The Woodman: A Romance of the Times of Richard III

by G. P. R. James

"It would be a great advantage to us, my good friend, Sam, if we could get some information of the movements of these bands."

"I'll undertake it," said the piper, whom success had made bold. "You shall have tidings of any change in their dance. But you must give me something to wet my mouth first, Master Boyd."

"Well, well," answered the woodman, set the bottle to your lips, but only drink to the peg, do you hear? Stay, I'll hold my hand upon it, and stop you; for you must leave some for others, and not take too much yourself.

The piper took a deep draught, and was only stayed by his companion snatching the bottle from him. Then followed a consultation as to what was to be done in the many contingencies which might arise. It was agreed that, if the piper did not return within half an hour after day-break, the party in the castle should conclude he had been detained by the soldiery; that if he came back without being followed, and having remarked no movement of importance, he should play a low and quiet air upon his instrument; while, on the contrary, if the soldiers were at his heels, and danger menacing, he should come on with a quick loud march.

This being settled, he departed on his errand; and, passing over the frail remains of the bridge, the woodman entered the great court, where the embers of the fire were still gleaming in the ashes, like the eyes of a wild beast through a thicket. Approaching the door of the hall, he paused and listened, not knowing what might have occurred since the wandering musician had quitted the place. But all was silent; and, bending down his head a little, he looked forward into the interior of the hall through one of the rifts which had been made violently in the door at the former siege. The party were nearly in the same position as when the piper had left them, the Arab crouching upon the ground near the fire, which he seemed lately to have supplied with wood, and his dark face resting on his darker hand. Chartley was seated on the footstool, with his feet stretched towards the fire, and his left side leaning against the arm of the chair. In the chair was Iola as before, but her eyes were closed. Her hand rested upon Chartley's arm; and her head drooped upon his shoulder, while her balmy breath fanned his cheek, as she slept, tired out by emotions and fatigues.

CHAPTER XVI.

In the course of this work I have mentioned several roads, the direction of each of which will be very easily understood by those who have an acquaintance with the locality, even in the present day. For those who have not, however, I must add a few words of explanation. One road, passing over the abbey green and between the houses on the western side, descended the slope, on the top of which the buildings stood, and then, running through the lower part of the wood, ascended the higher hill, cutting straight across the heart of the forest. At the bottom of the slope, however, just under the abbey, and at the distance of, perhaps, a quarter of a mile, this road was entered by another, which, coming through the lower ground from the hamlet at Coleshill, and joining the valley and the stream at the distance of about a mile from that place, followed all the meanders which the little river chose to take, till it reached the spot I have mentioned. At the point where the two roads met, Sir John Godscroft, after distributing his men around the wood, fixed his temporary head quarters, and took the measures which he thought necessary for obtaining information. Two messengers were also sent off in haste in different directions; and every peasant who could be brought in was strictly interrogated, as well as the bailiff of the abbey, who was subjected to more than one cross examination. The information of the bailiff was peculiarly valuable, not so much because it was eagerly and minutely given, both from motives of revenge and apprehension, as because it afforded the most perfect and detailed account of every part of the abbey, as far as it was known to the coward himself. From it, Sir John Godscroft satisfied himself completely, first, that no part of the abbey where a man could be concealed had escaped search, and, secondly, that the fugitive must have taken refuge in that portion of the forest lying to the right of the road as you ascended the hill. With this conviction he established a line of patrols all round the wood, too close, as he thought, for any man to pass unnoticed, and then wrapping himself in his cloak, with a saddle for his pillow, he gave himself up to sleep. Twice he woke during the night, and, mounting his horse, rode at a rapid pace round the whole of that part of the wood which he was watching so eagerly, and ever, as he went, he encouraged the men on duty, by reminding them that a reward of a thousand marks was promised for the capture of the bishop of Ely.

"Be vigilant till morning," he said, "and then we will search the wood. In a few hundred acres like this, it is impossible he can escape."

He once more stretched himself on the ground, when it wanted about an hour to dawn, and had slept for somewhat more than half an hour, when he was roused by the return of one of his messengers.

"Up into the saddle, Sir John, up into the saddle!" said the man; "Sir William Catesby is at my heels with full five hundred spears. He rose and mounted at once, as soon as he got your message; and his men say that he has a warrant under the king's own hand for the arrest of the bishop and several others."