The Red Tavern

by C. R. Macauley

"But scant knowledge have I of the game of chess," Sir Richard grumbled. "I' faith, madam, I neither know nor care."

"Ah! But you should both know and care, dear friend," Lady Anna pursued. "Let me tell you then that it gains power according to the wish of the mind that picked out its zig-rag course. Even it may become a royal piece, Richard. Have patience yet a little while, ... but have patience. Worse predicaments there are than that of playing the moving pawn, I give you warrant."

So far as any definite understanding of his position was concerned, this was the beginning and the end of everything he was able to achieve through Lady Anna. He tried his bravest before leaving her to impress upon her the idea that he was willing to reconcile himself with the circumstances of his surroundings. Indeed, he entertained something of a shrewd suspicion that this was not far from true. His position certainly partook of a most fascinating admixture of unreality and romance that came near to capturing his imaginative fancy. He was now inclined to regard the entire series of events as something in the nature of a gay lark, to which each exciting incident was contributing its separate thrill of enjoyment. To effect the release of de Claverlok and make his own escape would furnish a capital finish to the whole. In order to carry out these purposes he determined in the future to conduct himself with the utmost circumspection. "An it is to be a game," he said to himself, "I'll take a hand in the playing of it myself."

After leaving Lady Anna he strolled carelessly into the tilting-yard, for the ostensible purpose of viewing the elaborate preparations for the approaching tournament, which were now nearly completed. He made a mental calculation of the height of the eastern tower, which was the one accessible from the secret passageway. He estimated it roughly to be nearly one hundred and fifty feet.

A line over the battlements would be the only way down. It would be manifestly impossible to carry a rope of that length through the halls and galleries. So he hit upon the scheme of concealing lengths of it beneath his cloak and splicing them together after reaching the secret exit. By allowing the knotted ends to dangle down the well leading to de Claverlok's dungeon, he concluded that they would be safe enough from discovery.

He accordingly started his pilfering expeditions on the next morning at the hour when Lady Anna was engaged with her pupil. Day after day Sir Richard kept at his task, and always he would see her beside the boy, at the same hour and in the same attitude; and always he would steal a long glance within the room as he crept cautiously by. Twice during this time he lowered himself down the ladder to visit with de Claverlok, taking with him a flagon of wine and a few dainties from the Douglas's table. But the grizzled knight warned him to discontinue his subterranean excursions, as there was danger of running into the guard regularly administering to his needs.

Following out the veteran's advice, Sir Richard made, after that, but one trip in the day, carrying each time something like ten feet of stout hemp. On but one occasion did he come near to being discovered, and his escape was then of the narrowest.

While he was in the ordinance room one morning he was startled by its tubby little keeper coming suddenly upon him just after he had hidden a rather more generous length of rope than usual beneath his shoulder-cape. Sir Richard made out to be examining one of the brass cannons.

"That are a bonnie piece, worshipful knight," said the keeper proudly. "A right bonnie piece, Sir Richard. She'll a-come you through a two-foot wall, sir, as smooth as a tup-ny whistle-pipe." Here he paused, scratching his bullet head, and taking up the end of the coil of rope from which Sir Richard had cut the piece inside his cape. "'Tis a muckle strange thing how the good hemp do vanish," he pursued in a puzzled way, "a muckle strange thing. Once 'a be a-thinkin' as what every rogue in the castle were a-stealin' o' rope's-ends to choken their knavish throats. But every rag-tailed son of 'em do answer to the daily roll. Not one of 'em be a-missin'; not one, sir."

"Mayhap you'll be in trouble for not keeping a closer watch," observed Sir Richard. "Here will be money enough to buy you a new coil the next time you get you into Bannockburn."