The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

I would speak a word to thee in private.”

      She drew him to a corner of the room, and there asked him under her breath would he do her a kindness.

      He answered out loud, “No, he would not; he was not in the vein to do kindnesses to man or woman. If he did a kindness it should be to a dog; and not that if he could help it.”

      “Alas, good archer, I did you one eftsoons, you and your pretty comrade,” said Manon humbly.

      “You did, dame, you did; well then, for his sake—what is't to do?”

      “Thou knowest my story. I had been unfortunate. Now I am worshipful. But a woman did cast him in my teeth this day. And so 'twill be ever while he hangs there. I would have him ta'en down; well-a-day!”

      “With all my heart.”

      “And none dare I ask but thee. Wilt do't?”

      “Not I, even were I not a prisoner.”

      On this stern refusal the tender Manon sighed, and clasped her palms together despondently. Denys told her she need not fret. There were soldiers of a lower stamp who would not make two bites of such a cherry. It was a mere matter of money; if she could find two angels, he would find two soldiers to do the dirty work of “The White Hart.”

      This was not very palatable. However, reflecting that soldiers were birds of passage, drinking here to-night, knocked on the head there to-morrow, she said softly, “Send them out to me. But prithee, tell them that 'tis for one that is my friend; let them not think 'tis for me; I should sink into the earth; times are changed.”

      Denys found warriors glad to win an angel apiece so easily. He sent them out, and instantly dismissing the subject with contempt, sat brooding on his lost friend.

      Manon and the warriors soon came to a general understanding. But what were they to do with the body when taken down? She murmured, “The river is nigh the—the place.”

      “Fling him in, eh?”

      “Nay, nay; be not so cruel! Could ye not put him—gently—and—with somewhat weighty?”

      She must have been thinking on the subject in detail; for she was not one to whom ideas came quickly.

      All was speedily agreed, except the time of payment. The mail-clad itched for it, and sought it in advance. Manon demurred to that.

      What, did she doubt their word? then let her come along with them, or watch them at a distance.

      “Me?” said Manon with horror. “I would liever die than see it done.”

      “Which yet you would have done.”

      “Ay, for sore is my need. Times are changed.”

      She had already forgotten her precept to Denys.

      An hour later the disagreeable relic of caterpillar existence ceased to canker the worshipful matron's public life, and the grim eyes of the past to cast malignant glances down into a white hind's clover field.

      Total. She made the landlord an average wife, and a prime house-dog, and outlived everybody.

      Her troops, when they returned from executing with mediaeval naivete the precept, “Off wi' the auld love,” received a shock. They found the market-place black with groups; it had been empty an hour ago. Conscience smote them. This came of meddling with the dead. However, the bolder of the two, encouraged by the darkness, stole forward alone, and slily mingled with a group: he soon returned to his companion, saying, in a tone of reproach not strictly reasonable,

      “Ye born fool, it is only a miracle.”

      CHAPTER XLII

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      Letters of fire on the church wall had just inquired, with an appearance of genuine curiosity, why there was no mass for the duke in this time of trouble. The supernatural expostulation had been seen by many, and had gradually faded, leaving the spectators glued there gaping. The upshot was, that the corporation, not choosing to be behind the angelic powers in loyalty to a temporal sovereign, invested freely in masses. By this an old friend of ours, the cure, profited in hard cash; for which he had a very pretty taste. But for this I would not of course have detained you over so trite an occurrence as a miracle.

      Denys begged for his arms. “Why disgrace him as well as break his heart?”

      “Then swear on the cross of thy sword not to leave the bastard's service until the sedition shall be put down.” He yielded to necessity, and delivered three volleys of oaths, and recovered his arms and liberty.

      The troops halted at “The Three Fish,” and Marion at sight of him cried out, “I'm out of luck; who would have thought to see you again?” Then seeing he was sad, and rather hurt than amused at this blunt jest, she asked him what was amiss? He told her. She took a bright view of the case. Gerard was too handsome and well-behaved to come to harm. The women too would always be on his side. Moreover, it was clear that things must either go well or ill with him. In the former case he would strike in with some good company going to Rome; in the latter he would return home, perhaps be there before his friend; “for you have a trifle of fighting to do in Flanders by all accounts.” She then brought him his gold pieces, and steadily refused to accept one, though he urged her again and again. Denys was somewhat convinced by her argument, because she concurred with his own wishes, and was also cheered a little by finding her so honest. It made him think a little better of that world in which his poor little friend was walking alone.

      Foot soldiers in small bodies down to twos and threes were already on the road, making lazily towards Flanders, many of them penniless, but passed from town to town by the bailiffs, with orders for food and lodging on the innkeepers.

      Anthony of Burgundy overtook numbers of these, and gathered them under his standard, so that he entered Flanders at the head of six hundred men. On crossing the frontier he was met by his brother Baldwyn, with men, arms, and provisions; he organized his whole force and marched on in battle array through several towns, not only without impediment, but with great acclamations. This loyalty called forth comments not altogether gracious.

      “This rebellion of ours is a bite,” growled a soldier called Simon, who had elected himself Denys's comrade.

      Denys said nothing, but made a little vow to St. Mars to shoot this Anthony of Burgundy dead, should the rebellion, that had cost him Gerard, prove no rebellion.

      That afternoon they came in sight of a strongly fortified town; and a whisper went through the little army that this was a disaffected place.

      But when they came in sight, the great gate stood open, and the towers that flanked it on each side were manned with a single sentinel apiece. So the advancing force somewhat broke their array and marched carelessly.

      When they were within a furlong, the drawbridge across the moat rose slowly and creaking till it stood vertical against the fort and the very moment it settled into this warlike attitude, down rattled the portcullis at the gate, and the towers and curtains bristled with lances and crossbows.

      A stern hum ran through the bastard's front rank and spread to the rear.

      “Halt!” cried he. The word went down the line, and they halted. “Herald to the gate!” A pursuivant spurred out of the ranks, and halting twenty yards from the gate, raised his bugle with his herald's flag hanging down round it, and blew a summons. A tall figure in brazen armour appeared over the gate. A few fiery words passed between him and the herald, which were not audible, but their import clear, for the herald blew a single keen and threatening note at the walls, and came galloping back with war in his face. The bastard moved out of the line to meet him, and their heads had not been together two seconds ere he turned in his saddle and shouted, “Pioneers, to the van!” and in a moment hedges were levelled, and the force took the field and encamped just out of shot from the walls; and away went mounted