Part 2 (1/2)

”Thou must make for the Abbey of the Blessed Mary at Beaulieu, where thou shalt find sanctuary. Knowest thou the way?”

”Nay, father,” replied the man, sad at heart at the prospect of another journey at the peril of his life.

”Then listen, my son. Two of the brethren will take thee across the arm of the sea that thou canst see yonder. Thence it is but an hour's sharp travel across the heath to the abbey, the path being well worn by reason of many of the brethren who travel thereby. There are three ways from the spot where thou wilt land the one on the left hand goeth towards Fawley and the town of Lepe, the one on the right to the village of Hythe, but the way thou must take goeth neither right nor left, but leads towards the sun just before the hour of vespers----Ah! What is thy message, my son?”

The last question was addressed to a novice, who, panting breathlessly, was standing in the doorway with folded arms and bent head, awaiting the abbot's pleasure.

”Hors.e.m.e.n, father; a score or more have appeared on the hill and are making towards the abbey.”

”Then summon Brother Angelique and Brother Petrox. Hasten, for 'tis no season for leisure.”

Quickly the two brethren--tall, gaunt, yet sinewy men, with faces and arms tanned a deep red by reason of their calling as boatmen of the abbey--answered the behest, and with the reverence due to their superior awaited his commands.

”Take this man across and put him fairly on his way to our parent abbey. Tarry not on thy journey, for the matter is urgent.”

”Is it thy wish, father, to land him at Ashlett or Cadland?” asked one of the monks.

”At Cadland, should the tide prove aright. Now, my son,” he added to the refugee, ”take mine earnest blessing and go, and may the blessed Saints Mary and Edward, the patrons of our abbey, be with thee.”

There was little time to lose, for already the hors.e.m.e.n were within two bow-shots of the abbey, and with a loud clatter of sandals the two monks led the way, Revyngton following closely at their heels, the brethren of the abbey speeding him on his way with prayers and cries of encouragement.

At the end of a little causeway a boat, broadbeamed and lofty of head and stem, rode on the little wavelets. With a sign Brother Petrox motioned the fugitive to step aboard, then unfastening the rope that held the craft to the quay, he followed Brother Angelique and pushed off.

Both monks rolled the sleeves of their gowns above their elbows, seized the two heavy ash oars, and rowed with a will, Revyngton sitting on a rough fis.h.i.+ng-tray at the stern of the boat and drinking in the cool sea breezes. The rush of events had well-nigh bewildered him, and listlessly he watched the rhythmical motion of the sinewy arms as the rowers urged the boat towards the opposite sh.o.r.e.

Suddenly his reveries were broken by an exclamation from one of the monks. ”They follow us; pull thy hardest!”

Revyngton turned and looked astern. From the place they had left but a quarter of an hour before half a score of men were dragging a heavy boat down the steep beach.

”By the blessed Peter, my holy namesake,” groaned one of the monks, ”I had overlooked that, and the oars are in the boat. See, already they have launched it.”

”'Tis after all but a crare.”

”With a crew of l.u.s.ty fellows to make amends for its weight. The saints forfend them!”

”Let us trust that they cannot handle the sails, for, mark well, the wind bloweth fair.”

The rowers relapsed into silence, and with long, heavy strokes, that seemed far too slow to the hunted fugitive, they resolutely and unfalteringly lessened the distance betwixt them and the nether sh.o.r.e. The hour of noon had already pa.s.sed, and the sun's rays attained a greater strength than they had previously in the day, yet, though streaming with moisture, the monks laboured in their efforts to shake off their pursuers.

”We hold our own,” muttered one over his shoulder.

”Nay, I doubt it; but we must needs make for Ashlett Creek, for the other channel is yet uncovered.”

Accordingly the boat's head was turned towards a distant opening in the mud-fringed sh.o.r.e, and the pursuing craft followed suit, thereby gaining considerably on the fugitive, who could now distinguish the dress of the men.

”They overtake us,” quoth he, speaking for the first time since the abbey gates had closed behind him. ”See, a bowman makes ready!”

Gradually the distance between the boats lessened, but the monks'

craft was now close to the creek, and Revyngton saw in front an apparently closed-in basin surrounded by a high bank of slimy mud. A few more strokes and the boat was within the creek, which wound its sinuous way up to the sh.o.r.e, while the little waves caused by their rapid motion through the water lapped the sides of the narrow channel.

Just as they were about to round the first bend the bowman let loose, and an arrow sung over their heads and struck the mud with a dull swish. Revyngton instinctively bent his head, but his companions, though men of peace, barely took notice of the deadly shaft.