Traditions of Lancashire Volume II Part 9

"Why d.i.c.k--Warwick," cried the blundering knave, nigh mistaking his cue.

"Hang thee," said the ferryman, "what art' ganging o' this gait for?

If I'd ken'd it waur thee 'at I'd orders to lie by in sh.o.r.e for, thou might ha' waited a wee for aught 'at I'd ha' brought."

"Hush!" said d.i.c.k, full of importance from his newly-acquired diplomatic functions; "I'm message to the king yonder."

"Ill betides him that has need o' thee," said the boatman, surlily;--"come, jump in. They'd need of a hawk, marry, to catch a buzzard."

Just as d.i.c.k was preparing to step in, a low, slight-made figure pa.s.sed by whom the boatman immediately challenged.

"Warwick!" said he, and would have pa.s.sed on.

"Nay, nay," said d.i.c.k; "I'm Warwick, ma lad; there's no twa on us; they gied me that name i' the castle yon, just now. I'se b.u.t.ter'd if thou shall ha't too." d.i.c.k was a powerful fellow, and he collared the other in a twinkling. "Thou'rt a rogue, I tell thee, an' about no good; an' I've orders from the governor yonder to tak' thee. Bear a hand, boatie, and in wi' him. There--there."

Spite of his struggles and imprecations, the stranger was impounded in the boat, and d.i.c.k soon forced him to be quiet. They pushed off, and in a short time gained the other sh.o.r.e. Here d.i.c.k, with that almost instinctive sagacity which sometimes accompanies a disturbed state of the intellects, would not allow his prisoner either to go back to the island or remain in the boatman's custody, but secured him to his own person, setting off at a brisk pace towards the abbey. In vain the stranger told him that he had business of great moment at the castle; that he was a page of the court, and on the eve of a secret mission from the priest, who was now waiting for him with the despatches. d.i.c.k resolved, with his usual cunning it seems, to conceal his possession of these doc.u.ments, and, at the same time, to prevent the real messenger from revealing the deception by his appearance at the castle.

It was past midnight; yet the abbot and several of the brethren were still a.s.sembled in close council. The importance of the events that were unfolding, and in which their own line of conduct was to be firmly marked out and adhered to, necessarily involving much deliberation and discussion, had kept them beyond their usual hour of retirement.

A bell rung at the outer gate, and shortly afterwards one of the brotherhood in waiting announced that two men were without, craving audience, and that one of them, when asked his name, answered "Warwick."

"Ah!" said the bewildered abbot, with a sudden gleam of wonder and gladness on his countenance--"does he come hither? then is our deliverance nearer than we hoped for, even from the special favour and interference of Heaven. Admit them instantly."

But in a little while the messenger came back in great dudgeon to say that the knave who had demanded admittance with such a peremptory message was none other than d.i.c.k Empson, the errand boy to the abbey.

"What can possess him," continued the monk, "I greatly marvel; for he still persists in demanding audience, saying that he is 'Warwick.' He refers to some message from the castle with which he is charged, but he refuses to deliver it save into the hands of the reverend abbot himself. Furthermore, he has brought a prisoner, he sayeth, and will have him taken into safe custody."

"Why, bring him hither," said the abbot; "there's little harm can come by it. He has a shrewd and quick apprehension at times, under that silly mask, which I have thought he wears but for purposes of knavery and concealment."

The monk folded his hands and retired. Returning, he was followed by d.i.c.k, who a.s.sumed a very grave and solemn demeanour before this august and reverend a.s.sembly.

"Why art thou abroad in these evil times, and at such improper hours too? To the meanest of our servants it is not permitted. Speak. Thine errand?"

The abbot looked towards the offender with an air of displeasure; but d.i.c.k, hitching up his hosen with prodigious fervour, gave a loud and expressive grunt.

"d.i.c.k is a fool," said he; "but he ne'er begged benison of an abbot, a bone from a starved dog, or a t.i.the-pig from a parson."

"What is the message wherewith thou hast presumed upon our audience?"

"If ye rear your back to a door, see to it that it be greatly tyned, or ye may get a broken head for trust."

"And is this thy message, sirrah? Hark ye, let this fool be put i' the stocks, and well whipped."

"And who'll be the fule body then?" said d.i.c.k, leering. "I ken ye be readier wi' a taste o' the gyves than oatmeal bannocks; an' sae I'se gang awa' to my mither."

"Thou shalt go to the whipping-post first."

"Haud off," shouted d.i.c.k, who flung aside the person that would have seized him with the most consummate ease, at the same time placing himself in the att.i.tude of defence; "haud off, as ye are true men,"

said he; "I'm cousin to the king, and I charge ye with high treason!"

"Enough," said the abbot; "we may pity his infirmity; but let him be sent to the mill for punishment. Now to business, which I fear me hath suffered by this untimely interruption."

"Happen you'll let me be one of the guests," said the incorrigible d.i.c.k, thrusting himself forward, even to the abbot's chair, which so discomposed his reverence that he cried in a loud and authoritative tone--

"Will none of ye rid me of this pestilence? By the beard of St Cuthbert, I will dispose of him, and that presently!"

Seizing him by the shoulder, the abbot would have thrust him forth, but d.i.c.k slipped dexterously aside. Taking out the packet, he broke open the seals, and immediately began to tumble about the contents, seating himself at the same time in the vacant chair of the abbot, with great solemnity, and an air of marvellous profundity in his demeanour. It was the work of a few moments only; a pause of silent astonishment ensued, when the abbot's eye, catching, from their appearance, something of the nature of the doc.u.ments, he started forward with great eagerness and surprise. He s.n.a.t.c.hed them from the hands of their crack-brained possessor, and soon all other matters were forgotten. The abbot in breathless haste ran through the contents. The a.s.sembly was all eye and ear, and some were absolutely paralysed with wonder. There was not an indifferent observer but d.i.c.k, who, with a chuckling laugh, rubbed his hands, and fidgeted about in the chair with a look of almost infantile delight.

"I've done it brawly, ha'n't I? d.i.c.k wi' the lang neb! an' I'll hae two messes o' parritch an' sour milk, an' a barley-cake; I'm waesome hungry i' the waum here."

The abbot was too deeply involved in the subject before him to heed a craving appet.i.te. d.i.c.k's stomach, however, was not to be silenced by diplomatic food; not having tasted anything for a considerable time, his wants immediately a.s.sumed the language of inquiry.

"Old dad, ha' ye any bones to pick? I'd like to have a lick at the trencher."

The abbot made signals that he should not be disturbed; but d.i.c.k was not to be put off or convinced by such unsubstantial arguments, and they were fain to rid themselves from further annoyance by ordering him into the kitchen, where he was speedily absorbed in devouring a pan of browis, left there for morning use--the breakfast of the labourers about the abbey.

During this interval matters of the deepest importance were discussed, the contents of the packet having furnished abundant materials for deliberation. When the bearer was effectually replenished, he was led into the council-chamber again, where the abbot, in a tone of deep and serious thought, thus addressed him:--

"Who gave thee these despatches? It is plain they were not meant for our eyes; but Heaven, by the weakest instrument, often works the mightiest and most important events. Where and how came they into thy keeping?"

d.i.c.k looked cunningly round the apartment ere he replied, surveying the floor, the walls, and the ceiling; even the groinings of the roof did not escape a minute and accurate examination; whether to give time for the contriving of a suitable reply, or merely to gratify his own peevish humour, is of little consequence that we should inquire. After a long and anxious silence on the part of his auditors, he replied--

"I told ye when ye spiered afore." Another pause. The abbot was fearful that d.i.c.k's ideas, if not carefully handled, might get so entangled and confused that he would be unable to give any intelligible account of the matter. He therefore addressed him coaxingly as follows--

"Nay, nay, d.i.c.kon, thou hast not; answer me now, and thou shalt have the fat from the roast to-morrow, and a sop to season it withal."

d.i.c.k leered again at this prospective dainty, as he replied--

"I tou'd ye, and ye heeded not, belike; and who's the fool now? Come, I'll set you my riddle again. If ye set your back to a door, see that it be tyned, or ye may get a broken head, and then"----

Here he paused, and looked round with a vacant eye; but they wisely forbore to interrupt the current of his ideas, hoping that ere long they might trickle into the right channel.

"There was a big room, and a bed in it," he continued, "and a priest, which the fule body has cheated. A fule's wit is worth more nor a wise man's folly."

A vague apprehension of the truth crossed the abbot's mind. Being now on the right scent, he no longer forbore to follow up the chase, but endeavoured to hasten the development by a gentle stimulating of his pace in the required direction.

"The priest yonder at the castle gave it thee?" said the abbot carelessly.

"Well, and if he did," replied d.i.c.k sharply, "he didna ken I was a-peeping into his chamber, as I've done many an unlucky time here in the abbey, and gotten a good licking for my pains."

"To whom was it sent?"

"Ask the bairn yon', that I ha' brought by th' scut o' th' neck. He woudna come bout tugging for."

"Was he the messenger?" asked Roger, the abbot's secretary and prime agent.

"Help thine ignorant face, father!--I was peeping about, you see, in the dark. The priest thought it waur the laddy yonder, a-comin' for his bag; so he gied it me, and tou'd me to carry it safe, but forgot to grease my pate forbye wi' the direction. I ken'd ye could read aught at the abbey here, and so ye may e'en run wi' it to the right owner for yere pains."

The cunning knave glossed over his treachery with this excuse; for he evidently knew better, and had a notion that he should serve his masters by this piece of diplomatic craft.