Part 7 (1/2)
”You are a madman!” cried Wolsey impatiently, ”and it is a waste of time to argue with you. I wish you good speed on your journey. On your return you will find Anne Boleyn Queen of England.”
”And you disgraced,” rejoined Wyat, as, with a malignant and vindictive look, the cardinal quitted the chamber.
Again left alone, Wyat fell into another fit of despondency from which he roused himself with difficulty, and went forth to visit the Earl of Surrey in the Round Tower.
Some delay occurred before he could obtain access to the earl. The halberdier stationed at the entrance to the keep near the Norman Tower refused to admit him without the order of the officer in command of the tower, and as the latter was not in the way at the moment, Wyat had to remain without till he made his appearance.
While thus detained, he beheld Anne Boleyn and her royal lover mount their steeds in the upper ward, and ride forth, with their attendants, on a hawking expedition. Anne Boleyn bore a beautiful falcon on her wrist-Wyat's own gift to her in happier days-and looked full of coquetry, animation, and delight-without the vestige of a cloud upon her brow, or a care on her countenance. With increased bitterness of heart, he turned from the sight, and shrouded himself beneath the gateway of the Norman Tower.
Soon after this, the officer appeared, and at once according Wyat permission to see the earl, preceded him up the long flight of stone steps communicating with the upper part of the keep, and screened by an embattled and turreted structure, const.i.tuting a covered way to the Round Tower.
Arrived at the landing, the officer unlocked a door on the left, and ushered his companion into the prisoner's chamber.
Influenced by the circular shape of the structure in which it was situated, and of which it formed a segment, the farther part of this chamber was almost lost to view, and a number of cross-beams and wooden pillars added to its sombre and mysterious appearance. The walls were of enormous thickness, and a narrow loophole, terminating a deep embrasure, afforded but scanty light. Opposite the embrasure sat Surrey, at a small table covered with books and writing materials. A lute lay beside him on the floor, and there were several astrological and alchemical implements within reach.
So immersed was the youthful prisoner in study, that he was not aware, until a slight exclamation was uttered by Wyat, of the entrance of the latter. He then arose, and gave him welcome.
Nothing material pa.s.sed between them as long as the officer remained in the chamber, but on his departure Surrey observed laughingly to his friend, ”And how doth my fair cousin, the Lady Anne Boleyn?”
”She has just ridden forth with the king, to hawk in the park,” replied Wyat moodily. ”For myself, l am ordered on a mission to France, but I could not depart without entreating your forgiveness for the jeopardy in which I have placed you. Would I could take your place.”
”Do not heed me,” replied Surrey; ”I am well content with what has happened. Virgil and Homer, Dante and Petrarch, are the companions of my confinement; and in good sooth, I am glad to be alone. Amid the distractions of the court I could find little leisure for the muse.”
”Your situation is, in many respects, enviable, Surrey,” replied Wyat. ”Disturbed by no jealous doubts and fears, you can beguile the tedious hours in the cultivation of your poetical tastes, or in study. Still, I must needs reproach myself with being the cause of your imprisonment.”
”I repeat, you have done me a service,” rejoined the earl, ”I would lay down my life for my fair cousin, Anne Boleyn, and I am glad to be able to prove the sincerity of my regard for you, Wyat. I applaud the king's judgment in sending you to France, and if you will be counselled by me, you will stay there long enough to forget her who now occasions you so much uneasiness.”
”Will the Fair Geraldine be forgotten when the term of your imprisonment shall expire, my lord?” asked Wyat.
”Of a surety not,” replied the earl.
”And yet, in less than two months I shall return from France,” rejoined Wyat.
”Our cases are not alike,” said Surrey. ”The Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald has plighted her troth to me.”
”Anne Boleyn vowed eternal constancy to me,” cried Wyat bitterly; ”and you see how she kept her oath. The absent are always in danger; and few women are proof against ambition. Vanity-vanity is the rock they split upon. May you never experience from Richmond the wrong I have experienced from his father.”
”I have no fear,” replied Surrey.
As he spoke, there was a slight noise in that part of the chamber which was buried in darkness.
”Have we a listener here?” cried Wyat, grasping his sword.
”Not unless it be a four-legged one from the dungeons beneath,” replied Surrey. ”But you were speaking of Richmond. He visited me this morning, and came to relate the particulars of a mysterious adventure that occurred to him last night.”
And the earl proceeded to detail what had befallen the duke in the forest.
”A marvellous story, truly!” said Wyat, pondering upon the relation. ”I will seek out the demon huntsman myself.”
Again a noise similar to that heard a moment before resounded from the lower part of the room. Wyat immediately flew thither, and drawing his sword, searched about with its point, but ineffectually.
”It could not be fancy,” he said; ”and yet nothing is to be found.”
”I do not like jesting about Herne the Hunter,” remarked Surrey, ”after what I myself have seen. In your present frame of mind I advise you not to hazard an interview with the fiend. He has power over the desperate.”
Wyat returned no answer. He seemed lost in gloomy thought, and soon afterwards took his leave.
On returning to his lodgings, he summoned his attendants, and ordered them to proceed to Kingston, adding that he would join them there early the next morning. One of them, an old serving-man, noticing the exceeding haggardness of his looks, endeavoured to persuade him to go with them; but Wyat, with a harshness totally unlike his customary manner, which was gracious and kindly in the extreme, peremptorily refused.
”You look very ill, Sir Thomas,” said the old servant; ”worse than I ever remember seeing you. Listen to my counsel, I beseech you. Plead ill health with the king in excuse of your mission to France, and retire for some months to recruit your strength and spirits at Allington.”
”Tush, Adam Twisden! I am well enough,” exclaimed Wyat impatiently. ”Go and prepare my mails.”
”My dear, dear master,” cried old Adam, bending the knee before him, and pressing his hand to his lips; ”something tells me that if I leave you now I shall never see you again. There is a paleness in your cheek, and a fire in your eye, such as I never before observed in you, or in mortal man. I tremble to say it, but you look like one possessed by the fiend. Forgive my boldness, sir. I speak from affection and duty. I was serving-man to your father, good Sir Henry Wyat, before you, and I love you as a son, while I honour you as a master. I have heard that there are evil beings in the forest-nay, even within the castle-who lure men to perdition by promising to accomplish their wicked desires. I trust no such being has crossed your path.”
”Make yourself easy, good Adam,” replied Wyat; ”no fiend has tempted me.”
”Swear it, sir,” cried the old man eagerly-”swear it by the Holy Trinity.”
”By the Holy Trinity, I swear it,” replied Wyat.
As the words were uttered, the door behind the arras was suddenly shut with violence.
”Curses on you, villain! you have left the door open,” cried Wyat fiercely. ”Our conversation has been overheard.”
”I will soon see by whom,” cried Adam, springing to his feet, and rus.h.i.+ng towards the door, which opened upon a long corridor.
”Well!” cried Wyat, as Adam returned the next moment, with cheeks almost as white as his own-”was it the cardinal?”
”It was the devil, I believe!” replied the old man. ”I could see no one.”
”It would not require supernatural power to retreat into an adjoining chamber!” replied Wyat, affecting an incredulity he was far from feeling.
”Your wors.h.i.+p's adjuration was strangely interrupted,” cried the old man, crossing himself devoutly. ”Saint Dunstan and Saint Christopher s.h.i.+eld us from evil spirits!”
”A truce to your idle terrors, Adam,” said Wyat. ”Take these packets,” he added, giving him Henry's despatches, ”and guard them as you would your life. I am going on an expedition of some peril to-night, and do not choose to keep them about me. Bid the grooms have my steed in readiness an hour before midnight.”
”I hope your wors.h.i.+p is not about to ride into the forest at that hour?” said Adam, trembling. ”I was told by the stout archer, whom the king dubbed Duke of Sh.o.r.editch, that he and the Duke of Richmond ventured thither last night, and that they saw a legion of demons mounted on coal-black horses, and amongst them Mark Fytton, the butcher, who was hanged a few days ago from the Curfew Tower by the king's order, and whose body so strangely disappeared. Do not go into the forest, dear Sir Thomas!”
”No more of this!” cried Wyat fiercely. ”Do as I bid you, and if I join you not before noon to-morrow, proceed to Rochester, and there await my coming.”
”I never expect to see you again, sir!” groaned the old man, as he took his leave.
The anxious concern evinced in his behalf by his old and trusty servant was not without effect on Sir Thomas Wyat, and made him hesitate in his design; but by-and-by another access of jealous rage came on, and overwhelmed all his better resolutions. He remained within his chamber to a late hour, and then issuing forth, proceeded to the terrace at the north of the castle, where he was challenged by a sentinel, but was suffered to pa.s.s on, on giving the watch-word.