“I am glad thou hast so resolved, my husband; but hast thou considered what it may mean to thee?”

Lady Chadgrove spoke gently, laying her hand upon her husband’s arm with a gesture unwontedly tender; for neither was demonstrative of the deep affection which existed between them, and he knew that only strong emotion evoked such action from her.

“I know that if I refuse to give up Brother Emmanuel I may draw down upon myself stern admonition, and perchance something worse, but I mean not that it come to open defiance of any injunction from the Church.  Brother Emmanuel must leave Chad secretly, and be far away ere the week of grace expires.  We are but twenty miles from the coast.  This very day I shall ride thither and see what small trading vessels are in the bay about to fare forth to foreign shores.  I shall negotiate with some skipper making for some Dutch port to carry thither the person whom I shall describe to him, and who will show him this ring” ­and Sir Oliver displayed an emerald upon his own finger ­“in token that he is the person to be taken aboard.  Those trading skippers are used to such jobs, and if they be paid they know how to hold their peace and ask no questions.  In Holland the brother will be safer than in any other land.  The spite of the Prior of Chadwater is not like to pursue him there.  But here his life is not safe from hour to hour.”

“And how if it comes to be known that thou hast planned this escape?” asked the lady, a little anxiously.

“I have thought of that too, dame,” replied the knight, smiling.  “Let but the good brother be safely out of the country, and whilst the hue and cry is still going on here after him I will to the king and tell him all the story.  Our pious Dean Colet, who knows Brother Emmanuel, and knows, too, that it is meet the corrupt practices that have crept within the pale of Holy Church should be made known, that they may be swept away and reformed, will stand my friend, and together we can so persuade his Majesty that even if the prior and Mortimer both combine to accuse me before him he will not allow their spite to touch me.  The king knows right well that there is need of amendment within the Church herself.  We have heard words spoken in the Cathedral of London which would be accounted rank heresy here.  There is light abroad which must one day reach to the ends of the earth, and truly it sometimes seemeth to me that if the priests, the abbots, and the monks set their faces steadfastly against this light, they will fall into some terrible pitfall, but they will never quench the light with their united strength.”

The lady gave one quick glance round, as though afraid that even the walls might have ears, and such sentiments were not those that it was safe to blazon abroad.  But Sir Oliver, strong in the consciousness of his own deep and abiding love for the Church and for all the doctrines which she upheld, was bold to speak his mind in private when the subject broached was the one of corruptions and abuses which some of the sturdiest and noblest sons of the Church were now engaged in examining and denouncing, none dreaming of charging them with heresy on that account.

But the mother had noted the presence of Edred, who had come in quietly whilst the discussion was going on, and was now standing listening to his father’s words with kindling eyes; and she made a sign to her husband which caused him to turn round, and then the boy spoke.

“The horses are ready at the door, father, and Bertram prays that he may accompany thee.  He is donning his riding dress already.”

“With all my heart,” answered the knight readily, “an he can ride the forty miles betwixt this and tomorrow at the same hour; for I do not purpose to be long absent.”

“Bertram would ride all day and all night and feel it not,” answered Edred with a proud smile; “and he loves the sight and the smell of the salt sea, and would be loath to miss the chance of seeing it.  Father, art thou going to aid Brother Emmanuel to fly?  Is there peril for him abroad?”

The knight bent a quick, keen glance upon his son.

“I fear so, my boy; and Brother Emmanuel himself thinks that ill is meant him.  And it is better to seek safety in flight at the first hint of danger than to dally and delay, and perhaps find at last that it is too late to fly.  Thou, my son, wilt for this one day and night be left in charge of thy mother and thy home and all within it; for I must needs take with me Warbel and a score of our stoutest fellows, for the lonely road to the coast is none too safe for travellers of the better sort.  Be thou watchful and vigilant, and keep thine eyes and thine ears alike open.  Heed well that the gates be closed early, and that all be made safe, and let not Brother Emmanuel adventure himself without the walls.  Use all discretion and heed, and fare thee well.  I shall reach the coast tonight, and do my business with all speed, and be in the saddle again with the light of dawn, so thou mayest look to see us again before noon.”

And with a tender farewell to his wife, the knight mounted and rode away with his gallant little train; and the lady looked after him from the window, and said to Edred, who quickly came to her to learn more, if he could, of the words he had recently heard: 

“Now may the blessed saints and our Lord Himself be with him! for no braver and truer gentleman lives in the length and breadth of this land.  There be few, indeed, who would imperil their own safety rather than yield up one who is after all little more than a stranger.  Heaven send that he repent not this deed!  May God be with him in all his ways!”

“My mother,” said Edred cautiously, “is it that Brother Emmanuel is in sore peril?  He is so devout and faithful a son of the Church that it is hard to credit it.”

“In sooth, my son, these be matters hard to be understood; but thy father truly holds that he were safer out of this country and out of reach of the Prior of Chadwater and the Lord of Mortimer.  Men’s words can be turned and twisted till the best may be accused of heresy; and again, if a monk has fallen beneath the wrath of his superior, no man may tell what would befall were he to return to the power of his spiritual father.  Sure those holy men who founded the orders of godly recluses little dreamed what those places might become in time, and with the ever-increasing love of ease and wealth which seems implanted in the heart of man.

“Heaven pardon me if I speak or think amiss! but it is strange to hear and see what passes in the world.  But one must use all caution even in thought, and I would not have thee speak aught of this save in a whisper in thy brother’s ear, that he too may use all caution and discretion till we can find occasion to send Brother Emmanuel forth in safety.

“We have a week before us ere he will be summoned hence.  Strive that none shall suspect aught of difference or coming change.  Keep well the hours of study.  Give none occasion for remark.  For all we know, a spy may be in our midst; and at least any servant of ours might well be questioned by any of the monks of Chadwater, to whom he might go to confess, as to what was passing in the house, and see no hurt in answering questions.  Wherefore be very wise and discreet, and give none occasion for remark.

“Thou dost understand me, my son?  I may trust thee?  Remember that thine own father’s welfare may be imperilled by the veriest trifle should men suspect him of striving to outwit the prior.”

Edred’s eyes expressed a great comprehension and sympathy.  He took his mother’s hand and kissed it, slightly bending the knee.

“Thou mayest trust me, sweet mother,” he answered.  “Methinks I know well all thou wouldst say.  I will be cautious, and I will teach caution to Julian.  No harm shall come to any beneath this roof from word or deed of ours.”

And then the lady went to her delayed household duties, whilst Edred went in search of his brother, to take him to the room where their studies were usually prosecuted, that the household wheels might revolve after the accustomed manner.

But Julian was nowhere to be seen.  Edred sought him and called him lustily, till at length the old seneschal at the gate heard him, and informed him that his brother had gone a short distance on foot with the travellers, but that he would doubtless be back ere long.

Julian was light and fleet of foot as a deer, and often ran for many miles beside his father’s charger, the nature of the wooded country round Chad giving him many advantages.  Edred wandered forth a little way to meet him on his return, and was presently aware of a cowled figure standing close against a great beech tree, and so motionless and rigid was the attitude that the boy had to look somewhat closely to be certain that it was not a part of the tree trunk itself.

He paused and examined the figure with an intense curiosity not unmixed with suspicion.  His own light footfall did not appear to have been heard, and the motionless figure, partly concealed behind the tree, remained in the same rigid attitude, as though intently watching some approaching object.

For a moment a superstitious thrill ran through the boy’s frame.  He had heard stories of ghostly visitants to these woods, some of which wore the garb of the monks of the neighbouring priory; but he had never seen any such apparition, and would not have thought of it now had it not been for the peculiar and unnatural quietude of this figure.  As it was, he paused, gazing intently at it, wondering if indeed it were a being of flesh and blood.

He was just summoning up courage to go forward and salute it, when it moved forward in a gliding and cautious fashion.  Edred felt ashamed of his momentary thrill of fear, for he recognized at once the awkward gait and rolling step of Brother Fabian, and knew that his preceptor’s bitterest foe was lingering in the precincts of his home.

Resolved not to be seen himself, the boy sprang up a neighbouring tree as lightly as a squirrel, and from that vantage ground he saw that his brother Julian was approaching, and that the monk had stepped out to greet the lad.  He heard the sound of the nasal tones, so different from the refined accents of Brother Emmanuel.

“Peace be with thee, my son.”

Julian stopped short, and slightly bent the knee.  He looked up into Brother Fabian’s face with a look which Edred well knew, and which implied no love for his interlocutor.  A stranger, however, would be probably pleased at the frank directness of the gaze, not noting the underlying hardihood and defiance.

“Alone, my son?” questioned the brother.  “Methought I saw thee not long since with thy father and brother and the servants.  How comes it thou art now alone?”

“I saw thee not,” answered Julian, without attempting to reply to the question.

“Belike no.  I was telling my beads out here in the forest.  Thou didst pass me by all unknowing; but I was nigh thy path the while nevertheless.  Whither ­”

“That is something strange,” remarked the boy, affecting not to hear the commencement of another question; “for I could be sworn that not a squirrel or field mouse crosses my path but that I mark him down.  But I may not linger thus; the hour of our studies is already here.  I wish you good e’en; I must away home.”

The boy would have been gone with a bound the next instant had not the monk laid a detaining hand upon his arm.  Edred saw by the reluctance of his brother’s mien that he resented being thus stayed.

“One moment, good my son,” said Brother Fabian.  “Tell me whither thy father and brother have gone.  It is something too late in the day for a hunting party; yet I knew not that the good knight purposed any journey.”

Edred saw the sudden flash that came into Julian’s eyes.  He was in an agony lest the boy should betray his father’s destination, which to the astute mind of the monk might betray much more than his brother himself knew; but as he heard Julian’s words he drew his breath more freely.

“Marry, hast thou not heard that my Lord of Beaumaris and Rochefort goes a-hunting tomorrow with great muster?  My father has gone to join the goodly company assembling there.  Wilt thou not go thither too, Master Monk, and join the revelry that will make the hall ring tonight?  I trow there is welcome for all who come.  I would my father had taken me.”

“Go to, saucy boy, go to!” replied the brother, half piqued, half amused by the lad’s boldness in thus implying that his place was at a riotous revel such as generally took place when some great baron invited his friends for a day’s sport in the forest.

It was like enough that this hunting party had been arranged for the morrow, and this road certainly led to Beaumaris and Rochefort.  The reply seemed to satisfy the monk, and he relaxed his grasp of the boy’s arm.

“I must not keep thee from thy studies longer,” he said.  “Say, what does Brother Emmanuel teach you?”

“The Latin tongue and the use of the pen.  Edred is a fine scribe already.  And he hath taught us our letters in Greek likewise; for men are saying, he tells us, that it is shame that that language has been neglected so long, since the Holy Scriptures were written in it first.”

“And he doubtless teaches you from the Holy Scriptures ­”

“Ay; and from the writings of the fathers, and the mass book,” added the boy.  “We can all read Latin right well now.  But I must be going, an it please thee-”

“Yea, verily thou wilt make a fine scholar one of these days.  I am glad thou hast so good an instructor.  And that reminds me ­I would have speech with Brother Emmanuel some day soon.  I have a missal that I think he would greatly like sight of.  I misdoubt me if the prior would like it carried forth from the library; but if he would meet me one day here in the forest, I will strive to secrete it and let him have sight of it.  It hath wonderful pictures and lettering such as he loves.  Wilt tell him of it, boy, and ask if he will have sight of it?”

“I will tell him,” answered Julian.  “But I trow he will have naught to do with it an it has been filched away from the library without the reverend prior’s permission.  Brother Emmanuel teaches us more of the doctrine of obedience than of any other.  I trow he will not budge an inch!”

A scowling look passed over the features of the monk, which had hitherto been smiling and bland.  He took Julian by the arm again, and said in a low voice: 

“I have something of import to speak to Brother Emmanuel.  He will do well to heed me, and to hear what I have to say.  Bid him be at this spot two days hence just as the sun goes down.  Tell him if he come not he may live to repent it bitterly.”

“Wilt thou not come back with me?” asked the boy, with a quick, distrustful look into the bloated face beneath the cowl.  “Thou canst speak at ease with him at home.  It were better than out here in the forest.  I will lead thee to him straight, and thou canst say all that is in thine heart.”

But the monk dropped his arm and turned quickly away; his voice bespoke ill-concealed irritation.

“I may not linger longer here.  The vesper bell will be ringing by now.  Give Brother Emmanuel my message.  I would see him here in the forest.  And now farewell, boy; go home as fast as thou wilt, and put a bridle on thy forward tongue, lest haply it lead thee one day into trouble.”

The monk strode away in the direction of the priory.  Julian took the path towards Chad, with many backward glances at the retreating figure, and hardly was it lost in the thick underwood of the forest than he found his brother standing at his side.

“Thou here, Edred?  Whence camest thou?”

Edred pointed to his leafy hiding place, and laid a finger on his lips in token of caution.  Julian pursued his way awhile in silence, and only when they had increased the distance betwixt themselves and the monk by many hundred yards, the elder brother said, in low tones and very cautiously: 

“Have a care, Julian; methinks he is not going home.  He is here as a spy, I do not doubt.  I saw him watching and spying like a veritable messenger sent for such a purpose.

“O Julian, I was right glad at the answer thou gavest him about our father.  I trembled lest thou shouldst say he was bound for the coast.”

Both brothers had been too well trained in the creed which allows and encourages the practice of speaking falsehood and even doing evil in a good cause, to feel that any kind of shame attached to a falsehood spoken to conceal from a crafty enemy a thing it would be perilous to others for him to know.  And indeed diplomatic falsehood has never been eradicated from the world even since purer light has shone in upon it.  It is very hard to meet craft, falsehood, and treachery by absolute frankness and truthful honesty.  In the long run it does sometimes prove to be the strongest weapon a man can wield; but the temptation to meet craft by craft, deceit by deceit, is strong in human nature, and until a much later date was openly advocated as the only policy sane men could adopt when they dealt with foes always eager to outwit them.  And certainly these lads would have felt themselves justified in going to far greater lengths to save their father from suspicion, or their preceptor and friend from peril.

“Then thou heardest all?  I scarce know why I spoke as I did, for our father has always been the friend of the brethren of Chadwater.  But the look in the man’s eye made me cautious, and I minded a few parting words spoken by Bertram.  Tell me, Edred, what it is that is stirring; I would know more.”

“Verily it is that Brother Emmanuel stands in some peril from those of his own community.  He has written something they mislike, and they mean to have him back to answer for it.  Both he and our father think that if once he enters Chadwater again he will never come forth alive.  Wherefore our father will not give him up to his enemies, but will contrive for him to escape.  That is what he has gone to the coast for today; and when he knows that a vessel is ready and about to sail, Brother Emmanuel must be spirited away in the dead of the night; and when the prior comes to search for him ­as doubtless he will do when we can find him not ­it will puzzle him to lay hands upon him, for he will be away on the high seas.”

“Good!” cried Julian, delighted.  “Edred, I mislike those cruel, crafty monks.  Methinks they are little like the saintly men of old who fled to the cloister to rid themselves of the trammels of the world.  I ­”

But Edred laid a hand upon his brother’s arm and checked him suddenly, pointing to another stationary figure a short distance away amongst the trees ­a figure wearing the dress of a lay brother of the priory, and engaged in keeping a close and careful watch upon the main entrance to the house.

“Hist!” whispered Edred; “we must not let him hear such words.  Julian, mark my word, this house is watched.  The prior has set his spies upon it.  He fears lest Brother Emmanuel shall escape; or else the watch is set so that any going forth of his may be known, and he will be set upon and swiftly bound, and carried away to the priory, whence, I fear me, no man will ever see him re-issue.”

Both the boys had stopped short, and now they looked into each other’s faces with dismay.

Their light footfalls had not been heard, nor even the sound of their voices; for a strong breeze had sprung up, and was rustling the leaves overhead, and several birds were singing lustily.  The brothers had time to take in the situation without being seen themselves, and they then drew hack into a leafy covert and spoke in whispers.

“Edred, do thou go back to the house instantly and openly, and warn Brother Emmanuel that he go not forth.  Belike he might come out in search of us, since the hour is long past when we should have been with him.  That must not be.  Go and tell him all we have seen; whilst I will creep like a wildcat round the house, and see if there be other spies keeping watch like those we have seen.”

“Ay, do so,” replied Edred earnestly.  “I fear me we shall find that every door is watched.  But if thou art seen, go forward boldly.  Let none guess that you suspect aught.  Doubtless each watcher is well primed with some excellent reason for being found there.  Speak them friendly, and do not show distrust.”

“I will be as wise as a serpent,” answered the boy, with one of his keen looks which bespoke him older in mind than in years.

Edred felt that his junior was better fitted to cope with a spy than he himself; and gladly taking the other office upon himself, he walked gaily forward, whistling a roundelay as he moved, and affecting not to see the dark figure by the oak, which pressed closer and closer out of sight as the lad strode by.

“Verily he means to remain unseen,” thought Edred to himself.  “If he had not been a spy he would have greeted me as I passed.  He is after no good.  Thank Heaven we have seen and heard what we have!  We can so manage now that Brother Emmanuel set not foot beyond the courtyard for long enough to come ­not till he may sally forth to make his way to the coast.”

And then a sudden fear smote the boy that per chance this night journey to the coast might not be so easy to accomplish as had been hoped.  If the cunning prior had set a watch upon Chad with the very object of preventing the escape of his intended victim, might it not well be that his father’s forethought would be of no avail?

But it would not do to lose heart ­time might show a way of escape; and Edred hurried within, and found Brother Emmanuel awaiting his tardy pupils, the great Bible open before him, the sunset light illuminating his face till, to the boy’s ardent imagination, it seemed to be encircled by a nimbus.

His story was soon excitedly told, and as Brother Emmanuel heard of Sir Oliver’s sudden journey, a look almost as of pain crossed his face.

“I have told thy father that I cannot and will not suffer harm to befall him and his through his kindness to me.  Boy, boy, these be evil days in which to offend the powers that be; and it were better, far better, I should give myself up to death than that hurt should fall upon those I love and those who have befriended me with such generosity and love.”

But Edred passionately disclaimed and explained.

“Brother, holy father, speak not so! thou wilt break our hearts!  We love thee! thou knowest that we love thee!  And we think, we are assured, that we can yet save thee, and ourselves too.  Do not break our hearts by giving thyself up ere we have tried our utmost.  It may be ­nay, I am assured of it ­that our blessed Saviour has a great work for thee to do for Him somewhere.  Has He not Himself charged His servants if they be persecuted in one city to flee to another?  He has not bid them give themselves up to their foes, to be hindered from doing the work He has put it into their hearts to do.

“Pardon my forwardness if I seem to teach my preceptor.  I do but repeat words thou hast taught me.  Stay with us ­stay at Chad.  There be ways and means both for hiding and for flight of which few know or dream.  Let us have this alms to do for our Lord, that we hide and save one of His servants.  Thou canst little know what grief and sorrow thou wouldst cause to us, or thou couldst not talk of giving thyself up.”

The boy’s earnestness was so deep that it could not but produce an impression.  Although full of heroic courage and capabilities of self sacrifice, it was against human nature that Brother Emmanuel should desire to cast away his life, and that not by raising a protest for any point of conscience, but simply to be quietly put out of the way, that he might no longer expose the luxury and vice prevailing in the monastic retreat of which he was a member.

He had seen a row of underground niches, some of which had been walled up; and tradition asserted that living monks had been thus buried alive for being untrue to their vows.  He quite believed the prior capable of accusing him of the same sin and ordering him to a like fate.  In the eyes of the haughty ecclesiastic such a betrayal of cloister secrets would be looked upon as treachery to his vows, whilst in reality it was his very love for his vows, and his horror at their violation, which had inspired the pen that had poured forth burning words of denunciation and scorn.  To die openly for the cause would have been one thing ­a martyr has ofttimes spoken more eloquently by his death than by his life ­but to be thus buried in a living grave would benefit none; and who would not shrink from such a fate?

The pause which succeeded Edred’s impassioned appeal was broken by the entrance of Julian, flushed and heated.

“It is as we thought.  The house is watched.  There be six or seven spies posted around it ­most of them lay brothers, but some monks themselves.  Every entrance is watched closely.  None can go in or out unmarked by one or another.  Doubtless they have some signal which may at any time bring all of them together to one spot.

“Brother Emmanuel, thou must not adventure thyself beyond the courtyard till this watch ceases.  Were they spies of my Lord of Mortimer’s, we might go forth and drive them hence.  But none may lay a finger on a monk.  They are all ready with a story that they are on the watch for some heretic in hiding in the woods.  I spoke to one to see what he would say, and he began about the hunchback of the fair, whom they have not caught yet, and professed to be watching for him.  Doubtless they would all say the same did any question them; but they strive to keep out of sight as far as may be, and some have found hollow trees where they might pass days and nights and none be the wiser.”

There could be no study for the boys that day; they were too deeply moved and excited.  Moreover, Edred had his father’s charge to keep, and as sundown was nigh at hand, the two brothers visited every gate and portal and saw the house made fast within and without.

An air of excitement and mystery seemed to permeate the place.  The servants had caught some of the infection, and whispers of loyalty and affection were murmured many times in the boys’ ears as they pursued their round.  At last, all being safely ordered, they went by common consent to their own room, and stood looking at the secret door which led to the hiding place none knew of but themselves and Warbel.

“I trow we shall need it now,” said Edred.  “But all is in readiness for the fugitive; all has been done save to bring in the victuals.  Brother, shall we do that this very night?  I would there were a supply there for a month, and a couple of gallon jars of good mead and some bottles of wine.  We must put water there, too, but not till the last minute.  They say men must have water, else they die; but sure they could live for long on good mead and ale.  Hath Bertram any plan for getting water to the chamber save what we can carry ourselves?  He said he would not rest till we had done somewhat; but ­”

A light sparkled in Julian’s eyes.

“Come, and thou shalt see, thou brother of books,” he said.  “Whilst thou hast been doing thy penance for what sin we know not, and been reading amain with Brother Emmanuel, we have not been idle.  Come, and I will show thee what we have contrived.  I trow none need perish of thirst in the secret chamber now who knows aught of our contrivance.”

With eager steps Julian led the way, and Edred no less eagerly followed.  It was very dark in the secret chamber; but the means of kindling a light were now there, and soon a small dim lantern was lighted.

“Come hither,” said Julian, taking the light and leading the way into a corner that lay beneath the leads of the house; and when there Edred saw a metal trough or receiver, rudely made but effectual for the purpose of holding any liquid, something similar to what the animals in the yard were fed and watered from.  Above this trough was a piece of iron pipe with a bung at the end.

“That trough and pipe Bertram and I fashioned in the blacksmith’s forge with our own hands,” said the boy proudly, “and I trow both are good enow and strong.  Dost know what does the other end of the pipe?  Why, we have inserted it into the great rainwater tank yonder above our heads, which our grandsire contrived, and which is fed from the roofs and battlements of all the towers.  Thou hast heard our father tell how he read of such things in days of old, when men built wondrous palaces, and had hanging gardens, and I know not what beside.  He set the tank up there, and, as thou knowest, it is not now greatly used, albeit there is always water there, and at times men draw it forth.  It may not be the best or purest, but it will serve for washing, and for drinking too were a man in a great strait.  It is all pure and sweet now; for in the thunderstorm three nights since Bertram got up and let off all the stagnant water by the pipe which can be opened below, and the rain soon filled it again, it poured down with such goodwill.  We need not fear that any captive will die of thirst.  He has but to draw this bung and water will pour forth into this trough till he stops it again.  He can pour away the surplus down the pipe with the dust and such like.

“I trow whoever lives up here awhile will have no such bad housing.  And if we but get the place victualled this night, it will be ready for Brother Emmanuel whensoever he may need it.”