Part 7 (2/2)

”Yes; more than fifty years ago--it may be sixty--I forget. In sixty years the memory plays strange tricks with men, no doubt, so how can I blame you if you believe--what you do believe? And yet, Hugh,” he went on after a pause, and speaking with pa.s.sion, ”this was no dream of which I tell you. Why do you suppose that among all those that have grown up about me I have chosen you out to love, you and your Eve? Not because a chance made me your G.o.dsire and her my pupil. I say that from your infancy your faces haunted me. Ay, and when you had turned childhood's corner and once I met the pair of you walking hand in hand, then of a sudden I knew that it was you two and no others whom that G.o.d or devil had showed to me standing by the open grave upon the banks of Blythe. I knew it of d.i.c.k the Archer also, and can I be mistaken of such a man as that who has no fellow in England? But you think I dreamed it all, and perhaps I should not have spoken, though something made me speak.

Well, in a day to come you may change your mind, since whatever dangers threaten you will not die yet, Hugh. Tell me now, what is this Frenchman like who would marry Eve? I have never seen him.”

Hugh, who was glad to get back to the things of earth, described Acour as best he could.

”Ah!” said Sir Andrew. ”Much such a man as stood face to face with you by the grave while Murgh watched; and you are not likely to be friends, are you? But I forgot. You have determined that it was but a dream and now you are wondering how he who is called Gate of the G.o.ds in Cathay could come to Blythburgh. Well, I think that all the world is his garden, given to him by G.o.d, but doubtless that's only another face of my dream whereof we'll speak no more--at present. Now for your troubles, which are no dream. Lie you down to sleep on the skin of that striped beast. I killed it in Cathay--in my day of dreams, and now it shall serve for yours, from which may the dead eyes of John Clavering be absent! I go forth to seek your father and to arrange certain matters.

With Grey d.i.c.k at the door you'll be safe for a while, I think. If not, here's a cupboard where you may hide.” And, drawing aside the arras, he showed him a certain secret place large enough to hold a man, then left the room.

Hugh laid himself upon the skin of the beast, which had been a tiger, though he did not know it by that name. So weary was he that not all he had gone through that day or even the old warrior-priest's marvellous tale, in which he and Eve played so wonderful a part, could keep his eyes from closing. Presently he was fast asleep, and so remained until, four hours later, something disturbed him, and he awoke to see Sir Andrew writing at a desk.

”Rise, my son,” said the old priest without looking up from his paper.

”Early as it is you must be stirring if you would be clear of Dunwich by daybreak and keep a whole skin. I have set a taper in my sleeping-closet yonder, and there you'll find water to wash with and a stool to kneel on for your prayers, neither of which neglect, since you have blood on your hands and great need for Heaven's help.”

So Hugh arose, yawning, and stumbled heavily to the chamber, for he was still faint with sleep, which would not leave him till he had plunged his head into a basin of icy water. This done, he knelt and prayed as he had been bidden, with a very earnest heart, and afterward came back to the guest-hall.

Seeing folk gathered there as he entered he laid hand on sword, not his own with which he had killed his cousin, but a long and knightly weapon that Sir Andrew had given him with the armour. Drawing it, he advanced boldly, for he thought that his enemies might have found him out, and that his best safety lay in courage. Thus he appeared in the ring of the lamplight clad in gleaming steel and with raised weapon.

”What, son!” asked a testy voice which he knew for that of his own father, ”is it not enough to have killed your cousin? Would you fall on your brothers and me also, that you come at us clad in mail and with bare steel in hand?”

Hearing these words Hugh sheathed the sword, and, advancing toward the speaker, a handsome, portly man, who wore a merchant's robe lined with rich fur, sank to his knee before him.

”Your pardon, my father,” he said. ”Sir Andrew here will have told you the story; also that I am not to blame for this blood-shedding.”

”I think you need to ask it,” replied Master de Cressi, ”and if you and that lean henchman of yours are not to blame, then say who is?”

Now a tall, slim figure glided up to them. It was Eve, clothed in her own robe again, and beautiful as ever after her short rest.

”Sir, I am to blame,” she said in her full, low voice. ”My need was sore and I sent a messenger to Hugh bidding him meet me in the Blythburgh Marsh. There we were set on, and there John Clavering, my brother, smote Hugh in the face. Would you, a de Cressi, have had him take the blow and yield me up to the Frenchman?”

”By G.o.d and my forefathers, no! least of all from one of your stock--saving your presence,” answered the merchant. ”In truth, had he done so, dead or living from that day I would have called him no son of mine. Yet, Red Eve, you and he and your love-makings have brought much trouble on me and my House. Look now what it means. A feud to the death between our families of which no man can foresee the end. Moreover, how can you marry, seeing that a brother's blood runs between you?”

”It is on John's head,” she answered sadly, ”not on Hugh's hand. I warned him, and Hugh spared him once. What more could we do?”

”I know not, Eve; I only know what you have done, you and Hugh and Grey d.i.c.k. Four dead and two wounded, that's the bill I must discharge as best I may. Doubtless too soon there will be more to follow, whether they be Claverings or de Cressis. Well, we must take things as G.o.d sends them, and leave Him to balance the account.

”But there is no time to lose if Hugh's neck is to escape a halter.

Speak you, Father Andrew, who are wise and old, and have this matter in hand. Oh! Hugh, Hugh, you were born a fighter, not a merchant like your brethren,” and he pointed to three young men who all this while had stood silently behind him looking upon their youngest brother with grave disapproval. ”Yes, the old Norman blood comes out in you, and the Norman mail suits you well,” he added with a flash of pride, ”and so there's an end--or a beginning. Now, Sir Andrew, speak.”

”Master de Cressi,” said the old priest, ”your son Hugh rides to London on an errand of mine which I think will save his neck from that halter whereof you spoke but now. Are those four mounted men that you promised me ready to companion him?”

”They will be within an hour, Father, but not before, since six good horses cannot be laid hands on in the dead of night, being stabled without the gates. But what is this message of yours, and to whom does Hugh go?”

”To his Grace Edward the King, none less, Geoffrey de Cressi, with that which shall earn pardon for him and d.i.c.k the Archer, or so I believe.

As for what it is I may not tell you or any man. It has to do with great matters of State that are for the King's ear alone; and I charge you, every one, on your honour and your safety, to make no mention of this mission without these walls. Do you swear, Geoffrey de Cressi, and you, his sons?”

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