Chapter XVI: Of the Return of Lord Douglas, and the Council of Jackdaws

"Ah! Woe is me--woe, woe is me!" the youth was crying bitterly. "To think that I must forget my home, my generous father, my brothers, and my dear, kind sister. That I must deny even my good and gentle mother who bore me into the world and suckled me at her bosom! And here am I giving her sorrow of my death when I am living! Woe--woe! Better--far, far better that my final act should be the rescuing of one truth out of this tissue of black and damning lies! Aye--" he gasped, glaring with eyes wide distended around the room--"an the means were but at hand, I could do it even now! But how I tremble when I but think of it.... My hand.... See how it doth shake--palsied with horror of the grisly phantom! Even now," he whispered hoarsely, "I can see them bringing in the winding sheet. Nay--nay, I dare not! Fear, that doth withhold my craven arm, doth set his grinning skull at every exit and bid me stay."

Then, throwing himself at full length upon the floor, the youth resigned himself to a fit of tempestuous weeping.

Overwhelmed by a feeling of deepest sympathy for the suffering boy, and oblivious to all things else--his own safety, the safety of de Claverlok--Sir Richard strode back along the passageway, unbarred the secret door leading into the youth's apartments, and impetuously gave himself admittance therein.

In another moment the young knight was beside him, and, stooping, touched him lightly upon the shoulder.

"Ah! Lady Anna, ... that you should see me thus," murmured the youth without lifting his head from his arms. "They said to me that you were suffering of an indisposition and would not visit here to-day. Can you, ... will you grant me pardon?" he added, sighing deeply.

"Fear not," said Sir Richard gently. "I am come to succor thee, good youth."

Softly though the young knight had spoken, at the first sound of his voice the youth leapt wild-eyed to his feet. Without uttering a word, and with hands outspread before his face, he moved slowly backward against the wall.

"I pray you, be not afraid, good my youth," said Sir Richard reassuringly. "I can show you now a manner of gaining freedom from your unhappy imprisonment. A way of winning back to your abandoned home. Come, permit me to be your friend. Let hope smooth away the wrinkles from your brow and suffuse your countenance with somewhat of joy. Escape is at hand."

"But what would she say?" the youth whispered, looking in a frightened manner toward the door.

"She shall not know," Sir Richard promised.

"Aye--but thou canst keep nothing from her. Nothing! Even she can read the heavens, and divine the inner workings of a mind. The stars whisper to her their dark secrets--the stars!"

"Nay, prate not thus. I tell you the way is open. This very night you may be free."

"But I--I cannot leave her, sir knight. I love her. Pity me, ... but leave me. And how didst thou come here?" the youth suddenly added. "Saving Lady Anna and the serving-men, thou art the very first to enter within these rooms."

Upon gaining the youth's promise to observe an inviolate secrecy, Sir Richard explained the manner of his coming. When he had made everything clear, the boy took his arm and led him beside a desk upon which were scattered many papers.

"Knowest thou what these are, sir knight?" the youth inquired. "They are messages to my simple home; messages to my sweet mother; messages full of endearing terms and deep regrets; messages signed with mine own true and once honest name, Perkin Warbeck; messages which I dare never send, but write and read; and read again, gaining a sort of comfort from the double task. Why must I forswear my good name, sir knight? I know not. Why am I here? I know not--what shall become of me; I care not. I am but a shadow encompassed by flitting shades--a phantom in the midst of phantoms, moving in a fog of mystery. Of all, there is but the one thing potent--my love for Lady Anna. And yet--and yet, sir knight, I fear her. I must remain! Go! Leave me, I entreat of thee, for, by thus tarrying, thou art but fruitlessly imperiling thy life."

Earnestly though Sir Richard tried, he was unable to shake the youth's determination to remain. With much of pity in his heart, the young knight then took leave of him, retraced his way back through the secret door and went below. Desiring to take advantage of Lady Anna's temporary retirement, he secured the final cutting of rope, stole again into the hall of the griffins' heads, and made everything ready for de Claverlok's escape and his own, which he meant should be brought off that night.

It was lucky for him that he did so, for, upon that same afternoon, about sundown, there was heard a loud blaring of trumpets from the direction of the wood. Sir Richard at once hurried to the barbecan, from whence he had a view of Douglas and his company as they came marching up the slope.

Among their number he noted a knight who was not wearing the Douglas colors. An oddly tall and lean figure of a man he was, encased from crown to toe in a suit of black armor. An ebon, horse-hair plume floated from his closed helmet, of the same somber hue were his mighty horse and trappings. Sir Richard gathered that he was not a prisoner, for he was riding free.

"Marry, but he makes him a fine brave show!" the young knight mused to himself, as the Douglas's company started to defile across the lowered bridge.

For three days together the air had been of a bitter coldness, and accordingly there followed a great scurrying up and down stairs, so that fires might be set to blazing in every chimney-place. The first inmate of the castle to be greeted by Douglas when he strode within the great hall was Sir Richard. He shook his hand most cordially, leading him to the canopied seat beneath the farther pillars, inviting him to bide at his right hand, and engaging him in conversation for quite an hour.

"So the lists are at last prepared," Lord Douglas said, taking up the subject of the games, which were to begin on the next day. "And we are come in time. 'Twill be the greatest meeting in all Scotland," he boastingly declared, twisting and untwisting the wiry hairs of his beard. "The greatest and bravest in all Scotland. My hand on 't, Richard--and here's hoping you come off with a very surfeit of prizes."

Sir Richard was careful to keep well within earshot of Douglas till the hour of the banquet. At the same time he maintained a close watch upon the actions of Lightsom. He meant to brook no transformation of the fool from his habitual motley to the black. His bells, however, continued all the evening to ring out a merry tune of de Claverlok's freedom from immediate peril.

Around the table they all gathered presently, with every one seeming to be in the happiest of moods. A rare good fortune had evidently attended the affairs of the lord of the castle. Few around the board had ever seen him so amiable and gracious. Apparently recovered of her illness, Lady Anna, agreeable, captivating, beautiful as any of the maids woven in arras upon the tapestries behind her, beamed engagingly from her accustomed seat beside Lord Douglas. Sir Richard remarked the absence of the knight in black from the bright scene of festivity, which set him to wondering who and where he was.

"Well, gentlemen, we'll to the council room," commanded Douglas when the last morsel had been eaten, the last wassail drunk. He arose then, stalking majestically from the hall, with the flock of powdered jackdaws following gravely at his spurred and jingling heels.

From the concluding moment of the feast till the time when he found his way within the pitch dark gallery of the griffins' heads, Sir Richard moved like one in a dream, incidents and people seeming to float around him in a filmy, unreal sort of way. He was in a fever to get de Claverlok and be safely launched upon his journey. He took time, however, to stop on his way to the secret exit in a secluded corner of one of the galleries, where he withdrew from its accustomed place and stole a look at the piece of saffron velvet. He added another to the countless kisses he had pressed against it, and once again renewed his vow of unwavering fidelity to the cause of the imprisoned maiden. There were reasons for his self accusations of inconstancy. But Sir Richard was determined upon redeeming himself so soon as might be after he had accomplished his escape from Castle Yewe.

The deep tones of the bell on the watch-tower were droning out the hour of midnight when the young knight crept stealthily within the gallery of the griffins' heads. Feeling carefully along the wall, he counted the protruding tongues, slid open the panel, and stole noiselessly into the secret passageway. Away ahead of him squares of light, shining from the windows of the council chamber, splashed fantastically against the right wall. Every embrasure opening off the youth's room was cast in utter darkness. In his mind, Sir Richard could picture him tossing restlessly upon a sleepless bed, and his heart rebuked him for leaving him there to fight out his melancholy battle alone. "But I, too," the young knight thought, recalling the boy's sad, parting words, "am but a phantom in the midst of phantoms, moving in a fog of mystery."

In spite of his anxiety to have done with the business in hand and be away, the magnificent scene within the great council hall held Sir Richard fascinated in front of the first window through which he chanced to peer.

In massive silver sconces round about the walls hundreds of candles were alight. Standing upon a raised dais, Lord Douglas was engaged in delivering an earnest oration. The jackdaws around the table marked his every pause with solemn noddings. Viewed as Sir Richard was viewing it, from a great height and through a pane of ruby colored glass, it all appeared grotesquely unreal, weird, and fairylike.

Not a word reached to where he was standing, but the young knight divined that Douglas must have finished speaking, for the conclave of jackdaws arose, and, bowing, remained standing beside their chairs. Then, upon Douglas waving his sword, two pages parted the draperies from the wide entrance, and the lean, tall figure of the knight in black moved in a deliberate and stately manner down the steps.

He was not wearing his casque, and when he had drawn within the full glare of the multitude of lights every feature of his elongated visage was set vividly before Sir Richard. He could not repress an exclamation of amazement.

He recognized him to be the mysterious keeper of the Red Tavern--Tyrrell.

The young knight was not aware of how long he remained standing beside the window, with his face pressed close against its ruby pane. Though he did not realize it, the scene then being enacted upon the mosaic floor far beneath him was one well worth pausing to witness. It was the assembling of the nucleus of a wonderful movement, the deep, still center of a wide whirlpool of elaborate conspiracy and action. From those clear brains were emanating invisible wires and arms of steel, which, clutching the individual, thrust him mercilessly and inevitably ahead in the vanguard of the movement. They were not human down there. Each of them was but a cold, bloodless, and calculating automaton. Lives, to them, were like pinches of sand upon blood-slippery lists, serving but to give purchase to the wheels of their tireless juggernaut.

The young knight watched while Douglas seemed to introduce the inn-keeper to the assembled counselors. Tyrrell's voice must have been uncommonly resonant, for its deep tones came faintly to the ears of the observer at the window. It recalled to him the night of the burial of the hound and the war song. The grace of the speaker's sweeping gestures, as he continued his oration to the men around the table, elicited a genuine admiration from Sir Richard. He kept close to the window till Tyrrell had finished and gone from the hall.

Though the young knight was unable to link himself or his future with the council below, he was sensible of a vague presentiment of a something portentous to his welfare that seemed to communicate itself to him through the walls of the chamber. With an inward sense of creeping fear he started toward the end of the passageway. He noted the trembling of his hand as he laid hold of the iron rung of the ladder leading down to de Claverlok's dungeon. He was afraid of the things that he could not understand.

It was therefore with a deep sense of foreboding evil that he lowered himself to the bottom of the deep well and opened the door of the grizzled knight's dungeon. Upon that afternoon Sir Richard had apprised his friend of his coming, and, saving that he was not wearing his armor, de Claverlok was all prepared and waiting for him.

"Put on your suit of mail," said the young knight hurriedly. "I'll help you to buckle it fast."

"Eh? But I'm not a giant, Sir Dick, that can wade through the moat with my nose above the water. Nor, by the rood, can I swim it with a load of iron upon my back!"

"'Tis solid frozen," Sir Richard said. "We'll walk boldly over."

"And the moon, ... eh?"

"There's no faint hint of it, de Claverlok. Make haste! Things have I seen that have set me all of a-tremble. It may befall that our ways must perforce diverge; an it do, I'll meet you so soon as may be within the deserted shepherd's hut; ... remember, my friend."

"Have no fear, Sir Dick. We'll not be separated. The moat frozen, ... no moon, ... I tell you, my son, that a good fortune is smiling down upon our little adventure, ... eh!"

"Have you brought everything needful?" Sir Richard inquired, when the grizzled knight's harness had been adjusted and they were starting upward.

"Everything. Not even a regret have I left within the damned hole, Sir Dick!"

As they climbed past the floor of the passageway, Sir Richard took note of the fact that the lights within the council hall had been extinguished. Two spots of faint illumination, however, were now shining from the youth's rooms. "Poor boy, he cannot sleep," the young knight thought, and passed upward into the yawning flue.

For days he had been pouring oil over the hinges and padlocks of the trap-door at the top. The bolts yielded noiselessly. Having made everything free, Sir Richard set his back against the planks and gave a mighty heave. There followed upon the instant a startled grunt and a voice rumbled strangely above the door.

"Hi, Jock!" it called. "Didst mark any quaking of the castle just then? No? Well, be damned to me, an' I thought to mysel' th' whole moldy tower were a-givin' around our ears. Has't a nippie o' sack in thy jerkin, Jock?"

Sir Richard divined that the answer to the guard's question must have been a favorable one, for he at once got up from off the trap-door, after which he could hear his heavy steps dwindling in the distance along the runway.

"'Twould agree passing well with the good fellow's health to drink him a gallon of it," de Claverlok whispered as he stepped out into the night and unsheathed his sword. "God's sake! Dreaming of a quaking earth were enough to set a man at tipple, ... eh?"

To knot and make the rope secure around the crenelated apex of the tower was but the work of a moment.

"Go!" Sir Richard whispered. "When the rope swings free I'll be after you."

Immediately de Claverlok's grizzled head disappeared over the side of the embattlements. Sir Richard looked down, watching him as he diminished and became swallowed up in the surrounding gloom. He kept a firm grip of the hilt of his blade against the possibility of the guard's inopportune return.

He waited till he thought enough time had elapsed for de Claverlok to have set his foot upon the frozen moat. He laid his hand upon the rope. It was still taut, and vibrating with the warrior's downward scrambling.

Then, though Sir Richard had heard no sound, a soft arm was suddenly entwined about his waist. A softer voice was whispering close to his ear.

"Shame upon you, Dick, to requite me thus!" it said. "Are you indeed upon the point of leaving me?"

It was Lady Anna. Warm, bewitching, clad in a silken robe, all open at the throat, and loose and light and clinging.

"Yea, Lady Anna, I am going. Let loose of me," Sir Richard said.

"But Sir Richard--Dick, dear, I--I love you. A last good-bye, then," she said, twining her arms more firmly about him. "But why leave me? I tell you truly there an hundred reasons for remaining to one that you should go. Believe me, ... dear Dick. Stay but a moment and listen."

"By my soul, Lady Anna, unhand me! Much would I regret to tear you from me by force," whispered Sir Richard between his closed teeth.

"Then ... your lips, first, Dick," she pleaded.

Her two round arms were close about him now. The perfume of her flowing hair was in his nostrils. The breath of her lips was against his. Again it was the Woman against the Man. The Man felt that heaven and earth were rushing together in a glorious combat. The primal instinct conquered. The Woman had won.

Followed instantly then the thud of a something falling upon the ice-bound moat. The young knight, now freed from Lady Anna's embrace, groped wildly for the rope.

It was gone!