Brother Anselm’s doubt had been but momentary. He agreed now with Prior. Also he said, “One helpeth forth the sick hound.”
The Prior of Westforest took his lean chin from his lean hand. “I have heard that the Greeks writ over their temples, ‘Nothing too much.’ Where the good of all is in question let the soul take necessary burdens, but not unnecessary ones! This were unnecessary.”
Richard Englefield was not going melancholy mad, though he played that he was. He worked. He worked while he lay still upon the cold floor, face hidden by stretched arms, or when he sat moveless, staring into naught with empty, woe-begone face. “Think me melancholy mad, do! So the sooner will you leave me the cell!” They went. For hours he had the dim place to himself, and at night he had it.
Monk of Silver Cross was gone, whirled away to the dark country behind Chaos and there dead and buried peacefully. Here was Richard Englefield the master goldsmith. And yet not that either. Here was one who had risen behind goldsmith and monk, who had come up like a tree that was not suspected.
He worked, Richard the smith. He gained, no man knew how, two bits of iron. The cell was grated. He filed through a bar and then another, and in the night-time broke the whole away. Fortune or wonder or the miraculous or some natural air into which he had broken was with him. It might have been the last, his will was so awakened, so in action. His fury towered, but it was still fury, very deep and dangerous, bitter passion of a man with mind and will. He saw Success and drew her to him as giants draw. In the dead night he got away.
Westforest formed but a small House and it lay close to Wander. Stripping off his robe he made it into a bundle and with rope girdle tied it upon his shoulders. Then, naked, he plunged into the Wander and swam a mile downstream. Coming to the bank he rested, then swam the second mile, under the late risen moon. Cocks were crowing. He passed grey meadow and dreaming corn and came to a forest where it overhung the Wander. “Here is good place to leave!” He quit the water, shook his body and dried it with fern, untied and unrolled monk’s gown and put it on. “Brother Richard? Nay, monk is as will is! Richard Englefield, a smith in gold and silver!”
He was away now from Wander, in the forest, the morn pink above the trees, violet among and beneath the branches. In yonder direction lay Silver Cross and not so far, neither. Middle Forest! Could he get, unmarked, to Middle Forest. Had he one friend there—but he had none. Could he get to the shipping upon the river, below the bridge. Could he find a boat that would take him to the sea and then he cared not where! He saw Success. “Aye, I will!” But this robe must somehow be changed for world-dress, and he must have a purse and money in it. Hard to manage! But Success was his Moorish slave and would bring them.
He strode on. He was going toward the town through what was left of the ancient, all-covering forest. Hereabouts was yet a great wood with deer and hare and bird and fox. Paths ran through but between them spread bounteously the forest. First light gave way to gold light. He was hungry. He took the crust of bread that he had saved from yesterday and ate it as he walked. Also he found strawberries. When the sun was well up he came to rest under an oak, to think it out.
He had some hope that Westforest would hold that he had drowned himself. Yesterday had been a hot and livid day, ending in storm. They would be able to trace him to the water edge. Would they drag the Wander, seeing that the Prior must wish to make sure? But the Wander running swiftly might carry him down. Using Prior Matthew’s eyes he saw monk caught among stones on Wander bottom, or, a log, shoved down Wander length to greater river and so at last to sea, white bones for merman’s children. He thought with Prior’s brain, “So, it is very well!” And if Wander had him not, but he strayed on dry land, Brother Richard of Silver Cross, mad now though once greatly blessed, there would ensue some trouble of taking him, some explaining, but no more than that! Richard Englefield saw the net, how strong and wide it was, the fishers here being so much mightier than the fish. So mighty were they that they could spare the fish even if it leapt clear. For if it went and told all other fish and fishermen, what odds? Mind in all was made up what to believe! Richard Englefield laughed, but his laughter was worse to hear than had been sobbing.