Chapter XXI: Of How Sir Richard Listened to a Story in the Forest

When Sir Richard came again into the outer hut Tyrrell was setting a pot to boil upon the fire. As he bent above the red blaze, dropping pinches of various herbs within the kettle the while he peered closely, from time to time, into the open pages of a book lying beside him upon a stool, he minded the young knight of a black wizard, engaged in weaving some unholy incantation.

"Bear me company over the hills, Sir Richard," he said presently, setting the now steaming pot upon the ground. "We must procure us another herb to complete the nostrum. I' faith, and what a smell is here!" he added, taking up a staff and starting, lame and halting, for the door. "But 'tis as efficacious to the body, withal, as the odor is displeasing to the nostrils."

Sir Richard noted Tyrrell's strange demeanor as they moved slowly from hillock to hillock. When his keen eyes were not bent upon the earth, they would be regarding him with an intent and somewhat of an inquiring glance.

Times he would kick aside a plant, stoop with a painful deliberation, and convey a fragment of its root or leaf to his lips. If it happened to be of the kind of which he was in search, he would unearth it with the point of his mailed foot and continue upon his way. Though by now he was carrying a considerable quantity of the herbs, he was making no move to return. Several times he appeared upon the point of speaking, but always his glance would fall swiftly from that of his companion and engage the ground at his feet. In this silent manner they drew, at length, within the shadows of the wood.

"A strange foreboding of some direful happening doth rest heavily upon my mind," he said then. "Our grasp on life is indeed a slender thing, and easily broken. Mayhap 'twould be the better part of wisdom to say some things to thee here ... and now." He paused, measuring the young knight carefully with his eye.

"Dost know, Sir Richard," he said then, after somewhat of an impulsive manner, as he went stirring about with his staff among the fallen leaves, "that in history I shall ever be written down as a base and cowardly murderer? Thou hast belike heard the dismal story of the boy princes in the Tower?"

"In very truth, I have," Sir Richard made answer.

"'Tis known of the whole world, I doubt not," he gloomily pursued. "And yet ... and yet, I was but plotting ... plotting deeply, daringly ... to save their precious lives. Hark ye, Sir Richard ... and mark thee well that which I am about to say. An it were not for a fiendish knave, called Forrest,--upon whom God's direst curse rest!--they had been both saved to England.

"Forrest, learning of the command laid upon me by King Richard foully to murder both his nephews whilst they did sleep, procured quittance of the keys from Brakenbury and smothered the younger prince before I rushed, with Dighton, my groom, into the Tower room. Commanding my faithful servant to put pillow lightly above the mouth of the living prince, the Duke of York, I bade Forrest instantly to carry tidings of their death to the bloodless rooting hog, who was gnawing his nails and awaiting news in the palace. With Forrest safe dispatched to the King, we hastily garbed the prince in kirtles, thus giving him the semblance of a young maid. My men were waiting by the side of the Tower gate ... they brought him safe to Scotland."

"But----"

"Nay ... prithee, listen!" he said, seating himself upon a lightning-riven log, whilst Sir Richard took stand against its splintered, upright trunk. "The royal youth was fair-haired, pale and sickly. All my cunning arts were impotent to stay the implacable hand of death. Thus, Sir Knight, did the young Duke pass into oblivion ... beneath my very roof, and here in bleak Scotland. I durst not even acclaim his passing; but laid him, then, within an unmarked, though not an unmourned, grave. Slowly, stealthily, but surely, I had been massing a power behind him that would have swept him straight upon England's throne. Upon either coast, Sir Richard, this power is still augmenting. Ships speed me soldiers from France and Spain upon the east, and from Holland and Italy upon the west." He paused for a space, then,--"Dost find my tale interesting?" he asked.

"Above any I have ever heard," Sir Richard told him.

"And what wouldst thou say," he resumed, raising his hand impressively, "an I swore to thee that I had found a brave-hearted and goodly youth whose right to a seat upon the throne of England took precedence over that of the usurper now sitting there? A tyrant ... who gave warrant of death into the hands of his God-brother, and laid command upon him to deliver it upon that brother's executioner ... what wouldst thou say--Sir Richard Rohan, Earl of Warwick, son of Edward, Duke of Clarence?"

Sir Richard felt as though the meshes of a far-spread net were dropping down about him.

"I cannot say.... Even I cannot think!" he cried, burying his face in his arms.

"Thou art but a brave-hearted, artless youth, Sir Richard ... Sire. Enough hast thou heard to-day to turn the head of C├Žsar. Think upon what I have said ... upon what I have yet to say ... and make answer at thy calmer leisure," said Tyrrell in a manner of voice dignified, pacific, kind. Then, reaching across, he grasped the young knight's arm and drew him to a seat beside him upon the fallen log.

"Once Lord Douglas," he then resumed, "was sworn ally of mine; but a craven traitor, whom we now know to be the Renegade Duke of Buckingham, carried tidings of the prince's death and my untoward interest in thy welfare into Castle Yewe. Twice since thy coming have the Douglas forces given me battle.... And yet, without the warrants, he cannot be acquainted with thy true identity ... 'tis passing----"

"But I had duplicates of the warrants," Sir Richard said to him; "the which you may be sure I made haste to deliver."

"Duplicates!"

"Sewn within my doublet--they were passed over in thy search."

"God in Heaven absolve me for this inadvertence!" roared Tyrrell, getting to his feet, and, in seeming forgetfulness of his infirmities, strode furiously back and forth above the brown and crackling leaves. "Much, indeed, is now made plain to me. Yet ... after losing his hold of him," he went on, communing with himself, "why did Douglas so stoutly maintain his position ... there remains no other claimant ... 'tis passing strange--passing strange!"

For some time thereafter he continued setting restless footfalls amidst the carpet of dead leaves, clenching his hands and biting his thin lips.

Upon a sudden Sir Richard recalled the circumstance of the fair-haired youth imprisoned in Castle Yewe.

"Mayhap I can lesson thee of some things, Sir James," he volunteered.

"Then thou wilt discover in me a right willing listener," said Tyrrell, seating himself again upon the riven log.

So, briefly as might be, and clearly as he could compass it, Sir Richard related the story of the secret passageway and of Lady Douglas' daily teaching of the imprisoned youth.

"Ah! what monstrous iniquity!" Tyrrell cried when his companion had finished, thrusting his staff deep into the black mould. "Now is everything made transparent ... as plain as the haps of yesterday! So false Douglas would impose him a counterfeit prince upon the credulous people of England? Marry! marry! to what depths of dishonor doth self ambition lead us! But what saidst thou was this youth's name, Sir Richard?"

"Perkin Warbeck."

"I' faith I know it not. Some yeoman's son, forsooth. Poor boy! an he follow this adventure to its end, he'll be gazing upon his body from another view-point than atop his shoulders. But more upon this same subject when we are come into the Tavern. Let all of that which has been said to thee to-day assimilate perfectly with thy understanding. Papers shall be laid before thee in substantiation of all my statements."

Stooping, Tyrrell took up the herbs which he had gathered by the way.

"Let us now return and finish the brewing of good de Claverlok's nostrum," he said.