The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 29

The natural impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the other, with the att.i.tude of a man who advances to charge an enemy or storm the breach of a beleaguered place, sometimes e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. to himself and sometimes addressing Athelstane. The latter stoutly and [v]stoically awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting in the meantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had made at noon and not greatly troubling himself about the duration of the captivity.

"_Pax vobisc.u.m_!" p.r.o.nounced the priest, entering the apartment. "The blessing of Saint Dunstan, Saint Dennis, Saint Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye."

"Enter freely," said Cedric to the friar; "with what intent art thou come hither?"

"To bid you prepare yourselves for death," was the reply.

"It is impossible!" said Cedric, starting. "Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and [v]gratuitous cruelty!"

"Alas!" returned the priest, "to restrain them by their sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, Cedric, and you also, Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in the flesh, for this very day will ye be called to answer at a higher [v]tribunal."

"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?" said Cedric. "We must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die like men than live like slaves."

"I am ready," answered Athelstane, "to stand the worst of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did to my dinner."

"Let us, then, unto our holy [v]gear, father," said Cedric.

"Wait yet a moment, good [v]uncle," said the priest in a voice very different from his solemn tones of a moment before; "better look before you leap in the dark."

"By my faith!" cried Cedric; "I should know that voice."

"It is that of your trusty slave and jester," answered the priest, throwing back his cowl and revealing the face of Wamba. "Take a fool's advice, and you will not be here long."

"How meanest thou, knave?" demanded the Saxon.

"Even thus," replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and cord and march quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thy stead."

"Leave thee in my stead!" exclaimed Cedric, astonished at the proposal; "why, they would hang thee, my poor knave."

"E'en let them do as they are permitted," answered Wamba. "I trust--no disparagement to your birth--that the son of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the [v]alderman."

"Well, Wamba," said Cedric, "for one thing will I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me."

"No," answered Wamba; "there were little reason in that. Good right there is that the son of Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his."

"Villain," cried Cedric, "the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of England!"

"They might be whomsoever they pleased," replied Wamba; "but my neck stands too straight on my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake.

Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered."

"Let the old tree wither," persisted Cedric, "so the stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the n.o.ble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! It is the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage of our oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us."

"Not so, father Cedric," said Athelstane, grasping his hand--for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his high race--"not so. I would rather remain in this hall a week without food save the prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner's measure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the slave's untaught kindness has [v]purveyed for his master. Go, n.o.ble Cedric. Your presence without may encourage friends to our rescue; your remaining here would ruin us all."

"And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?" asked Cedric, looking at the jester.

"Prospect indeed!" echoed Wamba. "Let me tell you that when you fill my cloak you are wrapped in a general's ca.s.sock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool's cap was a [v]casque, and my [v]bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my [v]c.o.xcomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood in memory that I flung away my life for my master--like a faithful fool!"

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.

"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affection have honor upon earth. But that I trust I shall find the means of saving Rowena and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter."

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

"I know no language but my own and a few words of their mincing Norman.

How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"

"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba: "_Pax vobisc.u.m_ will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, _Pax vobisc.u.m_ carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep, grave tone,--_Pax vobisc.u.m_!--it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight."

"If such prove the case," said his master, "my religious orders are soon taken. _Pax vobisc.u.m_! I trust I shall remember the pa.s.sword. n.o.ble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head. I will save you, or return and die with you.

Farewell."

"Farewell, n.o.ble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition and presently found himself in the presence of Front-de-Boeuf. The Saxon, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thy penitents, father," said the latter, "have made a long [v]shrift.

It is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make.

Hast thou prepared them for death?"

"I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command, "expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they had fallen."

"How now, sir friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, me thinks, smacks of the rude Saxon tongue?"

"I was bred in the convent of Saint Withold of Burton," answered Cedric.

"Ay," said the baron; "it had been better for thee to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose, too; but need has no choice of messengers. That Saint Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nest worth the harrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the mail-coat."

"G.o.d's will be done!" returned Cedric, in a voice tremulous with pa.s.sion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.

"I see," he said, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office and thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his sh.e.l.l of proof."

"Speak your commands," replied Cedric, with suppressed emotion.

"Follow me through this pa.s.sage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the postern."

As he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he desired he should act.

"Thou seest, sir friar, yon herd of Saxon swine who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this [v]fortalice, or aught else that can detain them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear this scroll--but soft--canst thou read, sir priest?"

"Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my [v]breviary; and then I know the characters because I have the holy service by heart, praised be Saint Withold!"

"The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this scroll to the castle of Philip de [v]Malvoisin; say it cometh from me and is written by the Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York with all speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing he shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement.

Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they are until our friends bring up their lances."

With these words, Front-de-Boeuf led the way to a postern where, pa.s.sing the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican, or exterior defense, which communicated with the open field by a well-fortified sally-port.

"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee! thou seemest to be a jolly confessor--come hither after the onslaught and thou shalt have as much good wine as would drench thy whole convent."