Part 4

The executioners had meanwhile fastened the iron girdles with a few blows of their hammers, under the arms of each of the prisoners, and were now applying the torch to each pile of wood in succession.

Sir Roger Ashton heard them not, saw them not, knew not that the tiny flames growing larger each moment, were leaping up beneath him, and longing for their prey. It was still early, and in the east, just sinking behind the horizon, was the morning star. He knew that it was only setting to rise again in renewed glory, and he kept repeating, his eyes still entranced as though by a glorious vision: "As the stars forever. As the stars forever and ever!"

Above that pyramid of fire, above that fierce cloud of smoke that rose as though seeking to hide from heaven the foul deed then enacting on earth, were "the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof!"

"As the stars forever and ever;" even so. Many have shed their blood that England might add to its domain countries, and provinces, and islands of the sea, or drive from her soil the hateful foot of the invader, and their deeds are justly commemorated in sculptured marble; but the names of those who broke the first link in the chain that bound Britain an abject slave to Rome, stand as far above the former in their glory as the stars do over the warriors' graves. Foremost among those thousands who have come through great tribulation and washed their garments in the blood of the Lamb, stand those glorious English martyrs, the pioneers of the Reformation--"As the stars forever and ever!"

*CHAPTER VIII.*

_*Quiet Days.*_

On the afternoon succeeding this fearful tragedy, a venerable old man of more than three-score years entered the room where Hubert still lay with a low fever brought on by exposure and fatigue. He was Roger Markham, of Romney in Kent, to whose care the boys had been consigned. He had long since been deprived of his curacy, but, beloved by all his former parishioners for his saintly life, he had continued to dwell among them, supported by the labor of his hands, and ministering to them in secret that spiritual food which they sought for in vain from the parish priest.

He gladly accepted his charge, and declaring that Hubert would be better when breathing the fresh air, appointed the next day for them to set out on their journey to his own home.

Accordingly, the next morning they left the friendly trader's house, where they had found so safe an asylum, and proceeding to the outskirts of the city, met Markham with his old white pony, on which they mounted Hubert, and so went slowly on their way. They rested at an inn that night, and it was not till the next afternoon that they approached their new home. The setting sun was lighting up the snowy meadows and the clustered cottages with their low roofs laden with snow. At the entrance of the village they were met by several of the peasants eager to welcome back their friend; and, seeing that he had with him two pale stranger lads, they each contributed from their humble store refreshment to cheer them after their journey. They pressed the travellers to enter their cottages and rest awhile; but the old man wanted to be back at his own fireside; so, passing on through the single straggling street to a house that stood a little apart from the rest, the last in the row, the pony stopped of his own accord, and Markham, opening the latch, which, in those simple times, alone fastened the door, bade the wearied lads enter, for this was their home.

It was a low-roofed cottage of only one room, and furnished with the most perfect simplicity. Above, the oaken rafters, blackened by time and smoke, were plainly to be seen, and were festooned with strings of dried vegetables and herbs. The floor was of well-trodden clay; and a rough table, a few stools, a chest, some straw beds, and an oaken armchair, curiously carved by the old curate himself, completed the furniture. A sort of rack, or shelf, on one side, served as a dresser to hold the wooden platters and horn drinking-cups; while on pegs inserted in the wall, hung a sword, a cross-bow, and various garden-tools. The old man seemed to forget his own fatigue in ministering to the comfort of his guests. Geoffrey aided him, by bringing in fagots, and soon a bountiful repast, consisting of bacon, cheese, cakes, milk, and eggs, was ready to satisfy their hunger.

They were soon settled in their new home. The boys passed their time partly in study, and partly in aiding the old man to prepare his little garden for the summer crops. The cow, too, needed their care; when the snow had melted from the meadows, she must be driven to pasture in the morning, and brought home in the evening. This fell to Geoffrey's share, and gave him two long and pleasant walks a day, while Hubert attended to the humble dairy, and felt almost as proud when he had furnished the larder with a fine cheese or a trencher of golden butter, as when he had recited to his master, without failing, his longest Latin lesson. The reason why the old curate accepted no help from without, but shared the most menial labors with his noble young pupils, was because in those troublous times the only chance of safety for the poor persecuted Lollards was in being as retired as possible, and especially in keeping their Bibles, if they possessed them, from the sight of those who might at some future time betray them.

Their life was quiet, and fully employed, but not without its pleasures. Markham was not only an excellent scholar, but he also loved to impart his knowledge to others. The cottage was not their only study; in the quiet lanes and sunny meadows, on the sea-shore, and in the grand old forest, he taught them all that was then known of botany and natural history. In the clear, still winter evenings, he called their attention to the stars overhead, their names, and positions, and motions, and told them how the sailor found his way upon the deep by their assistance. He showed them the signs of the Zodiac, among which the sun and planets pursued their yearly course; he pointed out to them the "bands of Orion," the Pleiades, and "Arcturus with his sons," mentioned so beautifully in the book of Job; also the dog-star, that exerted such a baneful influence when in the ascendant, and Charles's Wain, whose two pointers always directed to that strange polar star, which, of all that bright company, seemed never to move from its place.

But one thing he taught them which would seem very strange to the youngest school-boy or girl in these present more enlightened days. He told them that this earth, being a flat plain, was the centre of all the universe, and around it, in their stated time, sun, moon, and stars revolved.

Nor did he fail to remind them of the Magi, who, by the leading of a star, found the infant Christ.

But this peaceful life did not last long. When the field of the old curate was ready for the reaping, he died. Calmly and joyfully, with a hand clasped by each of the boys, he passed away from earth; and as they closed his eyes, his last words still rang in their ears: "Stand fast for the Lord, my sons, even unto death!"

*CHAPTER IX.*

_*Hide and Seek in Forest Tower.*_

Two months later found them in London, the guests once more of the Lollard trader, Philip Naseby. Before the winter came they found another home on the Yorkshire coast. There dwelt Humphrey Singleton, a man who had lost friends, fortune, and home because of his faith. He had seen his wife and children turned from their burning cottage one bitterly cold winter night by the soldiers of Arundel, and now he was alone in the world, dwelling in a place, half hut, half cave, near the summit of the Yorkshire cliffs.

There the boys found him, sitting at the door of his hermitage in the autumn twilight, feeding a lamb with grass and leaves. He gladly received his guests; and there, in that lonely place, they hoped to be permitted to remain till they had finished their studies. As it had been before, Hubert staid quietly at home, studying, while Geoffrey oftener pursued a more active life, gathering sea-birds' eggs among the cliffs, or catching fish in a little boat far out in the bay.

One evening there came a messenger to them. He bore the Lollard password, and so was eagerly received. When he had refreshed himself, they all gathered around the fire to hear what news he might bring. They had heard already of Arundel's awful end; how, when he was sitting at a feast with his friends about him he had been struck by the hand of death. Not a moment had been given to his wretched soul to prepare itself to meet its Judge. Not a word had his palsied tongue been able to utter; only the writhing features showed his agony. Now, to their grief, they learned that his successor, Chichely, was following in his footsteps. The search after heretics was even more rigorous than before.

"Have you heard aught of what has befallen Forest Tower and its noble Lord?" said the stranger.

Geoffrey started to his feet. "Nay, we have not heard. Speak out, man, and tell me of my father."

"Your father is safe, master Geoffrey," said the man, rising and bowing respectfully to the boy. "I knew you not at first. Sir John is safe, and in Wales, by the Lord's mercy; but the archers pressed him sore, and thirsted like wild beasts for his blood. Blessed be the Lord that delivered him from the flame, and gave him wings to his feet."

"And the Tower?" said Geoffrey, breathlessly.

"There is no such place; they have not left one stone on another; I saw it myself."

Geoffrey groaned aloud, then, raising himself to his full height, he lifted his clenched hand to heaven and cried:

"It is mine! It is mine! Mine by the same right that king Harry holds his throne! They shall give it back, stone for stone, or this right hand shall lay them as low as its ashes are. I will----"

Here his hand was grasped from behind, and his master's voice said, half sternly, half sorrowfully:

"Boy! art thou to fight for an earthly habitation, or a heavenly? Hast thou renounced all these for Jesus' sake, and art so ready to snatch at them again?"

The boy sank down ashamed of this demonstration of useless anger, and listened quietly to the man's story.

We will go back to the time of the boys' departure from home, and trace the history of Forest Castle and its proprietor.

When De Forest had seen Cobham safe on his road to Wales, he had returned to his home, now so desolate. Contrary to his expectations, he had remained unmolested during the whole succeeding winter and spring; indeed, he had been so free from interruption, that Oldcastle had more than once ventured from his place of concealment to attend meetings for worship held in the castle or secluded woods, and to meet such of his friends as could be allowed to know the secret of his hiding-place. Through the summer there were rumors of danger; the archbishop's soldiers had come within a few miles of the place, but, for some reason, had turned back, and, as the fall advanced, the little signals at the foot of the oak-tree pronounced all safe.

One chilly November evening, when the first snow was beginning to fall on the leaf-strewn forest paths, and bare tree-branches, Lord Cobham sat in the hall at Forest Tower talking with its owner. Since the departure of the boys, it had been necessary to confide the secrets of the signals, the various passwords, and the concealed entrances to some one, and Sir John had chosen for this important post a young peasant, Charles Bertrand--he who was afterward to tell the tale of his misfortunes to the young master.

This person interrupted the conversation of the friends by announcing that a king's officer and a band of men had appeared suddenly at the gate, and were crossing the draw-bridge.

Whatever might be their errand, Cobham must not be seen; so he went quickly out by the opposite door, barely having it closed upon him by the faithful Bertrand, when the visitors admitted themselves by the grand entrance.

Sir John rose to greet them with dignified courtesy. The soldier did not seem to notice the greeting, but striding up to the table, demanded if he were Sir John of the Forest.

"I am," was the reply, given in such a quiet, fearless tone, that the soldier's rough manner was somewhat modified.

"Then I arrest you for heresy and treason. Men, guard the prisoner and bring hither the guide!"

Some of the men surrounded De Forest, while others led, or rather dragged in a peasant, who seemed ready to sink through the floor with shame and terror.

"Now," said the commander, when he had advanced to the table, "look up, fellow, and tell us if this be your master or no."

The man glanced up for a moment, but his head sank again when he encountered the piercing glance of his betrayed lord, and he muttered his answer almost inaudibly: "Yes, sirs, I know him."

"And where is Cobham, who you say was sitting here not an hour ago? Come, the truth, or--you remember my promise," and he shook in the man's face a rope, knotted into a noose.

The wretch threw himself on his knees in an agony of terror.

"My life! You said you would spare me if I brought you hither!"

"Ay, thy life, and a gold angel to boot; but the truth first--where is the traitor?"

"Truly, my masters, may I never speak another word if I tell you false. It is always so; he has slipped away. He comes often to the Tower; but though I have watched the gates day and night, I have never seen him enter, or pass out. May the saints preserve me, but I believe it is an evil spirit, and not a man!"

The captain, finding he could gain nothing more from the fellow, ordered two men to guard the prisoner, and with the rest of the band, went to search the house, carrying the unwilling guide with them.

When they had gone, one of the guard took up the flagon, and, finding it empty, demanded with an oath where the heretic kept his wine. Sir John courteously directed him to the buttery; but scarcely had the man closed the door, when the prisoner sprang on his guard, and with one well-directed blow struck him senseless. He then lost no time, but stepping to the immense open fireplace, touched a spring at the bottom of the jamb. A little door, scarcely a foot wide, opened; he passed through; it closed upon him, and no one could have told where the apparently solid stones were joined. A moment later the soldier returned, but only to find the room vacant except for his groaning comrade.

His first impulse was to recover the stunned man by dashing the contents of a water-bucket in his face, and inquire what had become of the Lollard; but as he could only discover that his companion imagined himself to have been assaulted by the Evil Spirit the guide had spoken of, who had cast a spell upon him, he turned impatiently to the doors to summon assistance, but found them fast bolted on the other side.

"It is all witchcraft, I tell you!" exclaimed the half-stunned soldier, his teeth chattering both from fear and from the cold bath he had received. "If I had known it was the Devil the archbishop was chasing, I should have staid at home. I saw the fire flash from his eyes, and by my faith, he smelt of brimstone or ever I came in the room!"

When the captain of the band returned from his unsuccessful search for Cobham, and found that his guards had lost their prisoner and been locked up themselves, his wrath knew no bounds. He ordered the unlucky soldiers to be chained and guarded, and threatened them with hanging; and then proceeded to search the castle anew, stamping on every stone in the pavement, in hopes of discovering the spring of the secret doors with which he had heard the building was well supplied. He did indeed find several, and the infuriated soldiers sprang in with howls of delight; but it was all in vain; the cells, cut in the thickness of the wall, seemed to have no connection with each other, and were quite empty, except for some owls and bats, that, aroused from their sleep by the flash of the torches, hooted, and flapped their great wings in the men's faces, appearing very like the evil spirits that the invaders of their territory half believed they were.

At last wearied with their useless efforts, they all returned to the hall for a carouse, for which the well-filled cellars of the knight supplied abundant provision. They were all, the captain as well as his men, not a little superstitious; and they were only too glad to drown with wine the feelings of dread and uneasiness which the strange events of the day and the gloomy look of the old hall had occasioned. It was not long before the strong drink had done its work, and they had all sunk down in various attitudes of drunken slumber. The captain himself, who had been sitting in the knight's own chair and drinking from his silver cup, though rather stronger-headed than the rest, began to feel drowsy; and so, having thrown some fresh logs on the fire, and taken the precaution to draw the bolts of the doors and drag a heavy settle across each, he settled himself for a sound nap.

How long he slept he did not know; but his first sensation on waking was one of suffocation, and when he tried to raise his hands to discover the cause, he found they were tied behind him, and his mouth tightly bound with a cloth. He next discovered that he was stretched full length on one of the oaken benches and fastened to it, so that the only movement he could make was to roll a little on one side. Wide awake now, he immediately made use of this one privilege that was left him, and looked about the room. His companions were very much in the same condition as himself, but evidently perfectly unconscious of it. The fire had been newly built up and was blazing brightly, giving all the light that was needed, and, sitting in the arm-chair which he himself had so lately occupied, warming himself by the fire, sat the man he had been seeking, Cobham the outlaw, while Forest was sitting on a stool by his side watching some wine that was warming in the silver cup.

The soldier was almost beside himself with rage and mortification to see the man for whom, dead or alive, such large rewards were offered, sitting there as complacently as though he had not an enemy in the world, while _he_ was unable to stir either hand or foot or to cry for help. For some time he lay there thus, rendered more furious, from time to time, by the grim smile that played on Sir John's face, whenever he turned it so as to encounter the enraged glances of the prisoner.

As the soldier became cooler, however, he began to wonder how the room had been entered. He lay so that he could see all the doors, still bolted and barricaded as he had left them; but just as he was looking for some opening in the wall, or a rope hanging from one of the windows, there came a partial solution of the mystery.

The morning light was just beginning to struggle through the windows when a low whistle was heard, to which De Forest instantly replied, and then threw upon the fire a handful of something which he drew from a bag at his side. A dense black smoke arose in a cloud, obscuring for an instant, the whole fireplace, and when it cleared away, another had been added to the group at the fireside. It was Charles Bertrand, whom the captain had already noted as in attendance on De Forest.

"Is all ready?" said Sir John to the young man.

The latter looked suspiciously around, and then, stooping so that he might be heard by none but his master, he said:

"The horses are not ready, my Lord, and there is a signal out that the mountain-road is dangerous. It will not do to try it before evening, at any rate."

"There is nothing for it but to crouch in our holes for another day, then," said the Lollard cheerfully, and he turned to communicate the news to Cobham. They agreed to remain in their hiding-places till the next midnight; then Bertrand was to bring the horses to the entrance of one of the long, concealed passages leading from the castle to the open country, and they were all three to make the best of their way to Wales.

Cautious as they were in general, they raised their voices a little too much in the discussion, for although they had gagged their prisoner's mouth, they had forgotten to stop his ears, and although he only heard a word here and there, he had wit enough to put them together, and make out pretty clearly what was to be their plan. Fearing, however, lest they should kill him if they suspected he had overheard them, he did not let his feelings of satisfaction appear in his face.

The three men seemed now about to depart, and the soldier watched with all his powers of eyesight to discover, if possible, how they would leave the hall First, the knight took down from the wall his suit of mail, and, by the aid of Bertrand, put it on. He then threw over it his mantle which hung on one of the deer's antlers almost directly over the captain's head. He also chose, from several that were lying about, a good sword, and handed it to Cobham, who handled it as though he were well accustomed to its use, albeit his hand trembled a little from age. Meanwhile, Bertrand had loaded himself with a large flagon of wine and a joint of meat.

When everything was ready, Sir John went round among the sleeping men, and, after examining them all carefully, chose the one who seemed likely to sleep the longest, and unfastened one of his hands. He then went back to the fireplace, and they all three stood close to the hearth.

"Is all ready, my Lord?" said Bertrand, leaning carelessly against the jamb of the fireplace.

Sir John replied by drawing a handful from his pouch and throwing it on the embers which he had drawn out to the front of the hearth. The pungent smoke, which immediately arose in clouds, made the soldier wink his eyes, and when he could see clearly once more, Cobham and De Forest were still there, but Bertrand was gone. A second time the stifling smoke arose, and though the captain stretched his eyeballs almost out of their sockets, he only knew that Sir John and Cobham had vanished as unaccountably as their companion. The only thing he could do was to await, with all the patience possible, the time when yonder drunken log should become animate and release him from his bondage.

Had the captain's vision been able to penetrate the smoke, he would have seen that Bertrand, in leaning against the chimney-piece, touched a secret spring, which, as soon as the smoke of the herbs Sir John had thrown on the fire had obscured the view, opened noiselessly the narrow door, which was as noiselessly closed when all had made their exit. Could his eager gaze have converted those opaque stones into glass, he would have discovered the Lollards in a very narrow passage which wound along some distance, hollowed out of the solid wall. More than once they seemed to have arrived at a spot where their journey must terminate, but again a secret spring was touched, the obedient stones rolled back, and so they passed on till they came to a little turret-chamber, lighted by slits in the wall, which were concealed from all eyes without by the heavy screen of ivy which hung over them.

Here they paused and threw themselves down on some heaps of straw, and then, covered with their cloaks, slept as peacefully as if they had not a foe in the world.

*CHAPTER X.*

_*The Birds Flown to the Mountains.*_

The sun had risen high before any of the soldiers awoke, and even then they were helpless till their still sleeping comrade, who was to be their deliverer, should be aroused. This was at last accomplished by one of the men, who dragged himself along the floor so as to give him a hearty kick, but it was still some time before he came sufficiently to himself to comprehend the situation of affairs and release both himself and the others.