CHAPTER XII

THE NIGHT RIDE

When Herman started on his errand his thoughts were divided. There was the wish that he had insisted on seeing Margaret safely through the cavern, if it had only been to give her over to his mother's care.

He had accepted her ruling, for he realised the fatal consequences if that sinister creature of the Inquisition found Tyndale. He thought of the vessel going up the river, past the castles of robber lords, and freighted with merchandise such as had never gone up the stream before, since the bundles of quarto sheets of the New Testament which Tyndale was so laboriously translating into simple English were in the hold.

Two things were fixed deeply in Herman's mind: one that, come what would, Cochlaeus must not come into touch with Tyndale; the other that his late guest, now so honoured and so loved for his gentle ways and godly life, must arrive in Worms, where he would be comparatively safe, since that city was in what Cochlaeus called "the full rage of Lutheranism." And Luther, too, was there.

The purpose was a spur to him, although with the endurance of an athlete he went on and on. He was in feverish anxiety to go yet faster, and give warning to the fugitive of the men who were after him.

One thing he could not understand--that, fleet of foot though he was, he went so far without overtaking Cochlaeus and his companions. Nor as he went did he come across any sign of the _Marburg_.

With a cry of dismay he pulled up when he came to a village on the river-bank. In his absent-mindedness for this long hour, thinking of so many things, and not of the way he was taking, he had travelled down the river, and every step had taken him farther and farther from the man he was so eager to serve!

An hour lost! Nay, two; for he would now have those long miles to travel back before he reached the point from whence he started, and only then would the real endeavour commence. Who could tell what had chanced in the interval?

He did not waste a moment, but swung round on the instant when he had discovered his blunder. He roundly blamed himself for his stupidity, but prayed that he might not be too late.

On he went, the speed growing greater as the urgency swirled in on him. He covered the ground so swiftly that the hour he had lost was not doubled when he came to the spot where Tyndale's hunters had been talking. He was bathed in perspiration, for the return journey had been covered in little more than half an hour.

Still, when he heard the city bell boom out the hour, he knew that Cochlaeus and the others had a lead of an hour and a half, and while he took off his cap to wipe his face, he wondered whether he could make up the loss and be in time.

The thought was like a whip to him, and he went on with untiring speed, centring his mind on that one purpose, to overtake Tyndale's pursuers.

He passed no one in that hard night's travel. More than once he plunged through the woods which ran down to the river's edge, where he found himself in a darkness so dense that it seemed almost Egyptian. He had to go slowly then, only able to guide himself by the scarcely distinguishable gleam of the water; and more than once he sprawled over a straggling root, and once again he struck his head against an unseen branch which hung low over the path.

The enforced slackening of speed was exasperating; but he took things more calmly when he remembered that Cochlaeus was in the same plight, and would have to go as slowly.

When he came into the open country again he was capless and bespattered with mud. His doublet was torn, and he felt the warm trickle of blood on his cheek, where the jagged point of a broken branch had grazed the skin. But these were minor matters where the thing at stake was of such overwhelming importance.

By the time he had stepped clear of the forest the heavy clouds had thinned away, and the moon, while she did not altogether show her face, was casting some blurred light on the path. He was able now to go forward with a more certain step, so that he put on speed, and ran desperately, with the energy of young manhood, careless of fatigue.

He passed a village which straggled towards the river. He wondered whether he should take a boat and pass up the stream with it. He would come to the ship that way; but when he looked at the waters, they were running strong, and the boats that were moored at the landing-stage were heavy ones. He left them, and went on.

In one of the meadows were some horses, standing idle, sleeping as they stood, but one awoke and turned sleepily towards him. The idea came that he could force him into service.

He hesitated. One might choose to call it robbery, but God knew that it was no dishonest motive that prompted him. Against the temporary appropriation of the horse was the life of a man whose service to the world was of inestimable worth. He could take the horse for a few hours, and see that he was returned. He could give the messenger who took the animal back a reasonable sum to pay for the unconsented hire.

Yes. He would do that. It would help him to make up the lost time through that stupid blunder for which he mentally lashed himself again and again.

He went cautiously to where the horse was standing, but he found himself in a difficulty at the outset. His hand was on the sleepy creature's mane, and then he realised that there was neither saddle nor bridle. As for the want of a saddle, that was nothing to one who had ridden bareback scores of times, but how was he to guide this silent and perhaps docile creature, who was blinking at him stupidly, wondering whether he was to be called away from his well-earned leisure to some hard night duty?

A suggestion came, and he acted on it. There was a long, thin lace scarf round his neck, and it could be made to serve his purpose. In a few minutes his ingenuity produced a bridle and bit, all in one, which would not put the horse to any discomfort. Then he sprang on the creature's back.

"On, good horse!" he cried, as he bent down to gather up the loose ends of the scarf. "God's good man is in jeopardy, and many a blessing may be lost to the world if you fail me to-night."

The horse moved forward, but with no great willingness at first. After a time, however, he seemed affected with his rider's eagerness. His rest in the field had made him fit for service, and he responded. Before many minutes had passed he was going quickly, then at a gallop in which he stretched himself out whole-heartedly.

The moon still hid her face, but she threw out sufficient light to show the way, and what was round about. As the horse raced onwards Herman's spirit rose. He began to think of possibilities. As yet he had seen no ship, nor any sign of one. Nothing was moving on the river but a small craft which floated with the stream. Nor had he seen those men who were following the impatient lead of Cochlaeus. And yet it was of such supreme importance that he should overtake them, and ride beyond them.

After a time his heart leapt at the sight of a company of men, and when he drove his horse across a meadow to get so much nearer, he saw them halt, as if to wait for the coming of this rider in the night.

Suffering his horse to take his own pace, he bent low as he passed the men, so that his face should not be seen. The moon rendered him just the right service for those critical moments. She showed herself through a rift in a cloud for a moment or two, and the light fell on the men.

He knew them all. The Dean was one. Four others were soldiers of the City Guard, whom he had seen constantly for years, in their frequent perambulations through the streets, and their halberds at this moment gleamed at the moon's uncovering, but went dull again when the clouds moved by, and the country and river were once more wrapped in gloom.

Cochlaeus was there, standing apart, trying to intercept him, but Herman drew the horse aside.

[Illustration: HERMAN DUG IN HIS HEELS AND THE HORSE GALLOPED PAST.]

"Stop!" the man cried peremptorily, and held out his hand to catch at the bridle, but Herman dug in his heels, and the horse galloped past. Who was Cochlaeus, that he should exercise his authority here, in the open meadows, far away from the jurisdiction of the Burgomaster?

The horse plunged forward, and his hoofs thundered on the path. Herman turned to look back. The group was just as he had left it--a bunch of men, and that one who stood aloof; but although he could not see he supposed that they were gazing after him angrily, because he had treated Cochlaeus so cavalierly.

On went the horse, and Herman was elated at the thought that he had stolen a march on the men who were in pursuit of William Tyndale. At the pace the horse was travelling he would overtake the _Marburg_ and give his warning. The captain would surely do something then to get his passenger away, if by any chance it became necessary.

While the horse galloped on, taking the path along the river-bank as though the rush through the night air was welcome after a spell of rest, Herman thought out a plan which would mean safety for Tyndale. All his desire now was to overtake the ship, get on board in some way--by swimming, if in no other manner--tell his story, and then follow out this idea of his. He knew of a charcoal burner's hut on the other side of the river, hidden away in the forest, and there, with Roye to help him, Tyndale could pursue his task, the amanuensis writing while the scholar slowly dictated his translation. The printing-press could do its part later, but at all events Tyndale's great work could go on.

The horse galloped on for three or four miles more, and then the moon was out again, and made the river look like a broad ribbon of silver winding in and out amid the forests and the low-lying meadows.

A shout of gladness came when Herman saw a great black object on the water, which, as he drew nearer, proved to be a ship beating up the stream, her dark sails bellying in the wind. Was it the _Marburg_?

He lost sight of her presently, for a forest came in between. He slackened the pace and rode into the thicket, able to see the way because of the clear shining of the moon, so that he took the zigzag path, moving round the clumps of brushwood, avoiding the hollows, and going carefully where the straggling roots and heavy undergrowth made any progress treacherous.

He had at last to dismount and lead the horse, feeling his way almost in places, going at times at little more than a snail's pace, the horse snorting and breathing heavily with his long run.

Then the forest ended.

Standing still to gaze around ere he ventured into the broad moonlight, because he heard voices and the jingle of steel, Herman saw a broad sweep of grass which stretched from the river up a steep slope, until it came to the spot where this _cul-de-sac_ of green terminated in the closing up of the forest. A great castle was standing there, grey and forbidding in the moonlight. On the other side of the broad grass incline was dense forest again, and Herman meant to cross to it. But on this wide strip of open grass soldiers were moving towards the river swiftly, their swords and steel breastplates gleaming in the moonlight.

Herman dropped back, for the presence of the fighting men boded evil to any whom they saw who did not belong to the lord of this domain. Many a castle on this river was the hold of a robber chieftain who preyed on the travellers on land or water, demanding tribute and often holding his prisoners to ransom.

Herman took his tired horse back into the darkness of the forest, and, fastening him in a hollow where he could not be seen, returned to the slope again, to watch the glade and see when it would be safe to move to the other side.

For a time he could see nothing of what was happening on the river, but he was full of apprehension when he thought that the soldiers were bent on piracy. By this time the _Marburg_ must have passed the landing-stage of the castle, and in that case would be safe, unless--and there he halted in his hope, and went cold with fear. Suppose that men had been placed on the watch, and, seeing the _Marburg_ labouring up the river against the stream, had gone out in a boat to stop her, on the pretence of levying tribute, while a messenger raced up the slope to the robber stronghold to bring down the lord with his fighting men!

The consequences were too well known to anyone who lived within sight of the river, and this particular castle was often spoken of--was common talk, indeed, in the city. The ship would be gone through and robbed, if the captain and the crew were not armed and ready to make a fight for it. And William Tyndale, known, perhaps, would be carried to the castle, to be dealt with just as the wine-drinking and blasphemous master of the castle might choose.

It was natural to suppose the worst, and to suppose the worst was to anticipate what was most probable. Ribaldry would be the slightest of Tyndale's troubles. Torment was next to certainty. It might be that the lord of the castle, knowing how the Inquisitors would crave to have the Englishman in their hands, would sell him to them, if they paid a big price.

Herman thought of this. Then it dawned on him that he was thinking the worst while Tyndale's vessel might have stolen by when the moon was hidden, and by this time be far up the river, away from this robber lord's influence.

He stole in and out among the trees towards the river, careful not to be seen, and then his worst fears were realised. The _Marburg_ was in mid-stream, and about her were a score of boats, out of which armed men were swarming on to her deck.