The House of Walderne Part 39

"What is thy purpose, Drogo?" said Martin.

"Do ye yield yourselves prisoners?"

"On what compulsion?"

"Force, the right that rules the world."

"And what pretext for using it?" said Ralph, drawing his sword.

"I should advise thee not to touch thy weapon, unless thy skill is proof against an arrow. In a word, Ralph of Herstmonceux, art thou for the king or the barons?"

"Thou knowest--the barons."

"And I for the king; no more need be said. Yield to ransom.

"I will not give my sword to thee," and Ralph flung it into a pond.

"And what right hast thou to arrest me?" said the mayor.

"Good mayor, hast thou not stirred up thy town of Hamelsham, thy puissant butchers and bakers, to resist the good king and to send aid to the rebellious Earl of Leicester, may the fiends rive him!

Wherefore I might, without further parley, hang thee to this beech, which never bore a worthier acorn."

"Yes, hang him for the general amus.e.m.e.nt," said several deep voices.

"Nay, dead men pay no ransom, and we will make his beer-swilling, beef-eating brother burghers pay a good sum for his fat body.

"Thou hast thy choice, mayor. Ransom or rope?"

"Seeing I must choose, ransom; but rate me not too high, I am a poor man."

They laughed immoderately.

"We have borrowed a hint from the outlaws, and unless thy brethren pay for thee soon, we will send thy worthless body to them in installments, first one ear, then the other, and so on."

"Our Lady help me!"

"Brother, be patient. Heaven will help us, since there is no help in man," said Martin. "And now, Drogo, whom I knew so well of old, and in whom I see little change, what is thy charge against me?"

"A very serious one, brother Martin, and one I grieve to bring against such an eloquent preacher of the Gospel, but my conscience compels me."

"Thy conscience!"

"Yes, I can afford to keep one as well as thou. Dost thou think thou art the only creature who has a soul to be saved?"

"Go on without further blasphemies."

"Well then, I grieve to say that it is my painful duty to arrest thee on a charge of murder."

"Of murder!" cried all three.

"Yes, of the murder of his aunt, the late lamented Lady of Walderne."

"Good heavens!" cried the knight and mayor.

"Oh heaven and earth, this slander hear!" said Martin.

"Do not swear, it misbecomes a friar."

"Thou didst murder her thyself."

"Nay: who gave her the sleeping draught the last night? I have just discovered that it contained poison supplied by the old witch who lived here, and whom I have duly punished by fire. But whose hand, administered it?"

Martin turned pale.

"I ask," continued Drogo, "who gave her the draught?"

"It was I, but who poisoned it?"

"Satan knows best, but thou hast owned it.

"I call thee to witness, most valiant knight, and thee, O Mayor of Hamelsham, that you both hear him--confitentem mum, as Father Edmund used to say at Kenilworth.

"Ah, I have him on the hip. Away with them to Walderne: the deepest dungeon for the poisoner."

Chapter 22: A Medieval Tyrant.

Drogo did not venture to bring in his prisoners by the light of day, for although he had collected together a large flock of black sheep, yet did he not dare openly to consign a preaching friar to those dungeons of his.

The men he had with him on the spot were certain lewd fellows of the baser sort, distinguished even in Walderne Castle for their wickedness; yet even they had their superst.i.tions, and imagined it would bring bad luck to arrest the ecclesiastic, travelling in the garb of his order.

But Drogo's will was law, and they obeyed. They detained the prisoners in an outlying farmhouse until dark, then thrusting a labourer's smock over Martin's robe, led their prisoners to the castle.

Prisoners were no novelty there, many of these free lances were born in camp, and had the inherited habits of generations of robbers, so that it was to them a second nature to mutilate, imprison, and torture, and slay. They looked upon burghers and peasants as butchers do on sheep, or rather they looked upon them as beings made that warriors might wring their hidden h.o.a.rds from them, by torture and violence, or even in default of the gold hang them for amus.e.m.e.nt, or the like. They had about as much sympathy for these men of peace as the pike for the roach--they only thought them excellent eating.

As for the knight--he was a knight, and must be treated as such, although an enemy. As for the burgher--well, we have discussed the case. As for the friar--they did not like to meddle with the Church. They dreaded excommunication, men of Belial though they were.

The knight was confined in a chamber high up in the tower, from whence he could see:

The forest dark and gloomy,

And under poetic inspiration compose odes upon liberty. The burgher and friar were taken downstairs to gloomy dungeons, adjacent to each other, where they were left to solitude and silence.

Solitary confinement! it has driven many men mad: to be the inmate of a narrow cell, without a ray of light, groping in one corner for a rotten bed of straw, groping in the other for a water jug and loaf of black bread, feeling unclean insects and reptiles struggle beneath one's feet: oh, horrible!

And such was our Martin's fate.