Читать книгу Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold - G. P. R. James - Страница 10

You have the captives, Who were the opposites of this day's strife! We do require them of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.--Shakspere.

The chamber of Sir Osborne Maurice was next to that of Lady Constance de Grey, and from time to time he could hear through the partition the sweet murmuring of her voice, as she spoke to the woman who undressed her. Whatever were the thoughts these sounds called up, the young soldier did not sleep, but lay pondering over his fate, his brain troubled by a host of busy meditations that would not let him rest. It was not that he either was in love with Lady Constance, or fancied himself in love with her, though he neither wanted ardour of feeling nor quickness of imagination; and yet he thought over all she said with strange sensations of pleasure, and tried to draw the graceful outline of her figure upon the blank darkness of the night. And then, again, he called up the fortnight that he spent some five years before at the mansion of her father, when he had gone thither to bid farewell to his old tutor; and he remembered every little incident as though 'twere yesterday. Still, all the while, he never dreamed of love. He gave way to those thoughts as to a pleasant vision, which filled up sweetly the moments till sleep should fall upon his eyelids; and yet he found that the more he thought in such a train, the less likely was he to slumber. At length the idea of the Portingal captain crossed his mind, and he strove to fix at what moment it was that that worthy had quitted the kitchen of the inn, by recalling the last time he positively had been there. He tried, however, in vain, and in the midst of the endeavour he fell asleep.

The sun had fully risen by the time Sir Osborne awoke; and finding himself later than he had intended, he dressed himself hurriedly and ran down to the court, where he met the honest clothier already prepared to set out. His own horse, thanks to the care of Jekin Groby, had been accoutred also; and as nothing remained for him to do but to pay his reckoning and depart, all was soon ready, and the travellers were on the road.

"Ah, ha! sir knight," said the clothier, with good-humoured familiarity, as Sir Osborne sprang into the saddle, "what would they say in camp if it were known that Jekin Groby, the Kentish clothier, was in the field before you? Ha, ha, ha! that's good! And you talked, too, of being off by cock-crow! Lord 'a mercy! poor old chanticleer has almost thrawn his own neck with crowing, and you never heeded his piping."

"I have been very lazy," said the knight, "and know not, in truth, how it has happened. But tell me, honest Master Groby, did you remark last night at what hour it was that the vagabond Portingallo took his departure?"

"Why, 'twas just when my young lady, Mistress Constance, came in," said the clothier; "he slipped away, just as I've seen a piece of cloth slip off a shelf, fold by fold, so quietly that no one heard it, till, flump! it was all gone together. But, bless us!" he continued, "how comical! our horses are both of a colour. Never did I see such a match, only mine has got a white foot, which is a pity. Bought him in Yorkshire when I went down after the cloth. Them damned cheats, however, painted me his white foot, and 'twas not till I'd had him a week that I saw his foot begin to change colour. Vast cheats in Yorkshire! Steal a man's teeth out of his head if he sleeps with his mouth open."

"It is a good horse, though," said Sir Osborne; "rather heavy in the shoulder. But it is a good strong horse, and would bear a man-at-arms well, I doubt not."

Jekin Groby was somewhat of a judge in horse-flesh, notwithstanding his having been gulled by the Yorkshire jockeys; and, what was more, he piqued himself upon his knowledge, so that he soon entered upon a strain of conversation with Sir Osborne which could only be interesting to connoisseurs. This continued some way as they trotted along the road, which offered no appearance of anything bearing the human form divine, till they came to a spot where the way had been cut between two high banks, formed of chalky soil mingled with veins of large flints. On the summit of one of these banks was perched a man, who seemed looking out for something, as he stood motionless, gazing down the road towards them. Upon his shoulder he carried a pole, or staff, as it was called, some thirteen feet long, with a sharp iron head, such as was frequently carried by the people of the country in those days, serving both as a means of aggression or defence, and as a sort of leaping-pole wherewith they cleared the deep ditches by which the country was in many parts intersected. The man himself was apparently above the ordinary height. Whoever he was, and whatever was his occupation, no sooner did he see the travellers, than, descending the bank by means of the veins of flint, which served him as steps, he ran on as hard as he could, and then, turning off through a little stile, was seen proceeding rapidly across a field beyond.

"Did you remark that fellow with his long pole?" demanded Sir Osborne. "We have frightened him: look, he runs!"

"He is vexed to see more than one at a time, sir knight," replied Jekin Groby. "God's fish! I am glad I had your worship with me."

"Why, he can mean us no harm," said Sir Osborne. "The moment a man flies he changes from your enemy and becomes his own. But that fellow was evidently looking out for some one: now, if he know not that you are travelling here with your bags well lined, as you express it, which doubtless you are too wise a man to give notice of to every one, he cannot be watching for us, for my plunder would not be worth his having. I rather think he is some fellow hawking fowl, by the long staff he has on his shoulder."

"It may be so," replied the cloth-merchant. "One is bound to think charitably, and never to judge rashly; but i'faith, I am mistaken if he is not a vast rogue. As to their not knowing that my bags are pretty full of angels, trust them for that. No one is robbed without the consent of the chamberlain or hostler where last he lodged. The moment you are off your beast, they whip you up your cap-case or budget, as it may happen; and if they can't find out by the weight, they give it a shake, after such a sort as to make the pieces jingle. Then again, as for his pole or staff, as you term it, those fellows with their staves are so commonly known for robbery on the road, that no honest man rides without his case of dags at his saddle-bow, or something of the kind to deal with them out of reach of their pike, which sort of snapper, truly, I see your worship has got as well as myself."

"Oh! you need not fear them," said Sir Osborne, somewhat amused at the alarm of the clothier, though willing to allay it. "You are a stout man, and I am not quite a schoolboy."

"Oh! I fear them! I don't fear them," replied Jekin, affecting a virtue which he had not; for though, in truth, not very sensible to fear of a mere personal nature, yet his terror at the idea of losing his angels was most pious and exemplary. "A couple of true men are worth forty of them; and besides, the fellow has run away. So now to what I was telling your worship about the horse. He cleared the fence and the ditch on t'other side; but then there was again another low fence, not higher, nor--let me see--not higher nor---- Zounds! there's Longpole again! Lord! how he runs! He's a-poaching, sure enough." But to continue.

During the next mile's journey, the same occurrence was repeated four or five times, till at last the appearance of the man with the staff, whom Jekin Groby had by this time christened Longpole, was hardly noticed either by the knight or his companion. In the mean time the horsemen proceeded but slowly, and at length reached a spot where the high bank broke away, and the hedge receding left a small open space of what appeared to be common ground. Its extent perhaps might be half an acre, lying in the form of a decreasing wedge between two thick hedges, full of leafless stunted oaks, terminated by a clump of larger trees, which probably hung over a pond. Thus it made a sort of little vista, down which the eye naturally wandered, resting upon all the tranquil, homely forms it presented, with perhaps more pleasure than a vaster or a brighter scene could have afforded. Sir Osborne looked down it for a moment, then suddenly reined in his horse, and pointing with his hand, cried to Jekin Groby, who was a little in advance, "I see two men hiding behind those trees, and a third there in the hedge. Gallop quick; 'tis an ambush!"

The clothier instantly spurred forward his horse; but his passage was closed by two sturdy fellows, armed with the sort of staves which had obtained for their companion the name of Longpole. Animated with the same courage in defence of his angels that inspires a hen in protection of her chickens, Jekin Groby drew forth his dags, or horse-pistols, and, with the bridle in his teeth, aimed one at the head of each of his antagonists. The aggressors jumped aside, and would probably have let him pass, had he not attempted too boldly to follow up his advantage. He pulled the triggers, the hammers fell, but no report ensued; and it was then he felt the folly of not having well examined his arms before he left the inn.

In the mean while Sir Osborne Maurice was not unemployed. At the same moment that Jekin Groby had been attacked, a man forced his way through the hedge, and opposed himself to the knight, while sundry others hastened towards them. Sir Osborne's first resource was his pistol, which, like those of the clothier, had been tampered with at the inn. But the knight lost not his presence of mind, and spurred on his horse even against the pike. The animal, long accustomed to combat where still more deadly weapons were employed, reared up, and with a bound brought the knight clear of the staff, and within reach of his adversary, on whose head Sir Osborne discharged such a blow with the butt-end of his pistol as laid him senseless on the ground.

With a glance of lightning he saw that at least a dozen more were hurrying up, and that the only chance left was to deal suddenly with the two, who were now in a fair way to pull the clothier off his horse, and having despatched them, to gallop on with all speed. Without loss of a moment, therefore, he drew his sword and spurred forward. One of honest Jekin's assailants instantly faced about, and, with his pike rested on his foot, steadfastly opposed the cavalier. However, he was not so dexterous in the use of his weapon that Sir Osborne could not by rapidly wheeling his horse obtain a side view of the pike, when by one sweeping blow of his long-sword he cleft it in twain. One moment more and the unhappy pikeman's head and shoulders would have parted company, for an arm of iron was swaying the edge of the weapon rapidly towards his neck, when suddenly a powerful man sprang upon the knight's horse behind, and pinioned his arms with a force which, though it did not entirely disable him, saved the life of his antagonist.

Using a strong effort, Sir Osborne so far disengaged his arms as to throw back the pommel of his sword into the chest of this new adversary, who in a moment was rolling in the dust; but as he fell, another sprang up again behind the knight, and once more embarrassed his arms: others seized the horse's bridle, and others pressed upon him on every side. Still Sir Osborne resisted, but it was in vain. A cord was passed through his arms, and gradually tightened behind, in spite of his struggling, where, being tied, it rendered all further efforts useless.

Hitherto not a word had been spoken by either party. It seemed as if, by mutual understanding, the attacking and the attacked had forborne any conversation upon a subject which they knew could not be decided by words.

At length, however, when they had pulled Sir Osborne Maurice off his horse, and placed him by the side of Jekin Groby, who had now long been in the same situation, the tallest of the party, evidently no other than the agreeable gentleman who had watched them along the road with such peculiar care, and whom we shall continue to call Longpole, advanced, holding his side, which was still suffering from the pommel of Sir Osborne's sword; and after regarding them both, he addressed himself to the knight, with much less asperity than might have been expected from the resistance he had met with. "Thou hit'st damned hard!" said he; "and I doubt thou hast broken one of my ribs with thy back-heave. Howsoever, I know not which of you is which, now I've got you. Faith, they should have described me the men, not the horses; both the horses are alike."

"Is your wish to rob us or not?" said Sir Osborne; "because in robbing us both you are sure to rob the right. Only leave us our horses, and let us go; for to cut our throats will serve you but little."

"If I wished to rob thee, my gentleman," answered Longpole, "I'd cut thy throat too, for breaking my companion's head, who lies there in the road as if he were dead, or rather as if he were asleep, for he's snoring like the father-hog of a large family, the Portingallo vagabond! However, I'll have you both away; then those who sent to seek you will know which it is they want. Hollo there! knock that fellow down that's fingering the bags. If one of you touch a stiver I'll make your skins smart for it."

"I see several Portingals," said Sir Osborne, "or I mistake. Is it not so?"

"Ay, Portingals and Dutchers, and such like mixed," replied Longpole. "But come; you must go along."

A light now broke upon the mind of Sir Osborne. "Listen," cried he to the Englishman, as he was preparing to lead them away; "how comes it that you Englishmen join yourselves with a beggarly race of wandering vagabonds to revenge the quarrel of a base-born Portingallo captain upon one of your own countrymen? Give me but a moment, and you shall hear whether he did not deserve the punishment I inflicted."

Longpole seemed willing to hear, and one or two others came round, while the rest employed themselves in quieting the knight's horse, that, finding himself in hands he was unaccustomed to, began plunging and kicking most violently.

"I will be short," said the knight. "This Portingal had agreed to furnish a cargo of fruits to the Imperial army in Flanders; 'tis now two years ago, for we had a malignant fever in the camp. He got the money when they were landed, and was bringing them under a small escort, which I commanded, when we found our junction cut off by the right wing of the enemy's army, which had wheeled. The greatest exertion was necessary to pass round through a hollow way; the least noise, the least flutter of a pennon, would have betrayed us to the French outposts, who were not more than a bow-shot from us, when our Portingal stopped in the midst, and vowed he would not go on, unless I promised to pay him double for the fruit, and not to tell anybody of what he had done. If I had run my lance through him, as I was tempted, his companions would have made a noise, and we were lost; so I was obliged to promise. He knew he could trust the word of an English knight, so he went on quietly enough, and got his money; but then I took him out into a field, and after a struggle, I tied him to a tree, and lashed him with my stirrup-leathers till his back was flayed. He was not worth a knight's sword, or I would have swept his head off. But tell me, is it for this a party of Englishmen maltreat their countrymen?"

"You served him right, young sir," answered Longpole; "and I remember that malignant fever well, for I was then fletcher to Sir John Pechie's band of horse archers. But, nevertheless, you must come along; for the Portingallo and his men only lend a hand in taking you to Sir Payan Wileton, who tells us a very different story, and does not make you out a knight at all."

Sir Osborne replied nothing (for it seemed that the name of Sir Payan Wileton showed him reply was in vain), but suffered himself to be led on in silence by Longpole and five of bid stoutest companions, while the rest were directed to follow with Jekin Groby and the two horses, as soon as the Portuguese whom the knight had stunned should be in a fit state to be removed.

For some way Sir Osborne was conducted along the highroad without any attempt at concealment on the part of those who guarded him; and even at a short distance from the spot where the affray had happened they stopped to speak with a carter, who was slowly driving his team on to the village. "Ah! Dick," said he, addressing Longpole, "what hast been at?"

"Why, faith," answered the other, "I don't well know. It's a job of his worship's. You know he has queer ways with him; and when he tells one to do a thing, one knows well enough what the beginning is, but what the end of it is to be no one knows but himself. He says that this gentleman is the man who excited the miners on his Cornish lands to riot and insurrection, and a deal more, so that he will have him taken. He don't look it, does he? If it had been to-morrow I'd not have gone upon the thing, for to-day my sworn service is out."

"Ay! ay!" said the other; "'tis hard to know Sir Payan. Howsomdever, he has got all the land round about, one way or t'other, and everything must yield to him, for no one ever withstood him but what some mischance fell upon him. Mind you how, when young Davors went to law with him, and gained his cause, about seven acres' field, he was drowned in the pond when out hawking, not a year after? Do not cross him, man! do not cross him! for either God's blessing or the devil's is upon him, and you'll come to harm some way if you do!"

"I'll not cross him, but I'll leave him," said Longpole; "for I like neither what I see nor what I hear of him, and less what I do for him. So, fare thee well, boy."

Sir Osborne Maurice had fallen into a profound reverie, from which he did not wake during the whole of the way. The astrologer's prediction of approaching evil, and a thousand other circumstances of still more painful presage, came thronging upon his mind, and took away from him all wish or power either to question his conductors or to devise any plan for escape, had escape been possible.

The way was long, and the path which Longpole and his companions followed led through a variety of green fields and lanes, silent and solitary, which gave the young knight full time to muse over his situation. Had he given credit to the words of his conductor, and for an instant supposed that the reason of his having been so suddenly seized was the charge of instigating a body of Cornish miners to tumult, he would have felt, no apprehension; for he knew it would be easy to clear himself of crimes committed in a county which he had never seen in his life. But Sir Osborne felt that if such a charge were brought forward, it would merely be as a pretext to place him in the power of his bitterest enemies.

The manner in which he had been made a prisoner, so different from the open, fair course of any legal proceeding, the persons who had seized him bearing no appearance of officers of the law, the doubt that the chief of them had himself expressed as to the veracity of the charge, and the presence of a set of smuggling Portuguese sailors, all showed evidently to Sir Osborne that his detention solely originated in some deep wile of a man famous for his daring cunning and his evil deeds. Yet still, knowing the full extent of his danger, and blessed with a heart unused to quail to any circumstance of fate, the knight would have felt no apprehension, had not odd little Human Nature, who always keeps a grain or two of superstition in the bottom of her snuff-box, continually reminded him of the prophecy of his singular companion of the day before, and reproached him for not having followed the advice which would infallibly have removed him from the difficulties by which he was now surrounded. The mysterious vagueness, too, the shadowy uncertainty, of the predicted evil, which seemed even now in its accomplishment, in despite of all his efforts, weighed upon his mind; and it was not till the long, heavy brick front of an old manor-house met his view, giving notice that he was near the place of his destination, that he could arouse his energies to encounter what was to follow.

The large folding-doors leading into a stone hall were pushed open by his conductors, and Sir Osborne was brought in, and made to sit down upon a bench by the fire. One or two servants only were in the hall; and they, unlike the persons who brought him, were dressed in livery, with the cognizance of Sir Payan--a snake twisted round a crane--embroidered on the sleeve. "His worship is in the book-room, Dick," said one of the men; "take your prisoner there."

These few words were all that passed, for an ominous sort of silence seemed to hang over the dwelling, and affected all within it. Without reply, Longpole led the young knight forward, followed by two of those who had assisted in securing him; and at the end of a long corridor, which terminated the hall, knocked at a door in a recess.

"Come in!" cried a voice within; and the moment after, Sir Osborne found himself confronted with the man whose name we have often had occasion to mention with but little praise in the course of the preceding pages, Sir Payan Wileton. He was seated in an arm-chair, at the farther end of the small book-room, which, all petty as it was, when compared with the vast libraries of the present day, offered a prodigy in point of literary treasure, in those times when the invention of the press had made but little progress towards superseding the painful and expensive method of manual transcription. About a hundred volumes, in gay bindings of vellum and of velvet, ornamented the shelves, and two or three others lay on a table before him, at which also was seated a clerk, busily engaged in writing.

Sir Payan himself was a man of about fifty, of a deep ashy complexion, and thin, strongly-marked features. His eyes were dark, shrewd, and bright, and sunk deep below his brows, in the midst of which was to be observed a profound wrinkle, which gave his face a continual frown. His cheek-bones were high, his hair was short and grizzled, and his whole appearance had, perhaps, more of sternness than of cunning.

On the entrance of Sir Osborne Maurice, for a moment no one spoke, and the two knights regarded each other in silence, with an austere bitterness that might have spoken them old enemies. But while he gazed on the young knight, Sir Payan's hand, which lay on some papers before him, gradually contracted, clenched harder and harder, till at length the red blood in his thin knuckles vanished away, and they became white as a woman's by the force of the compression. But it was in vain! Sir Osborne's glance mastered his, and dashing his hand across his brow, he broke forth:--

"So, this is he who excited my tenants and labourers to revolt against the king in that unfortunate Cornish insurrection, and who led them on to plunder my bailiff's dwelling, and to murder my bailiff! Clerk, make out instantly the warrant for his removal to Cornwall, with copies of the depositions taken here, that he may be tried and punished for his crimes on the spot where they were committed."

"Sir Payan Wileton," said the knight, still regarding him with the same steady, determined gaze, "we meet for the first time to-day; but I think you know me."

"I do, sir; I do!" replied Sir Payan, without varying from the hurried and impatient manner in which he had spoken at first. "I know you for a rebellious instigator to all kinds of mischief, and for a homicide. Speak, Richard Heartley; did the prisoner offer any resistance? Has he added any fresh crimes to those he has already perpetrated?"

"Resist!" cried Longpole; "ay, your worship, he resisted enough, and broke one of the Portingallos' heads, but not more than was natural or reasonable. The other one resisted too; yet it was easy to see that this one was of gentle blood, which was what your worship wanted, I doubt not. But, however, as they were both mounted on strong black horses, such as your honour described, we brought them both up."

"Umph!" said Sir Payan, biting his lip; "there were two, were there?" And he muttered something to himself. "Send me here the captain ----, or Wilson the bailiff. It must be ascertained which is which--though there can be no doubt--there can be no doubt!"

"Mark me, Sir Payan Wileton," said Sir Osborne, the moment the other paused. "Mark me, and take good heed before you too far commit yourself. We know each other, and, therefore, a few words will suffice. Five people in England are aware of my arrival, and equally aware of where I slept last night, and when I set out this morning. Judge, therefore, whether it will not be easy to trace me hither, and to free me from your hands."

Sir Payan Wileton had evidently been agitated by some strong feeling on first beholding the young knight; but by this time he had completely mastered it, and his face had resumed that rigid austerity of expression with which he was wont to cover all that was passing in his mind.

"Railing, sir, and insinuations will be found of no use here," he said, calmly. "Clerk, make good speed with those warrants! Oh! here is Wilson. Now, Wilson, look at the prisoner well, and tell me if you are sure that he is the person who assaulted you yesterday, and who led the miners when they burned your father's house in Cornwall. Look at him well!"

The young man, whom it may be remembered Sir Osborne Maurice had dispatched so unceremoniously over the wall of old Richard Heartley's garden, now advanced, and regarded the knight with a triumphant grin.

"Oh, ho! my brave bird, what! you're limed, are you?" he muttered; and then, turning to Sir Payan, "yes, your worship, 'tis he," he continued. "I'm ready to swear that 'twas he led the men that burned Pencriton House, and that threw me over the wall, because I struck old Heartley for calling your worship a usurping traitor and----"

But at that moment Longpole laid a grasp upon his collar that almost strangled him.

"You struck my father, did you?" exclaimed he; "then pray God to make all your bones as soft as whit-leather, for if they're but as crisp as buttered toast, I'll break every one in your skin!"

"Silence!" cried Sir Payan Wileton; "silence, Heartley! If your father has been struck, I will take care he shall have satisfaction."

"With your worship's good leave, I will take care of it myself," replied Longpole. "I never trust any one to give or to receive a drubbing for me. I like always to calculate my own quantity of crabstick."

"Silence!" said Sir Payan; "again I say, silence! My good Richard, I assure you, you shall be satisfied. Clerk, swear Wilson to the depositions he made. Oh! here is the Portingallo. Captain, is that the man you remember having seen in Cornwall when you were last there?"

"Yes, yes, el Pero! that was himself!" cried the captain; "I sawed him at the ale-house at Penzance with my own eye, when I went to fetch the cargo of coal."

"You mean of tin, captain," said Sir Payan.

"Yes, yes, of ten," replied the Portuguese. "It was just ten, I remember."

Sir Osborne's patience was exhausted.

"Vagabond! thief!" cried he, "do you remember my scourging you with the stirrup-leathers in Flanders, till there was not an inch of skin upon your back?"

"Yes, yes, that was your turn," said the captain; "I scourge you now."

"Remark what he says," cried Sir Osborne, to those who stood round, "and all of you bear witness in case----"

"Prisoner, you stand committed," cried Sir Payan, in a loud voice. "Take him away! Suffer him not to speak! Richard Heartley, place him in the strong-room at the foot of the stair-case, and having locked the door, keep guard over him. Captain, stay you with me; all the rest, go."

The commands of Sir Payan were instantly obeyed; and the room being cleared, he pressed his hands before his eyes, and thought deeply for some moments.

"He is mine!" cried he at length, "he is mine! And shall I let him out of my own hands now that I have him, when 'twould be so easy to furnish him with a hook and a halter wherewith to hang himself, as the good chaplain and John Bellringer did to the heretic Hun, in the Lollards' Tower last year? But no, that is too fresh in the minds of men, and too many suspicions are already busy. So, my captain--I forgot. Sit down, my good captain. I am, as we agreed, about to give this young man into your hands to take to Cornwall. Why do you laugh?"

"He! he! Cornwall," cried the captain; "I do not go in Cornwall."

"Nay, some time in your life you will probably voyage to Cornwall as well as to other lands," said Sir Payan. "Now, 'tis the same to me whether you take him there now or a hundred years hence: you may carry him all over the world if you will, and drop him at the antipodes."

"I understand, I understand," replied the Portingal; "you have much need to get rid of him, and you give him to me. Well, I will take your present, if you give me two hundred golden angels with him." Sir Payan nodded assent. "But let me understand quite all well," continued the captain: "you want me to take him to Cornwall. There is one Cornwall at the bottom of the sea; do you mean that?"

"'Twere fully as good as the other," said Sir Payan, "if the journey were short, and the conveyance sure."

"Two cannon-shot will make it a quick passage," replied the captain; "but they must be made of gold, my good worship."

"Why of gold?" demanded Sir Payan. "Oh! I catch your meaning. But you grow exorbitant."

"Not I," said the Portingal; "I only ask two hundred angels more. Why, an indulgence will cost me half the pay. It's very dear drowning a man. If you like me to take him and leave him in Turkey with the Ottomites, I will do it for the two; but if I send him to Cornwall, he! he! he! you shall give me four."

"But how shall I know that it is done?" said Sir Payan, thoughtfully. "But that must be trusted to. You are not such a child as to be pitiful. Men know how to avenge themselves, and you heard his boast of having scourged you. If you be a man, then do not forget it."

"Forget it!" cried the Portingal, his dark brows knitting till they almost hid his eyes; "give me the order under your hand, and fear not."

"What! an order to murder him!" cried Sir Payan. "Think you my brain is turned?"

"No, no! You have the wrong," said the Portingal; "I mean an order to take him to Cornwall. It shall be very easy to drop him by the way. If I was exorbitant, as you call me, I had make you pay more, because for why, I know you would eat your hand to get rid of him; else why have you make me bring you news of him when he was in Flanders? Why you pay three spies two crowns the month to give you news every step he took? Oh! I know it all. But it is this: I am an honest merchant and no rogue, and when I pop him in the sea I do a little bit of my own business and a big bit of yours, so I do not charge you so much as if it was all yours. Is not that honest?"

"Honest!" said Sir Payan, with a grim smile; "yes, very honest. But mark me, Sir Captain! I'll have some assurance of you. Thus shall it be: I'll give you a warrant to take him to Cornwall, but you shall sign me a promise to drop him overboard by the way, so that there be no peaching; for when our necks are in the same halter, each will take care not to draw the cord on his fellow, lest he be hanged himself."

"Well, well," said the Portingal, "that's all right. No fear of me, and you will not for your own sake. But look here, Sir Payan. What have you intended to do with the other man that was taken with him, as they tell me, who was at the inn-house, and will tell it to all the world? He's the fat clothier; give him to me too, and let my men have the clearing of his bags. You owe them something for the job, and one has had his head broke, and will die by the time he is aboard. Besides, they were never paid for bringing you up the whole cargo of strong wine, five years past, which was paid for by Dudley, the sequestrator."

"Then he should have paid for the carriage," said Sir Payan.

"But he never got it!" cried the Portingal. "You kept all when you heard he was in prison, good Sir Payan; and when they did take his head off, you drank the wine yourself. But say, will you, or will you not, let my men have all that is inside that fat clothesman's bags, and I will take him, so that you shall never see him again? If not, your whole business shall soon be known by everybody in the world by his tongue."

Sir Payan thought for a moment. "It must e'en be so," said he at length. "Take him, but do not hurt him; and as to his bags, do as you like."

"Oh! hurt him! no!" answered the other. "In six months he shall be so good a sailor as any of the others, and two thousand miles away. But we must get off to-night. I will go down, get the boat close under the cliffs, and be back by about one o'clock in the morning. Have all ready against I come, the gold and the order--warrant, as you call it, and all; and lock all my men up in the big granary, with a thing of bacon, and a big cask of liquor; so shall they be all drunk before three, and asleep by four, and sober again by the while I am back, and nobody hear anything about their being here at all."

"That you must do yourself before you go," said Sir Payan. "In the mean time, I must take care that the prisoners be kept out of sight, for a lady cousin is to be here by noon, and neither she nor hers must hear of this. I myself must be away. She came not yesterday when she should have come; and fain would I pick a quarrel with her house, for they have lands too near my own to be any others than my own. So, though I have ordered her a banquet, yet shall she be served with scanty courtesy; then, if one word of anger fall from her, there shall more follow."

"Oh! if I be here when she shall come," said the Portingal, "I will give her some cause either to be pleased or angry."

"What wilt thou do, fellow?" demanded Sir Payan sternly. "Beware! remember she is of my blood."

"Oh! nothing, nothing!" replied the captain, "only tell her some little compliment upon her beauty. But, my good worship, can you trust all your men about these prisoners?"

"All! all!" replied Sir Payan. "There is no fear. No one of them but I could hang one way or another, and they know it. All except Heartley, and he is bound to me by an illegal oath, wrung from him by fear of seeing his father driven out this hard winter. But 'tis past noon now. Ho! without there! Send in my clerk. What! are the horses saddled? Farewell, Sir Portingal, till one i' the morning!"