The Last of the Barons — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (reading an ebook .TXT) 📖

We must now return to the Tower of London,—not, indeed, to its lordly halls and gilded chambers, but to the room of Friar Bungey. We must go back somewhat in time; and on the day following the departure of the king and his lords, conjure up in that strangely furnished apartment the form of the burly friar, standing before the disorganized Eureka, with Adam Warner by his side.

Graul, as we have seen, had kept her word, and Sibyll and her father, having fallen into the snare, were suddenly gagged, bound, led through by-paths to a solitary hut, where a covered wagon was in waiting, and finally, at nightfall, conducted to the Tower. The friar, whom his own repute, jolly affability, and favour with the Duchess of Bedford made a considerable person with the authorities of the place, had already obtained from the deputy-governor an order to lodge two persons, whom his zeal for the king sought to convict of necromantic practices in favour of the rebellion, in the cells set apart for such unhappy captives. Thither the prisoners were conducted. The friar did not object to their allocation in contiguous cells; and the jailer deemed him mighty kind and charitable, when he ordered that they might be well served and fed till their examination.

He did not venture, however, to summon his captives till the departure of the king, when the Tower was in fact at the disposition of his powerful patroness, and when he thought he might stretch his authority as far as he pleased, unquestioned and unchid.

Now, therefore, on the day succeeding Edward’s departure, Adam Warner was brought from his cell, and led to the chamber where the triumphant friar received him in majestic state. The moment Warner entered, he caught sight of the chaos to which his Eureka was resolved, and uttering a cry of mingled grief and joy, sprang forward to greet his profaned treasure. The friar motioned away the jailer (whispering him to wait without), and they were left alone. Bungey listened with curious and puzzled attention to poor Adam’s broken interjections of lamentation and anger, and at last, clapping him roughly on the back, said,—

“Thou knowest the secret of this magical and ugly device: but in thy hands it leads only to ruin and perdition. Tell me that secret, and in my hands it shall turn to honour and profit. Porkey verbey! I am a man of few words. Do this, and thou shalt go free with thy daughter, and I will protect thee, and give thee moneys, and my fatherly blessing; refuse to do it, and thou shalt go from thy snug cell into a black dungeon full of newts and rats, where thou shalt rot till thy nails are like birds’ talons, and thy skin shrivelled up into mummy, and covered with hair like Nebuchadnezzar!”

“Miserable varlet! Give thee my secret, give thee my fame, my life! Never! I scorn and spit at thy malice!”

The friar’s face grew convulsed with rage. “Wretch!” he roared forth, “darest thou unslip thy hound-like malignity upon great Bungey? Knowest thou not that he could bid the walls open and close upon thee; that he could set yon serpents to coil round thy limbs, and yon lizard to gnaw out thine entrails? Despise not my mercy, and descend to plain sense. What good didst thou ever reap from thy engine? Why shouldst thou lose liberty—nay, life—if I will, for a thing that has cursed thee with man’s horror and hate?”

“Art thou Christian and friar to ask me why? Were not Christians themselves hunted by wild beasts, and burned at the stake, and boiled in the caldron for their belief? Knave, whatever is holiest men ever persecute. Read thy Bible!”

“Read the Bible!” exclaimed Bungey, in pious horror at such a proposition. “Ah, blasphemer, now I have thee! Thou art a heretic and Lollard. Hollo, there!”

The friar stamped his foot, the door opened; but to his astonishment and dismay appeared, not the grim jailer, but the Duchess of Bedford herself, preceded by Nicholas Alwyn. “I told your Grace truly—see, lady!” cried the goldsmith. “Vile impostor, where hast thou hidden this wise man’s daughter?”

The friar turned his dull, bead-like eyes in vacant consternation from Nicholas to Adam, from Adam to the duchess. “Sir friar,” said Jacquetta, mildly—for she wished to conciliate the rival seers—“what means this over-zealous violation of law? Is it true, as Master Alwyn affirms, that thou hast stolen away and seducted this venerable sage and his daughter,—a maid I deemed worthy of a post in my own household?”

“Daughter and lady,” said the friar, sullenly, “this ill faytor, I have reason to know, has been practising spells for Lord Warwick and the enemy. I did but summon him hither that my art might undo his charms; and as for his daughter, it seemed more merciful to let her attend him than to leave her alone and unfriended; specially,” added the friar with a grin, “since the poor lord she hath witched is gone to the wars.”

“It is true, then, wretch, that thou or thy caitiffs have dared to lay hands on a maiden of birth and blood!” exclaimed Alwyn. “Tremble!—see, here, the warrant signed by the king, offering a reward for thy detection, empowering me to give thee up to the laws. By Saint Dunstan, but for thy friar’s frock, thou shouldst hang!”

“Tut, tut, Master Goldsmith,” said the duchess, haughtily, “lower thy tone. This holy man is under my protection, and his fault was but over-zeal. What were this sage’s devices and spells?”

“Marry,” said the friar, “that is what your Grace just hindereth my knowing. But he cannot deny that he is a pestilent astrologer, and sends word to the rebels what hours are lucky or fatal for battle and assault.”

“Ha!” said the duchess, “he is an astrologer! true, and came nearer to the alchemist’s truth than any multiplier that ever served me! My own astrologer is just dead,—why died he at such a time? Peace, peace! be there peace between two so learned men. Forgive thy brother, Master Warner!” Adam had hitherto disdained all participation in this dialogue. In fact, he had returned to the Eureka, and was silently examining if any