwayran--at a little distance from the Severn bank--right away to thehamlet of Westbury. Here they parted company, the sailor going on toNewnham, where he was to make inquiries after Rob, his companionstriking off across the fields on pretence of visiting a certain farmer.
Dan was right on the track of his friend, although he anticipated adangerous and exciting search through the dense, dark forest that roseon the swelling hills before him. He was agreeably disappointed. Agrizzled old fisherman stood on the river quay idly watching his boatas it bobbed up and down on the rushing tide. Dan gave him a brotherlygreeting, then halted for a few minutes' rest and conversation. Atfirst the traveller talked of "tides" as though they were his chiefinterest in life. The fisherman had an opportunity of learning thatthe tides of the Plym, Fal, and Dart were beyond computation betterthan those of the Severn; in fact, he was asked to believe that thelast-named river was no better than a mud heap that got flooded withbrackish water twice a day. The fisherman stoutly combated thisslander, and a pretty quarrel seemed imminent, when Dan went off at atangent, and "wondered" whether any one in Newnham had espied a tall,lean, one-eared man looking at boat or stream at any time. "He's not anative of these parts," added he, by way of rounding off hisdescription.
But the fisherman was not prepared for this sudden change of subject,and he took a minute or two for quiet meditation ere he volunteered theinformation that "all Newnham" knew the person in question.
"He was up to Captain Dawe's but yesterday," he said.
"Ought to be dwelling with a tall fellow named Morgan," said Dan.
"Lives with Johnnie Morgan of Blakeney," replied the other. "Everybodyknows Johnnie Morgan. He's kissed the Queen's hand in her house inLondon, and 'tis whispered that her Majesty kissed him. At any rate,Johnnie's sweetheart quarrelled with him directly they got home again,and the gossips put it down to jealousy."
Dan expressed his sorrow, and promised to advise Johnnie to hope for ahappy ending. "The course of true love never did run smooth, ye know."
"Never!" assented the fisherman.
"Now, how far is it to Blakeney, and must I go through the forest?"
"'Tis an afternoon's tramp, and a lonesome one; ye might run down onthe tide when it ebbs. There's my boat, and I'll take ye for twopence."
"Done! Shall we spill a flagon of ale, and say it is a bargain?"
The fisherman put his tongue to his lips and tested the salty flavourof the tide, then led the way without comment to the "Bear." Thebargain was so deluged with "best October" that it was almost drownedin forgetfulness. But, more by luck than judgment, Dan and Rob kissedone another just after nightfall.
And after supper Dan told the story of his tramp from Bristol. He hadgot to the "whipping" incident in Gloucester, and was describing itseffect upon the little, sallow-faced fellow that tramped with him, whenone of Morgan's men burst into the room, his face blanched with terror."The man in black! the man in black!" he cried.
Johnnie was on his feet in an instant. "What dost thou mean?" he asked.
"The man in black! the one who did not die!"
Johnnie understood. He took down a sword. "Where is he?"
"He was looking in at the window as I came up the lane."
"Follow me. Stay you there, gentlemen; I'm afeard my man has seen aghost."
Blakeney was aroused, but no man had seen anything suspicious, and aclose search revealed nothing. Morgan questioned his man, but he stuckto his story. An idea flashed across Johnnie's mind, and when he gothome again he questioned Pengelly closely about his companion. Theanswers convinced him.
"Thou hast tramped with the devil in disguise," he said.
Dan's ruddy face paled, and he asked for an explanation. His host toldhim of the events of the past summer. The sailor's face lengthenedwith the story. "And I told him all my plans!" he groaned.
That night Morgan's barns were fired and burned to the ground. Thenext night the thatch of Captain Dawe's cottage was discovered to besmouldering. Two nights later, Dean Tower, which had been confiscatedby the Crown because of Windybank's treason, was reduced to a heap ofashes.
Brother Basil stole out of Westbury tower the next morning. He had abloodstai
ned chip of oak in his hand. It was cut from a beam Windybankhad struck in his fall. "The blood of a martyr!" he muttered.