The Lord of Lowedale. A chronicle of the sixteenth century, etc

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THE LORD OF LOWEDALE a THE "FLEUR DE LYS" SERIES Of Illustrated 6s. Novels. Uniform wilh " The Lord of Loiocdak." Crown 8vo, Cloth elegant. WHEN THE CENTURY WAS YOUNG. By M. M. Blake, Author of " The Siege of Norwich Castle," " Toddleben's Hero," etc., with numerous Illustrations by the Authoress. THE LORD OF LOWEDALE. By R. D. Chetwode, Author of "The Marble City," "The Fortune of the Quittentuns." Illustrated by G. Grenville Manton. NEW 5s. BOOKS. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Illustrated. BY THE NORTH SEA: or The Protector's Granddaughter. By Mrs. Emma Marshall, Author of " In the East Country," etc, etc. Illustrated by W. Miller-Smith. THE TWO ALTHEAS. By Edith E. Horsman, Author of " Severn-Side," etc. Illustrated by G. Demain Hammond. London : Jarrold & Sons, io & ii, Warwick Lane, E.C., And of all Booksellers. ' Your news, what news do you bring?' " — p. 256.

THE Lord of Lowedale g( Œ&tonicle of tfje Century BY R. D. CHETWODE i Author of " The Marble City," " The Fortune of the Quittentuns" ILLUSTRATED BY G. GRENVILLE MANTON LONDON JARROLD & SONS, io & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [All Rights Reserved] TO ROBERT GARRARD THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. CHAPTER pAGE I. Bereft ... ... ... ... ... i II. Ivo the Fool ... .. ... .. 9 III. Struck Down ... ... ... ... ... 21 IV. Count Evariste ... ... ... ... 36 V. The Fight in the Wood ... ... ... 48 VI. A Fair Lady ... ... ... ... 65 VII. The Midnight Marriage ... ... ... 73 VIII. In the Field ... ... ... ... S4 IX. Besieged ... ... ... ... ... 95 X. A Sally, and what came of it ... ... 107 XI. Creeping out at thk Back ... ... ... 120 XII. Flight of the Countess ... ... ... 132 XIII. Crossing the Marsh ... ... ... ... 144 XIV.

Red Hugh... ... ... ... ... 157 XV. St. Hubert's Tower ... ... ... ... 173 XVI. On the King's Service ... ... ... 184 XVII. Vegh de Heming ,,. ... ... ... CONTENTS. CHAPTER page XVIII. Stopped Short ... ... ... ... 206 XIX. Condemned to Die ... ... ... 21S XX. The Count de Roche ... ... ... 233 XXI. The Election of a King ... ... 244 XXII. I come to my own again ... .. ...

Chapter I. Bereft

T CUTHBERT LOWEDALE, Lord of Lowedale ■*■ i in Durham, now, in this year of our Lord 1626, verging on my threescore years and ten, do here, by the hands of my worthy secretary, cause to be set down my story. I am more used to handling the sword than the pen ; and besides, what I wish to have written happened so long ago, that if I had attempted to set it down myself, I might chance to forget. It all comes back to me so much easier when I am taking my rest in my big armchair. And there is my faithful Ivo too ; if I were writing he would not know what I put in, or how much I left out ; whilst as he listens to my voice, he can stop me when I go wrong, or jog my memory when it fails. It is only of a few years of my life that I am about to tell you, but they were not the least eventful ones ; and I long ago promised my grandsons I would write down some of the stories they are so fond of hearing.

B It is in the dreadful opening of the year 1570 that my narrative commences. I was just fourteen, tall and strong, with little Cuthbert's bright blue eyes, and I think, too, his fair curly hair. You all know what happened at that dreadful time, and how our fair county was studded with gibbets from end to end. You remember well that a few months before, our great northern earls had taken up arms to restore the ancient faith, and to deliver from prison the Queen of Scots — upon whose soul may Heaven have mercy ! My father, your great grandfather, being of distant kin to the noble Percy, had no choice but to take up their cause, and marched with his men to join their banner at Branccpcth. It is not of that disastrous rising I am about to write ; for how it sailed, and how mercilessly it was avenged, has passed into history, and you may read of it when you will.

But on the day when your great grandfather — gentleman of noble blood though he was ■ — was hanged like a churl before his castle door, the story of my misfortune begins. Up till then I had lived the life of a careless, happy boy ; and although I could handle sword and dagger, bow and arquebuse, with any lad of my age, my chief delight had been in hunting the red deer, or riding after my carefully trained falcons as they swooped down upon their prey. Not that I was entirely ignorant of other things, although, through living BEREFT. 3 always at home — for my father would not spare me to be page in a noble house, as were most of my age — I was little skilled in accomplishments belonging to the court. But, thanks to the teaching of Father Edward, who for years had been an inmate of our house, I knew the Latin tongue as well as the French, and could speak and write both as my own.

But all came to an end on the dreadful day the cruel Earl of Sussex murdered my father. It was the Queen's orders, they said ; they were told to slay and spare not ; and, queen and woman though she was, I cursed her aloud in the agony of my boyish soul. I came near to suffering very dearly for it. Ralph Lowedale, my father's cousin — and after me his next of kin — coveted the castle and the lands that now were mine. Hc took care that my words should be reported, and I was thrown into the prison at York. I might have lost everything, but my mother bribed one of the ladies of the court, one who had the Queen's ear, and in the end my estates were restored, I was only adjudged to pay a heavy fine. Ralph Lowedale obtained somewhat though ; he was made my guardian whilst I was under age, with power to use my lands as his own.

It was not until much later I knew the treacherous part Ralph had played, for he professed to be my true friend, and I, boyish like, believed him. But my mother, more experienced in the ways of the world, always doubted ; and, although she did not live long enough to learn the truth, time showed her to be right. Ralph Lowedale had a son of about my own age, a son h horn he loved better than his immortal soul ; and it was to put this boy into my place that he consented to the great wickedness he presently did. Not that I think he would have gone to quite such lengths by himself, but a worse than he was ever by his side ; he listened to the tempter, and he fell. My kinsman had a close friend, one Fabian Pender, half Scotch, half French ; a man of fifty or more, who had fought much in the wars abroad.

How he came to settle in our parts, or what was the special tie that bound him to Ralph Lowedale, I never knew ; but they were always close friends. Pender claimed to be of gentle blood — saying he was of kin to a noble house in France — but it is a fact that soon after he came among us, he married a citizen's daughter, the daughter of a man who stood in the market-place and bought and sold. I have heard since that she was very beautiful ; but I knew little about it, for she died early, soon after her only child, little Arbell, was born. When I came from prison at York, I found that Ralph Lowedale had taken up his abode in our castle ; and when I had been at home for a few weeks, he suggested to my mother that I should go to France. BEREFT. 5 " The boy is doing no good here," he said. " He has a black mark against his name at court, and no loyal house will receive him.

But Fabian Pender who is going across the seas shortly — has many friends at the court of King Charles ; he will place him in good hands, where he may be brought up to be worthy of his name." There was truth in some of his words at least, for I was indeed idle and discontented ; I had learned no good in prison, and spent all my time brooding sullenly on the past, and nursing vain dreams of vengeance to come. So my mother, for my sake, consented ; but the blow was too much. She had never held up her head since my father died ; she could not survive the loss of her son as well, and a few days later she was on her death-bed. A little before the end she called me to her side, and, after many words of loving counsel, gave me, with great secrecy, a ring bearing a strange crest I had never before seen.

" It was given to thy father, child, by Gaspard, Count de Roche, for saving his life at great peril. Take it with you, and should your cousin or Fabian play you false, try to find the Count and claim his protection. I know not indeed if he be even alive; but it is all I can do for you in this world, my poor boy, though, if it be permitted me, I will watch over you always from the next. Keep the ring secretly ; Alison, your old nurse, will sew it into your clothes. She is true, she will not speak, and let no one — least of all Ralph or Pender — know anything about it." She would have said more, but her strength failed. I was obliged to call for assistance, and very spon I was alone in the world indeed. I was so heartbroken by this last loss that I gave little heed to the days as they passed, and did not even wonder how it was I heard nothing more of the journey to France.

But at length — when the first stupor of my grief had worn itself out — I began to be anxious to be up and doing, and with all humility, as became a ward to his guardian, ventured to question Ralph Lowedale. Fabian Pender passed through the hall while I was speaking, and to him my cousin turned without vouchsafing a word to me. " The boy is right," said Pender, with a strange smile; "he is growing a milksop here; it is time he was made a man." "Then what hinders your going? " replied Ralph, his eyes fixed on the ground, his foot nervously shifting to and fro. " Nothing but your good pleasure," said the other, with a grim laugh. " When the child is fast wedded I will start, but not an hour before, not though you swore to keep your word on the true cress itself." BEREFT. 7 My father had said long ago that Pender was desirous of wedding his child to Ralph Lowedale's son ; but her mother, as I have said, was of the common sort, therefore Arbell was no fit wife for my cousin.

However, it was to be ; the two walked away talking earnestly, and the next thing I heard was that a marriage had been arranged, and was to take place at once. Ralph, the younger, was page in a noble house at York, and he was sent for directly, arriving so dis pleased at the ignoble bride his father was giving him, that he scarcely tried to hide his discontent. Young Ralph was nearly seventeen ; little Arbell a pretty, dark-haired child of six. In spite of her low birth I could not help being sorry for her. I thought she had little prospect of happiness in store. Her father was in high glee, and after her marriage he kissed her hand as my lady of Lowedale — which she was not, for that title would belong to my wife when I took one — and he presented the bridegroom with a fine suit of gilded armour, which soon turned his frowns into smiles.

I did not guess it then, but this marriage, in which I took my share, standing by Ralph as the chief of his house, was in truth meant for my death-warrant. I was to be put out of the way that my cousin might take my place. As it was, I suspected nothing. Directly the wedding was over young Ralph went back to York, little Arbell taking up her dwelling place at the castle until she should be of age to join her husband. Then preparations were at once set on foot for my journey to France with Fabian Pender. Several of my father's old retainers wanted to accompany us, but Pender would have none of them ; he had half a dozen stout troopers of his own, and said they would suffice.

Chapter II. Ivo The Fool

T)ENDER had business at York, so we journeyed -*- there first, and then embarked at the port of Kingston-upon-Hull, taking our horses with us. I had never been to sea before, and rather looked forward to some pleasure from the voyage. I was woefully disappointed, as you, with your better knowledge, may well believe, for very soon after the master of the vessel had ordered the sails to be unfurled, I became so horribly ill that I wished with all my heart I was back on shore. And in this grievous state I continued nearly all the time, for the weather was bad, the sea more than usual rough, and the voyage very long. However, thanks be to Heaven, we got safe to land at last, and then I soon forgot all about it. We were a party of nine when we started to ride to Paris ; six steel-capped veterans — with one Otger Monson, a grizzled, scarred old soldier, at their head— a guide of the country to show the way, Fabian Pender, and myself; all fully armed and able to give a good account of our selves.

The country was in a very disturbed state, the Catholics, or Royalists, and the men of the new religion, since called Huguenots, being at open war. But Fabian Pender's design was to avoid, if possible, any conflict with either party. He was an old soldier, he knew how to shape his route, and we rode for three days through secluded by-paths and obscure villages off the chief road. During this time only one incident occurred that is at all worth setting down. It was trivial enough in itself, and if I dwell upon it at some length, it is because of the vital importance it proved to me later. We had halted for our noonday meal at a wretched village, which a short time before had been half destroyed by the royal troops. The inhabitants had been accused — the landlord of the inn told us — of harbouring men of the new religion, enemies of the king, and a troop belonging to Monseigneur the Duke of Guise had been sent to punish them.

Half-burnt houses were to be seen on all sides ; but most sicken ing to me — for it brought back so vividly the terrible past — were the gibbets that were studded around, many with the remains of bodies still hanging. Fabian Pender laughed aloud when he saw me turn from them in horror. "Thou hast but a girl's heart," he cried. "They were the king's enemies, so may they perish all." I answered him nothing, for he was always gruff and harsh with me. I never talked much to him. I only quickened the steps of my horse, and made haste to enter the inn. Contrary to his usual custom, Pender was in no hurry to depart that day, and, after we had dined, said he should give the horses a rest, and stay at the inn until morning. He did not rest himself, however, for in the afternoon he went out with Monson and the guide, not returning until late.

I was glad to be free from him for a time, but I did not go out ; the sight of those dreadful gibbets was too hateful. I retreated to the darkest corner of the room, and, throwing myself on the settle, gave way first to sad thoughts, then gradually fell asleep. How long I had been thus I can scarcely tell, when I was suddenly aroused by shouts of loud laughter from the troopers below. I took no notice at first, their merriment was nothing to me ; but when, mingled with the laughter, I heard shrill cries of distress, I thought it was time to move. The sounds came from without, and opening the window — which gave on to a wooden balcony over the porch — I leant over to see what they were doing. There was an open strip of green in front of the inn, and on this our five troopers, with drawn swords, were standing round an odd-looking boy.

A few of the villagers had also collected, but they kept at a distance, and did not attempt to interfere. The boy looked about fifteen — though in reality, as I found later, he was much older — and his appearance was grotesque in the extreme. His garments were all in rags, his tattered doublet was adorned with heads of birds, whilst on his head he wore a wreath of withered leaves. He was very dark, and his long black hair fell in shaggy locks beneath his leafy crown ; but his cheeks were hollow and worn, and his hands were almost like birds' claws. When I saw him first he was making high leaps in the air, and whenever he paused for breath, the troopers pricked him with their swords, laughing loudly at his ineffectual attempts to escape. "Jump, fool, jump!" they cried, when presently exhausted, he sank on the ground.

Then, in their half-drunken mirth, one of them pricked him so deeply that the blood flowed in a crimson stream. I thought it shame to treat a helpless boy in such fashion, and called upon them loudly to desist. But they laughed me to scorn, evidently thinking my interference a good joke. Then, drawing my sword, I rushed down among them, and swore to run the first one through who touched him again. "We are not under your command, my young cock-o'-thc-walk," said one man, rudely. " 'Tis but a mad heretic ; we may do with him as we will." And with a sudden turn of his blade he sent the sword flying from my hand. He caught me unprepared. I had not thought he would dare attempt such a thing. But I had my revenge, for throwing myself upon him, by a cunning trick taught me by one of our wrestlers in the north, I soon brought him to the ground.

" Well done ! " " Fairly thrown ! " cried one or two, whilst the others, taking their comrade's part, began to threaten and swear. Still the object of my inter ference was accomplished, for during the confusion the boy had escaped. While still struggling with the trooper, I had caught sight of him flying like a hare. Of course I did not deign to take any notice of the men's low muttered curses and vows of vengeance, but after one of those who took my side had given me my sword again, I sauntered slowly towards the spot where the boy had disappeared. I had an idea he could not have gone far, he seemed too spent for that, and I was curious to know something of him. I passed through the ruins of one of the burnt houses, and went for some little distance into a thicket of evergreens beyond. I could see nothing of him, and was retracing my steps disappointed, when I noticed a bush strangely shaking.

I pushed directly to the spot, and there, coiled up in a hollow, I found the object of my search. His place of concealment was so well chosen — it was so invisible at the distance even of a l~cw yards — that I should never have found him if he had not attracted my attention himself. " I have been watching you. Are you looking for me? What do you want ?" he asked suspiciously. "To help you if I can," I returned. "You know I would not harm you, or you would not have shaken the bush. Who are you, and why do you go about in such strange guise?" He looked at me steadily, his dark eyes seeming as if they would pierce me through. " I am dying of hunger. I want food," was his reply. " If you remain here I will bring you some," I said to this, and I was going off at once, when he checked me with — "Ifyou say it is for me they will not give you any.

If they know I am here they will drive me away." "They shall not know from me," I cried quickly. " It may take a little longer, that is all." He looked at me again, then nodded and seemed satisfied, signing to me to go. When I got back into the path I made a slight round, and quitting the thicket in another direction, returned to the inn. Several of the country people were standing about, who looked at me rather curiously ; but none of the troopers were visible, they had retreated to the stables. I summoned the landlord, and complaining of feeling hungry, ordered him to bring me up the remains of the pasty we had at dinner, and a bottle of good wine. Whilst he was placing the things on the table I put a careless question or two concerning the strange boy. Hc answered very readily — " It is but a mad heretic, sir — Ivo Dutriez — Ivo the fool, as we call him now.

Father Ignace, of the convent below, said that as Heaven had punished him by taking away his sense, he might be left alone. Had it not been for that we should have chased him away long ago ; we have had enough of heretics here. Ivo was a bright lad at one time, a good guide to travellers — he knows the country for miles — but when his family received their reward he became a fool, as you see." " What do you mean by ' received their reward ' ? " Why, they were heretics, sir, as I said ; bands of them had been wrecking our churches and poisoning our wells, and when the king's men came they were punished. The worst were burnt, and fine bonfires we had ; but we couldn't burn them all, so the rest were hanged, Ivo's father, and three of his brothers among them. The lad himself was away or he would have hung with the rest ; but he did not come back until after the soldiers were gone, then Heaven turned him silly, as you see."

THE LORD OF LOWEDALE. " But how does he live ? " I asked, drawing my chair to the table and taking up a knife. " That I can scarce tell you, monsieur, save that he prowls about at night picking up what he can. We do not hurt him when we see him, we only drive him away; for it is the law, you know, we may not feed or give shelter to heretics. He must have been hungry or he would not have ventured in the day light just now ; he may have thought your men would throw him a crust." "Ah, they are not fond of heretics," I returned, seeing that he was looking at me rather sharply. " But it seemed a coward's part to hurt a fool, for, as you say, Heaven has punished him already. I do not wonder, though, at his being hungry, for your air here is wondrous sharp, and this the best pasty I have tasted for months ; " and, cutting a huge slice, I began to eat.

This pleased him, as I had hoped it would, and, after assuring me that another one as good would be ready for supper, he withdrew. I waited for a time in order to avoid suspicion, though I was anxious to be gone, in case Fabian Pender should come back. But I was not idle, for I had some ado to load myself so that it might not be observed, and there was my water bott'e to empty, and fill up again with wine. As soon as I thought it safe — adjusting my cloak over all — I walked out, telling the host as I passed, I was seeking another appetite for supper. I took care to bend my steps in a contrary direction to where I was really going ; but when I was well out of sight, I soon doubled back, and made my way to the starving boy. I began taking the things out of my wallet one by one, but at first sight of the half-loaf, which came uppermost, he threw himself upon it like a starving wolf.

I drew back a little. I remembered what the landlord had said— remembered, too, that evil spirits sometimes dwelt within those called mad. So, before giving him any more, I made secretly the sign of the cross. But he did not start or fly, it seemed to do him no hurt at all ; and I was glad, for it showed nothing bad was there. Still I wondered rather, and presently, almost without thinking, I spoke out what was in my mind. " They say at the inn you are mad — they call you the mad heretic. Is it true?" He stopped eating, and stared at me with his old suspicious look. Then he said — " If I am mad, how can I answer you ? A fool can be hungry, but a fool cannot tell what is true." I felt his words were wiser than mine, so I said no more, but handed him the wine instead. He took a long draught, then, as he put it down, he exclaimed abruptly — " You have been good to me, I will not deceive c you.

I am not mad— not a fool as they call me, and as I look. I make believe only to keep my life." Then he told me his story, much as the landlord had related it before. When he had finished, looking at me curiously, he said, " Are you of the religion that you help me thus ? " "Not I," I cried quickly, half angered at the suggestion. " In my country the heretics have the upper hand. They have cast the ashes of the dead out of the churches and turned the coffins into horse troughs ; and my father — gentleman of noble blood though he was — they hanged like a churl." " And yet you help me ? " " It was not your fault, I suppose ? " I answered roughly, for the strange look in his eyes embarrassed me. Besides I was not good at explaining. I did not know how to make him understand that at home — although we of the old faith abhorred the doings of the heretics — we did not hate them with the rancorous hatred they seemed to have in France.

I do not even know that I understood it myself. I only knew that the boy was starving, and that I was able to give him food. He saw, I think, that the subject was distasteful, and began to stow away the remains of the pastry ; for after his first hunger was appeased he had not eaten much, and had drank but half the wine. Presently, looking up at me again, he said in a different tone—" With what I can pick up at night this will last me for a week, and by that time my task will be done." " What task ? " " Come and see. I will hide nothing from you, I will show you all." Ivo went first, leading the way for some little distance, then stopped, and lifting some loose branches from the ground, disclosed a grave. It was dug very neatly and lined with twigs of laurel ; and at the bottom, on a thick bed of moss and leaves, were human bones.

I understood at once, and bared my head as I stood by the side. " It is all I can do for them now," he said in a whisper. " I watched as they fell ; I could not leave them for the dogs to gnaw. When I have all I shall cover them in, and begone to seek my fortune where there is no need to play the fool ; " and he plucked impatiently at the birds' heads on his tattered dress. I helped him to replace the branches, and then we turned away. I parted from the boy shortly after, for I was fearful of being sought by Fabian Pender, if I stayed away too long. Before going, however, I gave him a gold piece from my pouch to help him on his way. I could spare but one, for my kinsman had endowed me very slenderly, and I did not know what might be in store for myself. I had said good-bye, and was just turning away, when Ivo suddenly fell on his knees, and, catching my hand, covered it with kisses. The next moment he had jumped to his feet and was gone. I little thought how soon, and under what strange circumstances we were to meet again.