Kitabı oku: «The Captain of the Guard», sayfa 14

CHAPTER XXXI
BOMMEL

What mad jest is this, my masters?

I know not where the damsel lives, not I;

But see to it, that ye molest her not! —

Old Play.

After passing Alphen, Sir Patrick crossed an old stone bridge, and found himself in the Bommelerwaard, a fertile island, formed by the Waal and the Maese; and about noon, he reached the object of his destination, the quaint and ancient town of Zalt-Bommel, which stands upon the left bank of the former river.

The ducal banner of Arnold d'Egmont was waving on the castle built by Otho III. of Nassau, count of Gueldres, who walled the city in 1299, and therein dwelt Jacques de Lalain, the governor, then named the Dyck Graf, who kept the town in awe with his cannon, but more by his sluices, by opening which, he could lay the whole district under water, and drown every citizen in five minutes.

While riding forward, Gray had revolved in his mind, a hundred plans for making himself known to Murielle, but none seemed practicable; and then, with no other conviction, than the double necessity for being wary, and procuring a disguise, with a heart that beat lightly though anxiously, he passed through the wide and busy streets of Bommel, along the quays of its now choked-up harbour, and found quarters at an hostelry, that stood near the gardens of the ancient college of Canons, which was founded in 1303, by Reinold the warlike count of Gueldres.

Here he sent for the keeper of a frippery, as a clothing establishment was then named, and obtained the dress of a Muscovite merchant, a long gown of brown cloth trimmed with red braid and sables, a cap of black wolf's skin, and a short crooked sword, which he slung in front by a brass chain, in the oriental fashion. He laid aside all his military trappings, save his chain shirt, which the disguise he had adopted completely concealed, and after dinner he sallied forth into the city in quest of adventure and of Murielle.

It was fortunate that he had obtained so complete a disguise and so readily, for at the corner of a street he was overtaken by three reckless horsemen, who passed at a hard gallop, and so closely, that he was nearly ridden down.

They were the very persons he wished to avoid – the duke of Albany, count Ludwig of Endhoven, and James Achanna. He endeavoured to follow, and see whither they went; but they rode rapidly, and were soon out of sight.

The masses of the population, their bustle, and the business they seemed to transact, with the wealth and luxury he saw on every hand, excited the astonishment of Gray, who had come from a land that was simply warlike and pastoral; for in that age Flanders was the central point of European commerce – the market of all the products of the south, the north, and the Levant.

"As in the course of human affairs," says Schiller, "here a licentious luxury followed prosperity. The seductive example of Philip the Good could not but accelerate its approach. The court of the Burgundian dukes was the most voluptuous and magnificent in Europe, Italy itself not accepted. The costly dress of the higher classes, which afterwards served as patterns to the Spaniards, and eventually with the Burgundian customs, passed over to the court of Austria, soon descended to the lower orders, and the humblest citizen nursed his person in velvet and silk. The pomp and vanity of dress were carried by both sexes to extravagance. The luxury of the table had never reached so great a height among any other people. The immoral assemblage of both sexes at bathing-places, and others of reunion for pleasure and enjoyment, had banished all shame."

This state of society was new and bewildering to the plain soldier, who had come from the hardy and frugal land of the "rough-footed Scots," as he strolled along the thoroughfares of Bommel, disguised as a merchant from Muscovy, without a word of the Muscovite language, and as ignorant of whether he should pretend to import tallow, tar, hogsbristles, iron and flax, or the preserved fruits and luscious wines of the sunny Levant. Thus fearing that his disguise might lead him into a scrape or predicament, he avoided the harbour and mercantile portions of the city, and sought those in which he was most likely to meet some of the earl's train, or discover his locality.

After two days of hopeless inquiry, as the most prudent people are at times the most rash, he conceived the idea of relinquishing his disguise, of resuming his former attire, and applying to the Dyck Graf, who was a Gueldrian noble, and by birth a Burgundian of high rank, when luckily chance threw in his way the most fortunate person he could have met.

He had visited all the churches in time of mass and vespers, hoping to see the earl, or some of his numerous retinue, and on the third day, just as he was leaving, with a heavy heart, the gorgeously-carved porch of St. Genevieve, he heard a familiar voice say —

"Yes, yes, it is all very bad and wicked of the Burgundians no doubt; but are not all the world so? When, through my humble efforts and the agency of our Holy Father, the great master of evil is purified and restored to the place he fell from, such things shall be no more. Veritas mea et misericordia mea cum ipso; et in nomine meo exaltabitur cornuejus!"

"Oh, by good St. Genevieve, this can be no other than my worthy friend and kinsman, the abbot of Tongland!" said Gray, joyously, as he pressed through a crowd of bubous-shaped Flemings, towards where the old abbot, who wore a travelling cassock and calotte cap, with long flaps, stood near a pillar conversing with one whom he knew to be the chaunter of the abbey, an official who conducted the choir and had charge of the library, to increase the MS. stores of which, he had accompanied the earl to the Continent.

"Oh that I were now at Rome, instead of loitering here in Flanders," resumed the abbot; "how many souls might yet be saved!"

"The devil hath been long at his work, father abbot, since that tempting day in the Garden of Eden," said Gray, laughing, as he took the abbot's hand in his.

"Good morrow, sir," said the churchman, coldly, as he scrutinized the strange costume and scarred face of the speaker.

"You do not know me?" exclaimed Sir Patrick.

"Nay, sir, not I."

"'Tis well," said Gray, with a bitter smile, as he remembered his wound, "I seem a Muscovite, but the cowl does not make the monk. I crave a word apart, lord abbot – I have that to say, which you must hear alone."

When they withdrew a pace or two back, Sir Patrick lifted his fur cap, and displayed his features more fully.

"Heaven grant us its peace," exclaimed the abbot, with astonishment; "'tis my kinsman, Gray of Foulis!"

"Hush," said Gray, placing a hand upon his mouth.

"Rash boy, and bold as rash, what seek you here in Flanders?" asked the abbot, with gloom, alarm, and almost anger expressed in his face.

"I came on the king's service; but now I seek Murielle Douglas – and Murielle I shall see, father!"

"Beware, lest you find death instead."

"I know the penalty, if discovered," said Gray carelessly; "but in this disguise, and with a face so altered, I may escape, as I have already eluded, the penetrating eyes of the villain Achanna."

"But the earl – he whose projects are so high – so deep – so terrible!" urged the priest in a whispered voice of agony.

"He will not dare to touch me here in a fortified town – "

"What! You expect Earl James to be a saint in Gueldreland, though he is a devil in Galloway? What saith Horace – that those who cross the seas change their climate but not their mind."

"I know with what intention he has crossed the seas, and for what object he will return."

"You do!" said the abbot, in a husky whisper.

"Aye, as well as you, father abbot, who are the keeper of that pretty burden, his conscience. I have seen, yea, and supped with, Robert, duke of Albany."

"Hush!" said the abbot, glancing at his chaunter.

"Ah – 'tis your turn to say hush now."

"You have seen him – this poor outlawed prince?"

"Yes, and spent an evening with him – an interesting, if not a jovial one, certainly; and in his cups, he unfolded some very pretty schemes, concerning which, I shall be silent, until I tread again the streets of Edinburgh."

"Oh, be wary, kinsman – be wary!" said the abbot, in a voice that betrayed increasing alarm.

"The duke modestly asked me to aid in a little plot against my own life, and made me several fair offers to lure me to his service against the king."

"Offers, of what?"

"Lands and titles."

"He is liberal, as that Fell Spirit, who took our Lord unto the mountain top, and offered Him cities and empires, when he had not an inch of land to give – not even the mud that adhered to his cloven hoof. Oh, that I were now at Rome!"

"But Murielle is to be made the tool – the victim of these desperate plotters – and you know it, father, you know it!"

"Ah," said the abbot, with a groan, "there you sting my inmost heart."

"Then how must mine be stung? but you will enable me to meet – to console her?"

"I – impossible!"

"There is nothing impossible in it," continued Gray, with earnestness; "you must – you shall! Ah, I do not threaten you – I implore. Think of all we have suffered for each other; think of what we may yet be condemned to suffer, by those, whom Evil Fortune seems to have made the arbiters of our destiny."

"'Tis very sad, and very true," replied the abbot, slowly, "but I dare not."

"You are a priest, and may dare anything," exclaimed

Gray, passionately, "and here I swear, that if you do not take me to Murielle, or bring her to me – in short, if you do not enable us to meet, by all that we revere in heaven and on earth, and by the bones of St. Genevieve, I will cast myself in the earl's path, and brave him and his followers to the last; and you know what is sure to ensue then."

"Your instant destruction."

"Promise me – promise," urged Gray, in whose eyes the tears were starting as he pressed the hands of the old abbot.

The latter was kind and gentle hearted, and loved his young kinsman too well to withstand his entreaties long; he felt his resolution waver, and strangely enough became a little irritated.

"By St. Bryde, of Douglas, I would we had never met," he exclaimed; "although Sir Patrick, the sequel might have been the worse for you."

"Where does she reside?"

"With the earl and countess," replied the abbot, briefly.

"Of course," said Gray, impatiently, "but, where are they?"

"In a house belonging to the Dyck Graf, and adjoining the great church and the college of canons. I am to-night to bring her – "

"Where, father – where?"

"To this church of St. Genevieve."

"Oh, how happy was the chance that brought me hither! You will allow me to go with you?"

"Impossible – never; by my habit, my order – "

"Why – why?"

"Your relations with her, and my office – "

"Your office will protect us; it is ordained that you should succour those in distress, and Murielle and I are both in need of succour. Father Abbot – dear kind friend, you agree."

"Be then silent and wary, and meet me at the porch here, at the hour of seven this evening," replied the abbot, suddenly giving way.

"God will reward you – I never can – adieu, adieu!" said Gray, in the fulness of his heart, and in a voice which became husky with emotion, as he hastened into the street, with a giddy head and a light heart, muttering: "I shall see her – to-night I shall see her! but ah, by the dial, it lacks five hours of the time!"

CHAPTER XXXII
THE CHURCH OF ST. GENEVIEVE

When stars are in the quiet skies,

Then most I pine for thee;

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea!

For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,

Are stillest when they shine;

Mine earthly love lies hush'd in light,

Beneath the heaven of thine. —

Bulwer.

To Gray it appeared as if the day would never pass, and he spent the hours of it in thinking over all he would say to Murielle, and all she might probably reply. He glanced at his mirror – would the scar on his face shock her? Doubtless, but she would love him the more for it, and then it would wear away in time. Then he consulted the gnomons of the sun-dials at the street corners, and the clocks of the numerous churches, and to the eyes of an impatient lover, the shadows of the former, and the hands of the latter, seemed alike to stand still.

Yet inevitable Time, which may neither be anticipated or withheld, passed slowly, and surely on. The shadows of the quaint streets, of the carved and traceried steeples, and of the battlemented castle, with its grey old walls and muddy sluices, fell far to the eastward, along the grassy meadows of the Bommelerwaard; the storks were already in their nests on the steep old gables, and long before the appointed hour, Gray was at the porch of St. Genevieve, where, with anxious eyes, he scanned the passengers, and the thoroughfares in every direction.

At last seven tolled from the spire, and every stroke reverberated in his heart. They had not yet come, and just as a sigh of impatience escaped him, a hand was laid upon his shoulder; he turned, and beheld the abbot of Tongland, and standing behind him, on the upper step of the porch, a pace or two within the church, was a lady, wearing a Flemish hood and veil. Gray's heart rose to his lips, as he sprang towards her, and pressed in his the hands of Murielle.

"Beware, Sir Patrick," said the abbot, "we cannot permit such transports here, and in view of the passers, too! Retire into the north aisle, while I betake me to the south, for I have still some leaves of my daily office to read; and when that is over, I shall rejoin you. Be secret – be wary!"

With this advice, the politic old Churchman left Gray and Murielle to themselves, being perfectly well aware that his presence, could in no way enhance the joy of this sudden interview.

The quiet tenderness of Murielle moderated the ardor of Gray; both trembled with the depth of their emotions, and the girl's eyes were full of tears of affection and fear, for she felt as if Gray had been restored to her from the tomb, and sometime passed before she could speak with coherence.

"Ah, that I should miss your presence here for a moment," said Gray, "but I was watching the passers in the streets."

"While I watched you from the church!"

"And how did you enter it – I have been an hour at the porch."

"We came by the postern, which adjoins the great garden of the Dyck Graf's mansion."

"Where you reside?"

"Yes."

"And the earl, too?"

"Yes – but he is hunting with the Dyck Graf. Oh, these wounds on your face," said Murielle, stroking his cheek with her pretty hands, and kissing it; "oh, mother of God, what must you have suffered?"

"More than tongue can say, Murielle, and more in mind than in body; but these scars are the relict of that dreadful day, when Earl James so mercilessly struck me down, as I besought mercy or quarter – not for my own sake, but for yours."

"And when I thought to have died – great is my wonder that I did not, for strenuously the earl, the countess, and all in Thrave strove to convince me of your death."

"But you received my letter, by Sir Thomas – my good and brave MacLellan?"

"Yes – and it restored me to hope, to life as it were, by the assurance that you lived – you, whom all about me wished should die."

Gray drew her close to his heart, and a soft sweet smile overspread the childlike face, while he pressed to his again and again the little rosebud mouth. At that moment he heard something like a cough or snort; Gray looked round, but saw only the shadows of the pillars that lay in long lines across the tessalated floor of the church.

"I thought, Murielle, I should have gone mad with perplexity when I saw you at Antwerp," said Gray.

"At Antwerp – you saw me there?" replied Murielle, a little beam of gratified vanity lighting up her eyes.

"In the procession of the assumption; but the strange part you bore – how came that about?"

"Through the desire of the earl and the bishop of Mechlin (or as some name him, Malines), whom he knew in Scotland as secretary to the Legate Æneas Sylvius Piccolomini; but, believe me, I had no desire to appear as I did."

"And how long do you remain in Bommel?"

"A week."

"Thank heaven! then we shall meet often. Have – have you yet seen the outlawed duke of Albany?" asked Gray; hesitating with the question, while burning with impatience for the answer.

"No," said Murielle, blushing in spite of herself; "I have declined."

Gray pressed her to his breast.

"You know then, dearest, of what the earl is capable," said he; "of forcing you to become the bride of another, who will further his designs and strengthen his power at home and abroad."

"Yes – yes," replied Murielle, weeping; "I knew it – already has he broadly hinted as much."

"Already!"

"And commanded me to obey; ah, pardon me for making this admission!" said she imploringly.

"Pardon you?" reiterated Gray.

"Yes; but the earl rarely condescends to hint."

"Oh my beloved heart!"

"I meant not to add to your griefs, dearest, by naming a rival whose rank renders him so formidable, – but – but – " tears choked her utterance.

"And this rival is the duke of Albany – a French minion – an outlaw; the son of a traitor who plotted for the lawless detention of James I., in England; a roué and swashbuckler, who consorts with the robber, Ludwig of Endhoven!"

"'Tis indeed he, to whom they would sacrifice me," said Murielle, clasping her poor little tremulous hands, and weeping bitterly. Gray remained silent for some moments, while love, pity, and alarm wrung his heart by turns.

"I know it – I know it," said he gloomily, "for Albany's own lips informed me."

"You see, dear Gray, to what lengths Douglas and my sister will go in their thirst for vengeance. The young king dethroned or slain; his banished cousin crowned by English aid as Robert IV., the house of Douglas would become more powerful than ever, and thus attain in the land a strength which none could crush, and before which Livingstone and Crichton assuredly must fall."

The vista these projects opened up, when thus plainly stated, startled even the gallant heart of Gray!

"But Albany dare not," said he huskily, while grasping his dagger; "this should end his treason long ere it reached the mature length his father's did."

"Douglas and Albany will dare anything," sobbed Murielle; "alas, poor me! I am, my sister says, but a child, and a very weak one in their iron hands."

"Then be a woman – let us escape and seek safety by flight together. We are but thirty miles from the sea, where we can soon find a ship for Scotland, and ere the earl's return we may be ready to defy him."

"Oh to what would you tempt me?"

"To save yourself and me. Once wedded, once again in Scotland, under the protection of the king, a boy though he be, we might defy your kinsman and all his followers."

"Oh no – no!" said Murielle, shaking her head mournfully.

"To Gueldres then. Duke Arnold will succour and protect us," urged Gray vehemently.

"Worse still!"

"Oh Murielle, in pity to yourself and me – "

"Nay, nay, this must not be," said the abbot of Tongland angrily, as he came suddenly forward; "Sir Patrick Gray, this is a breach of faith with me. In friendship to her, and you my kinsman – for I dearly love you both – I permitted this meeting; but have no intention that it shall take a turn so startling – so dangerous for the honour of Lady Murielle, and for the lives of us all perhaps! Come – come with me lady, we must return at once."

"But we shall meet again, – good Father Abbot, say we shall meet again?" urged Gray.

"Once, I promise you, once ere we leave Bommel, on the third evening from this, at the same hour," said the abbot, hurrying Murielle away, for at that moment several Flemish ecclesiastics entered the church.

As Gray wished to avoid every one, he withdrew; but resolved that, come what might of it, in his next interview with Murielle, to save her from the perils that were impending. She still loved him truly, and there was every consolation in the knowledge that she did so; yet her love would not save her from Albany when Douglas chose to play the tyrant.

But the abbot's protégé, the serpent, was abroad, and there were many mischiefs to be plotted and many to be worked ere Murielle could be saved from her persecutors.

As she and the abbot passed through the postern door which opened from one of the aisles into the garden of the Dyck Graf – a door over which there may be seen to this day, a strange sculpture of a mitred cat preaching to twelve little mice – a man who had evidently been listening shrunk back into the shade. This person was the somewhat ubiquitous James Achanna, who, inspired alike by impatience and malevolence, repaired immediately to his lord and chief the earl.