CHAPTER XXVIII
London was asleep, a mere confusion of black roofs and spires without a lantern or a rushlight shining to mimic the stars; but at the Wardrobe torches were burning in the narrow courtyard within the gate. Five horses and a pad were waiting, and four archers stood in the shadow of the wall, leaning on their bows. Cavendish had mounted one of the horses. The porter was ready to unbar the gate.
Then Knollys, in light harness, came down into the courtyard, and with him a tall man in black armour, the vizor of whose basinet was closed. Three men-at-arms followed them. No one spoke. They mounted their horses. The porter was unbarring the gate.
The horse of the man in black armour grew restless, striking the stones with one fore-hoof.
Knollys laughed.
“Like master, like horse! Where is that page of yours, friend Godamar?”
The voice that answered was muffled by the helmet.
“I wait, sir, I wait.”
A door opened somewhere, and a figure came out into the torchlight—the figure of a slim lad wrapped in a green cloak. He wore a steel cap, with a hood of chain mail, and the scabbard of a sword knocked against his neat legs.
“Late, ever late, Master Bertrand!”
The page ran to the pad, mounted lightly, and put himself beside the man in the black armour.
“Pardon, lording, pardon.”
“Boy, did I not chasten you the very first day we met!”
They rode out through the gate and were met at the barrier by a man wrapped up in a black cloak and hood. A second figure stood at a little distance, a figure that leant upon a quarter-staff.
Knollys bent low in the saddle.
“Walworth?”
“Walworth it is.”
“Good.”
“I come with you to Ludgate, and yonder is your guide.”
They filed along the silent streets, Walworth walking beside Knollys’ horse, the black knight and his page riding together, Cavendish, the men-at-arms, and the archers following. The guide, a bearded fellow in a brown smock and rough woollen stockings and cow-hide shoes, tramped along with his staff over his shoulder.
There was no parleying at Ludgate. Walworth went forward, and the gate opened instantly to let them through. As they passed under the arch they saw Walworth standing in the doorway of the guardroom, but he did not speak or move.
Some fifty yards beyond the gate Knollys called the guide and an archer to him.
“Lead the way, Jack. We follow.”
The archer had had his order, and walked with his bow strung and an arrow ready.
Knollys held back, letting the black knight and the page go forward. He waited for Cavendish, and spoke to him behind his hand.
“Friend, we shall be thanked for knowing that we are not wanted. Let them talk—let them talk.”
It was a still night, with hundreds of stars shining, silver points in sable velvet. The man in black and the page rode side by side, the archer and the guide some twenty paces ahead of them, Knollys and Cavendish the same distance behind.
The man in black was the first to speak.
“Isoult, it was not I who planned this mummery.”
She held up a warning hand.
“Ssst, lording, am I not Bertrand, your page, and we ride to take ship for France?”
“No, by God, you are she who——”
“Be careful, be careful!”
He brought his horse close to hers, so that they rode knee to knee.
“I’ll put my vizor up. There’s no danger for the moment.”
“Speak low, Fulk.”
“The horse’s hoofs will smother it. Isoult, did they threaten you?”
“Threaten?”
“These lords, the King’s Councillors.”
“No, by my heart, they were very courteous. I came by my own will.”
She could see his eyes shining. A hand came out and gripped her wrist.
“Isoult—heart of my desire!”
She did not look at him, but spoke very softly.
“Wait! you do not know who—or where—or whence.”
His grip tightened.
“Who am I that I should ask? Whence came I, who am I, whither do I go? A captain of free-lances, a man of adventure, a sworder in foreign lands—that shall I be.”
“Does your pride quarrel with such a lot?”
“Perhaps—no.”
“Neither does mine, for you will be a great captain, a king of many adventures.”
He was silent awhile.
“Isoult, I’ll not go alone. By all the blood in my body——!”
She turned to him sharply, and he saw her face white, and passionate, and earnest.
“Listen. Who am I? The child of a Breton gentleman, of a good man who fell into the Devil’s lap. I was desired, and I fled; but he who desired me was strong and cunning. Yet he did not prevail. I—a knight’s daughter, fled, dressed as a common singing-girl, to the English, and Thomas of Woodstock, the King’s uncle, looked on me with the eyes of a calf. He spoke fair words, swore I should be his lady, and, since I feared that other lover, I sailed with Thomas of Woodstock into England. He gave me a fair manor house in the west to live in, still spoke fair words, and hid what was in his heart. It was Merlin who betrayed Thomas of Woodstock to me, and in those days I did not know the colour of Father Merlin’s soul. I swore a feud against all lords and nobles, went wandering, and pitied the poor. My bitterness made a fool of me, for I joined myself to John Ball and his dreams, called myself ‘Queen of the Outlaws,’ and sang wild songs to all who were discontented. That is my tale, Friend Fulk. I have told it you. But never has any man called me his.”
His grip on her wrist did not relax.
“Brave heart, well flown.”
She turned her face, and he caught the shine of her eyes.
“Ah, but am I tamed—I, the Breton falcon?”
“Who would see you tamed? Not I, by my sword! Who would mate with a white pigeon?”
She laughed softly.
“Enough, hot-headed one. Those men are listening.”
He would not let her hand go for the moment.
“Isoult, by the shine in your eyes I will have none but you.”
“So many men have said; but—I—I will think on it.”
So they rode on into the night; while Father Merlin sat before the fire at “The Painted Lady,” and the men who were his creatures stood in a half-circle watching him like dogs. Here were Guy the Stallion and the Polecat, Jack o’ the Knife, Peter of Alton, Will Sunburst, and several more, all rank rogues and thieves. And they stood and grumbled together, and watched the grey friar.
Then Guy had a fit of courage.
“Master Merlin, no man quarrels with cutting throats for a good purse; but, by cock, I’ll not walk out into the dark with my eyes shut. There’s blood!”
The rest applauded him.
“Guy has a tongue.”
“Let’s see the inside of the gentleman’s fist.”
Merlin swung round on his stool and faced them, and his face was not pleasant to behold.
“Fools and jays, come, look. Bring a torch.”
They gathered round, and he held out his hand with something that glittered on the third finger. Their heads came together over it, the light of the torch flickering on their faces.
Then Guy straightened with a good, wholesome oath.
“Son of Satan, the King’s signet!”
Merlin’s lips curled.
“Is it a good pledge, sirs?”
“We serve the King!”
“Fetch me a grindstone, neighbours; I will put me a double edge on my knife.”
A head came poking in at the door.
“Father Merlin, the boat is at the steps.”
“Come, good rogues, come.”
They picked up sundry bundles and swarmed after him down the narrow way between the houses to the river. A boat was waiting at the steps, a man squatting in the bow and holding the chain.
Merlin climbed in and the rest followed.
“Up stream, up stream, my brothers. Let London town sing, ‘Nunc dimittis.’?”