Hermit of Eyton Forest (20 page)

It
was good fortune that the trees approached so closely to the stockade on the
side nearest to the river bank. From tree to tree Hyacinth darted, and reaching
an oak that spread branches across the barrier, climbed nimbly up into the
crotch to peer cautiously within the enclosure. He was looking at the long rear
face of the house, across the roofs of barn and byre and stable lining the
containing fence. The same pattern of a low undercroft, with hall and chamber
and kitchen above on the living floor, and the steps to the only door must be
on the opposite side. Here there was no entrance except to the undercroft, and
only one small window, and that was shuttered. Under it a small wing had been
built out, extending the undercroft. The shingled roof was steep, the eaves
dipped fairly low. Hyacinth eyed it speculatively, and debated how securely
fastened those shutters might be. To reach them would be easily possible, to
find a way in by that road might be more of a problem. But this rear face of
the house was the only one sheltered from observation. All this nefarious
activity of Astleys and Ludels would be centred round the single great doorway
into the hall, on the other side.

He
swung himself down to hang by his hands within the pale, and dropped into a
shadowy corner between barn and stable. At least stumbling on this nocturnal
journey eased him of one fear. Richard was surely here, was alive and well and
presentable as they wanted him, well fed, well cared for, probably even
indulged beyond normal in the hope of cajoling him into willing consent.
Indulged, in fact, with everything he could desire and they furnish, except his
freedom. And that was the first profound relief. Now to get him out! Here in
the darkening yard there was no one stirring. Hyacinth slid softly out of his
shelter and moved round the pale from shadow to shadow, until he slipped round
the corner to the eastern end of the house. There were unshuttered windows
above him here, subdued light shining through. He refuged in the deep doorway
to the undercroft, and stretched his ears for voices from above, and thought
that he caught wordless murmurings, as though the aim was to keep everything of
this night’s activities secret. Round the next corner, where the steep stairway
to the hall door ascended, there was a torch fixed, he knew it by the
flickering light spilled on the beaten earth before him by fitful glimpses.
There were servants moving there, too, soft-stepping and low-voiced. And the
dull sound of hooves, coming at a walk into the court. The bride and her father
arriving, thought Hyacinth, and wondered for a fleeting moment how the girl
felt about the match, and whether she was not as wronged and slighted as
Richard, and even more helpless.

He
drew back in some haste, for the grooms would be leading the horses to the stables,
which were in the near corner of the yard, for he had heard the beasts stirring
in their stalls as he hung listening in the tree. The jutting wing of the
undercroft provided cover from that corner. He rounded it and flattened himself
into the dark angle of the walls behind the obstruction, and heard a single
groom come leading both mounts.

He
could not move until the man had gone, and time was snapping at his heels like
a herdsman’s dog. But the groom was brisk, and wasted no time on his charges,
perhaps wanting his bed, for it must be getting late. Hyacinth heard the stable
door slammed to, and the rapid footsteps scurrying away round the corner of the
house. Only then, when he was able to draw off and take another look at this
almost blind face of the manor, did Hyacinth observe what he had missed before.
Through the join in the massive shutters on this, the only shuttered window in
the house in these mild nights, a hair-line of light showed. More noticeable
still, in one of the boards, close to the join, there was a small round eye of
light, where a slanting knot in the wood had fallen out and left a hole. Why
should this rear room be shuttered and lighted, unless it had a guest, and one
who must be kept safe and secret? Hyacinth doubted if the space between the
stone mullions would be large enough to let a man through, but it might be wide
enough for a ten-year-old boy, and one rather small for his years. With that
low roof beneath the window, they would not want him to make his escape, nor
would they want any inquisitive person to see him there within. It could at
least be tried. Hyacinth leaped to get a hold of the overhanging eaves, and
hauled himself up on to the shingles, to lie flat there against the stone wall,
listening, though he had made little noise about it, and no one stirred to take
note or investigate. He drew himself cautiously up the slope of the roof to the
shuttered window. The timbers were heavy and solid, and secured somehow within
the room, for when he laid a hand under the centre, where they joined, and
essayed to pull them apart, they held fast as iron, and he had no tools to try
and force them apart, and doubted if he could have done it even if he had had a
whole armoury of implements. The hinges were strong and immovable. Neither top
nor bottom of the shutters yielded to force even by a hair. There must be iron
bolts that could be shot from within, and securely locked. And time was running
out. Richard was strong-willed, obstinate and ingenious. If it had been
possible for him to break out from his prison, he would have done it long ago.

Hyacinth
laid his ear to the hair-line crack, but could hear nothing moving within. He
must now make sure whether he was wasting the time which was so precious and
running out so fast. At the risk of being detected, he rapped with his knuckles
against the shutter, and setting his lips to the tiny eye of light, sent a
shrill whistle through the hole.

This
time there was an audible gasp somewhere in the room, then a rapid scrambling,
as if someone had uncurled from being coiled defensively into a corner, set
foot to floor, and taken a couple of startled steps across the room, only to
halt again in doubt and alarm. Hyacinth rapped again, and called softly through
the hole: “Richard, is that you?”

Light
footsteps came in a rush, a small body crowded against the inner side of the
shutters. “Who is it?” whispered Richard’s voice urgently, close to the crack
of light. “Who’s there?”

“Hyacinth!
Richard, are you alone? I can’t get in to you. Is all well with you?”

“No!”
breathed the voice in indignant complaint, and proving by its spirit and anger
that in fact he was in very good heart and excellent condition. “They won’t let
me out, they keep hammering and hammering at me to do what they want, and agree
to be married. They’re bringing her tonight, they’re going to make me…”

“I
know,” groaned Hyacinth, “but I can’t get you out. And there’s no time to get
word to the sheriff. Tomorrow I could, but I saw them coming here tonight.”

“They
won’t let me out until I do what they want,” Richard hissed grievously into the
crack. “I almost said I would. They go on and on at me, and I don’t know what
to do, and I’m frightened they’ll only take me and hide me somewhere else if I
refuse, because they know every house is being searched.” His voice was losing
its bold, belligerent tone and faltering into distress. It’s hard for a boy of
ten to stand off for long the implacable adults who hold the upper hand. “My
grandmother promised I should have whatever I liked, whatever I wanted, if I’d
say the words she wants me to say. But I don’t want a wife…”

“Richard…
Richard…” Hyacinth was repeating persistently into this lament, and for a while
unheard. “Listen, Richard! They’ll have to bring a priest to marry you—not
Father Andrew, surely, he’d have scruples—but someone. Speak to him, tell him
it’s against your will, tell him—Richard, have you heard who it’s to be?” A new
and arresting thought had entered his mind. “Who is to marry you?”

“I
heard them,” whispered Richard, grown calm again, “saying they couldn’t trust
Father Andrew. My grandmother is bringing the hermit with her to do it.”

“Cuthred?
You’re sure?” Hyacinth had almost forgotten to keep his voice down in his
astonishment.

“Yes,
Cuthred. Yes, I’m sure, I heard her say so.”

“Richard,
listen, then!” Hyacinth leaned close, his lips to the crack. “If you refuse,
they’ll only visit it on you, and take you away somewhere else. Better for you
to do what they want. No, trust me, do what I say, it’s the only way we can
foil them. Believe me, you won’t have anything to fear, you won’t be burdened
with a wife, you’re safe as in sanctuary. Just do as I say, be meek and
obedient, and let them think you tamed, and they may even let you take your
pony and ride back to the abbey, for they’ll have what they wanted, and think
it can’t be undone. But it can! Oh, never fret, they won’t want anything more
of you, not for years yet! Trust me, and do it! Will you? Quickly, before they
come! Will you do it?”

Bemused
and doubtful, Richard faltered: “Yes!” but could not help protesting the next
moment: “But how can that be? Why do you say it’s safe?” Hyacinth pressed close
and whispered the answer. He knew by the sudden shaken spurt of laughter,
exuberant and brief, that Richard had caught it and understood. And just in
time, for he heard from across the room the sharp clash of a door being
unbolted and flung open, and the voice of Dame Dionisia, honey and gall, half
cajoling and half menacing, saying firmly and loudly: “Your bride is come,
Richard. Here is Hiltrude. And you will be gracious and courteous to her, will
you not, and please us all?”

Richard
must have darted away from the window at the first touch of a hand on the bolt,
for his small, cautious voice said just audibly, and from some yards distant:
“Yes, grandmother!” Unwillingly dutiful, reluctantly obedient, a will only
half-broken, but half would do!

Her
gratified but still wary: “That’s my good child!” was the last thing Hyacinth
heard as he edged his way carefully down the slope of the roof and dropped to
the ground. He went on his homeward way without haste, content with his night’s
work. There was now no urgency, he could afford to go slowly, mindful that he
himself was still hunted. For the boy was alive, well fed, well cared for, and
in good spirits. No actual harm had come to him, none would come, however he
chafed at being a prisoner. And in the end he would have the laugh of his
captors. Hyacinth made his way blithely through the soft, chilly night scented
with the rising mist of the water meadows, and the deep, dank leaf mould of the
woods. The moon rose, but so veiled that it gave only a dim grey light. By
midnight he would be safely back in his sanctuary in Eyton forest. And in the
morning, by some means Annet would contrive for the purpose, Hugh Beringar
should learn exactly where to look for Brother Paul’s lost schoolboy.

When
it was all over, and he had done what they wanted, however grudgingly, Richard
had expected to be made much of by way of gratitude, perhaps even let out from
this small room which was his prison, however comfortable it might be. He was
not so foolish as to suppose that they would set him free to do as he pleased.
He would have to keep up this meek front for a while, and suppress the inward
glee he felt at having the laugh of them in secret, before they would dare to
produce him before the world, with what manner of story to account for his loss
and recovery he could not guess, but they would have it all off by heart. Certainly
they would say he had consented of his own will to the ceremony just completed,
and to the best of their knowledge it would then be far too late for him to say
anything to the contrary, since what was done could not be undone. Only Richard
knew that in fact nothing had been done to need undoing. He had absolute faith
in Hyacinth. Whatever Hyacinth said was sooth. But he had considered that they
would owe him thanks and indulgence for his compliance. He had preserved his
sullen but subdued face, because it would have been too betraying to let even a
gleam of laughter show through, but he had repeated all the words they dictated
to him, had even brought himself to take Hiltrude’s hand when he was told to do
so, though he had never once looked at her until the sound of her soft, dull
voice, repeating the vows as resignedly as his own, had jolted him into
wondering for a moment if she was being forced as he was. That possibility had
never occurred to him until then, and he did lift a furtive glance to her face.
She was not so very old, after all, and not very tall, and did not look like a
threat so much as a victim. She might not even be really plain if only she did
not look so subdued and glum. His startled impulse of sympathy for her was
complicated by a grain of equally surprised resentment that she should seem as
depressed at marrying him as he had good cause to be at marrying her.

But
after all his compliance, not a word of thanks, rather his grandmother studied
him ominously and at length, and he was afraid with some lingering suspicion in
her eye, and then admonished him grimly: “You have done well to come to your
duty at last, and behave yourself fittingly towards those who know best for
you. See that you keep to that mind, sir! Now say your goodnight to your wife.
Tomorrow you shall get to know her better.”

And
he had done as he was told, and they had all left him there, still bolted in
alone, though they had sent a servant with food from the supper they were no
doubt enjoying in the hall. He sat brooding on his bed, thinking over all that
had happened in one late evening, and all that might follow next day. Hiltrude
he forgot as soon as she was out of sight. He knew about these affairs. If you
were only ten years old they didn’t, for some reason, make you live with your
wife, not until you were grown up. While she remained under the same roof with
you, you would be expected to be civil to her, perhaps even attentive, but then
she would go back with her father to her own home until you were thought to be
old enough to share your bed and household with her. Now that he began to think
seriously about it, it seemed to Richard that there were no privileges at all
attached to being married, his grandmother would go on treating him just as
before, as a child of no account, ordering him about, scolding him, cuffing him
if he annoyed her, even beating him if he defied her. In short, it behoved the
lord of Eaton to regain his liberty by whatever means offered, and escape out
of her hold. He could not be very important to her now, he had served his
purpose, what mattered was the land settlement. If she felt she had secured
that, she might soon be willing to let go of the instrument. Richard rolled
himself warmly in his brychans and went to sleep. If they were discussing him
in hall, and debating what to do about him, that did not trouble his dreams. He
was too young and too innocently hopeful to take his problems to bed with him.