He received the news with amazement and incredulity just as she had done. Impossible! Robert Annys a Benedictine? Impossible! "What is it that thou art keeping from me? What drove him to this?"
He paced up and down in deep thought. Suddenly he stood before her again and asked abruptly, "Where is Rose?"
In a few words she told him of Rose's flight and the death of her grandmother.
"When did Rose go?"
"The second day of the Stourbridge Fair," she said.
Meryl's face darkened. "How? the very day he went? What is this that thou art telling me?"
The blood leapt to her cheeks, she looked up into his stormy eyes, protesting, denying—she scarce knew what—"Nay, nay, Richard! How canst thou? Believe me, thou art quite wrong—She"—but the long strain of the past months had worn on her and her self-control was at an end. She fled into the house, weeping bitterly, while he left in a turmoil, angry, sore at heart.
During the next few days, he deeply regretted his promise. He saw the growing rebellion against the harsh landlordism of the monastery; he knew but a word would send dozens of the men rioting at the gates. It was easy to predict what would happen if he led them there and then cried out that their former leader was within, a deserter, caring naught for them and their woes, concerning himself solely with Aves and Breviaries. Ah, he would not stay behind, either! His blood leapt at the thought of breaking down the doors with the maddened men at his heels, of beating his way through the surging crowd, of dragging Annys from his cell and flinging him, with all the guilt of his miserable soul upon him, straight to the judgment seat. He had guessed something of the truth. He knew the nature of Rose Westel, he knew also that it must have taken some tremendous upheaval to send Robert Annys knocking at St. Dunstan's. But there was no pity in his heart for the struggle which his friend must have waged, nothing but a blind rage against the man who had broken Matilda's heart.
He had no patience to bide at home. He joined a party of desperate men who were setting out for Ely on a wild errand. His mood had entirely changed. He derived a certain fierce satisfaction in rousing the people to immediate action, in stirring them to commit deeds of violence—in short, to do all that Robert Annys would have deplored. It was the only way there was left to fight him—he had not chosen the weapons, it was all that was left him.
Soon among all the men of the Bury there was not one more reckless, more feared, than he.