Читать книгу The Jade of Destiny - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 9

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There was ring of steel within the orchard, clink and clash of foils in thrust and parry where my lord the Earl, doublet and shoes off, was taking his first lesson from the Captain and making furious work of it, leaping and sidling, stabbing and foining until the blunted weapon was beaten from his wearied grasp and himself breathless:

“How ... am I ... Jocelyn?” he gasped.

The Captain shook grave head and picked up the foil while Florian, seated cross-legged hardby and cracking nuts between strong white teeth, shook his head and smiled; quoth he:

“Thou’rt dead, friend Richard!” he answered. “Stark dead a score o’ times. ’Sbud, any swashing Tom or Dick might ha’ cut thee into small goblets.”

“Peace, ha—peace, I say!” cried the Earl angrily. “Know, sir, I am not so unlearned! How say you, Jocelyn, speak man!”

“See now,” answered Jocelyn, proffering the foil, “this new art of fence, this rapier-play is art very delicate, ’tis point contra edge, and point is ever the speedier and more deadly. Thus ’tis art so precise that, ill-taught, it is a menace——”

“Ill-taught?” cried my lord, snatching the foil and scowling at it. “Damme, sir, seven masters have I had, and amongst them de Bergerac himself.”

“And, faith, Richard, ’tis what I feared for thee, seven methods be worse than none, ’tis confusion seven times confounded.”

“Try me again!” said the boy, sullenly. “See, ’twas thus de Bergerac would have me stand! ’Tis thus Signor Spinelli had me bear my point! And thus, Herr Von Holz swayed me his hand—with a one—two and——”

“Thy foeman’s blade through thee alas—so!” quoth Jocelyn; and the Earl felt steel touch his ribs and stood back, scowling blacker than ever.

“Tush and the devil!” he cried pettishly, and tossed away his foil, whereupon Jocelyn tossed his own after it and, bowing, turned on his heel, leaving the young Earl to stare after him somewhat abashed and exceeding amazed, while Florian, lolling against a tree, cracked another nut, on whom Young Magnificence turned, forthwith:

“Saw ye ever such curst fellow?” he demanded.

“But seldom!” answered Florian, smiling up into the angry young face.

“Would you affront me, Master Ferndale?”

“No, my lord!” answered Florian munching.

“I say that yon Jocelyn is devilish touchy fellow!”

“He is so, my lord,” nodded Florian, “i’ fackins, he’s so touchy we are like to be touching saddle anon, he and I.”

“Sayest thou?” muttered the Earl.

“In faith!” nodded Florian.

“Then—ha, damme—he may to the devil for me!”

“To the devil, my lord? Why so he would to keep his word. Ay—cocksnails, he’d scour all hell ere break his promise!”

“Promise, sir? I’ the fiends’ name what promise?”

“Well, I heard some talk of a jewel, my lord, a relic or what not.”

The Earl’s lofty arrogance wilted suddenly, the magnificent youth became a boy so troubled and pitifully distraught that Florian turned away and began to juggle three nuts.

“Think you he ... he truly meaneth to begone, Florian?”

“My lord, none may answer this save himself.”

“We must stay him ... we must! And prithee call me Richard.... We must not suffer him to go.”

“For sake o’ thy jewel, Richard?”

“Ay ... and because I do truly begin to love him.”

Florian turned and reading the truth of this in the boy’s eager face, nodded:

“Well, he’s a man. And thou hast legs,—use ’em, Richard,—to him, friend and speak thy wish.”

Thus, presently, unto the Captain, wandering thoughtful in the rose-garden, came my lord, and the foils beneath his arm.

“Sir,” said he, very flushed and somewhat breathless, “I was wrong! ’Twas my curst temper! Jocelyn, forgive me.... I’m an ass, a fool——”

“Yet very man-like!” said the Captain.

“Why then,” cried my lord, hand out-thrust with boyish eagerness, “prithee come try me again.”

So in a while back went they, arm in arm, to find Florian drowsing in the sunshine. And once again the air rang with clink of quick steel, but now with laughter and cheery voices also until came a liveried serving-man in panting haste:

“My lord,” he cried, “gentlemen—four, to see Master Dinwiddie.” As he spoke was a trampling of horses’ hoofs and into the sunny orchard jingled these gentlemen four who, swinging to earth, came with great strides,—four very sinister gentlemen cloaked to the chins, hatted to the eyes, who glared truculently scowling on creation.

Jocelyn, bending his foil gently this way and that, watched them with the experienced eye of instant appraisal; Florian, afoot now and arms crossed, surveyed them with a certain joyous expectancy, while the young Earl, extremely on his dignity, frowned on these arrogant strangers and spoke them in his haughtiest tone:

“ ’Sdeath, sirs! What means this intrusion?”

The four halted within a yard.

“Ha!” cried one, glaring ferocity and twisting rampant moustachio, “I take it you are my lord the Earl of Aldrington, ha?”

“Himself, sir, and demand the reason for this outrage, this unmannered——”

“My lord,” cried a second, with martial stamp of spurred foot, “believe we mean your lordship no offence and nothing harmful.... You there!” he roared and stamped about to face the Captain, “which o’ ye calls himself Dinwiddie?”

“To me, bowcock rufflers!” answered the Captain, foil gracefully a-flourish. “Hither bold, scowering bullies and win your blood-fee an ye may.”

Four cloaks fluttered, four rapiers leapt glittering, and the four intruders sprang to instant and murderous action and were as instantly checked by whizzing foil and darting blade.... And now, instead of ring of blunted foils, of laughter and cheery voices, was clash and grind of weapons wielded with deadly purpose and in grim silence.

Back to back they stood, the Captain and Florian, light poised on agile feet, hemmed in by whirling steel, Jocelyn silent ever, plying his foil in lightning parade and counter-thrust at eye or throat, its blunted point a ceaseless menace, while Florian’s long blade whirled and leapt what time he laughed and jeered as was his wont:

“Sa-ha, play close, my bully roarers! Stand to’t, Roguery! Aha, merrily all! And here’s for thee, Dogsbreakfast!”

To and fro the combat swayed furiously, until arms began to weary, breaths to labour ... then, crying hoarsely, a man reeled back from Florian’s reddened point, dropping weapon to clasp his wound he leaned against a tree, staying the bloodflow with one spread hand while with the other he plucked forth a pistol; but as he stood waiting a chance to shoot, the young Earl closed with him in desperate grapple to clutch that murderous pistol-hand, wrenching, twisting, straining until the weapon exploded high in air, its bellowing report presently answered by shouts afar, a vague hubbub growing louder; whereat gasping voices cursed fiercely and cried sudden alarm:

“We’re flammed! Off, lads ... to horse ere we’re beset!”

“Ay, the horses ... the horses!”

“Back, Florian!” panted the Captain. “Let ’em away ... ’twere better so.”

“Alack ... ’tis pity!” gasped Florian, “yet each beareth his own ... particular smart ... and this is my consolation.”

Thus when my lady Ione, petticoats high-kilted, came running, swift and graceful as any nymph of Arcady, it was to see three men scramble to horse and spur away at desperate speed; from which amazing sight her wide eyes turned where the Captain leaned against a tree, one arm behind him, while Florian, whistling softly, wiped his blade on a fallen cloak, and her young brother stooped above a sprawling fellow who groaned in answer to fierce questioning.

“Saints ha’ mercy!” she cried, recoiling from blood that fouled the trampled grass, “who, who is hurt?”

“Villains four, madam,” laughed Florian, bowing, “each and every, more or less.”

“But wherefore? Who were they and what?”

“Roguery!” cried the Earl, hasting to show Ione the captured pistol. “But for me Jocelyn had been murdered ay and Florian also, like as not ... shot like a dog, Ione! The vile fellow had levelled pistol at Jocelyn ... here ’tis ... was about to give fire when I leapt on the base villain! We fought right furiously ... ha, ’twas desperate business I’ll warrant ye ... the pistol explodes in my very ear and ... well—here it is!”

“Richard!” she gasped. “Oh my dear you might ha’ been killed!”

“Ay, true, Ione, ’s foot, ’tis gospel true! But tush, girl!” he exclaimed with youthful ostentation. “We men reck nought o’ wounds or death in Friendship’s cause. Yet here’s the wonder on’t, Ione, here’s the marvel,—friend Jocelyn fought them off with a foil,—a foil, Ione!”

“Nay,” said the Captain, frowning a little, “here was Florian! Moreover a foil is none so bad weapon.”

“No, no, Jocelyn,” cried the boy in passion of hero-worship, “on my soul I vow the like was never seen,—that two, and one with blunt foil, should out-fight four——”

“But who were they, these four?” demanded Ione. “What doth it all mean? Who should dare such outrage here at Aldrington?”

“Ha, death o’ my life, this will I know!” cried the Earl, and turning about, stood agape, for the wounded man was up and stealing where his horse grazed. But now came Will Thurlow flourishing long staff and behind him a motley crowd of grooms, gardeners and servants male and female.

“Yonder,—ha, yonder he goes!” cried the Earl, pointing them to the fugitive. “Ho, Will, Jenkin, Sam, seize me the villain!”

“Suffer he go, rather,” said Jocelyn.

“Go?” cried the Earl. “Not so, man. There be dungeons i’ the old tower and none to lock there these many years. ’Sdeath, the murderous dog shall lie there—” and away sped my lord flourishing his empty pistol and shouting commands to his people while Ione, looking after him with troubled eyes, questioned Jocelyn over her shoulder:

“These wicked wretches dared venture hither seeking you, Captain Dinwiddie?”

“Evidently, madam.”

“Then you become a menace, sir. You bring these murderous villains upon you even here in our peaceful Aldrington! Ah, Richard might have been killed!”

“ ’Twas possible, my lady.”

“And such bold villains, sir, having dared such violence once and failed, may adventure here again.”

“Not so, gracious lady,” answered Florian, “we’ve sated them, they shan’t return.”

“And yet they might!” nodded Jocelyn.

“And next time,” said Ione, her gaze still averted, “my brother might not prove so fortunate, sir. How think you of it?” Here she turned for his answer, but in this moment rose sudden clamour where the fugitive clambered to horse and fled, hotly pursued, and thither she sped leaving the Captain to stare after her, smiling a little grimly. Hardly was she out of ear-shot than Florian spoke, his handsome face grave and anxious:

“Art much hurt, comrade?”

“Naught to matter, lad!” answered Jocelyn and showed his left hand dripping scarlet from the wound that gashed his fore-arm. “Twist me somewhat about it, a strip from the cloak yonder shall serve.”

“So, and now,” said Florian as he deftly performed the operation, “come you and suffer I bathe it.”

“Nay, ’tis well enough,” answered Jocelyn, crossing where lay his doublet. “Go, saddle our horses and bring such of our gear as lieth to hand. I’ll wait i’ the copse beyond the park, yonder. Dispatch!”

“What, do we march, Jocelyn? Are we for the world again?”

“Ay, faith!” nodded Jocelyn, frowning and thoughtful. “Yon sworders were Riderwood’s bullies, I guess, and shall never be content with this one attempt on me. So I am a menace in very truth, Florian.”

“ ’Las, comrade!” sighed Florian. “ ’Twas cosy nook this, gentle haven to such as thou and I. Ah, well, ’tis Fortune’s cursed spite on thee, Jocelyn, ’tis the old Dinwiddie ill-luck!” So saying, he sighed again, smiled, shook his head and strode away.

Then Jocelyn, glancing round about him very wistfully, muttered a rolling Spanish imprecation, laughed fiercely, and took his course by shady ways towards the green twilight of the little wood where as he knew was bowery track leading to a leafy bye-lane.

Within this pleasant shade he halted and, leaning against a tree, began to ponder once again the perverse Fate had dogged him all his stormy days, wondering, as he had done so often, why Fortune should frown so persistently, making his efforts of none avail, his hard life little more than vain labour and himself scarce better than a beggar.

Now as he stood thus, scowling at adjacent tree as it had been curst Fortune’s very self, a sudden cry and snapping of twigs aroused him, and glancing thitherward he saw a white-headed old creature come tumbling down the steep bank to lie a ragged, soft-whimpering heap. So thither he went to kneel and lift that silvery head, speaking cheerily:

“How, now, mother, art hurt?” For a moment she lay mute and dazed and now, despite silvery hair and ragged clothes, he saw she was younger than he had deemed and very neat of person, though her face showed haggard and fierce. At last she opened great, dark eyes that stared wildly and espying his rich attire, snowy ruff and silken doublet, shrank as in sudden panic:

“Ah!” she gasped. “Ye be o’ the great folk and I hates ’em all!” Then, as if stricken by new fear, the fierce eyes were abased, the angry voice was schooled to dolorous whine: “Oh, kind maister, noble gentleman suffer I go ... I meant no evil. I came but for to gather me simples and yarbs. Ah, sir, don’t ha’ me took and prisoned again.”

“Prisoned?” he repeated. “Nay, be comforted, none shall harm thee, poor soul.” And speaking he began to stroke her abundant, snowy hair with his stained left hand; now espying this hand she cried out as one amazed and clasped it in both her own, staring on it wide of eye.

“The red hand!” she whispered. “Aha, ’tis the Hand o’ Glory!”

“Nay,” said he, with his whimsical smile, “gory were better word, methinks!”

“ ’Tis hand I ha’ seen in my dreams and visions, a hand strong to serve as shall make service a glory ... so art thou come at last, noble sir!”

The Captain rubbed his square chin, eyeing her a little dubiously.

“The fall shook thee, mother, ha?” he questioned.

“ ‘Mother!’ ” she repeated softly, and down her thin cheek rolled a great tear. “ ‘Mother’, says you! Oh blessed word! None ha’ named me so since my poor Rose was took,—‘mother’ says you! So now, good young maister, I’d give ee mother’s blessing an ye’d suffer me.”

“Troth,” he answered, “no man ever lacked for blessing more than I,” and he bowed his head to her touch, but even then she hesitated.

“Kind maister,” she sighed, “I be poor old Robina, folk do call me a black witch, they curse me, they fears me.”

“Hum!” quoth the Captain, tugging moustachio. “And, prithee, wherefore art called witch?”

“Alas, my good maister,” cried she with despairing gesture, “for that I be wise where most be fools. I needs must see where others do be blind. I can likewise read the old magic o’ running water, the smoke o’ the fire. I ha’ charms against the axey and plague. I can cure ye cowpox, and the scab,—ay all manner o’ ills wi’ my yarbs. I knows summat about birds and beasts, but more—ah, a sight more about men and women, aha! There be hands and some faces, like books, do tell me things,—and so ’tis they fears me, and I must go lonesome all my days. ... Tell me, kind young maister, be these proud Aldrington gentlefolk friends o’ thine?”

“Ay, truly.”

“Then list ye and mark, good sir! I’ the black smoke and red fire I’ve seen peril threat ’em,—i’ the running water is sound o’ bitter tears. This proud lady and noble earl be no more than two childer, lost—lost and following lure to their woeful destruction ... wandering i’ the dark wherein be hands do lead ’em, poor innocents, to shame and death. Oh, blind!”

“Nay now, good soul, what wild words be these?”

“Truth, maister, very truth o’ God!”

“Then speak me plain,—what know ye?”

“So much I dassent tell it ... and none to believe me save them as would burn me as witch.... Hearkee, someone comes!”

“Ay, I hear. Yet speak, mother, speak!”

“No no, I must away afore I’m took. Only this—stoop, maister, stoop closer! Watch ye the Tower Garden o’ nights.”

“The Tower Garden? How then, you know the place?”

“Ay, maister. Years agone I was maid to my lady Ione’s mother. So I bids thee watch!” Then old Robina scrambled afoot, glanced fearfully round about and hobbling to her basket began to collect her scattered herbs therein, while Jocelyn sat watching and wondering how much of truth might be in her wild talk until, seeing what painful labour she made to fill her basket, he rose and began to aid her.

And it was now that my lady Ione, having ordered her wind-blown vesture and perfectly regained her breath, thought proper to appear.

So, all unhurried and very stately, she stepped into the sunny glade and stood dumb and motionless as if amazed and shocked at sight of old Robina who stood dumbstruck, white head abased and gnarled hands fluttering; as for the Captain he went on gathering up the herbs.

“Heaven and the saints defend us!” exclaimed Ione at last, recoiling a step. “I find you in strange company, sir! Know what manner and sort of creature this is?”

“Faith yes, madam,” he nodded, still busy, “she is of the defenceless sort, a poor woman very vilely used.”

“Not so, Captain Dinwiddie, she is a notorious witch and infamous malefactor used too well.”

“And you are trampling the poor soul’s herbs, lady!”

Ione frowned and snatched back her shapely foot as if the Captain had struck it.

“Woman,” she cried, turning on old Robina in a fury, “have I not expressly forbid you hereabouts? Answer me!”

“Ay, my gracious lady!” answered the old woman courtseying, “yet I did but venture for simples that do grow only hereabouts.... I meant no ill, lady. I be a-going.”

“Why, then, I’ll carry thy basket, mother,” said the Captain, reaching for it. But old Robina backed away, smiling up at him, and her great eyes were very bright.

“Nay, my kind, good maister,” she answered gently but shaking white head with fierce, determined gesture, “my leddy yonder shall be needing of ee more nor I ... for see, ma’am, see—he hath the Hand o’ Glory! And, oh my leddy Ione, beware o’ them as rides by night! Shame! Death! The woeful end o’ your noble house! Prison and a grave! Beware!” Then she lifted her cumbrous basket and with gesture that might have been blessing or a curse, limped painfully away.