Part 19 (1/2)
”'Tis Mr. Plat, the celebrated poet,” I replied, ”that says there is a danger threatening this house, though of what nature I cannot learn.”
Suddenly recalled by my protest, the poet clapped his hand to his forehead and cried out:
”O, whither hath my Muse rapt me? Return, my soul, and of this tumult tell...”
”Out with it, man!” quoth Mr. Skene, in his usual calm manner of command, that did more than all my attempts to come by the truth.
”They are returning from the Tower,” said the poet, ”whither they have carried off the Spaniard. They are coming hither, an incredible company with staves and all manner of weapons.”
”And wherefore?” demanded Skene.
”Because 'tis constantly affirmed that you have here concealed a sort of plotting Jesuits and base men that would spy out the land, and enslave us. Nay, they go so far as to say that one such was caught here not so long ago in the open light of day, for which they swear to beat the house about your ears and slay you every one.
”Be silent,” said the attorney briefly, and we all stood awhile attentive to any sound of menace from without. We had not long to wait, for almost on the instant there came a shuffle and rush of many feet, and that deep unforgettable roll, as of drums, that means the anger of confused and masterless mult.i.tudes.
Skene addressed me: ”You alone have a sword, sir. You will cover our retreat.”
I bowed without speaking, and unsheathing my sword, went to the door, where I clapped to the bolts and made all fast.
”Oh, Denis, Denis!” cried Idonia, who saw it was intended I should remain behind. ”Sir,” she pleaded with her guardian, ”he must come with me where'er you lead me.”
”He will follow,” said he; and then to Plat--
”Do they compa.s.s the whole house, or is there a way of escape beyond?”
”There is yet,” he answered, having made espial; ”for the attack goes but upon the street side, leaving the lane free. But lose no time, for they be already scattering--ah! 'tis for fuel to lay to the door,”
cried he, all aghast now and scarce articulate. ”Come away after me,”
and so was gone.
Skene said no more, but cast a quiet glance at me, that I knew meant he trusted me, and for which, more than all I had yet had from him, I thanked him. But hard work had I to refrain myself, when Idonia besought me with tears not to leave her and, when presently her guardian bore her half fainting up the ladder, to appear smiling and confident.
”I will follow you by and by,” said I, and then sat down, suddenly sick at heart, upon a wooden grate of s.h.i.+p's goods; for the tumult at the gate was now grown intolerably affrighting.
”You must try another way than this,” said Skene, who had now gained the sill, and I comprehended that he was about to draw up the ladder after, in order to mask their way of escape when the door should be forced in or burnt. I nodded, remembering that Idonia had been moved by the same consideration formerly, when the soldiers came with their warrant of search; and so the ladder was drawn up and I left.
It is not fit that I should describe all that followed, for no man can exactly report all, when all is in turmoil and an unchained madness hurrieth through every mind; madness of defiance and that hideous madness of fear. For if ever man gazed into the very eyes of the spectre of fear, it was I then, whom nameless horror possessed, so that more than once, when the hammering upon the gate shook even the flags with which the hall was paven, I shrunk back to the farthest corner in the dark, biting my knuckles till they bled; and even when the door was half down, and I at the breach making play with my sword to fend off the foremost that would enter, I felt my heart turn to water at the sight of that grinning circle of desperate and blood-hungry faces, and at the roar as of starved forest beasts ravening after their prey.
My defence came to an end suddenly; for although I might have made s.h.i.+ft awhile longer to avert the danger from the gate (but indeed I was nigh spent with my labours there), I chanced just then to gaze sidelong at the shuttered window upon the left of it, and saw the shutter all splintered, and a fellow with a great swart beard, already astraddle on the ledge. Without a moment's parley I ran my sword half to the hilts into his side, and as he sank down in a huddle, I left the sword sticking where it was, and ran for my life.
How I got free of the house I know not, but it was by a window of the kitchen, I think, or else a hole I burst for myself; but by some venture of frenzy I gained the street, or rather an enclosed court, arched under at the further end by a sort of conduit or channel in the wall; and so, half on my belly shuffling through this filthy bow, I came by good hap into the open street, that I found was Tower Street, where at length I thought it safe to take leisure to breathe, and look about me.
But even here I was deceived of my security; for my pa.s.sage having been, I suppose, easily discovered, there wanted not a full minute ere I heard an halloo! and a sc.r.a.ping of feet beneath the arched way, by which I perceived I was hotly followed. I stumbled to my feet straightway and fled westward up the street, while in my ears rang the alarm: ”Stop thief! Jesuit! Hold, in the Queen's Name!” which, the pa.s.sengers taking it up, and themselves incontinently joining in the pursuit, made my hopes of safety and my little remnant of strength to shrink together utterly, like a scroll of parchment in the fire.
I knew not how far I had gone, nor whither I had come, for all was strange to my disordered vision, but I know now that I had won nigh to the standard upon Cornhill (having turned to my right hand up Gracechurch Street); and holding my pursuers a little in check by repeated doublings, I found myself free to take refuge within a certain yard giving upon the public way and close against a tavern that is called the Leaden Porch. But fearing to remain openly in this place for any man to apprehend me, I cast about for some means of concealment, for I could go no further; and there being by good hap a cart standing under the arch in the entry (the carter having doubtless betaken himself to the tavern, as is the custom of such men), I got me up into it, painfully crawling beneath the load it carried, which was, methought, something oddly protected by a frame of timber hung about with linen-stuff or such-like, that I skilled not to discover the use of; and here I lay close, until very soon, as well from mere exhaustion as from a despairing indifference to the event, I fell asleep.
No thought of the money I had been so near to recovering disturbed my repose, nor indeed for three full days after did I so much as remember to have left the treasure bags behind me in the hurry of my flight.
CHAPTER XVII