"Resolution," said I, staring up at his grim figure, "she schemed to lure Tressady to his death?"

"Aye, she did, brother. What other way was there? She hath wit womanish and nimble—"

"She smote him in the shadows—"

"Most true, friend! She hath a man's will and determination!"

"He had no chance—"

"Never a whit, Martin! She is swift as God's lightning and as infallible. Roger Tressady was an evil man and the evil within him she used to destroy him and all very right and proper! And now she lieth sick in the cave yonder and calls for you, brother."

So I arose and coming within the cave found Joanna outstretched upon a rough bed contrived of fern and the boat-cloaks.

"Alas, Martino, I cannot sleep," said she. "I am haunted by the man Tressady, which is surely very strange—oh, very strange. For he was evil like all other men save you and Resolution—and Adam Penfeather. Can you not say somewhat to my comfort? Did he not merit death?"

"Aye, most truly. Had you not killed him—I would."

"For my sake, Martino?"

"Aye," said I, "for yours."

"Why, then 'tis strange I should grieve thus—I have killed men ere this, as you do know, nor troubled; belike 'tis my sickness—or the memory of my lady Joan—Damaris, her gentleness. Howbeit I am sorry and sad and greatly afraid."

"Nay," said I. "What should fright you that do fear nothing?"

"Myself, Martino—I have been—minded to kill you—more than once!"

"Yet do I live."

"And yet do I fear!" said she, with a great sigh.

"And your wound pains you belike?"

"A little, Martino."

"Show me!"

Mutely she suffered me to uncover her arm and unwind the bandages and I saw the tender flesh was very angry and inflamed, whereupon I summoned Resolution from his cooking, who at my desire brought the chest of medicines with water, etc., and set myself to soothe and cherish this painful wound as gently as I might, and though she often blenched for the pain of it she uttered no complaint.

"Do I hurt you overmuch?" I questioned.

"Nay," said she, catching her breath for pain of it, "I am none so tender. D'ye mind how I burned the boat you had so laboured at?"

"Aye, I do!"

"And how I gave you an evil draught that was agony?"

"Aye, I do so!"

"And how I plagued you—"

"Nay, why remember all this, Joanna?"

"It helpeth me to endure this pain!"

When I had anointed and bound up her wound she must needs praise my skill and vow she was herself again and would be up and about, whereat Resolution reached down to aid her to rise, but this I would by no means suffer, telling her that she must rest and sleep the fever from her blood. At this she scowled, then all of a sudden laughed.

"Why, then, you shall stay and talk with me!"

"Rather shall Resolution mix you a sleeping draught."

"Verily, brother, two have I mixed, but she'll not take 'em!"

"Why, then, being two to one, we must force her to drink," said I.

"Force her to drink, comrade? Force Joannas—God's light—!"

"Mix the potion, man, or teach me!" So in the end Resolution did as I bade; then kneeling beside Joanna, I raised her upon my arm and set the pannikin to her lips, whereupon, though she frowned, she presently drank it off meekly enough, to Resolution's no small wonder and her own, it seemed.

"I grow marvellous obedient!" said she. "And 'tis hateful stuff!"

"Now sleep," quoth I. "'Tis life to you—"

"Wouldst have me live, to plague you again, mayhap?" she questioned.

"This is as God wills!"

"Nay, this is as you will, Martino. Wouldst have me live, indeed?"

Now seeing how she hung upon my answer, beholding the wistful pleading of her look, I nodded.

"Aye, I would indeed!" said I.

"Why, then I will, Martino, I will!" And smiling, she composed herself to slumber and smiling, she presently fell asleep, whereupon Resolution crept stealthily out of the little cave and I after him. Being outside, he turned and suddenly caught and wrung my hand.

"Friend," said he, his grim features relaxing to unwonted smile. "Brother, you are a man—the only man could ha' done it. I thought Death had her sure last night, she all of a fever and crying out for Death to take her."

"She'll do better out in the air!" said I, glancing about.

"The air, comrade?"

"Aye, I must contrive her a shelter of sorts to her comfort where she may sleep. 'Neath yonder tree should serve—"

"She'll live, Martino, she'll live and all by reason o' her love for you—the promise you made her—"

"I made no promise, man!"

"Why, 'twas good as promise, comrade."

"How so?"

"'Wouldst ha' me live,' says she, 'to plague you again,' says she. 'Aye, that would I indeed,' says you! And what's that but a promise, Martin?"

"God forgive you!" quoth I. "'Twas no promise I intended, as you very well know."

"Why, as to that, comrade, how if Joanna think as I think?"

"'Twill be vain folly!" quoth I in petulant anger and strode away, leaving him to scowl after me, chin in hand.

Howbeit (and despite my anger) I presently took such tools as we had and set about making a small hut or rather bower, where an invalid might find such privacy as she wished and yet have benefit of the pure, sweet air rather than lie mewed in the stifling heat of the little cave. And presently, as I laboured, to me cometh Resolution full of praise for my handiwork and with proffer of aid. At this I turned to him face to face.

"Did I make Joanna any promise, aye or no?" I demanded.

"Aye, brother. You vowed Joanna must live to plague you, forsooth, how and when and where she would, comrade. In the which assured hope she lieth even now, sleeping herself to health and strength and all to pleasure you, Martin. And sure, oh, sure you are never one so vile to deceive the poor, sweet soul?"

Now perceiving all his specious sophistry and wilful misunderstanding of the matter, I came nigh choking with anger.

"Liar!" quoth I. "Liar!"

"Peace, brother, peace!" said he. "From any other man this were a fighting word, but as it is, let us reason together, brother! The Lord hath—"

"Enough!" cried I.

"Friend, the Lord hath set—"

"Leave Him out!" quoth I.

"What, Martin—will ye blaspheme now? Oh, shame on ye! 'The mouth o' the blasphemer is as an open sepulchre!' But as I say, the Lord hath set you here i' this flowery garden like Adam and her like Eve—"

"And yourself like the serpent!" said I.

"Ha' done, Martin, ha' done! 'The Lord shall root out deceitful lips and the tongue that speaks proud things!' mark that!"

"And mark you this, Resolution, an you fill Joanna's head with aught of such folly, whatsoever sorrow or evil befalls her is upon your head."

"Why, observe, friend and brother, for any man shall cause Joanna such, I have this, d'ye see!" And he showed me the butt of the pistol in his pocket; whereat I cursed him for meddlesome fool and turning my back went on with my labour, though my pleasure in it was gone. Howbeit I wrought this, rather than sit with idle hands, wasting myself in profitless repining. And presently, being intent on the business, I forgot all else and seeing this little bower was turning out much better than I had hoped, I fell a-whistling, until, hearing a step, I turned to find Joanna leaning upon Resolution's arm and in her eyes such a look of yearning tenderness as filled me with a mighty disquiet.

"And have you—made this for—me, Martino?" she questioned, a little breathlessly.

"Aye," I nodded, "because I do hate idleness—"

"Hark to him!" said Resolution. "And him picturing to me how snug you would lie here—"

"As to that, Resolution," said I, scowling, "you can lie anywhere."

"Why, true," said he, ignoring my meaning. "Since Jo sleeps here, I shall sleep 'neath the tree hard by, leaving you the cave yonder, friend."

That night Joanna lay in the bower and from this time she mended apace, but as for me, with every hour my impatience to be gone grew upon me beyond all measure, and as the time passed I waxed surly and morose, insomuch that upon a day as I sat frowning at the sea, Joanna stole upon me and stooping, kissed my hand or ever I might stay her.

"Do I offend?" she questioned with a strange, new humility. "Ah, prithee, why art grown so strange to me?"

"I am as I always was!"

"Nay, in my sickness thou wert kind and gentle—"

"So should I have been to any other!"

"You builded me my little house?"

"I had naught else to do."

"Martino," said she, sinking on her knees beside me. "Oh, caro mio, if—if you could kiss me in my sickness when I knew naught of it—wherefore not now when I am all awake and full of life—"

"I never did!" said I, speaking on rageful impulse "If Resolution told you this, he lies!" At this she shrank as I had struck her.

"And did you not—kiss me in my sickness—once, no?"

"Never once!"

Here, bowing her head upon her hands, she rested silent awhile.

"Nay, Joanna, wherefore seek the impossible. In these latter days I have learned to—to respect you—"

"Respect!" cried she, clenching her fists, "Rather give me hate; 'twere easier endured—"

"Why, then, this island is a rendezvous for the Brotherhood, soon will you have friends and comrades; give me then the boat and let me go—"

"To seek her? Nay, that you shall never do. I will kill you first, yes—for the cold, passionless thing you are!" So she left me and knowing that she wept, I felt greatly heartsick and ashamed.

Now the little cave wherein I slept gave upon that stretch of sandy beach where lay the boat and this night the weather being very hot and no wind stirring, I came without the cave and sat to watch the play of moonlight on the placid waters and hearken to their cool plash and ripple. Long time I sat thus, my mind full of foreboding, mightily cast down and hot with anger against Resolution, whose subtle lies had set Joanna on this vain folly of love, teaching her hopes for that which might never be; and guessing some of her pain therefor, I grieved for her and felt myself humbled that I (though all unwitting) should cause her this sorrow.

Sitting thus, full of heavy thoughts, my gaze by chance lighted upon the boat and, obeying sudden impulse, I arose and coming hither, fell to sudden temptation, for here she lay afloat; once aboard it needed but to slip her moorings and all these my present troubles would be resolved. And yet (thinks I) by so doing I should leave two people on this solitary island cut off from their kind. And yet again they run no chance of hardship or starvation, God knows, and this being a known meeting-place for their fellows, they shall not lack for company very long.

I was yet debating this in my mind when, roused by a sound behind me, I turned to find Resolution scowling on me and pistol in hand.

"Ha!" said he 'twixt shut teeth, "I ha' been expecting this and watched according. So you'll steal the boat, will ye—leave us marooned here, will ye?"

"I haven't decided yet!" quoth I.

"And what's to let me from shooting ye?"

"Nought in the world," said I, watching for a chance to close with him, "only bear witness I have not touched rope or timber yet—"

"'Tis a rule o' the Coast to shoot or hang the like o' you!" quoth he, and I heard the sharp click of the pistol as he cocked it and then with a flutter of petticoats Joanna burst upon us.

"Resolution, what is't?" she questioned breathlessly, looking from one to other of us.

"He was for stealing the boat, Jo!"

"Is this true?" she demanded, her face set and very pale. But here, seeing speech was vain, I shook my head and turning my back on them came into my cave and cast myself down on my rough bed. Lying thus I heard the murmur of their talk a great while, yet I nothing heeded until Joanna spoke close without the cave.

"Bide you there, Resolution!" Then the moonlight was dimmed and I saw her form outlined in the mouth of the cave.

"What would you, Joanna?" said I, starting up.

"Talk with you a small while," said she and came where we might behold each other. "Nay, do not fear. I will come no nearer, only I would speak to you now as I would speak if I lay a-dying, I would have you answer as you would if—if Death stood ready to strike these our bodies and bear our souls out to the infinite and a better life."

"Speak!" said I, wondering to see her shaken as by an ague-fit.

"You do not—love me, then? No?"

"No."

"You—never could love me, mind and heart and body? No?"

"No."

"You could not endure me beside you, to—to live—with me near you?"

"'Twould mean only pain, Joanna."

"Then go!" cried she. "I am not so base-souled to weep and wheedle, to scheme and pray for thing that can never be truly mine, or to keep you here in hated bondage—go! The boat lieth yonder; take her and what you will—only—get you gone!"

Now at this I rose and would have taken her hands but she snatched them behind her, and now I wondered at her deathly pallor,—her very lips were pale and set.

"Joanna," I stammered, "do you mean—am I—"

"Go!"

"Nay, first hear me say that wheresoever I go needs must I—"

"Respect me!" cried she with a strange, wild laugh. "Oh, begone!"

"Joanna," said I, "for any harsh word I have spoke you in the past, for any pain you have suffered because of me, I do most surely grieve and would most humbly crave your forgiveness and for this generous act I—I—"

"Respect me?" said she in a small voice. "Ah, cannot you see—how you—hurt me?" And now all suddenly I did strange thing for, scarce knowing what I did, I caught her in my arms and kissed her hair, her eyes, her cold lips and then, half ashamed, turned to leave her.

"Stay!" said she, but I never heeded. "Martino!" she called, but I never paused; and then, being come to the mouth of the cave, I heard the quick, light sound of her feet behind me and as I stepped into the moonlight felt two arms that swung me aside, saw Joanna leap before me as the night-silence was split by a ringing, deafening roar; and then I had her in my arms and she, smiling up at me with blood upon her lips, hid her face in my breast. "Here in thine arms do I lie for the third time—and last, Martino!" she sighed, and so Resolution found us.

"What!" he gasped. "Oh, God! What—?"

"Some one has shot Joanna!"

"Aye, Martin, 'twas I!" and I saw the pistol yet smoking in his hand—"I shot her thinking 'twas you—Oh, God!"

"Nay, Resolution," said Joanna, opening her eyes. "You did very right—'twas only that I—being a woman—changed my mind—at the last. 'Twas I bid him—kill you, Martino—if you came forth, but I—I dreamed you—you would not leave me. Nay, let be, Resolution, I'm a-dying—yes!"

"Ah, forbid it, God—Oh, God of Mercies, spare her!" he cried, his hands and eyes uplift to the radiant, starry heavens.

"Nay, grieve not, Resolution—dear friend!" she murmured painfully. "For oh, 'tis—a good thing to die—by your hand and with—such reason! Martino, when—you shall wed your Joan—Damaris, say I—gave you to her with—my life because I loved you—better than life—and Death had—no fears. I go back to life—a better life—where I shall find you one day, Martino, and learn what—happiness is like—mayhap. Resolution," she whispered, "when I—am dead, do not let me lie a poor, pale thing to grieve over—bury me—bury me so soon as I—am dead. Dig me a grave—above the tide! Promise this!"

"I promise!"

"Now kiss me—you were ever true and kind—kiss me? And you, Martino, wilt kiss me—not in gratitude—this last time?" And so I kissed her and thereafter she lay silent awhile, looking up at me great-eyed.

"Somewhere," she whispered, "some day—we shall—meet again, beloved—but now is—farewell. Oh, 'tis coming—'tis coming, Martino!" And then in stronger voice, "Oh, Death!" she cried. "Oh, welcome Death—I do not fear thee! Lift me, Martino—lift me—let me die—upon my feet!"

Very tenderly we lifted her betwixt us and then suddenly with a soft, murmurous cry, she lifted her arms to the glory of the wide firmament above us and with shuddering sigh let them slowly fall, and with this sigh the strange, wild soul of her sped away back to the Infinite whence it had come.

And now Resolution, on his knees beside this slender form that lay so mute and still, broke out into great and awful sobs that were an agony to hear.

"Dead!" he gasped. "Oh, God—dead! And by my hand! I that loved her all her days—that would ha' died for her—Oh, smite me, merciful God—cast forth Thy lightnings—shoot forth Thine arrows and consume me an Thou be merciful indeed." All at once he arose and hasting away on stumbling feet, presently came back again, bearing spade and mattock.

"Come, friend," said he in strange, piping tones. "Come now, let us dig grave and bury her, according to my promise. Come, brother!" Now looking on him as he stood all bowed and shaking, I saw that he was suddenly become an old man; his twisted frame seemed shrunken, while spade and mattock shook and rattled in his palsied hands. "Come, lad, come!" cried he querulously. "Why d'ye gape—bring along the body; 'tis nought else! Ah, God, how still now, she that was so full o' life! Bring her along to high water-mark and tenderly, friend, ah, tenderly, up wi' her to your heart!" So I did as he bade and followed Resolution's bowed and limping form till he paused well above where any sea might break and hard beside a great rock.

"She'll lie snug here, friend," quoth he, "snug against howling wind and raging tempest!" So together we dug the grave deep within that shelving, golden sand, and laying her tenderly therein, knelt together while the moon sank and shadows lengthened; and when Resolution had recited the prayers for the dead, he broke into a passion of prayer for himself, which done we rose and plied spade and mattock in silence; nor would Resolution pause or stay until we had raised mound sufficiently high to please him. When at last all was completed to his satisfaction, he dropped his spade and wiping sweat from him seated himself beside the grave, patting the mound very tenderly with his open palm.

"The moon is wondrous bright, friend," said he, staring up at it, "but so have I seen it many a night; but mark this, never in all our days shall we see again the like o' her that sleeps, Martino, that sleeps—below here!" And here he falls to soft mutterings and to patting that small mound of sand again.

"Come!" said I at last, touching his bowed shoulder. "Come!"

"Where away, camarado?" he questioned, looking up at me vacantly. "Nay, I'm best here—mayhap she'll be lonesome-like at first, so I'll bide here, lad, I'll bide here a while. Go your ways, brother, and leave old Resolution to pray a little, aye—and, mayhap weep a little, if God be kind."

So in the end I turned, miserably enough, and left him crouched there, his head bowed upon his breast. And in my mind was horror and grief and something beside these that filled me with a great wonder. Reaching the cave, I saw the sand there all trampled and stained with the blood she had shed to save mine own, and hard beside these, the print of her slender foot. And gazing thus, I was of a sudden blinded by scorching tears, and sinking upon my knees I wept as never before in all my days. And then sprang suddenly to my feet as, loud upon the air, rang out a shot that seemed to echo and re-echo in my brain ere, turning, I began to run back whence I had come.

And so I found Resolution face down across the mound that marked Joanna's grave, his arms clasped about it and on his dead face the marks of many tears.



CHAPTER XX

I GO TO SEEK MY VENGEANCE

Next day, just as the sun rose, I buried Resolution 'twixt Joanna and the sea, yet over him I raised no mound, since I judged he would have it so. Thereafter I ate and drank and stored the boat with such things as I needed for my voyage and particularly with good supply of fruits. And now, though the wind and tide both served me, I yet lingered, for it seemed that the spirit of Joanna still tarried hereabouts. Moved by sudden desire, I began searching among the tumbled boulders that lay here and there and presently finding one to my purpose, urged it down the sloping beach and with infinite pains and labour contrived at last to set it up at the head of Joanna's resting-place. Then, taking hammer and chisel, I fell to work upon it, heedless of sun-glare, of thirst, fatigue or the lapse of time, staying not till my work was complete, and this no more than two words cut deep within the enduring stone; these:

JOANNA

VNFEARING

And now at last, the tide being on the turn, I unmoored the boat, and thrusting her off, clambered aboard and betook me to the oars, and ever as I rowed I kept my gaze upon that small, solitary heap of sand until it grew all blurred upon my sight. Having presently made sufficient headway, I unshipped oars and hoisting my sail, stood out into the immeasurable deep but with my eyes straining towards that stretch of golden sand where lay all that was mortal of Joanna.

And with my gaze thus fixed, I must needs wonder what was become of the fiery, passionate spirit of her, that tameless soul that was one with the winds and stars and ocean, even as Resolution had said. And thus I presently fell a-praying and my cheek wet with tears that I thought no shame. When I looked up, I saw that the narrow strip of beach was no longer in sight; Joanna had verily gone out of my life and was but a memory.

All afternoon I held on before a fair wind so that as the sun sank I saw the three islands no more than a faint speck on the horizon; wherefore, knowing I should see them no more in this life, I uncovered my head, and thus it was indeed I saw Joanna's resting-place for the last time.

And now as the sun slipped westward and vanished in glory, even now as night fell, I had a strange feeling that her spirit was all about me, tender and strong and protecting, and herein, as the darkness gathered, I found great comfort and was much strengthened in the desperate venture I was about.

Having close-reefed my sail and lashed the tiller, I rolled myself in a boat-cloak and, nothing fearing, presently fell asleep and dreamed Joanna sat above me at the helm, stooping to cover me from the weather as she had done once before.

Waking next morning to a glory of sun, I ate and drank (albeit sparingly) and fell to studying Adam's chart, whereby I saw I must steer due southwesterly and that by his calculation I should reach the mainland in some five or six days. Suffice it that instead of five days it was not until the tenth day (my water being nigh exhausted and I mightily downcast that I had sailed out of my proper course) that I discovered to my inexpressible joy a faint, blue haze bearing westerly that I knew must be the Main. And now the wind fell so that it was not until the following morning that I steered into a little, green bay where trees grew to the very water's edge and so dense that, unstepping my mast, I began paddling along this green barrier, looking for some likely opening, and thus presently came on a narrow cleft 'mid the green where ran a small creek roofed in with branches, vines and twining boughs, into which I urged my boat forthwith (and no little to-do) and passed immediately from the hot glare of sun into the cool shade of trees and tangled thickets. Having forced myself a passage so far as I might by reason of these leafy tangles, my next thought was to select such things as I should need and this took me some time, I deeming so many things essential since I knew not how far I might have to tramp through an unknown country, nor in what direction Nombre de Dios lay. But in the end I narrowed down my necessities to the following, viz:

A compass A perspective-glass A sword Two pistols A gun with powder-horn and shot for same A light hatchet A tinder-box and store of buccaned meat.

And now, having belted on sword and pistols and wrapping the other things in one of the boat-cloaks, I strapped the unwieldy bundle to my shoulders and taking up the gun, scrambled ashore, and having found my bearing, set off due southwesterly.

Hour after hour I struggled on, often having to hew myself a passage with my axe, until towards evening I came out upon a broad ride or thoroughfare amid the green, the which greatly heartened me, since here was evidence of man's handiwork and must soon or late bring me to some town or village; forthwith, my weariness forgotten, I set off along this track, my face set ever westwards; but presently my vaunting hopes were dashed to find the track could be very little used nowadays, since here and there great trees had fallen and lay athwart my going, and presently the way itself narrowed to a mere path and this crossed here and there by hanging vines which was sure proof that few, if any, had passed this way these many months, mayhap years. Hereupon I stopped to lean despondent on my gun and looked about me; and with dejection of mind came weariness of body and seeing night was at hand, I determined to go no farther and turned in among the trees, minded to sleep here, though the place was wild and forbidding enough.

I had just loosed off my heavy pack when the pervading stillness was broken by a wailing cry, so sudden, so shrill and evil to hear that my flesh crept and I huddled against a tree, peering into the deepening shadows that had begun to hem me in. At first I judged this some wild beast and reached for my musket; then, as the sound rose again, I knew this for human cry, for I heard these words:

"Mercy, senors, mercy for the love o' God!"

Hereupon I began to run towards whence came this dismal outcry and presently espied the glow of a fire, and creeping thither discovered four men grouped about a fifth and him fast bound to a tree, and this poor wretch they were torturing with a ramrod heated in the fire; even as I watched he writhed and screamed for the intolerable pain of it. Staying for no more, I burst upon them and levelling my piece at the chief tormentor, pulled the trigger, whereupon was no more than a flash of the flint; it seemed that in my hurry to begone I had forgotten to load it. Howbeit, loaded or not, it served me well enough, for, swinging it by the barrel, I was upon them or ever they were aware and smote down two of the rogues, whereupon their comrades betook them to their heels with the utmost precipitation. I therefore proceeded to cut the sufferer loose who, sinking to the earth, lay there, muttering and groaning.

"Are ye much hurt?" I questioned, stooping above him: whereupon he spat forth a string of curses by which I judged him English and very far from dying as I had feared. I now found myself master of four very good guns, a sword, a steel headpiece, two cloaks and other furniture, with food a-plenty and three flasks of wine. I was yet examining these and watching against the return of their late owners when, hearing a sound, I saw the late poor captive bending above the two men I had felled.

"Are they dead?" I questioned.

"Nay, not yet, master; give 'em six minutes or say ten and they'll be as dead as the pig you ate of last—"

"How so?" I demanded, staring at the wild, ragged figure of the speaker.

"By means o' this, master!" said he, and stooping towards the fire showed me a middling-sized black thorn upon his open palm. "Not much to look at, master—no, but 'tis death sure and sarten, howsomever. I've many more besides; I make 'em into darts and shoot 'em through a blowpipe—a trick I larned o' the Indians. Aye, I spits 'em through a pipe—which is better than your guns—no noise, no smoke, and sure death wherever it sticketh."

"Are you an Englishman?"

"I am that! Born within sound o' Bow Bells; 'tis all o' twenty years since I heard 'em but they ring in my dreams sometimes. I shipped on a venture to the Main twenty years ago and fought and rioted as a man may and by ill-luck fell into the hands o' the bloody Spaniards along o' six other good lads—all dead long since, master. Then the Inquisition got me and was going to burn me but not liking the thought on't, I turned Roman. Then they made me a slave, but I got away at last. Aha, all Spanishers are devils for cruelty, but their Churchmen are worst and of all their Churchmen the coldest, softest, bloodiest is Alexo Valdez, Chief Inquisitor of Nombre de Dios yonder—"

"Ha, you know Nombre de Dios?"

"I ha' lived and suffered there, master, and 'tis there I be a-going for to make an end o' Bloody Valdez, if God be kind."

"Then," said I, "we will travel so far together—"

"And what doth an Englishman the like o' you want with the accursed place; the Inquisition is strong there—"

"'Tis a matter of life and death," said I.

"Death!" said he, "Death—they should all be dead and rotting, if I had my way." So saying, this strange man, whose face I had scarce seen, laid him down beyond the fire and composed himself to slumber.

"How then," I demanded, "will ye sleep here in the wild and no watch?"

"I will that!" said he. "I know the wilderness and I have endured much o' hardship o' late and as to watching, there's small need. The rogues you fell upon, being Spaniards, will doubtless be running yet and nigh unto Nombre, by now."

"How far is it hence?"

"Twelve leagues by road, but less the ways I travel."

"Good!" said I.

"Though 'tis hard going."

"No matter."

"Why, then, sleep, for we march at dawn. And my name is John."

"And mine Martin."

"Why, then, Martin, good night."

"Good night, John."

Howbeit though (and despite his hurts) my companion presently slept and snored lustily, and though I kept myself awake and my weapons to hand, yet I fell a-nodding and at last, overcome with weariness, sank to sleep likewise.

I waked to find the sun up and the man John shaking me, a wild, unlovely, shaggy fellow, very furtive of eye and gesture, who cringed and cowered away as I started up.

"Lord, man," quoth I, "I am no enemy!"

"I know it!" said he, shaking tousled head. "But 'tis become nat'ral to me to slink and crawl and blench like any lashed cur, all along o' these accursed Spaniards; I've had more kicks and blows than I've lived days," he growled, munching away at the viands he had set forth.

"Have ye suffered so much then?"

"Suffered!" cried he with a snarl. "I've done little else. Aha, when I think o' what I've endured, I do love my little blowpipe—"

"Blowpipe?" I questioned.

"Aye—this!" And speaking, from somewhere among the pitiful rags that covered his lank carcase he drew forth a small wooden pipe scarce two foot long and having a bulbous mouthpiece at one end. "The Indians use 'em longer than this—aye, six foot I've seen 'em, but then, Lord! they'll blow ye a dart from eighty to a hundred paces sometimes, whereas I never risk shot farther away than ten or twenty at most; the nearer the surer, aha!" Hereupon he nodded, white teeth agleam through tangled beard, and with a swift, stealthy gesture hid the deadly tube in his rags again.

"What of the two Spaniards I struck down last night?" I questioned, looking vainly for them.

"In the bushes yonder," said he and with jerk of thumb. "I hid 'em, master, they being a little unsightly—black and swol—as is the natur' o' this poison!" Hereupon I rose and going whither he pointed, parted the undergrowth and saw this was indeed so, insomuch that my stomach turned and I had no more desire for food.

"You murdered those men!"

"Aye, that I did, master, an you call it murder. Howbeit, there's more shall go the same road yet, notably Alexo Valdez, a curse on him!"

"And you are an Englishman?"

"I was, but since then I've been slave to be whipped, dog to be kicked, Lutheran dog to be spat upon, and lastly Indian—"

"And what now?"

"A poor soul to be tormented, shot, hanged, or burned as they will, once I'm taken."

"And yet you will adventure yourself to Nombre de Dios?"

"Why, Alexo Valdez is lately come there and Alexo Valdez burned my friend Dick Burbage, as was 'prentice wi' me at Johnson's, the cutler's, in Friday Street nigh St. Paul's, twenty odd years agone."

And in a while, being ready to start, I proffered this wild fellow one of the Spaniard's guns, but he would have none of it, nor sword, nor even cloak to cover his rags, so in the end we left all things behind, and there they be yet, for aught I know.

Now as we journeyed on together, in answer to my questioning I learned from this man John something of the illimitable pride and power of the Church of Rome; more especially he told me of the Spanish Inquisition, its cold mercilessness and passionless ferocity, its unsleeping watchfulness, its undying animosity, its constant menace and the hopelessness of escape therefrom. He gave me particulars of burnings and rackings, he described to me the torments of the water, the wheel and the fire until my soul sickened. He told me how it menaced alike the untrained savage, the peasant in his hut and the noble in his hall. I heard of parents who, by reason of this corroding fear, had denounced their children to the torment and children their parents.

"Aye, and there was a Donna Bianca Vallambrosa, a fine woman, I mind, was suspected of Lutheranism—so they racked her and she in torment confessed whatsoever they would and accused her sister Donna Luisa likewise. So they burned 'em both and made 'em pay for stake and chain and faggots too, afore they died."

Many other horrors he recounted, but ever and always he came back to the name of Alexo Valdez to vomit curses upon until at last I questioned him as to what manner of man this was to behold.

"Master," said John, turning to regard me, every hair upon his sunburned face seeming to bristle, "think o' the most sinful stench ever offended you, the most loathly corruption you ever saw and there's his soul; think o' the devil wi' eyes like dim glass, flesh like dough and a sweet, soft voice, and you have Alexo Valdez inside and out, and may every curse ever cursed light on and blast him, says I!"

"Are there many English prisoners in the Inquisition at Nombre?"

"Why, I know of but one—though like enough there's more—they are so cursed secret, master."

"Did ye ever hear of an English gentleman lost or taken hereabouts some six years since and named Sir Richard Brandon?"

"Nay, I was slaving down Panama way six years ago. Is it him you come a-seeking of, master?"

"Aye," I nodded. "A very masterful man, hale and florid and of a full habit."

"Nay, the only Englishman ever I see in Nombre was old and bent wi' white hair, and went wi' a limp, so it can't be him."

"No!" said I, frowning. "No!" After this, small chance had we for talk by reason of the difficulty of our going, yet remembering all he had told, I had enough to think on, God knows.

We had now reached a broken, mountainous country very trying and perilous, what with torrents that foamed athwart our way, jagged boulders, shifting stones and the like, yet John strode on untiring; but as for me, what with all this, the heat of sun and the burden I carried, my breath began to labour painfully. The first thing I tossed away was my gun that fell, ringing and clattering, down the precipitous rocks below, and the next was my pack and thereafter my hatchet and pistols, so that by the time we reached the top of the ascent all I had to encumber me was my sword, and this I kept, since it was light and seemingly a good blade.

"Master," said John, with a flourish of his ragged arm, "here's freedom—here's God. A land o' milk and honey given over to devils—curse all Spanishers, say I!"

Now looking around me I stood mute in wonder, for from this height I might behold a vast stretch of country, towering mountains, deep, shady valleys, impenetrable woods, rushing rivers, wide-stretching plains and far beyond a vague haze that I knew was the sea.

"And yonder, master," said John, pointing with his blowpipe, "yonder lieth Nombre, though ye can't see it, the which we shall reach ere nightfall, wherefore it behoveth me to look to my artillery."

So saying, he squatted down upon his hams and from his rags produced a small gourd carefully wrapped about with leaves; unwinding these, I saw the gourd to contain a sticky, blackish substance.

"Aha!" said John, viewing this with gloating eyes. "Snake poison is mother's milk to this, master. Here's enough good stuff to make pocky corpses o' every cursed Spanisher in Nombre ere sunset. Here's that might end the sufferings o' the poor Indians, the hangings, burnings and mutilations. I've seen an Indian cut up alive to feed to the dogs afore now—but here's a cure for croolty, master!"

While speaking, he had laid on the ground before him some dozen or so little darts no longer than my finger, each armed with a needle-like point and feathered with a wad of silky fibres; the point of each of these darts he dipped into the poison one after the other and laid them in the sun to dry, which done he wrapped up the little gourd mighty carefully and thrust it back among his rags. And in a while, the poison on the darts or arrows being dried to his satisfaction, he took forth a small leathern quiver of native make and setting the missiles therein, shut down the lid securely and sprang to his feet.

"Here's sure death and sarten for some o' the dogs, master," quoth he, "and now if there truly be a God aloft there, all I ask is one chance at Alexo Valdez as burns women and maids, as tortures the innocent, as killed my friend and druv me into the wild—one chance, master, and I'm done!"

Thus he spake with eyes uplift and one hairy hand upraised to the serene heavens, then with a nod to me set off along the hazardous track before us.

Of this, the last stage of our journeying, I will make no mention save that footsore, bruised and weary I sank amid a place of trees and gloomy thickets as the sun went down and night came.

"Straight afore you about half a mile lieth Nombre, master!" said John in my ear. "Hearken! You may hear the dogs like bees in a hive and be cursed to 'em!"

And sure enough I heard an indistinct murmur of sound that was made up of many; and presently came others more distinct; the faint baying of a hound, the distant roll of a drum, the soft, sweet tolling of a bell.

"So here y'are, master, and good luck t'ye!" said John and with scarce a rustle, swift and stealthy as an Indian, he was gone and I alone in the gloom. Hereupon I debated with myself whether I should get me into the city straight away or wait till the morrow, the which question was resolved by my falling into a sweet and dreamless slumber.



CHAPTER XXI

HOW I CAME TO NOMBRE DE DIOS

I awoke to the glare of a light and, starting up, was smitten to my knees and, lying half-stunned, was conscious of voices loud and excited, of hands that wrenched me here and there. And now (my hands securely trussed) I was hauled up and marched on stumbling feet amid shadowy captors, all of whom seemed to talk excitedly and none to listen, the which I little heeded being yet dazed by the blow. And presently I was aware of a dim street where lights gleamed, of tall buildings, an open square and a shadowy pile soaring upward into the dark. And presently from the surrounding gloom a darker figure stole, slow-moving and silent, at sight of which my captors halted to kneel, one and all, with bowed heads, whereupon the form raised a shadowy arm in salutation or blessing. And then a voice spake in sonorous Spanish, very soft and low and sweet, yet a voice that chilled me none the less:

"Whom bring ye?"

Here came voices five or six, speaking also in Spanish, and amid this babel I caught such words as:

"A stranger, holy father!"

"An Englishman!"

"A Lutheran dog!"

"Follow!" the sweet voice commanded, whereupon up sprang my captors and hauled me along and so presently into a spacious hall with a dais at one end where stood a table and great elbow-chair; but what drew and held my gaze was the slender, dark-robed ecclesiastic that, moving on leisured, soundless feet, went on before until, reaching the table, he seated himself there, head bowed upon one hand; and thus he sat awhile then beckoned with one imperious finger, whereupon my captors led me forward to the dais.

"Begone!" spake the pleasant voice and immediately my captors drew away and presently were gone, leaving me staring upon the tonsured crown of the man at the table who, with head still bowed upon his hand, struck a silver bell that stood beside him. Scarce had the sound died away than I heard a stealthy rustling and beheld divers forms that closed silently about me, figures shrouded from head to foot in black habits and nought of them to see save their hands and the glitter of eyes that gazed on me through the holes of them black, enveloping hoods.

Now turning to him at the table, I saw that he had raised his head at last and was viewing me also, and as he stared on me so stared I on him and this is what I saw: A lean and pallid face with eyes dim and slumberous, a high nose with nostrils thin and curling, a wide, close-lipped mouth and long, pointed chin. When we had stared thus a while, he leaned him back in the great chair and spoke me in his soft, sweet voice:

"You are English, senor?"

"I am!" said I in Spanish.

"What do you here?"

"Seek another Englishman known to be prisoner to the Inquisition of Nombre de Dios."

"His name?"

"Richard Brandon. Is he here?"

"Are you of the Faith?"

"Of all or any save that of Rome!" said I, staring up into the pale, emotionless face. "But Rome I do abominate and all its devil's work!" At this, from the hooded figures about me rose a gasp of horror and amaze, while into the dim eyes of my questioner came a momentary glow.

"Oh, fleshly lips!" quoth he. "Oh, tongue of blasphemy damned. Since you by the flesh have sinned, so by the flesh, its pains and travail, must your soul win forgiveness and life hereafter. Oh, vain soul, though your flesh hath uttered damnable sin and heresy, yet Holy Church in its infinite mercy shall save your soul in despite sinful flesh, to which end we must lay on your evil flesh such castigation as shall, by its very pain, purge your soul and win it to life hereafter—"

But now, and even as the black-robed familiars closed upon me, I heard steps behind me, a clash of arms and thereafter a voice whose calm tones I recognised.

"What is this, Father Alexo?"

"An Englishman and blasphemous Lutheran, captured and brought hither within the hour, Your Excellency." Now here the familiars, at sign of Fra Alexo, moved aside, and thus I beheld to my surprise and inexpressible joy, Don Federigo, pale from his late sickness, the which the sombre blackness of his rich velvet habit did but offset; for a moment his eyes met mine and with no sign of recognition, whereupon I checked the greeting on my lips.

"And am I of so little account as not to be warned of this?" said he.

"Alas, Excellency, if I have something forgot the respect due your high and noble office, let my zeal plead my excuse. In your faithful charge do we leave this miserable one until Holy Church shall require him of you." So saying, Fra Alexo, crossing lean hands meekly on his bosom, bowed himself in humble fashion, and yet I thought to see his dull eyes lit by that stealthy glow as Don Federigo, having duly acknowledged his salutation, turned away.

Thence I was led into the soft night air to a noble house, through goodly chambers richly furnished and so at last to a small room; and ever as I went I had an uneasy feeling that a long, black robe rustled stealthily amid the shadows, and of dull eyes that watched me unseen, nor could I altogether shake off the feeling even when the door closed and I found myself alone with Don Federigo. Indeed it almost seemed as he too felt something of this, for he stood a while, his head bowed and very still, like one listening intently; suddenly he was before me, had grasped my two fettered hands, and when he spake it was in little more than whisper.

"Alas, Don Martino—good my friend, Death creepeth all about you here—"

"Fra Alexo's spies!" I nodded. Now at this he gave me a troubled look and fell to pacing to and fro.

"A hard man and cunning!" quoth he, as to himself. "The Church—ah, the power of the Church! Yet must I get you safe away, but how—how?"

"Nay, Don Federigo, never trouble."

"Trouble, Senor? Ah, think you I count that? My life is yours, Don Martino, and joyfully do I risk it—"

"Nay, sir," quoth I, grasping his hand, "well do I know you for brave and noble gentleman whose friendship honoureth me, but here is no need you should hazard your life for me, since I am here of my own will. I have delivered myself over to the Inquisition to the fulfilment of a purpose."

"Sir," said he, his look of trouble deepening. "Alas, young sir—"

"This only would I ask of your friendship—when they take me hence, see to it that I am set in company with one that lieth prisoned here, see that I am fettered along with Sir Richard Brandon. And this do I ask of your friendship, sir!"

"Alas!" said he. "Alas, 'tis out of my jurisdiction; you go hence you are lost—you do pass from the eye of man—none knoweth whither."

"So long as I come unto mine enemy 'tis very well, sir. 'Tis this I have prayed for, lived for, hoped and suffered for. Wherefore now, Don Federigo, in memory of our friendship and all that hath passed betwixt us, I would ask you to contrive me this one thing howsoever you may."

At this he fell to his walking again and seemingly very full of anxious thought. Presently he sounded a whistle that hung about his neck, in answer to which summons came one I judged to be an Indian by his look, though he was dressed Christianly enough. And now, with a bow to me, Don Federigo speaks to him in tongue I had never heard before, a language very soft and pleasing:

"Your pardon, sir," said Don Federigo when we were alone, "but Hualipa is an Indian and hath but indifferent Spanish."

"An Indian?"

"An Aztec Cacique that I saved from an evil death. He is one of the few I can trust. And here another!" said he, as the door opened and a great blackamoor Centered, bearing a roast with wine, etc., at sight whereof my mouth watered and I grew mightily hungered.

While I ate and drank and Don Federigo ministering to my wants, he told me of Adam Penfeather, praising his courtliness and seamanship; he spoke also of my lady and how she had cared for him in his sickness. He told me further how they had been attacked by a great ship and having beaten off this vessel were themselves so much further shattered and unseaworthy that 'twas wonder they kept afloat. None the less Adam had contrived to stand in as near to Nombre de Dios as possible and thus set him safely ashore. Suddenly the arras in the corner was lifted and Hualipa reappeared, who, lifting one hand, said somewhat in his soft speech, whereupon Don Federigo rose suddenly and I also.

"Senor Martino," said he, taking my hand, "good friend, the familiars of the Holy Office are come for you, so now is farewell, God go with you, and so long as I live, I am your friend to aid you whensoever I may. But now must I see you back in your bonds."

He now signed to Hualipa who forthwith bound my wrists, though looser than before, whereupon Don Federigo sighed and left me. Then the Indian brought me to a corner of the room and lifting the arras, showed me a small door and led me thence along many dim and winding passages into a lofty hall where I beheld Don Federigo in confabulation with divers of these black-robed ecclesiastics who, beholding me, ceased their talk and making him their several obeisances, carried me away whither they would. Thus very soon I found myself looking again into the pallid, dim-eyed face of the Chief Inquisitor who, lifting one white, bony finger, thus admonished me in his sweet, sad voice:

"Unworthy son, behold now! Holy Church, of its infinite mercy and great love to all such detestable sinners as thou manifestly art, doth study how to preserve thy soul from hell in despite of thyself. And because there is nought so purging as fire, to the fire art thou adjudged except, thy conscience teaching thee horror of thine apostacy, thou wilt abjure thy sin and live. And because nought may so awaken conscience as trouble of mind and pain of body, therefore to trouble and pain doth Holy Church adjudge thy sinful flesh, by water, by fire, by rack, pulley and the wheel." Here he paused and bowed his head upon his hands and thus remained a while; when at last he spoke, it was with face still hid and slowly, as if unwilling to give the words utterance: "Yet, first—thou art decreed—a space—for contemplation of thy heresy vile and abominable, having fellowship with one who, blasphemous as thyself and of a pride stubborn and hateful, long persisted in his sinfulness, yet at the last, by oft suffering, hath lately abjured his damnable heresy and is become of humble and contrite heart, and thus, being soon to die, shall, by pain of flesh and sorrow of mind, save his soul alive in Paradise everlasting. Go, miserable wretch, thy body is but corruption soon to perish, but the immortal soul of thee is in Holy Church her loving care henceforth, to save in thy despite."

Then, with face still bowed, he gestured with his hand, whereupon came two hooded familiars and led me forth of his presence. Now as I walked betwixt these shapeless forms that flitted on silent feet and spake no word, my flesh chilled; in despite my reason, for they seemed rather spectres than truly men, yet phantoms of a grim and relentless purposefulness. Voiceless and silent they brought me down stone stairs and along echoing passages into a dim chamber where other cloaked forms moved on soundless feet and spake in hushed and sibilant whispers. Here my bonds were removed and in their place fetters were locked upon my wrists, which done, one came with a lanthorn, who presently led the way along other gloomy passageways where I beheld many narrow, evil-looking doorways. At last my silent guide halted, I heard the rattle of iron, the creak of bolts and a door opened suddenly before me upon a dank and noisome darkness. Into this evil place I was led, and the door clapped to upon me and locked and bolted forthwith. But to my wonder they had left me the lanthorn, and by its flickering beam I stared about me and saw I was in a large dungeon, its corners lost in gloom.

Suddenly as I stood thus, nigh choked with the foul air of the place and full of misgiving, I heard a groaning sigh, and from the shadow of a remote corner a figure reared itself upon its knees to peer under palsied hand with eyes that blinked as if dazzled by this poor light.

"So young—so young—oh, pity! God be merciful to thee—alas, what do you in this place of torment and living death—young sir?"

Now this voice was pitifully cracked and feeble, yet the words were English, wherefore I caught up the lanthorn and coming nearer, set it down where I might better behold the speaker.

"So young—so young! What dost thou among the living dead?"

"I come seeking Sir Richard Brandon!"

Now from the dim figure before me broke a sound that was neither scream nor laughter yet something of both. I saw wild hands upcast to the gloom above, a shrunken, pallid face, the gleam of snow-white hair.

"Oh, God of mercies—oh, God of Justice—at last, oh, God—at last!"

Stooping, I dragged him to the light and found myself suddenly a-trembling so violently that he shook in my gripe.

"What—what mean you?" I cried.

"That I—I am Richard Brandon."

"Liar!" I cried, shaking him. "Damned liar!"

And yet, looking down upon this old, withered creature who crouched before me on feeble knees, his shrivelled hands clasped and haggard face uplifted, I knew that he spoke truth, and uttering a great and bitter cry, I cast him from me, for here, in place of my proud and masterful enemy, the man I had hated for his fierce and arrogant spirit, God had given to my vengeance at last no more than this miserable thing, this poor, pale shadow. Wherefore now I cast myself down upon my face, beating the floor with my shackled fists and blaspheming my God like the very madman I was.



CHAPTER XXII

HOW AT LAST I FOUND MY ENEMY, RICHARD BRANDON

Whether this paroxysm had wrought me to a swoon I know not, but I wondered to feel a hand upon my head, stroking my hair with touch marvellous gentle, and therewith a voice:

"Comfort thee, comfort thee, poor youth! These be rages and despairs that many do suffer at the first; in a little shall come back thy courage and with it hope—that hope, alas, that never dieth—even here. 'Lo, I am with thee,' saith the Lord—so be comforted, young sir. Let other thoughts distract thy mind—let us converse if thou wilt. Tell me, I pray, how didst know my unhappy name?"

"Because," said I, starting from his touch, "I am son to the man you foully murdered by false accusation. I am Martin Conisby, Lord Wendover of Shere and last of my line!"

Now at this he drew away and away, staring on me great-eyed and I heard the breath gasp between his pallid lips.

"What—do you here, my lord?"

"Seek my just vengeance!"

"The vengeance of a Conisby!" he murmured.

"Six years ago I broke from the hell of slavery you sold me into and ever since have sought you with intent to end the feud once and for ever."

"The feud?" he muttered. "Aye, we have shed each other's blood for generations—when your grandfather fought and slew my father on the highway beyond Lamberhurst village I, a weeping boy, kissing the wound his rapier had made, vowed to end the Conisbys one day and came nigh doing it, God forgive me. So doth one sin beget others, and so here to-day, in the gloom of my dungeon, I yield myself to your vengeance, my lord, freely and humbly confessing the harms I did you and the base perfidy of my actions. So, an you will have my miserable life, take it and with my last breath I will beseech God pardon you my blood and bring you safe out of this place of torment and sorrow. God knoweth I have endured much of agony these latter years and yet have cherished my life in despite my sufferings hitherto, aye, cherished it so basely as to turn apostate that I might live yet a little longer—but now, my lord, freely—aye, joyfully will I give it, for your vengeance, praying God of His abounding mercy to pardon my most grievous offences but, being grown weak in courage and body by reason of frequent and grieveous torturings, this mayhap shall plead my excuse. Come then, Martin Conisby, your hand upon my throat, your fetter-chain about my neck—"

"Have done!" said I. "Have done!" And getting up, I crossed to the extremest corner of the dungeon and cast myself down there. But in a little he was beside me again, bearing the lanthorn and with straw from his bed for my pillow, whereupon I cursed and bade him begone, but he never stirred.

"Oh boy," said he, seeing me clench my fist, "I am inured to stripes and very fain to speech with thee, wherefore suffer me a little and answer me this question, I pray. You have sought me these many years, you have even followed me into this hell of suffering, and God at last hath given me to your vengeance—wherefore not take it?"

"Because he I sought was masterful, strong and arrogant!"

"Yet this my body, though sorely changed, is yet the slime; 'twill bleed if you prick it and I can die as well now as six years ago—?"

But seeing I made no manner of answer, he left me at last and I watched him limp disconsolate to his corner, there to bow himself on feeble knees and with hands crossed on his bosom and white head bowed, fall to a passion of silent prayer yet with many woful sighings and moanings, and so got him to his miserable bed.

As for me, I lay outstretched upon my face, my head pillowed on my arm, with no desire of sleep, or to move, content only to lie thus staring into the yellow flame of the lanthorn as a child might, for it verily seemed that all emotions and desires were clean gone out of me; thus lay I, my mind a-swoon, staring at this glimmering flame until it flickered and vanished, leaving me in outer darkness. But within me was a darkness blacker still, wherein my soul groped vainly.

So the long night wore itself to an end, for presently, lifting heavy head, I was aware of a faint glow waxing ever brighter, till suddenly, athwart the gloom of my prison, shot a beam of radiant glory, like a very messenger of God, telling of a fair, green world, of tree and herb and flower, of the sweet, glad wind of morning and all the infinite mercies of God; so that, beholding this heavenly vision, I came nigh weeping for pure joy and thankfulness.

Now this thrice-blessed sunlight poured in through a small grating high up in the massy wall and showed me the form of my companion, the shining silver of his hair, his arms wide-tossed in slumber. Moved by sudden impulse I arose and (despite the ache and stiffness of my limbs) came softly to look upon him as he lay thus, his cares forgot awhile in blessed sleep; and thus, beneath his rags, I saw divers and many grievous scars of wounds old and new, the marks of hot and searing iron, of biting steel and cruel lash, and in joints, swollen and inflamed, I read the oft-repeated torture of the rack. And yet in these features, gaunt and haggard by suffering, furrowed and lined by pain, was a serene patience and nobility wholly unfamiliar.

Thus it seemed God had hearkened to my oft-repeated prayers, had given up to me mine enemy bound; here at last, beneath my hand, lay the contriver of my father's ruin and death and of my own evil fortunes. But it seemed the sufferings that had thus whitened his hair, bowed his once stalwart frame and chastened his fierce pride had left behind them something greater and more enduring, before which my madness of hate and passionate desire of vengeance shrank abashed. Now as I stood thus, lost in frowning contemplation of my enemy, he groaned of a sudden and starting to his elbow, stared up at me haggard-eyed.

"Ah, my lord!" said he, meeting my threatening look. "Is the hour of vengeance at hand—seek ye my life indeed? Why, then, I am ready!"

But, nothing speaking, I got me back to my gloomy corner and crouched there, my knees up-drawn, my head bowed upon my arms; and now, my two hands gripping upon the empty air, I prayed again these words so often wrung from me by past agonies: "Oh, God of Justice, give me now vengeance—vengeance upon mine enemy. His life, Oh, God, his life!" But even as I spake these words within myself I knew the vengeance I had dreamed of and cherished so dearly was but a dream indeed, a fire that had burned utterly away, leaving nought but the dust and ashes of all that might have been. And realising somewhat of the bitter mockery of my situation, bethinking me of all I had so wantonly cast away for this dream, and remembering the vain labour and all the wasted years, I fell to raging despair, insomuch that I groaned aloud and casting myself down, smote upon the stone floor of my prison with shackled fists. And thus I presently felt a touch and glanced up to behold my enemy bending above me.

"My lord—" said he.

"Devil!" I cried, smiting the frail hand from me. "I am no more than the poor outcast wretch you ha' made of me!" Thus, with curses and revilings, I bade him plague me no more and presently, wearied mind and body by my long vigil, I fell a-nodding, until, wakened by the opening of the door, I looked up to behold one of the black-robed familiars, who, having set down meat and drink, vanished again, silent and speechless.

Roused by the delectable savours of this meat, which was hot and well-seasoned, I felt myself ravenous and ate with keen appetite, and taking up the drink, found it to be wine, very rich and comforting. So I ate and drank my fill, never heeding my companion, and thereafter, stretching myself as comfortably as I might, I sank into a deep slumber. But my sleep was troubled by all manner of dreams wherein was a nameless fear that haunted me, a thing dim-seen and silent, save for the stealthy rustling of a trailing robe. And even as I strove to flee it grew upon me until I knew this was Death in the shape of Fra Alexo. And now, as I strove vainly to escape those white, cruel fingers, Joanna was betwixt us; I heard her shrill, savage cry, saw the glitter of her steel and, reeling back, Fra Alexo stood clutching his throat in his two hands, staring horribly ere he fell. But looking upon him as he lay I saw this was not Fra Alexo, for gazing on the pale, dead face, I recognised the beloved features of my lady Joan. But, sudden and swift, Joanna stooped to clasp that stilly form, to lay her ruddy mouth to these pallid lips; and lo, she that was dead stirred, and rose up quick and vivid with life and reached out yearning arms to me, seeing nothing of Joanna where she lay, a pale, dead thing.

I started up, crying aloud, and blinked to the glare of a lanthorn; as I crouched thus, shielding my eyes from this dazzling beam, from the darkness beyond came a voice, very soft and tenderly sweet, the which set me shivering none the less.

"Most miserable man, forswear now the error of thy beliefs, or prepare thy unworthy flesh to chastisement. In this dead hour of night when all do sleep, save the God thou blasphemest and Holy Church, thou shall be brought to the question—"

"Hold, damned Churchman!" cried a voice, and turning I beheld my enemy, Sir Richard Brandon, his gaunt and fettered arms upraised, his eyes fierce and steadfast. "Heed not this bloody-minded man! And you, Fra Alexo and these cowled fiends that do your evil work, I take you to witness, one and all, that I, Richard Brandon, Knight banneret of Kent, do now, henceforth and for ever, renounce and abjure the oath you wrung from my coward flesh by your devilish tortures. Come, do to my body what ye will, but my soul—aye, my soul belongs to God—not to the Church of Rome! May God reckon up against you the innocent blood you have shed and in every groan and tear and cry you have wrung from tortured flesh may you find a curse in this world and hereafter!"

The loud, fierce voice ceased; instead I heard a long and gentle sigh, a murmured command, and Sir Richard was seized by dim forms and borne away, his irons clashing. Then I sprang, whirling up my fetter-chains to smite, was tripped heavily, felt my limbs close-pinioned and was dragged forth of the dungeon. And now, thus helpless at the mercy of these hideous, hooded forms that knew no mercy, my soul shrank for stark horror of what was to be, and my body shook and trembled in abject terror.

In this miserable state I was dragged along, until once again I heard the murmur of that sweet, soft voice, whereupon my captors halted, a door was unlocked, and I was cast into a place of outer darkness there to lie bruised and half-stunned yet agonised with fear, insomuch that for very shame I summoned up all my resolution, and mastering my fear, I clenched chattering teeth and sweating palms, determined to meet what was to be with what courage and fortitude I might. Slowly the shivering horror passed and in its place was a strange calm as I waited for them to bear me to the torture.

Suddenly my heart leapt to a shrill scream and thereafter I heard an awful voice, loud and hoarse and tremulous, and between each gasping cry, dreadful periods of silence:

"Oh, God ... Oh, God of pity, aid me ... make me to endure ... Lord God, strengthen my coward soul ... help me to be worthy ... faithful at last ... faithful to the end...."

As for me, well knowing the wherefore of these outcries, the meaning of these ghastly silences, a frenzy of horror seized me so that I shouted and raved, rolling to and fro in my bonds. Yet even so I could hear them at their devils work, until the hoarse screams sank to a piteous wailing, a dreadful inarticulate babble, until, wrought to a frenzy, I struggled to my feet (despite my bonds) and (like the madman I was) leapt towards whence these awful sounds came, and falling, knew no more.

From this blessed oblivion I was roused by a kindly warmth and opening my eyes, saw that I lay face down in a beam of sunshine that poured in through the small grille high in the wall like a blessing; being very weary and full of pain, and feeling this kindly ray mighty comforting, I lay where I was and no desire to move, minded to sleep again. But little by little I became conscious of a dull, low murmur of sound very distressful to hear and that set me vaguely a-wondering. Therefore, after some while, I troubled to lift my head and wondered no more.

A twisted heap of blood-stained rags, the pallid oval of a face, the dull gleam of a chain, this much I saw at a glance, but when I came beside Sir Richard's prostrate form and beheld the evils they had wrought on him, a cry of horror and passionate anger broke from me, whereupon he checked his groaning and opening swimming eyes, smiled wanly up at me.

"Glory—and thanks to God—I—endured!" he whispered. Now at this I sank on my knees beside him, and when I would have spoken, could not for a while; at last:

"Is there aught I may do?" I questioned.

"Water!" he murmured feebly. So I reached the water and setting my arm 'neath his neck (and despite my fetters) lifted him as gently as I might and held the jar to his cracked lips. When he had drank what he would I made a rough pillow for his head and rent strips from my shirt for bandages, and finding my pitcher full-charged with wine, mixed some with water and betook me to bathing his divers hurts (though greatly hampered by the chain of my fetters) and found him very patient to endure my awkward handling, in the midst of which, meeting my eye, he smiled faintly:

"Martin Conisby," he whispered. "Am I not—your—enemy?"

"Howbeit you endured!" quoth I.

"Thanks be to God!" said he humbly. "And is it for this. You will cherish thus—and comfort one—hath wronged you and yours—so bitterly?"

But at this I grew surly and having made an end of my rough surgery, I went and cast myself upon my bed of straw and, lying there, watching the sunbeam creep upon the wall, I fell to pondering this problem, viz: How came I thus striving to soothe the woes of this man I had hunted all these years to his destruction; why must I pity his hurts and compassionate his weakness—why?

And as I sat, my fists clenched, scowling at the sun-ray, it verily seemed as he had read these my thoughts.

"Martin Conisby," said he, his voice grown stronger. "Oh, Martin, think it not shame to pity thine enemy; to cherish them that despitefully use you; this is Godlike. I was a proud man and merciless but I have learned much by sufferings, and for the wrongs I did you—bitterly have I repented. So would I humbly sue forgiveness of you since I am to die so soon—"

"To die?"

"Aye, Martin, at the next auto-da-fe—by the fire—"

"The fire!" said I, clenching my fists.

"They have left me my life that I may burn—"

"When?" I demanded 'twixt shut teeth. "When?"

"To-day—to-morrow—the day after—what matter? But when the flames have done their work, I would fain go to God bearing with me your forgiveness. But if this be too much to hope—why, then, Martin, I will beseech God to pluck you forth of this place of horror and to give you back to England, to happiness, to honour and all that I reft from you—"

"Nay, this were thing impossible!" I cried.

"There is nought impossible to God, Martin!" Here fell silence awhile and then, "Oh, England—England!" cried he. "D'ye mind how the road winds 'twixt the hedgerows a-down hill into Lamberhurst, Martin; d'ye mind the wonder of it all—the green meadows, the dim woods full of bird song and fragrance—you shall see it all again one day, but as for me—ah, to breathe just once again the sweet smell of English earth! But God's will be done!"

For a while I sat picturing to my fancy the visions his words had conjured up; lifting my head at last, I started up to see him so pale and still and bending above him, saw him sleeping, placid as any child, yet with the marks of tears upon his shrunken cheek.



CHAPTER XXIII

HOW I FOUND MY SOUL

The torment by fire, torture by water, rack and thumbscrews, pulley and wheel, the weights, the press, the glove and the boot,—these the devices men hath schemed out for the plaguing of his neighbour, the hellish engines he hath troubled to invent and build for the crushing, twisting, tearing and maiming of his fellow-man, yet of all these devilish machines nought is there so constant, so pitiless and hard of endurance as the agony of suspense; there is a spectre mopping and mowing at our shoulder by day and haunting the misery of our nights; here is a disease slowly but surely sapping hope and courage and life itself.

Howbeit it was thus I found it in the time that followed, for little by little I became the prey of a terror that grew, until the opening of the door would bring me to my feet in sweating panic, or the mere rattle of my fellow-prisoner's chains fill me with shivering despair. And because of these sick fears I felt great scorn of myself, and knowing I was in this place of horror by my own will and contrivance, to despair and scorn was added a bitter self-hatred. And now, remembering how Adam had vowed to rescue Sir Richard, I prayed for his coming, at one moment full of hope, the next in an agony of despair lest he should come too late. Thus I fell to my black mood, speaking no word or answering my companion but by curses; and thus would I sit for hours, sullen and morose, gnawing my knuckles and staring on vacancy. Or again, beholding my enemy so serene, so placid and unmoved (and his case no better than my own) I would fall to sudden bitter revilings of him, until, meeting the gentle patience of his look, I would fall silent for very shame.

At last, upon a night, tossing upon my wretched bed in dire torment of soul, I chanced to espy my enemy and him sleeping; whereat I fell to fierce anger.

"Ha, Brandon!" I cried. "Will ye sleep, man, will ye sleep and I in torment. Wake—wake and tell me, must we die soon? Wake, I say!" At this he raised himself to blink at me in the beam of the lanthorn. "Must we die soon, think ye?" I demanded fiercely.

"In God's time, Martin!" said he.

"Think ye they will—torture me first?" Now here, seeing his troubled look and how he groped for an answer, I cursed and bade him tell me, aye or no.

"Alas, I do fear it!" said he.

"We are beyond hope?" I demanded.

"Nay, there is always God," said he. "But we are beyond all human aid. This do I know by reason of this airy dungeon and the luxury of food and light. Fra Alexo doeth nought unreasonably; thus we have our lanthorn that we, haply waking from dreams of home and happiness, may behold our prison walls and know an added grief. Instead of the water-dungeon or the black terror of cell deep-hidden from the blessed day, he hath set us in this goodly place that we, beholding the sun, may yearn amain for the blessed freedom of God's green world—"

"Ha!" quoth I. "And for those he dooms to the torment he sendeth rich food and generous wine—aye, aye, I see it now—a man strong and full-blooded may endure more agony and longer. So they will torture me—as they did you—but when, ah, God—when?" And here I sank face down upon my bed and lay there shuddering. And presently I was aware of my companion kneeling beside me, his hand upon my shoulder, his gentle voice in my ear:

"Comfort ye, Martin, comfort ye, God shall give ye strength—"

"Nay, I am a coward!" I cried bitterly, "A shameful craven!"

"Yet you do not fear! You have endured! The fire hath no terrors for you!"

"Because I am old in suffering, and am done with fear, because, beyond smoke and flame, I shall find God at last."

"Think ye there is a God?"

"I know it, Martin!"

"Yet am I coward!" I groaned. "Though 'tis not death I fear, nor the torture so much, 'tis rather to be thus counting the hours—"

"I know," said he, sighing. "I know. 'Tis the waiting for what is to be, ah, the weary, weary waiting—'tis this doth shake the strongest; the hour of suffering may be now, or to-morrow, or a month hence."

"God send it be to-night!" said I fervently. "And to-night, and while I am yet the man I am, know this; I, that lived but for vengeance, dying, do renounce it once and for ever. I, that came hither seeking an enemy, find, in place of hated foe, a man ennobled by his sufferings and greater than myself. So, as long as life remains to us, let there be peace and good will betwixt us, Sir Richard. And as you once sued forgiveness of me, now do I sue your friendship—"

"Martin!" said he in choking voice, and then again, "Oh, Martin Conisby, thus hath God answered my prayer and thus doth the feud betwixt Conisby and Brandon end—"

"Yes!" said I. "Yes—so do I know at last that I have followed a vain thing and lost all the sweetness life had to offer."

Now here, seeing me lie thus deject and forlorn, he stooped and set his ragged arm about me.

"Grieve not, Martin," said he in strange, glad voice, "grieve not, for in losing so much you have surely found a greater thing. Here, in this dread place, you have found your soul."

And presently, sheltered in the frail arm of the man had been my bitter enemy, I took comfort and fell to sweet and dreamless slumber.

Another day had dragged its weary length: Sir Richard lay asleep, I think, and I, gloomy and sullen, lay watching the light fade beyond the grating in the wall when; catching my breath, I started and peered up, misdoubting my eyes, for suddenly, 'twixt the bars of this grating, furtive and silent crept a hand that opening, let fall something white and shapeless that struck the stone floor with a sharp, metallic sound, and vanished stealthily as it had come. For a while I stared up at this rusty grating, half-fearing I was going mad at last, yet when I thought to look below, there on the floor lay the shapeless something where it had fallen. With every nerve a-thrill I rose and creeping thither, took it up and saw it was Adam's chart, the which had been taken from me, with all else I possessed; this wrapped about a key and a small, sharp knife; on the back of which, traced in a scrawling hand, I read these words, viz:

"A key to your fetters. A knife to your release. Once free of your dungeon take every passage Bearing to the left; so shall you reach the postern. There one shall wait, wearing a white scarf. Follow him and God speed you. You will be visited at sunset."

To be lifted thus from blackest despair to hope's very pinnacle wrought on me so that I was like one entranced, staring down at knife and paper and key where they had fallen from my nerveless hold; then, catching up the knife, I stood ecstatic to thumb over point and edge and felt myself a man once more, calm and resolute, to defy every inquisitor in Spanish America, and this merely by reason of the touch of this good steel, since here was a means whereby (as a last resource) I might set myself safe beyond their devilish torments once and for all. And now my soul went out in passionate gratitude to Don Federigo since this (as I judged) must be of his contrivance.

But the shadows deepening warned me that the sun had set wherefore I slipped off my shoes as softly as possible not to disturb Sir Richard's slumbers, and made me ready to kill or be killed.

And presently I heard the creak of bolts and, creeping in my stockinged feet, posted myself behind the door as it opened to admit the silent, shrouded form of a familiar bearing a lanthorn. Now, seeing he came alone, I set the knife in my girdle and, crouched in the shadow of the door, watched my time; for a moment he stood, seeming to watch Sir Richard who, roused by the light, stirred and, waking, blinked fearfully at this silent shape.

"Ah, what now?" he questioned. "Is it me ye seek?" For answer the familiar set down the lanthorn and beckoned with his finger. Then, as Sir Richard struggled painfully to his feet, I sprang and grappled this hateful, muffled form ere he could cry out, had him fast by the throat, and dragging him backwards across my knee, I choked him thus, his hoarse whistling gasps muffled in his enveloping hood. And then Sir Richard was beside me.

"Will ye slay him, Martin?" cried he.

"Aye!" I nodded and tightened my grip.

"Nay, rather spare him because he is an enemy; thus shall your soul go lighter henceforth, Martin."

So in the end I loosed my hold, whereupon the familiar sank to the floor and lay, twitching feebly. Hereupon I rent off hood and robe and found him a poor, mean creature that wept and moaned, wherefore I incontinent gagged him with stuff from his own habit and thereafter locked him securely into my fetters. And now, trembling with haste, I donned his habit and, catching up the lanthorn, turned on Sir Richard:

"Come!" said I.

"Nay!" said he, wringing his fettered hands. "Nay—alas, I should but hamper you—"

"Come!" said I, my every nerve a-tingle to be gone. "Come—I will aid you—hurry, man—hurry!"

"Nay, 'twere vain, Martin, I can scarce walk—'twere selfish in me to let you run such needless risks. Go, Martin, go—God bless you and bring you safe out of this evil place."

Without more ado I tucked my shoes into my bosom, caught up the lanthorn and hasted away.

But as I went I must needs remember the pitiful eagerness of Sir Richard's look and the despairing gesture of those helpless, fettered hands.

Hereupon I cursed fiercely to myself and, turning about, came running back and, finding him upon his knees, hove him to his feet and, or ever he guessed my purpose, swung him across my shoulder and so away again, finding him no great burden (God knows) for all his fetters that clanked now and then despite his efforts. Presently espying a passage to my left, thither hurried I and so in a little to another; indeed it seemed the place was a very maze and with many evil-looking doors that shut in God only knew what of misery and horror. So I hasted on, while my breath laboured and the sweat ran from me; and with every clank of Sir Richard's fetters my heart leapt with dread lest any hear, though indeed these gloomy passageways seemed quite deserted. And ever as we went, nought was to see save these evil doors and gloomy walls, yet I struggled on until my strength began to fail and I reeled for very weariness, until at last I stopped and set Sir Richard on his feet since I could carry him no further, and leaned panting against the wall, my strength all gone and my heart full of despair, since it seemed I had missed my way.

Suddenly, as I leaned thus, I heard the tinkle of a lute and a voice singing, and though these sounds were dull and muffled, I judged them at no great distance; therefore I began to creep forward, the knife ready in one hand, the lanthorn in the other, and thus presently turning a sharp angle, I beheld a flight of steps surmounted by a door. Creeping up to this door, I hearkened and found the singing much nearer; trying the door, I found it yield readily and opening it an inch or so beheld a small chamber lighted by a hanging lamp and upon a table a pair of silver-mounted pistols; coming to the table I took them up and found them primed and loaded. I now beckoned Sir Richard who crept up the stairs with infinite caution lest his fetter-chains should rattle.

The chamber wherein we stood seemed the apartment of some officer, for across a small bed lay a cloak and plumed hat together with a silver-hilted rapier, which last I motioned Sir Richard to take. Beyond the bed was another door, and coming thither I heard a sound of voices and laughter, so that I judged here was a guard-room. As I stood listening, I saw Sir Richard standing calm and serene, the gleaming sword grasped in practised hand and such a look of resolution on his lined face as heartened me mightily. And now again came the tinkle of the lute and, giving a sign to Sir Richard, I softly raised the latch and, plucking open the door, stepped into the room behind, the pistols levelled in my hands.

Before me were five men—four at cards and a fifth fingering a lute, who turned to gape, one and all, at my sudden appearance.

"Hold!" said I in Spanish, through the muffing folds of my hood. "Let a man move and I shoot!" At this they sat still enough, save the man with the lute, a small, fat fellow who grovelled on his knees; to him I beckoned. "Bind me these fellows!" I commanded.

"No ropes here!" he stammered.

"With their belts, fool; their arms behind them—so!" Which done, I commanded him to free Sir Richard of his gyves; whereupon the little fellow obeyed me very expeditiously with one of the many keys that hung against the wall. Then I gave my pistols to Sir Richard and seizing on the little, fat man, bound him also. Hereupon I gagged them all five as well as I might and having further secured their legs with their scarves and neckerchiefs, I dragged them one by one into the inner chamber (the doors of which I locked) and left them there mightily secure. Then, catching up a good, stout sword and a cloak to cover Sir Richard's rags, I opened another door and, having traversed a sort of anteroom, presently stepped out into the free air.

It was a dark night; indeed I never saw Nombre de Dios any other than in the dark, yet the stars made a glory of the heavens and I walked awhile, my eyes upraised in a very ecstasy, clean forgetting my companion until he spoke.

"Whither now, Martin?"

"I am directed to a postern, and one bearing a white scarf."

"The postern?" quoth Sir Richard. "I know it well, as doth many another unhappy soul; 'tis the gate whereby suspects are conveyed secretly to the question!"

We kept to the smaller streets and lanes, the which, being ill-lighted, we passed without observation; thus at last, following the loom of a high wall, very grim and forbidding, we came in sight of a small gateway beneath a gloomy arch, where stood two shadowy figures as if on the lookout, whereupon I stopped to reconnoitre them, loosening my sword in the scabbard. But now one of these figures approached and, halting to peer at us, spoke in strange, muffled tones.

"Seek ye the white scarf?" questioned the voice in Spanish.

"We do!" said I. At this the man opened the long cloak he wore and flourished to view a white scarf.

"Aye, but there were two of you," said I. "What is come of your fellow?"

"He but goeth before, Senor." And true enough, when I looked, the other dim form had vanished, the which I liked so little that, drawing my sword, I clapped it to the fellow's breast.

"Look now," quoth I, "play us false and you die!"

"The Senor may rest assured!" says he, never flinching.

"Why, then, lead on!" I commanded.

Now as we followed this unknown, I had an uncanny feeling that we were being dogged by something or some one that flitted in the darkness, now behind us, now before us, now upon our flank, wherefore I walked soft-treading and with my ears on the stretch. And presently our guide brought us amid the denser gloom of trees whose leaves rustled faintly above us and grass whispered under foot; and thus (straining my ears, as I say) I thought to catch the sound of stealthy movement that was neither leaf nor grass, insomuch that, shifting the sword to my left hand, I drew forth and cocked one of the pistols. At last we came out from among the trees and before us was the gleam of water and I saw we were upon the bank of a stream. Here our guide paused as if unsure; but suddenly was the gleam of a lanthorn and I heard Don Federigo's welcome voice:

"Is that Hualipa?"

Our guide moved forward and, pausing in the glare of the lanthorn, let fall his cloak and I, beholding that pallid, impressive face, the dull eyes, small mouth, and high thin nose, knew him for Fra Alexo, Chief Inquisitor of Nombre de Dios. Then, lifting one hand to point slim finger at Don Federigo, he spoke in his soft, sweet voice:

"Don Federigo, long hath Holy Church suspected thee—and Holy Church hath many eyes—and hands. So is thy messenger dead and so I favoured the escape of these declared heretics that through them thou mightest be taken in thy shameful treachery. Even now come armed servants of the Church to take again these doomed heretics and with them—thee also. Now kill me an you will, but thine apostasy is uncovered; the Holy Inquisition hath thee safe at last. Thy good name, thy pride of birth and place shall not shelter thee from the avenging fire—oh, most treacherous one—"

Suddenly he choked, clapped his two hands to his throat, staring horribly; and betwixt his fingers I saw a small, tufted thing deep-buried in his throat. Then all at once there burst from his writhen lips an awful, gasping scream, dreadful to hear, and then he was down, writhing and gasping awhile, with Don Federigo and Sir Richard bending above him.

But I, well knowing what this was and remembering the unseen thing that had tracked us, turned to the shadow of a bush hard by and thus beheld a shaggy head that peered amid the leaves, a hairy face with wild, fierce eyes and teeth that gleamed.

So the man John stared down at his handiwork, flourished his deadly blowpipe and was gone.

"He is dead!" said Don Federigo. "'Tis an Indian poison I have met with ere this—very sudden and deadly. Fra Alexo stands at the tribunal of his God!" and baring his head, Don Federigo glanced down at the dark, contorted shape and thence to the gloomy trees beyond, and beckoning, brought me to a boat moored under the bank hard by.

"Senor Martino," said he, "'tis time you were gone, for if Don Alexo hath turned out the guard—"

"Nay, sir," quoth I, "they must be some while a-coming," and I told him briefly how we had secured the watch.