The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 2

"Thou must make for the Abbey of the Blessed Mary at Beaulieu, where thou shalt find sanctuary. Knowest thou the way?"

"Nay, father," replied the man, sad at heart at the prospect of another journey at the peril of his life.

"Then listen, my son. Two of the brethren will take thee across the arm of the sea that thou canst see yonder. Thence it is but an hour's sharp travel across the heath to the abbey, the path being well worn by reason of many of the brethren who travel thereby. There are three ways from the spot where thou wilt land the one on the left hand goeth towards Fawley and the town of Lepe, the one on the right to the village of Hythe, but the way thou must take goeth neither right nor left, but leads towards the sun just before the hour of vespers----Ah! What is thy message, my son?"

The last question was addressed to a novice, who, panting breathlessly, was standing in the doorway with folded arms and bent head, awaiting the abbot's pleasure.

"Hors.e.m.e.n, father; a score or more have appeared on the hill and are making towards the abbey."

"Then summon Brother Angelique and Brother Petrox. Hasten, for 'tis no season for leisure."

Quickly the two brethren--tall, gaunt, yet sinewy men, with faces and arms tanned a deep red by reason of their calling as boatmen of the abbey--answered the behest, and with the reverence due to their superior awaited his commands.

"Take this man across and put him fairly on his way to our parent abbey. Tarry not on thy journey, for the matter is urgent."

"Is it thy wish, father, to land him at Ashlett or Cadland?" asked one of the monks.

"At Cadland, should the tide prove aright. Now, my son," he added to the refugee, "take mine earnest blessing and go, and may the blessed Saints Mary and Edward, the patrons of our abbey, be with thee."

There was little time to lose, for already the hors.e.m.e.n were within two bow-shots of the abbey, and with a loud clatter of sandals the two monks led the way, Revyngton following closely at their heels, the brethren of the abbey speeding him on his way with prayers and cries of encouragement.

At the end of a little causeway a boat, broadbeamed and lofty of head and stem, rode on the little wavelets. With a sign Brother Petrox motioned the fugitive to step aboard, then unfastening the rope that held the craft to the quay, he followed Brother Angelique and pushed off.

Both monks rolled the sleeves of their gowns above their elbows, seized the two heavy ash oars, and rowed with a will, Revyngton sitting on a rough fis.h.i.+ng-tray at the stern of the boat and drinking in the cool sea breezes. The rush of events had well-nigh bewildered him, and listlessly he watched the rhythmical motion of the sinewy arms as the rowers urged the boat towards the opposite sh.o.r.e.

Suddenly his reveries were broken by an exclamation from one of the monks. "They follow us; pull thy hardest!"

Revyngton turned and looked astern. From the place they had left but a quarter of an hour before half a score of men were dragging a heavy boat down the steep beach.

"By the blessed Peter, my holy namesake," groaned one of the monks, "I had overlooked that, and the oars are in the boat. See, already they have launched it."

"'Tis after all but a crare."

"With a crew of l.u.s.ty fellows to make amends for its weight. The saints forfend them!"

"Let us trust that they cannot handle the sails, for, mark well, the wind bloweth fair."

The rowers relapsed into silence, and with long, heavy strokes, that seemed far too slow to the hunted fugitive, they resolutely and unfalteringly lessened the distance betwixt them and the nether sh.o.r.e. The hour of noon had already pa.s.sed, and the sun's rays attained a greater strength than they had previously in the day, yet, though streaming with moisture, the monks laboured in their efforts to shake off their pursuers.

"We hold our own," muttered one over his shoulder.

"Nay, I doubt it; but we must needs make for Ashlett Creek, for the other channel is yet uncovered."

Accordingly the boat's head was turned towards a distant opening in the mud-fringed sh.o.r.e, and the pursuing craft followed suit, thereby gaining considerably on the fugitive, who could now distinguish the dress of the men.

"They overtake us," quoth he, speaking for the first time since the abbey gates had closed behind him. "See, a bowman makes ready!"

Gradually the distance between the boats lessened, but the monks'

craft was now close to the creek, and Revyngton saw in front an apparently closed-in basin surrounded by a high bank of slimy mud. A few more strokes and the boat was within the creek, which wound its sinuous way up to the sh.o.r.e, while the little waves caused by their rapid motion through the water lapped the sides of the narrow channel.

Just as they were about to round the first bend the bowman let loose, and an arrow sung over their heads and struck the mud with a dull swish. Revyngton instinctively bent his head, but his companions, though men of peace, barely took notice of the deadly shaft.

"Safe for the time," commented Brother Angelique, as the boat shot behind a sheltering bank.

"But how about thy safety?" asked the fugitive.

"By St. Edward, 'tis not to be thought of," replied the monk, thrusting back his sleeve, which in his exertions had slipped down.

"They seek not us."

"But thou hast aided a fugitive from justice."

"Nay, that I wot not of. Besides, how am I to know that these men are the officers of justice They might well be but water-pikers for aught I know....Oh!"

An exclamation of pain interrupted his words, for an arrow, shot haphazard from the bend of the creek over the intervening bank, had pierced his forearm betwixt elbow and wrist, while another shaft trembled with its head buried in the thwart.

"On, Brother Petrox! On! 'Tis but a small matter," he gasped, and as the other monk seized his companion's oar, the wounded man, shutting his eyes tightly, snapped off the head of the arrow with his free hand and drew the broken shaft from the wound.

A gush of blood followed, but the brave monk, gripping the wounded member to stop the crimson flow, never ceased to urge the rower to greater effort, while ever and again a shaft shot by their still invisible pursuers flew perilously close to their heads.

At length the boat grounded on the hard bed of the channel, and Brother Petrox called to Revyngton to jump out. Wading through the shallow water the two started for the sh.o.r.e, leaving the wounded monk calmly seated in the deserted craft.

From the mud hovels of the village of Ashlett wimpled women and rough-haired children looked interestedly at the two runners, the layman in his travel-stained apparel and the monk in his sombre garb.

Men there were none, for the hours of toil had called them to the fields or out on the waters, where they sought a livelihood by fis.h.i.+ng; but had there been, the sight of the two speeding along would hardly have excited anything but curiosity in the minds of these dull-witted sons of the soil.

"I can go with thee no farther," panted the monk, as they reached the cross-roads. "Follow yonder path, and G.o.d be with thee." And as Revyngton sped onwards towards the rolling expanse of purple heather, he saw the solitary figure of his benefactor waving encouragingly towards the distant and invisible goal.

Settling down to a steady pace, the fugitive kept doggedly on his way, his eyes fixed on a distant clump of trees that marked the brow of the hill overlooking the valley of the Exe where lay the abbey.

Narrower and narrower became the road, till it deteriorated into a mere footpath, the p.r.i.c.kly gorse encroaching on either side and hurting his feet as he ran. Yet, spurred onward by renewed hope, his strength seemed well-nigh inexhaustible.

Suddenly, from behind a low heather-clad hillock at the side of the road, four wild-looking men sprang up and barred his progress.

"Hold, stranger!" shouted one, brandis.h.i.+ng a club. "Whither goest thou? Hast aught in thy scrip that we would relieve thee of, for the lighter thou art the easier thou'lt run."

"I have nothing in the world. Let me pa.s.s, I pray; 'tis a matter that brooks no delay."

"Nay, not so fast, young master. What is thine errand?"

"My errand?" replied Revyngton, with a mirthless laugh. "I seek sanctuary."

"Art without the pale of the law?"

"Of that there is little doubt."

"Then throw in thy lot with us. A free life in the forest glades, with many a weighty scrip to balance the lightness of our minds, is better than being cooped up in yonder monastery."

The fugitive shook his head.

"Nay, 'tis not to my liking."