CHAPTER XXIX

THE NIGHT RIDER'S CALL

They were away at day-dawn, and long before the sun had risen they had crossed the river in the great ferry boat, which carried them and their horses safely to the other side. They rode direct for the forest there, and Engel, who knew every yard of the path, was making for his father's mill. Unexpectedly the miller himself was in the path when they were but three miles from what they thought would be that day's journey end.

"Is all right?" Engel asked anxiously, reining in his horse.

"Yes, thank God. But I came on the chance of meeting you and saving you a useless journey. As the good man seemed anxious to get a little nearer to Doctor Martin Luther, and because the way was clear, I sent him across to Raymart's hut, and there he is safe, and the more content because he is a few miles nearer to his destination."

"Then we'll ride on at once, father," said Engel, who swung round into another forest path, with the others following.

It was nearly evening when they halted outside a charcoal-burner's hut, and when they entered the humble home they saw William Tyndale seated at a table with a Lutheran Testament on one knee and two other books open before him. Opposite to him sat William Roye, a pile of papers on either hand, writing, while in low and thoughtful, and sometimes hesitating tones, weighing in his mind the value of one word against another, his master dictated to him.

They were so absorbed in their work that neither of the men had heard the tramp of horses, nor the voices of the riders. Not until Margaret had spoken, as she stood in the open doorway of the room, did they look up; and then Tyndale, laying down his book, came to her with outstretched hands.

* * * * * * *

Tyndale spent the whole of the night in preparation for his journey to the town which he looked upon as "a desired haven." He anticipated that when he got there he would often be in Martin Luther's company, and have his advice on many a point which perplexed him, scholar though he was.

Those who lay in the charcoal-burner's hut, or in his stable, wherever room could be found for so many, could hear him moving about in the tiny inner room, going lovingly over the sheets in the pile of manuscript which he had dictated to Roye. Sometimes he came to a line on which his forefinger rested, and his face betrayed his anxiety as to whether it was the best phrase possible. Time was precious to him, since the journey was to begin at dawn, and he would have but little space for sleep; but he sat down presently, and, taking up his pen, scored out a word and put another in its place.

He sat on thus, forgetful of everything until Herman, who came in from the stream which ran dancing in the morning sun, fresh after bathing his head and face in its cool waters, saw him sitting at the table, lost in thought.

"Master Tyndale!" he cried. "Have you forgotten? It is dawn, and we start at once. The horses are saddled and at the door."

Tyndale looked up, as one forgetful of everything. It was only slowly that he realised the meaning of the young man's words, and he sprang to his feet, his face displaying his concern.

"I quite forgot, Herman!" he exclaimed. "That passage in Romans had been on my mind ever since you left me in the marsh, and when I came across it in the manuscript, it occurred to me how it ought to run, so I sat to put it right. Fasten these in the wallet while I get ready, my son. I will break my fast while we ride through the forest."

When Herman had packed the wallet, and had carried it out to bestow it in the saddle, Tyndale shut the door softly and dropped on his knees at the table. The birds were in full song outside, and the horses snorted and moved about restlessly, but Tyndale neither heard them nor thought of the glories of the newborn day. The all-absorbing thought was the well-doing of his work. He was working as "under the Great Taskmaster's eye"; and now that he was kneeling, he asked for a safe journey for the work's sake, for strength and quietness until the task was ended. And then--ah! then the ending could come in what form it would.

He came into the sunlight with a face full of thought; but the gay greeting from Margaret roused him to note his surroundings. He smiled pleasantly when he saw her, beautiful in the fresh morning air, with the sun sparkling in her dark eyes and her lips parted as they gave the morning salutation.

"I am late, and I crave your pardon, friends. Herman, give me a lift into that high saddle, for I am not as active as I was a score of years ago."

The little company rode down the forest glade. Blithe though the morning was, they went in silence, for they were beginning a dangerous journey. At first the path was fairly well marked, for Raymart's cart had gone that way three or four times a week for many a year, carrying charcoal to the town; but when they scanned the narrowing track farther on into the forest, they thought to take the beaten road.

They halted sharply, just as the forester's horse had stepped away from the trees. Glancing along the road, he saw some horsemen, and by the glancing steel in the sunshine, he knew them to be soldiers. He reined his horse back on the instant, and, saying what he had seen, he led the way more deeply into the forest and took a more unfrequented path. It was the only thing he could do when it was possible that the horsemen were under the command of Cochlaeus, again in pursuit of Tyndale.

The path which Engel took through the forest was at first tolerable, but in time it was nothing more than a mere track, very narrow, winding among thorny creepers, and over beds of decaying leaves, but that did not deter them. At odd times they saw a village, and two or three times, approaching with care, they ventured into a quiet inn to get food. But they were compelled in the end to take the public road.

The sun was low down, and sent his golden, slanting beams among the fir trees when they left the forest, in which they had travelled for so many hours. There was an inn on the roadside, and, taking the risks because their horses, like themselves, were tired, they rode up to the door as carelessly as though there had been no need for care. The open space in front of the inn was clear. None were sitting at the tables under the trees on the opposite side of the road, and the house bore the aspect of quietude, almost of desertion.

Engel stayed outside to look to the comfort of the horses, but the others moved along the passage, thinking to go to the general room, but before they got as far as the door a woman came.

"'Tis full, lady," she said, turning to Mistress Byrckmann. "But I can find you room elsewhere, if you do not mind it being small," she added pleasantly, looking at the sick one and marking how worn out she was.

"Anywhere, so long as we may rest, and these two ladies may presently lie somewhere in quiet and comfort," interposed Herman. "They are both very tired, for we have had a long journey."

"Come this way," the woman answered, turning away to the stairs. She took them up to a large room which opened into one on either side. "There is a sleeping-room there, for the ladies!" she exclaimed, moving towards the door, which she flung wide open, and waited for Margaret and her mother to enter. The room was small, but clean, and Margaret smiled her thanks in a way which won the woman's heart.

"The others must do as they can," she said, going back to them. "There is that little inner room, but this room will do to sleep in if you will let me send a man up with some clean straw. I am sorry I can't do more. Will it do?"

"Excellently well," said Byrckmann, glad like the others that for that night they would sleep under a roof, whereas they had expected to lie down beneath the stars.

Before long the mistress of the inn had brought them up a meal which was appetising to hungry travellers. She bade them eat and be at ease, and left them; but Herman and the forester saw with much disquiet how she looked at Margaret and then at Tyndale.

"What did that mean, think you?" Engel asked in little more than a whisper when they presently stood at the window, looking out on the long, white road which lost itself in the growing darkness of the evening.

"And yet it was not an unkind look," said Herman. "It seemed to me that she was concerned--that there was some kind solicitude, and when she glanced away from Tyndale to Margaret it was as though she felt a womanly tenderness for her."

"I pray God you may be right," the forester answered.

When it was dark and the blind was drawn, and the little company--all save Margaret's mother, who had gone to bed--drew round the fire to talk awhile before they separated for the night, the door opened softly and the mistress of the inn appeared. Every eye was turned her way, and each heart beat quickly when they saw the anxiety on the woman's face.

"What is your will, mistress?" Engel asked, in little more than a whisper when he marked her stealth and seriousness, and saw how she closed the door softly behind her and came towards them before she said a word.

What she said was barely audible, and she glanced at the door in a way which betrayed her fears.

"If this be Master William Tyndale," she exclaimed, pointing to him with her forefinger, "and this sweet young lady Mistress Margaret Byrckmann, I have news for you that is disturbing."

"What is it?" asked Margaret, bending forward in her chair, her rosy cheeks gone pale, while her startled eyes were fixed on the woman's face.

"Are ye whom I think?" the woman asked. "Tell me truly, for it is no idle curiosity on my part. It may be a matter of life or death for two among you, perhaps for all."

"What if we say they are?" asked Master Byrckmann who was near, and when he caught at her hand, he felt that she was trembling.

"Then you must be gone."

"Gone. But why?" asked Tyndale, who, so far, had not spoken.

"I brought you all up here, Master Tyndale, because when I saw you enter the inn--you and this sweet girl--I feared that you were those who are being sought for by Doctor Cochlaeus, who is hoping to carry you back and lodge you in the Inquisition dungeon from which this pretty one escaped."

She paused, but none spoke, for the consternation in every breast robbed them of speech. Had they come so far to be captured when so near to safety! Each longed to know what the danger was which made it necessary, worn out though they were, to go out into the night.

"You wonder at me, I am sure," the woman whispered, her eyes on the door while she was speaking. "I am one of yourselves, though some tell me I am one who worships like Naaman in the house of Rimmon. But that is not what I came to say. I want you to be gone--to find safety if it be possible."

She went to the door, opened it, and went outside; then, having glanced down the passage and the stairs, she came back again.

"I'll say more!" she exclaimed, still with her eyes on the closed door. "There came to the inn this afternoon a Churchman, who said that he was Doctor Cochlaeus, a Deacon of the Church of the Blessed Virgin. We all know him for a notorious heresy hunter. With him were half a score of horse soldiers, every one of whom is lodged in this house, while their horses are in the stables.

"While I was serving him he told me he was looking for an Englishman named Tyndale, who was busy translating the Scriptures, but had escaped just when it was thought that he would be captured and burnt. He suspected that a young man was with him, but he was not sure, and perhaps a young maiden named Margaret Byrckmann, who had escaped from the House of the Inquisition. Had I seen them? He asked me that, and I answered truly that I had not.

"Now you know!" the woman exclaimed. "And you must be gone; but you need not start till midnight. I will bid my stableman feed your horses well, and when the house is quiet he can muffle their feet in straw and get them away to a copse just off the road."

She left them softly, and presently, from time to time those who sat about the fire, wondering how the night would end, heard her voice as she gave her orders to her maids and serving-men. During that long, anxious evening they heard the soldiers singing their drinking songs.

The hours went slowly, and none of them were able to rest, although Tyndale and Margaret went to their rooms in the hope of getting some sleep. Their thoughts were on the perils of the night journey, and they wondered whether they could cover the fifteen miles that lay between this inn and the home of Martin Luther. Was it possible, now that Cochlaeus was on their track, that they would after all fall into the hands of the tormentors? What if, before they could get away, Cochlaeus should discover that they were in this house! All they could do was to pray in silence, and leave themselves in the hands of God.

"An hour longer, and then it will be midnight," said Herman, who, with Margaret, hand in hand with him, had been looking out of the window, waiting in the hope that the moon would rise, to make their going easier.

He had scarcely spoken when there came the sound of a galloping horse, but it pulled up at the door of the inn, just below the window.

"Is Doctor Cochlaeus here?" the horseman cried, still in his saddle.

"Yes," came a woman's voice. "What is your will?"

"I want him this instant. Go and call him. Bid him come down from his bed, if he be in it! Tell him I have news for him."

"Come in and see him for yourself," said the mistress of the inn sharply, not caring for the man's peremptory orders. "Why should I obey the orders of any night rider who chooses to pull up at my inn door?"

"I cannot waste my time. I want to ride elsewhere," the man cried irritably. "Tell him it will be necessary to come at once. And look you, mistress, if you stand idling there, and things should go awry, Doctor Cochlaeus will make it bad for you."

The woman turned away and went into the house, and the watchers at the window heard the rider call loudly for a stableman to bring his horse some water. The light over the inn door showed them a man in the saddle of a foam-covered horse that breathed heavily with his hard journey. They could hear the burst of his breath, and still the man sat on, turning an eager face towards the door.

Someone came out, and Herman and Margaret knew him.

"Cochlaeus," the girl whispered, shivering with fear and drawing nearer to her lover's side.

"What is this news you bring, fellow?" cried the Churchman, with some asperity at being called out of his warm bed.

The rider did not waste an instant.

"My lord of Hautcoeur has a man in his dungeon who, he says, is that English heretic, William Tyndale. He passed the castle gate a few hours after you had gone, and he bade me ride hard after you and bring you back at once, that he may get his troublesome prisoner off his hands, lest he may escape as he did from the castle of the lord of Schouts. Will you come at once?"

The rider's strident voice rang through the night, but the answer was decisive.

"Ho, there! Adam Kraft, call your soldiers to their saddles. That fellow, Tyndale, is in the dungeon at Hautcoeur, and we ride thither at once. Mistress, tell your stableman to get my horse ready. I must start at once."

There was an instant bustle. One by one the soldiers came round with their horses, grouping in the open space before the inn, and their helmets glanced in the light which streamed from the passage. Then came the horse which Cochlaeus was to ride, and before many minutes, with a soldier's aid, he was in the saddle.

"Are you ready?" he asked, looking round when he had gathered up the reins. The answering cry assured him, and, bidding the mistress of the inn a curt farewell, he spurred his horse and galloped away into the darkness, followed by his men. At every bound he was leaving the man he sought for farther behind him.

The night settled down into silence when the last of the horsemen had disappeared.

"They are gone," said Herman, meeting the woman on the stairs.

"Yes. Now get you gone also, in God's dear name. Was ever anything so good? To think that my lord of Hautcoeur should think he hath Master Tyndale in his dungeon!" The woman clapped her hands in ecstasy.

"'Tis God's doing, mistress," said Herman, and she looked up at him with glistening eyes.

Half an hour later, with all the lights of the inn put out, so that nothing should betray their going, Master Tyndale and the others were on the road.

"This is the Lord's doing!" he exclaimed, lifting his cap reverently; and he had barely spoken before the horses were on the move.