CHAPTER IV.
ILL FARES THE COUNTRY MOUSE IN THE TRAPS OF TOWN.
We trust we shall not be deemed discourteous, either, on the one hand,
to those who value themselves on their powers of reflection, or, on
the other, to those who lay claim to what, in modern phrenological
jargon, is called the Organ of Locality, when we venture to surmise
that the two are rarely found in combination; nay, that it seems to us
a very evident truism, that in proportion to the general activity of
the intellect upon subjects of pith and weight, the mind will be
indifferent to those minute external objects by which a less
contemplative understanding will note, and map out, and impress upon
the memory, the chart of the road its owner has once taken. Master
Marmaduke Nevile, a hardy and acute forester from childhood, possessed
to perfection the useful faculty of looking well and closely before
him as he walked the earth; and ordinarily, therefore, the path he had
once taken, however intricate and obscure, he was tolerably sure to
retrace with accuracy, even at no inconsiderable distance of time,--
the outward senses of men are usually thus alert and attentive in the
savage or the semi-civilized state. He had not, therefore, over-
valued his general acuteness in the note and memory of localities,
when he boasted of his power to refind his way to his hostelrie
without the guidance of Alwyn. But it so happened that the events of
this day, so memorable to him, withdrew his attention from external
objects, to concentrate it within. And in marvelling and musing over
the new course upon which his destiny had entered, he forgot to take
heed of that which his feet should pursue; so that, after wandering
unconsciously onward for some time, he suddenly halted in perplexity
and amaze to find himself entangled in a labyrinth of scattered
suburbs, presenting features wholly different from the road that had
conducted him to the archery-ground in the forenoon. The darkness of
the night had set in; but it was relieved by a somewhat faint and
mist-clad moon, and some few and scattered stars, over which rolled,
fleetly, thick clouds, portending rain. No lamps at that time cheered
the steps of the belated wanderer; the houses were shut up, and their
inmates, for the most part, already retired to rest, and the suburbs
did not rejoice, as the city, in the round of the watchman with his
drowsy call to the inhabitants, "Hang out your lights!" The
passengers, who at first, in various small groups and parties, had
enlivened the stranger's way, seemed to him, unconscious as he was of
the lapse of time, to have suddenly vanished from the thoroughfares;
and he found himself alone in places thoroughly unknown to him, waking
to the displeasing recollection that the approaches to the city were
said to be beset by brawlers and ruffians of desperate characters,
whom the cessation of the civil wars had flung loose upon the skirts
of society, to maintain themselves by deeds of rapine and plunder. As
might naturally be expected, most of these had belonged to the
defeated party, who had no claim to the good offices or charity of
those in power. And although some of the Neviles had sided with the
Lancastrians, yet the badge worn by Marmaduke was considered a pledge
of devotion to the reigning House, and added a new danger to those
which beset his path. Conscious of this--for he now called to mind
the admonitions of his host in parting from the hostelrie--he deemed
it but discreet to draw the hood of his mantle over the silver
ornament; and while thus occupied, he heard not a step emerging from a
lane at his rear, when suddenly a heavy hand was placed on his
shoulder. He started, turned, and before him stood a man, whose
aspect and dress betokened little to lessen the alarm of the
uncourteous salutation. Marmaduke's dagger was bare on the instant.
"And what wouldst thou with me?" he asked.
"Thy purse and thy dagger!" answered the stranger.
"Come and take them," said the Nevile, unconscious that he uttered a
reply famous in classic history, as he sprang backward a step or so,
and threw himself into an attitude of defence. The stranger slowly
raised a rude kind of mace, or rather club, with a ball of iron at the
end, garnished with long spikes, as he replied, "Art thou mad eno' to
fight for such trifles?"
"Art thou in the habit of meeting one Englishman who yields his goods
without a blow to another?" retorted Marmaduke. "Go to! thy club does
not daunt me." The stranger warily drew back a step, and applied a
whistle to his mouth. The Nevile sprang at him, but the stranger
warded off the thrust of the poniard with a light flourish of his
heavy weapon; and had not the youth drawn back on the instant, it had
been good-night and a long day to Marmaduke Nevile. Even as it was,
his heart beat quick, as the whirl of the huge weapon sent the air
like a strong wind against his face. Ere he had time to renew his
attack, he was suddenly seized from behind, and found himself
struggling in the arms of two men. From these he broke, and his
dagger glanced harmless against the tough jerkin of his first
assailant. The next moment his right arm fell to his side, useless
and deeply gashed. A heavy blow on the head--the moon, the stars
reeled in his eyes--and then darkness,--he knew no more. His
assailants very deliberately proceeded to rifle the inanimate body,
when one of them, perceiving the silver badge, exclaimed, with an
oath, "One of the rampant Neviles! This cock at least shall crow no
more." And laying the young man's head across his lap, while he
stretched back the throat with one hand, with the other he drew forth
a long sharp knife, like those used by huntsmen in despatching the
hart. Suddenly, and in the very moment when the blade was about to
inflict the fatal gash, his hand was forcibly arrested, and a man, who
had silently and unnoticed joined the ruffians, said in a stern
whisper, "Rise and depart from thy brotherhood forever. We admit no
murderer."
The ruffian looked up in bewilderment. "Robin--captain--thou here!"
he said falteringly.
"I must needs be everywhere, I see, if I would keep such fellows as
thou and these from the gallows. What is this?--a silver arrow--the
young archer--Um."
"A Nevile!" growled the would-be murderer.
"And for that very reason his life should be safe. Knowest thou not
that Richard of Warwick, the great Nevile, ever spares the commons?
Begone! I say." The captain's low voice grew terrible as he uttered
the last words. The savage rose, and without a word stalked away.
"Look you, my masters," said Robin, turning to the rest, "soldiers
must plunder a hostile country. While York is on the throne, England
is a hostile country to us Lancastrians. Rob, then, rifle, if ye
will; but he who takes life shall lose it. Ye know me!" The robbers
looked down, silent and abashed. Robin bent a moment over the youth.
"He will live," he muttered. "So! he already begins to awaken. One
of these houses will give him shelter. Off, fellows, and take care of
your necks!"
When Marmaduke, a few minutes after this colloquy, began to revive, it
was with a sensation of dizziness, pain, and extreme cold. He strove
to lift himself from the ground, and at length succeeded. He was
alone; the place where he had lain was damp and red with stiffening
blood. He tottered on for several paces, and perceived from a
lattice, at a little distance, a light still burning. Now reeling,
now falling, he still dragged on his limbs as the instinct attracted
him to that sign of refuge. He gained the doorway of a detached and
gloomy house, and sank on the stone before it to cry aloud; but his
voice soon sank into deep groans, and once more, as his efforts
increased the rapid gush of the blood, became insensible. The man
styled Robin, who had so opportunely saved his life, now approached
from the shadow of a wall, beneath which he had watched Marmaduke's
movements. He neared the door of the house, and cried, in a sharp,
clear voice, "Open, for the love of Christ!"
A head was now thrust from the lattice, the light vanished; a minute
more, the door opened; and Robin, as if satisfied, drew hastily back,
and vanished, saying to himself, as he strode along, "A young man's
life must needs be dear to him; yet had the lad been a lord, methinks
I should have cared little to have saved for the people one tyrant
more."
After a long interval, Marmaduke again recovered, and his eyes turned
with pain from the glare of a light held to his face.
"He wakes, Father,--he will live!" cried a sweet voice. "Ay, he will
live, child!" answered a deeper tone; and the young man muttered to
himself, half audibly, as in a dream, "Holy Mother be blessed! it is
sweet to live." The room in which the sufferer lay rather exhibited
the remains of better fortunes than testified to the solid means of
the present possessor. The ceiling was high and groined, and some
tints of faded but once gaudy painting blazoned its compartments and
hanging pendants. The walls had been rudely painted (for arras [Mr.
Hallam ("History of the Middle Ages," chap. ix. part 2) implies a
doubt whether great houses were furnished with hangings so soon as the
reign of Edward IV.; but there is abundant evidence to satisfy our
learned historian upon that head. The Narrative of the "Lord of
Grauthuse," edited by Sir F. Madden, specifies the hangings of cloth
of gold in the apartments in which that lord was received by Edward
IV.; also the hangings of white silk and linen in the chamber
appropriated to himself at Windsor. But long before this period (to
say nothing of the Bayeux Tapestry),--namely, in the reign of Edward
III. (in 1344),--a writ was issued to inquire into the mystery of
working tapestry; and in 1398 Mr. Britton observes that the celebrated
arras hangings at Warwick Castle are mentioned. (See Britton's
"Dictionary of Architecture and Archaelogy," art. "Tapestry.")] then
was rare, even among the wealthiest); but the colours were half
obliterated by time and damp. The bedstead on which the wounded man
reclined was curiously carved, with a figure of the Virgin at the
head, and adorned with draperies, in which were wrought huge figures
from scriptural subjects, but in the dress of the date of Richard
II.,--Solomon in pointed upturned shoes, and Goliath, in the armour of
a crusader, frowning grimly upon the sufferer. By the bedside stood a
personage, who, in reality, was but little past the middle age, but
whose pale visage, intersected with deep furrows, whose long beard and
hair, partially gray, gave him the appearance of advanced age:
nevertheless there was something peculiarly striking in the aspect of
the man. His forehead was singularly high and massive; but the back
of the head was disproportionately small, as if the intellect too much
preponderated over all the animal qualities for strength in character
and success in life. The eyes were soft, dark, and brilliant, but
dreamlike and vague; the features in youth must have been regular and
beautiful, but their contour was now sharpened by the hollowness of
the cheeks and temples. The form, in the upper part, was nobly
shaped, sufficiently muscular, if not powerful, and with the long
throat and falling shoulders which always gives something of grace and
dignity to the carriage; but it was prematurely bent, and the lower
limbs were thin and weak, as is common with men who have sparely used
them; they seemed disproportioned to that broad chest, and still more
to that magnificent and spacious brow. The dress of this personage
corresponded with the aspect of his abode. The materials were those
worn by the gentry, but they were old, threadbare, and discoloured
with innumerable spots and stains. His hands were small and delicate,
with large blue veins, that spoke of relaxed fibres; but their natural
whiteness was smudged with smoke-stains, and his beard--a masculine
ornament utterly out of fashion among the younger race in King
Edward's reign, but when worn by the elder gentry carefully trimmed
and perfumed--was dishevelled into all the spiral and tangled curls
displayed in the sculptured head of some old Grecian sage or poet.
On the other side of the bed knelt a young girl of about sixteen, with
a face exquisitely lovely in its delicacy and expression. She seemed
about the middle stature, and her arms and neck, as displayed by the
close-fitting vest, had already the smooth and rounded contour of
dawning womanhood, while the face had still the softness, innocence,
and inexpressible bloom of a child. There was a strong likeness
between her and her father (for such the relationship, despite the
difference of sex and years),--the same beautiful form of lip and
brow, the same rare colour of the eyes, dark-blue, with black fringing
lashes; and perhaps the common expression, at that moment, of gentle
pity and benevolent anxiety contributed to render the resemblance
stronger.
"Father, he sinks again!" said the girl.
"Sibyll," answered the man, putting his finger upon a line in a
manuscript book that he held, "the authority saith, that a patient so
contused should lose blood, and then the arm must be tightly bandaged.
Verily we lack the wherewithal."
"Not so, Father!" said the girl, and blushing, she turned aside, and
took off the partelet of lawn, upon which holiday finery her young
eyes perhaps that morning had turned with pleasure, and white as snow
was the neck which was thus displayed; "this will suffice to bind his
arm."
"But the book," said the father, in great perplexity--"the book
telleth us not how the lancet should be applied. It is easy to say,
'Do this and do that;' but to do it once, it should have been done
before. This is not among my experiments."
Luckily, perhaps, for Marmaduke, at this moment there entered an old
woman, the solitary servant of the house, whose life, in those warlike
times, had made her pretty well acquainted with the simpler modes of
dealing with a wounded arm and a broken head. She treated with great
disdain the learned authority referred to by her master; she bound the
arm, plastered the head, and taking upon herself the responsibility to
promise a rapid cure, insisted upon the retirement of father and
child, and took her solitary watch beside the bed.
"If it had been any other mechanism than that of the vile human body!"
muttered the philosopher, as if apologizing to himself; and with that
he recovered his self-complacency and looked round him proudly.
