CHAPTER XVI
HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST
For one hour before sunset of that same day Phoebe had been patientlywaiting alone behind the east wall of the inn garden. As she hadexpected, her step-mother had accompanied her father to London thatafternoon, and she found herself free for the time of theirwatchfulness. She did not know that this apparent carelessness was basedupon knowledge of another surveillance more strict and secret, andtherefore more effective than their own.
The shadow of the wall within which she was standing lengthened more andmore rapidly, until, as the sun touched the western horizon, the wholecountryside to the east was obscured.
Phoebe moved out into the middle of the road which ran parallel to thegarden wall and looked longingly toward the north. A few rods away, theroad curved to the right between apple-trees whose blossoms gleamed morepink with the touch of the setting sun.
"Nothing--no one yet!" she murmured. "Oh, Guy, if not for love, couldyou not haste for life!"
As though in answer to her exclamation, there came to her ears a fainttapping of horses' hoofs, and a few moments later three horsemen turnedthe corner and bore down upon her.
One glance was enough to show her that Guy was not one of the group, andPhoebe leaped back into the shadow of the wall. She felt that she mustnot be seen watching here alone by anyone. As she stood beneath thefringe of trees that stood outside of the garden wall, she looked aboutfor means of better concealment, and quickly noticed a narrow slit inthe high brick enclosure, just wide enough for a man to enter. It hadbeen barred with iron, but two of the bars had fallen from theirsockets, leaving an aperture which looked large enough to admit aslender girl.
Phoebe felt instinctively that the approaching riders were unfriendlyin their purpose and, without pausing to weigh reasons, she quicklyscrambled through this accidental passage, not without tearing herdress.
She found herself within the garden and not far from the very seat whereshe had hidden from Will Shakespeare. How different her situation now,she thought. Not diffidence, but fear, was now her motive--fear for theman she loved and whom she alone could save.
While she listened there, half choked by the beating of her own heart,she heard the three cavaliers beyond the wall. Their horses were walkingnow, and the three conversed together in easily audible tones.
"My life on it, Will," said one, "'twas here the wench took cover!"
"Thine eyes are dusty, Jack," replied a deep voice. "'Twas farther on,was it not, Harry?"
The horses stopped.
"Ay--you are i' the right, Will," was the answer. "By the same token,how could the lass be here and we not see her? There's naught to hide acat withal."
"Nay--nay!" said Will. "Count upon it, Jack, the maid fled beyond theturn yonder. Come on, lads!"
"I'll not stir hence!" said Jack, obstinately. "Who finds the girl,catches the traitor, too. Go you two farther, an ye will. Jack Bartleyseeks here."
"Let it be e'en so, Will," said Harry, the third speaker. "Dismount wehere, you and me. Jack shall tie the nags to yon tree and seek where hewill. Do you and I creep onward afoot. So shall the maid, hearing nofootfall, be caught unaware."
"Have it so!" said Will.
Phoebe heard the three dismount and, trembling with apprehension,listened anxiously for knowledge of what she dared not seek to see.
She heard the slow walk of the three horses, shortly interrupted, andshe knew that they were being tethered. Then there was a murmur ofvoices and silence.
This was the most agonizing moment of that eventful night for Phoebe.Strain her ears as she might, naught could she hear but the shake of abridle, the stamp of an occasional hoof, and the cropping of grass. Thenext few seconds seemed an hour of miserable uncertainty and suspense.She knew now that she was watched, that perhaps her plans were fullyknown, and all hope for her lover seemed past. She had called him hitherand he would walk alone and unaided into the arms of these threemercenaries.
She clasped her hands and looked desperately about her as though forinspiration. To the right an open sward led the eye to the out-buildingssurrounding the inn. To the left a dense thicket of trees and bushesshut in the view.
Suddenly she started violently. Her ear had caught the snapping of atwig close at hand, beyond the concealing wall. At the next moment shesaw a stealthy hand slip past the opening by which she had entered, andthe top of a man's hat appeared.
Like a rabbit that runs to cover, she turned noiselessly and dashed intothe friendly thicket. Here she stopped with her hand on her heart andglanced wildly about her. Well she knew that her concealment here couldbe but momentary. Where next could she find shelter?
A heap of refuse, stones and dirt, leaves and sticks, was heaped againstthat portion of the wall, and at sight of this a desperate plan crossedher mind.
"'Tis that or nothing!" she whispered, and, still under cover of theshrubbery, she hurried toward the rubbish heap.
In the meantime, Jack, whose quick eye had descried that ancient openingin the wall, perceived by neither of his companions, was standing justwithin the wall gazing about for some clue to his prey's location.
Phoebe leaped upon the refuse heap and scrambled to the top. To herdismay, there was a great crashing of dead wood as she sank nearly toher knees in the accumulated rubbish.
Jack uttered a loud exclamation of triumph and leaped toward thethicket. Poor Phoebe heard his cry, and for an instant all seemedhopeless. But hers was a brave young soul, and, far from fainting in herdespair, a new vigor possessed her.
Grasping the limb of a tree beside her, she drew herself up until, withone foot she found a firm rest on the top of the wall. Then, forgettingher tender hands and limbs, straining, gripping, and scrambling, sheknew not how, she flung herself over the wall and fell in a bruised andragged heap on the grass beyond.
When her pursuer reached the thicket, he was confounded to find no onein sight.
Phoebe lay for one moment faint and relaxed upon the ground. Thelandscape turned to swimming silhouettes before her eyes, and all soundswere momentarily stilled. Then life came surging back in a welcome tideand she rose unsteadily to her feet. She walked as quickly as she couldto where the three horses stood loosely tied by their bridles to atree. At any moment the man she feared might appear again at theopening in the wall.
She untied all three horses and, choosing a powerful gray for her own,she slipped his bridle over her arm so as to leave both hands free.Then, bringing together the bridles of the other two, she tied themtogether in a double knot, then doubled that, and struck the two animalssharply with the bridle of the gray. Naturally they started off indifferent directions, and, pulling at their bridles, dragged them intoharder knots than her weak fingers could have tied.
She laughed in the triumph of her ingenuity and scrambled with foot andknee and hand into place astride of the remaining steed. Thus in theseclusion of the pasture had she often ridden her mare Nancy home to thebarn.
There was a shout of anger and amazement from the road, and she saw thetwo men who had elected to walk farther on running toward her.
Turning her steed, she slapped his neck with the bridle and chopped athis flanks with the stirrups as best she could. The horse broke into aneasy canter, and for the moment she was free.
Unfortunately, Phoebe found herself virtually without means for urgingher steed to his best pace. Accustomed as he was to the efficientseverity of a man's spurred heel, he paid little attention to hergentle, though urgent, voice, and even the stirrups were hardlyavailable substitutes for spurs, since her feet could not reach themand she could only kick them flapping back against the horse's sides.
Her one chance was that she might meet Sir Guy in time, and she couldonly pray that the knots in the bridles of the remaining horses wouldlong defy every effort to release them. As she turned the curve amongthe apple-trees, she looked back and saw that the horses had been caughtand that all three men were frantically tugging and picking with fingersand teeth at those
obstinate knots.
Phoebe drew up for a moment a few yards beyond the curve and broke offa long, slender switch from an overhanging bough. Then, urging the horseforward again, she picked off the small branches until at length she hadproduced a smooth, pliant switch, far more effective than bridle orstirrup. By the help of this new whip, she made a little better speed,but well she knew that her capture was only a matter of time unless shecould find her lover.
Great was her joy, therefore, when she turned the next curve in theroad; for, straight ahead, not twenty rods away, she saw Sir Guyapproaching at a canter, leading a second horse.
By this time the twilight was deepening, and the young cavalier gazed inastonishment upon the ragged girl riding toward him astride, makingsilent gestures of welcome and warning. Not until he was within twentyyards of her did Sir Guy recognize his sweetheart.
"Mary!" he cried.
Together they reined in their horses, and instantly Phoebe slipped tothe ground.
"Quick, Guy--quick!" she exclaimed. "Help me to mount yon saddle.Come--come!"
Leaping at once from his horse, Sir Guy lifted Phoebe to the back ofthe beast he had been leading, which was provided with a side-saddle,the stirrup of which carried a spur. Stopping only to kiss her hand, hemounted his own steed, turned about, and followed Phoebe, who hadalready set off at her best speed. Even as they started, they heard ashout behind them, and Phoebe knew that the pursuit had begun inearnest.
"What is it--who are they whom you flee?" asked the young knight, as hecame to Phoebe's side.
"Men seeking thee, Guy--for reward! There is a price on thy head, dear.For high treason! Oh, may God aid us this night!"
"High treason!" he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he continued, in astern voice:
"How many be they?"
"Two."
Sir Guy laughed in evident relief.
"But two! By my troth, why should we fear them, sweetheart?" he said."An I be not a match for four of these scurvy rascals, call me notknight!"
"Alas--alas!" cried Phoebe, in alarm, as she saw Sir Guy slacken hispace. "Stay not to fight, Guy. Urge on--urge on! The whole countrysideis awake. How, then, canst thou better thee by fighting two? Nay,on--on!" and she spurred again, beckoning him after with an imperioushand.
He yielded to her reasoning, and soon reached her side again.
"We must to London Bridge, Guy," Phoebe said. "Know you a way backthither?"
"Wherefore to London, sweet?" asked Guy. "Were we not safer far afield?Why seek the shadow of the Tower?"
"One way is left thee," said she, with intense earnestness. "A way thatis known to me alone. Thereby only canst thou escape. Oh, trustme--trust me, dear heart! Only I can guide thee to safety and tofreedom!"
"On, my Mary!" he cried, gayly. "Lead on! Thou art my star!"
For the moment both forgot the danger behind them. The intoxication ofan ideal and self-forgetting trust--a merger of all else intenderness--flooded their souls and passed back and forth between themin their mutual glances.
Then came that pursuing shout again, much nearer than before, and with ashock the two lovers remembered their true plight.
Sir Guy reined in his steed.
"Halt--halt, Mary!" he commanded. "We must conceal us here in this delltill that these fellows pass us. Then back to London by the way we came.There is no other road."
Obedient now in her turn, Phoebe drew rein and followed her lover upthe bed of a small stream which crossed the road at this point. Behind acurtain of trees they waited, and ere long saw their two pursuers dartpast them and disappear in a cloud of dust down the road.
"They will stop at the next dwelling to ask news of us, and thus learnof our evasion," said Guy. "The chase has but begun. Come, sweet, let ushasten southward again."
Darkness had now begun to fall in earnest, and as the two fugitivespassed the Peacock Inn, no one saw them.
They were soon near enough to the city gate to find many houses oneither hand, and Sir Guy deemed it wiser to move at a reasonable pace,for fear of attracting suspicion in a neighborhood already aroused byrumors of the man-hunt which had begun. They could count upon theobscurity to conceal their identity.
They had not proceeded far beyond the inn when they met a party oftravellers on horseback, one of whom uttered a pleasant "Good-even!"
"Good-even!" said Phoebe, thinking only of due courtesy.
"What the good jere!" cried a voice from the rear of the group. "Whatdost thou here, Poll?"
"My father!" exclaimed Phoebe, in terror.
"Hush!" whispered Sir Guy, putting his hand upon her bridle. "Rideforward at an easy gait until I give example of haste."
They trotted quietly past the greater number of the group until a darkfigure approached and a voice in the gloom said, severely:
"What dost thou here? Who rides with thee, lass?"
Sir Guy now leaned forward and spurred his horse, leaping away into thedarkness without a word. In equal silence Phoebe followed his exampleand galloped headlong close behind her lover.
"Help, ho!" yelled old Sir Isaac. "'Tis the traitor Fenton, with mydaughter! After them--stop them--a Burton--a Burton!" and, mad withexcitement, the angry father set off in hot pursuit. With one accord theothers wheeled about and joined in the chase, uttering cries andimprecations that rang through the country for a mile around.
"Now have we need of speed!" said Sir Guy, as they galloped togethertoward London, whose walls were now visible in the distance. "Soon willthe whole country join the hue-and-cry. The watch will meet us at thegate."
"'Twere better, were it not," Phoebe suggested, "that we turn to theleft and make a circuit into the Aldersgate?"
"Good wit, my lady!" cried Guy, whose excitement had taken on the formof an exalted gayety. "Who rides with thee rides safe, my love--e'en asTheseus of old did ride, scathless 'neath the spell of protectingPallas!"
"Stuff!" said Phoebe, spurring again, with a smile.
Guy led the way at once across country to the eastward, the soft Englishturf so deadening their hoof-beats that those behind them had no clue totheir change of route.
When the pursuing party reached the Bishopsgate, they met the watch andlearned that no one had passed since the hue-and-cry was heard.
"Here divide we, then," cried stout Sir Isaac Burton. "Let eight followthem around the wall, while I with other six ride on, that, if haplythey have entered London by the Aldersgate, we may meet them within thecity."
The suggestion was adopted, and, all unconscious of their peril, thelovers were rapidly hemmed in between two bands of pursuers. Sir Guy andPhoebe reached the Aldersgate unmolested and were allowed to pass inwithout protest, as the hue-and-cry had not yet reached so far. Theyambled quietly past the watch, arousing no suspicion, but no sooner hadthey turned the first corner than once more they urged their tiredhorses to greater exertion.
"Choose we the side streets," said Guy. "Who knows what watch hath beenset on Gracechurch Street. 'Tis for London Bridge we are bound, is'tnot?"
"Yes," said Phoebe. "I pray no prying watch detain us ere we pass thatway!"
Picking their way through the dark and narrow streets at a pacenecessarily much reduced, they slowly approached their goal, until atlength, on emerging into New Fish Street, they discerned the toweringwalls of London Bridge.
Here they reined in suddenly with one accord, for, plainly visible inthe moonlight, a group of horsemen was gathered and there was borne totheir ears the sturdy voice of Sir Isaac.
"Hallo!" he cried. "There be riders in New Fish Street. See where theylurk in the shadow! What ho, there! Give a name! Stand forth there!"
Sir Guy drew his sword.
"'Tis time for steel to answer!" he laughed.
"Nay--nay! Wait--wait!" said Phoebe, earnestly. "There must be otherissue than in blood!"
Two or three horsemen now detached themselves from the group near thebridge and cantered up New Fish Street. Sir Isaac was among them.
"Are ye ther
e, traitor?" he cried. "Where is my daughter?"
Sir Guy was about to reply when Phoebe put her hand on his arm.
"Hush!" she whispered. "Hearken!"
Faint at first, but growing momentarily louder, there came the cleartrilling of a mysterious bell. It floated out from the dark by-wayswhence they had themselves just emerged, and something eerie and uncannyin its clamor brought a thrill of terror to the young knight's nervesfor the first time.
"Now, what in God's name--" he began.
But he broke off in horror, for there flashed past him, as silent asthe wind and swifter, a dark, bent figure, with flying cloak, underwhich, as the moonlight struck him, there whirled a web of glitteringtissue whereon he seemed to ride. That uncanny tinkling floated backfrom this strange vision, confirming to the ear what otherwise mighthave appeared a mere trick of the vision.
As for Sir Isaac and his band, the distant bell had earlybrought them to a wondering stand; and now, as this rushingphantom--trilling--trilling--trilling--swept down on a living moonbeam,with one accord they put spurs to their steeds, and with cries of horrorfled in all directions.
"Forward!" cried Phoebe, exultantly. "Why, what now!" she exclaimed,as she saw her lover still sitting petrified with fear. "How now,my knight! Why sit you here amazed? Is not the way clear?Come--follow--follow!" and she started forward on a trot.
But her lover did not move, and she was obliged to turn back. Laying herhand on his arm:
"Why, what ails thee, dear heart?" she asked.
"The spectre--the ghostly steed!" he stammered.
"Oh--oh!" laughed Phoebe. "Why, this was but some venturous bicycliston his wheel!"
"A bicyclist!" exclaimed Sir Guy. "Can you thus give a name to thisblack phantom, Mary?"
"'Tis naught, dear Guy, believe me!" she said. Then, in pleading tones,she continued: "Didst not agree to trust thy lady, dear?"
The young knight passed his hand over his eyes and straightened himselfresolutely in his saddle.
"E'en to the death, love. Lead on! I shall not falter!"
They trotted forward through a now silent street to the bridge, and soonfound themselves enveloped in the darkness and assailed by the countlessodors of London Bridge. From time to time they crossed a path ofmoonlight, and here Phoebe would smile into the eyes of her stillmuch-puzzled lover and murmur words of encouragement.
Before they reached Southwark, there rang out behind them the sound ofhoofs upon the stones of the bridge.
"Can these be your father's minions, think you?" said Sir Guy.
"Nay!" Phoebe exclaimed. "Rest assured, they were scattered too far todog our steps again to-night."
They emerged some moments later on the Southwark side and saw thepillory towering ahead of them.
"How far shall we fare to-night, love?" asked the knight.
"To Newington on horseback," Phoebe replied, "and then--well, thenshalt thou see more faring."
There was a loud cry from the bridge, startling the pair from theirfancied security.
"There they ride! The watch, ho! Stop the traitor! Stop him! For theQueen! For the Queen!"
"God help us!" cried Phoebe. "'Tis the two yeomen of the Peacock Inn!"
With one accord the pair clapped spurs to their horses' sides andresumed once more the flight which they had thought concluded.