CHAPTER XXXVIII.

It was evening; but one day remained to pass away before the arrival of

that appointed for the wager of battle; and all Nottingham had been in

hurry and confusion with the excitement of the approaching spectacle.

The residence of the King in the Castle had already filled the town

fuller than it was ever known to be before; but now a still greater

influx of people poured into it from all the country round, to witness

a transaction, which combined all the splendor and display of one of

the military pageants of the day with the interest of a deep tragedy.

The citizens had flocked out of the town during the morning, to see the

preparation of the lists; parties of pleasure had been made to the spot

where the deadly struggle was to take place; and mirth and merriment

had surrounded the scene, where two fellow-creatures were soon to

appear armed for mutual destruction--where bright hopes and fair

prospects were to be blighted, and death and sorrow to share the

victory.

No tidings had been received by Hugh de Monthermer from his forest

friends. No circumstance had transpired which could aid him in proving

his innocence, or could fix the guilt upon another. Prince Edward was

evidently anxious and uneasy; and the only person who seemed pleased

with the whole affair was the King himself, who, affecting a dignified

grace and calmness and declaring that he assumed the young Lord of

Monthermer to be innocent till he was proved guilty, treated him with

courtesy, and even with distinction. It was the pampering of a

gladiator before sending him into the arena; for the secret of Henry's

good humour was, that he was pleased at the excitement, and satisfied

with those who contributed to it.

Not to show favour, however--as one of the most favourite-ridden

monarchs that ever lived thought fit to term it, he sent expressly to

invite the young Earl of Ashby to repair with his train to Nottingham

Castle, and partake of the royal hospitality before the combat; and

Alured had already arrived, and taken possession of the apartments

prepared for him.

He had twice met with Hugh de Monthermer, once in the hall, when many

others were present, and once in the court when they were nearly alone.

Their meeting had been watched by the frivolous and malicious, always

so numerous in courts, who hoped and expected to see some outburst of

angry feeling, which might afford amusement for the passing hour. But

in this they were altogether disappointed--the two adversaries saluted

each other with grave courtesy; and it was particularly remarked, that

Alured's fierce impetuosity and somewhat insolent pride were greatly

softened down and moderated. Nay, more, when his eyes lighted upon Hugh

de Monthermer, the expression was more sad than stern, and some thought

that there was hesitation in it also.

"It is clear enough," said Sir Harry Grey to Sir William Geary--"it is

clear enough, he doubts the truth of the charge he has made--he does

not think the Monthermer guilty."

"He knows that some one must be guilty," answered the other, "and that

is generally enough for an Ashby, to make him vent his rage upon the

first thing near."

"But what has become of his good cousin Dickon?" demanded Grey. "I have

not seen him all day, nor yesterday either."

"I suppose be keeps at Lindwell," replied Sir William Geary, "or else

has gone to his new manor of Cottington. People look cold on him--I

know not why."

"There are two or three reasons why," said Sir Harry Grey. "First, it

is evident that this charge is of his hatching, and yet he puts the

fighting part upon his cousin."

"And very wise, too!" exclaimed Sir William Geary. "First, because Hugh

de Monthermer would break his neck, as a man does a rabbit's with his

little finger; next, because there is but one between him and the

Earldom of Ashby, and a good lance and a fair field is very likely to

diminish the number."

"Is it just possible," said Grey, "that he may have taken means to

diminish the number already?"

Sir William Geary shrugged his shoulders significantly, but made no

other answer, and the conversation dropped.

Such as it was, however, it was a fair specimen of many others that

took place in Nottingham that day. But Richard de Ashby heard them not,

for he was many miles away, deep in conference with his companion,

Ellerby, who remained to watch the progress of events, hidden in the

wild and mountainous parts of Derbyshire.

Nevertheless, that night towards seven o'clock, when every one in

Nottingham had returned home from the sight-seeing and amusements of

the day, and all was profoundly quiet, both in the castle and the town,

two armourers, who sat burnishing a magnificent hauberk in the outer

chamber of the young Earl of Ashby's apartments in Nottingham Castle,

were interrupted by some one knocking at the door. In a loud voice they

bade the visitor come in; and in a moment after, the brown face and

head of an old woman were thrust into the room, asking to see the Earl

of Ashby.

The two men had been going on merrily with their work, giving no

thought or heed to the bloody purposes which the weapons under their

hands were to be applied to, nor of the danger that their lord ran,

should that linked shirt of mail prove insufficient to repel the lance

of an enemy. They looked up then as cheerfully as if the whole were a

matter of sport, and one of them replied, "He will not receive you,

good dame, seeing you are old and ugly. Had you been young and pretty,

by my faith, you would have found admission right soon.--What is it

that you wish?"

"I wish to tell him," answered the old woman, "that he is wanted

immediately down at the house of Sir Richard de Ashby."

"Well--well," cried the man, "I will tell him. Get thee gone, and close

the door after thee, for the night wind is cold."

Thus saying, he went on with his work, and seemed to have no

inclination to break off, for the purpose of carrying any messages

whatsoever.

"Come--come!" cried his companion, "you must tell my lord."

"Pooh, that will do an hour hence," he replied; "to-morrow morning will

be time enough, if I like it. What should Richard de Ashby want with my

lord:--Borrow money, I dare say. Some Jew has got him by the throat,

and wont let him go. There let him stay--nasty vermin!"

"Nay--nay, then I will go," said his brother armourer, rising, and

proceeding into another chamber, where several yeomen and a page were

sitting, to the latter of whom he delivered the message, and then

returned to his work.

The young Earl of Ashby was seated in an inner room, with but one

companion, when the old woman's commission was at length executed.

"Ay! I am glad to hear he has returned," he said, as the page closed

the door. "I wonder he comes not hither! but I will go and speak with

him. My mind misgives me, Sir Guy--my mind misgives me! And what you

say does not convince me. My sister knows better--Lucy is truth itself.

Remember, sir, I have to swear that my quarrel is just--that I believe,

so help, me, God! that my charge is true. I doubt it, Guy de Margan--I

doubt it. If you can give new proof--speak! But 'tis useless to repeat

over and over again what I have heard before, and what has been

refuted."

"It may be that your cousin, my lord, can furnish you with new proof,"

said Guy de Margan. "'Tis on that account, perhaps, he has sent for

you."

"I will go directly," cried the Earl, starting up--"I will go

directly!--But where does he live in Nottingham?--I thought he was in

the castle with the rest, or at our lodging in the town.--Down at the

house of Sir Richard de Ashby!--Where may that be, I wonder?"

"I can show you, my lord," answered Guy do Margan--"'tis half-a-mile

hence or more."

"Tell me--tell me," replied the Earl; "I will go by myself."

"I will put you in the way, my lord," said his companion, "and leave

you when you are in the street.--You will never find it by yourself."

Giving him but little thanks for his courtesy, the young Earl strode

into the ante-room; and with none but a page to carry his sword, and

Guy de Margan by his side, issued forth into the court of the castle,

and thence through the gates into the dark streets of Nottingham.

"Had you not better have a torch, my lord?" said Guy de Margan.

"No--no," replied the Earl, "'tis but that our eyes are not accustomed

to the obscurity, We have no time to wait for torches; the hour of

supper will be here anon."

"Down the first flight of steps, my lord," said Guy de Margan, "let us

not miss the mouth of the alley--Oh, 'tis here!" and hurrying on with a

quick step, the two gentlemen and their young attendant descended to

the lower part of the town, and entered the street in which Richard de

Ashby had hired the house we have so often mentioned.

When they had proceeded some way down it, the young Earl asked, with

even more than his usual impatience--"Are we not near it yet?"

"Yes, my good lord," replied Guy de Margan; "you can now find it for

yourself, I doubt not. 'Tis the first small house standing back between

two large ones, with eaves shooting far over into the street."

"I shall find it!--I shall find it!" cried Alured de Ashby, "Good

night, and thanks, Sir Guy. We shall meet again to-morrow."

With this short adieu, he took his way forward, and in his quick,

impetuous haste, had well-nigh passed the house which he was seeking,

but the boy pulled him by the sleeve, saying, "This must be it, my

lord;" and looking round, he plunged into the dark, retreating nook in

which it stood, and feeling for the door, struck sharply upon it with

the hilt of his dagger.

For near a minute there was no sound, and the young Earl was about to

knock again, when a light, shining through the chinks, shewed him that

somebody was coming. He drew back a step; and a moment after, the door

was opened with a slow and deliberate hand, which suited ill with the

young nobleman's impatient mood. The sight that he beheld, however,

when his eyes recovered from the first glare of the light, struck him

with surprise, and calmed him also, by the effect of gentler feelings

than those which had lately agitated his bosom.

It was the form of fair Kate Greenly that presented itself--it was her

face that the rays of the lamp shone upon; but oh, what a change had

been wrought in that face, even within the last three days! Still more

terrible was the alteration since the Earl had last seen it, when he

jested for a moment with his cousin's leman some months before in

Hereford. Then it had been bright and blooming, full of life and

eagerness, with much of the loveliness which then characterized it

depending upon youth and high health. Now, though beauty still

lingered, and the fine line of the features could not be altered, yet

the face was sharp and pale and worn, the lips bloodless; and the

bright, dark eyes, though shining, with almost preternatural lustre,

had a fixed, stern look, no longer wild and sparkling, but full of

intense thought, and strong, yet painful purpose. The form, too, seemed

shrunk and changed; the grace indeed remained, but the rounded contour

of the limbs was withered and gone.

"Why, Kate," exclaimed the Earl--"why how now--what is this? You seem

ill."

"I seem what I am, my lord," replied Kate Greenly. "I am glad you are

come; your presence is much wanted."

"Where?" demanded the Earl. "What do you mean, my poor girl? Some new

mishap, I warrant you. Where is my presence wanted, Kate?"

"I will show you, my lord," replied Kate Greenly, "if you will follow

me;" and she led the way up the stairs.

At the end of the first flight, the Earl paused, saying, "Is not Dickon

here, that he comes not forth?"

Kate gave him no direct answer, merely replying, "This way, my

lord--this way, sir."

"He must be ill," thought the Earl, "and she, too, is ill, that is

clear. 'Tis some fever, belike. I have heard there is one in

Nottingham."

At the top of the next flight, the girl laid her hand upon the latch of

a rough door, formed of unsmoothed wood, holding the lamp so as to give

the Earl light in his ascent. The moment after, she opened the door and

entered, leading the way towards the foot of a small bed, by which was

burning a waxen taper.

The Earl followed, murmuring, "This is a poor place," but raised his

eyes as he approached the foot of the bed, and to his surprise, beheld

the ghastly face of a dead man, stretched out, with a sprig of holly

resting on his breast.

"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed.--"Who is this?"

"The murderer of your father!" replied Kate Greenly, without adding a

word more.

Alured de Ashby clasped his hands, with deep and terrible emotion. His

mind at the moment paused not to inquire whether the tale were true or

false; but flashing at once through, his heart and brain came the

feeling of wrath, even at the inanimate mass before him, for the deed

that had been done, mingled with grief and anxiety at having charged it

upon another, and the memory of all the embarrassments which that

charge must produce.

"The murderer of my father!" he said, "The murderer of my father--Is

that the murderer of my father!--Then Monthermer is innocent!"

"As innocent as yourself," replied Kate Greenly. "This is one of those

who did the deed; but there were more than one, Hugh de Monthermer,

however, was many a mile away, and there lies the man who struck the

first blow. Look here!" she cried, and partly drawing down the sheet,

she pointed to the wound upon the dead man's breast, saying, "There

entered your father's sword; for the old man died gallantly, and sent

one at least to his account."

"Ay, I remember," replied the Earl, thoughtfully, "they found his sword

naked and bloody--But how is this?" he continued, turning towards Kate,

and gazing on her face. "You seem to know it all, as if you had been

present.--Now I perceive what makes you haggard and pale."

"'Tis seeing such sights as this," replied Kate Greenly--"ay, and many

another sad cause besides. But you ask, how I know all this? I will

tell you, Earl of Ashby: by taking down from that man's own lips, in

his dying moments, the confession of his crime. The priest adjured him

to make full avowal of the truth, not only to the ear of the confessor,

which could but benefit his own soul, but for the ear of justice, that

the innocent might not be punished for the guilty. Such confession as

he did make, I myself wrote down, he signed it with his dying hand, and

I and Father Mark were the witnesses thereunto. Here is the paper--read

and satisfy yourself! The priest I have sent for--he will soon be

here."

Alured de Ashby took the paper, and, by the light of the lamp held by

Kate Greenly, read the few words that it contained:--

"I do publicly acknowledge and confess," so ran the writing, which

followed exactly the broken words of the dying man; "that I, Ingelram

Dighton, did, on the afternoon of Tuesday last, together with three

others--no, I will not mention their names--who had come down with me

the day before from the good city of London, lay wait for the Earl of

Ashby, at a place called the Bull's Hawthorn. I struck at him first,

but only wounded him; whereupon he drew his sword and plunged it into

my side, from which I am now dying. The Lord have mercy upon my soul!

El----, but no, I will not mention his name--another man then stabbed

him behind, and we threw him into the pit. The Lord Hugh de Monthermer

had nothing to do with the deed. We used his name, because the person

that set us on wanted the charge to fall on him, and a letter was

written, as if from him, asking the old Earl to see him alone, at the

place of the murder; but he never wrote it, or knew of it. I have never

seen him or spoken to him in my life, but only heard that morning that

he had escaped from prison. This has been read over to me now dying, at

the house of Sir Richard de Ashby; and I swear by the Holy Sacrament

and all the Saints, that it is true, so help me God!"

It was signed, with a shaking hand, "Ingelram Dighton," and below were

the names of Kate Greenly and the priest, as witnesses.

The young Earl read and re-read it, and then looking upon his companion

somewhat sternly, he asked, "Why did you not produce this before?"

"For many reasons," replied Kate Greenly, calmly:--"first, because I

had not the means. Do you suppose that the cruel and deceitful villain

into whose power I have fallen leaves me to roam whither I please? 'Tis

but when he is absent that I dare quit the house. In the next place,

you were at Lindwell; and in the next, I wished, ere I brought forward

even so much as this, to have the whole in my hands; to be able not

only to say, 'This man is innocent,' but also, 'That man is guilty!' I

tell you, Earl, I would not now have told you what I have, but that you

must not risk your own life in a false quarrel, nor bring upon yourself

the guilt of slaying another for deeds that he did not commit. Knowing

as much as you do now know, it is your task and duty to sift this

matter to the bottom, and to discover the instigator of this murder;

for he who now lies there, and his companions, were but tools. I am

ready and willing to speak all I know, when the time and place is

fitting. Yet you must be neither too quick nor too slow: for if you are

slow, I shall not be here--my days are numbered, and are flying fast;

and if you are hasty, the guilty one will escape you."

"And who is the guilty one?" demanded Alured de Ashby, bending his

brows sternly upon her--"Who is the guilty one? Name him, girl, I

adjure thee--name him! Name him, if ever thou hast had the feelings of

a child towards a father!"

Kate gave a low cry, as if from corporeal pain, and then, shaking her

head mournfully, she said, "I have had the feelings of a child towards

a father, Earl of Ashby; and for the sake of your false cousin, I tore

those feelings from my heart in spite of all the agony--for his sake, I

brought disgrace upon that father's house--for his sake, I strewed

ashes upon a parent's head--for his sake, I poured coals of fire upon

my own; and how has he repaid me! But you ask me, who is the man? I

will not be his accuser till all other means fail. I must not be

accuser and witness too. You have the clue in your hands; use it wisely

and firmly, and you will soon discover all you seek to know."

The Earl gazed in her face for a minute with a keen and searching

glance, then turned his look once more upon the corpse, took a step or

two nearer, and examined the features attentively.

"Give me the lamp," he said; and taking it from her hand, he bent down

his own head, and seemed to scan every lineament, as if to fix them on

his mind for ever. But his thoughts were in reality turning to the

past, not the future; and raising himself to his full height again; he

added, aloud, "I have seen that face before, though where I cannot

tell. The memory will return, however. How came he here?--Who brought

him here to die?"

"Those who took him hence to slay," answered Kate Greenly.

"Didst thou ever see him before that day?" demanded the Earl.

"Twice," was the reply.

"Hark! there is the curfew," exclaimed the Earl. "I must away."

"Stay till the priest comes!" cried Kate, eagerly. "He will be here ere

long."

"I cannot," answered Alured de Ashby; "I am expected at the castle even

now. But fear not that I will forget this business. I will find out the

truth, even if I have to cut it from the hearts of those that would

conceal it; and I will be calm, too--tranquil, and calm, and cautious."

"Go, then!" said Kate. "Yet tell me--But no, you will not dream of

it!--You have no thought of meeting in arms an innocent and blameless

man upon a false and unholy charge? Promise me--promise me!"

"I will make no promise!" answered the Earl. "You seem to feel some

deep interest in this Monthermer?"

"I never saw his face but twice!" replied Kate, solemnly. "I never

heard his voice but once--I have no interest in him; but, weak and

fallen and disgraced as I am, I have still an interest in right and

truth! Neither would I see you fall before his lance--for fall

assuredly you will, if you go forth to meet him! Nay, look not proud,

Earl of Ashby, before a dying girl, who knows nought of these haughty

strifes, and can little tell whether you or he--if all were

equal--would bear away the prize of chivalry. But, I say, all is not

equal between you; and if you meet Hugh de Monthermer, you fall before

his lance as sure as you now live: for he is armoured in high

innocence, with a just quarrel, and an honest name to vindicate; you

fight, weighed down with the consciousness of wrong upon your arm, a

false oath upon your lips, and doubt and discouragement at your heart!

Were you twenty times the knight you are, that burden were enough to

make you fall before a peasant's staff! One thing, however, I have a

right to demand: you shall give that paper to Prince Edward, fully

twelve hours before you go into the lists--this you must promise me to

do, or I myself will go and cast myself--"

"I have no right to refuse," interrupted the Earl; "on my honour, as a

knight, the Prince shall have the paper. Be you ready to prove that it

is genuine?"

"I am ever ready," answered Kate; "and though I may shrink and quiver,

like a wounded limb when a surgeon draws the arrow forth, yet I shall

be glad when each step of my bitter task is begun, and the time of rest

comes nearer. If they wish to remove this body?"--she added, as the

Earl walked towards the door,

"Let them do it," answered Alured--"let them do it--they shall be

watched!"

Thus saying, he left the room, and slowly descended the stairs, Kate

Greenly lighting him down to the bottom. He went thoughtfully and

sadly, with a heart full of gloom, anxiety, and strife; but there were

kindly parts in his character, too; and when he reached the bottom

step, he turned and looked once more in the face of his unhappy

companion. Then, taking her hand, he said, "Poor girl, I am sorry for

thee! Can nought be done to save thee?"

"Nothing, my lord!" replied Kate Greenly, calmly; "I have but one

Saviour, and he is not of earth."