CHAPTER VIII

THE PRINTER'S WORKSHOP

When they had gone back to the house, and told of what they had seen, Herman took Margaret home, and then the story of the night's experiences was related to Byrckmann, whose eyes brightened.

"God is in this. Now I see daylight," he exclaimed, turning to his daughter with a smile, the first she had seen on his face, which was genuine, since he had heard that Cochlaeus was in the city. He had forced himself to look serene and unruffled when his customers came to the shop, and had spoken to the workmen as though care sat but lightly on him; but whenever Margaret watched him while he was alone she knew that he had covered his face with a mask to hide his fear of approaching disaster.

But things had undergone a change, and Byrckmann went to bed that night doing something that was unwonted--humming to himself as though he had no more dread. Her father's cheerfulness and obvious relief gave Margaret such a sense of safety that she, too, slept soundly.

It was early morning when she got out of bed, and, drawing back the curtain, she looked into the street to see what sort of day was promising. What she saw surprised her, for John Gropper was crossing the road to the shop.

"So early?" she muttered, for by the strokes of the cathedral bell it wanted two hours before the workmen would come for the day. But she asked no questions when it was her usual time for going downstairs.

During the day the horses came to the door, and the waggon was laden with bales; then moved away in the direction of the quay. She thought nothing of it, because it was such a usual thing. She saw at times how men came and went, talking with her father at the counter, or going with him into the workshop; but his care was so sensibly diminished that she was able to move about without that oppression at her heart. She laughed light-heartedly when Herman came, and told her that he had spoken to her father, and that the wedding could take place next week.

"Ha! You hold me lightly, as if I were goods and chattels to be disposed of as two men might arrange!" she cried, holding Herman off at arm's length, her pretty face full of laughter, and her eyes dancing. "What if I decline?" she asked saucily.

"What if you decline, my pretty maid?" Herman asked. "When the morning comes I'll come, and what would you do in my strong arms if I picked you up, and carried you through the streets?"

"And expose me to the ridicule of every passer-by," she exclaimed archly.

"That way, whatever the passer-by may think, my little maid, rather than not at all."

The day was ageing when a change came. She was telling her mother of things that had happened downstairs; the queer requests of some of the customers; the obstinacy of the new maid in the kitchen; the gloom on the face of one of the 'prentices because he had mistaken the day when his time expired, and he had two more weeks to serve; of an unusually large order that had come in--a dozen things like that; and the pale face of the suffering woman grew rosier, and the lips parted in smiles, and the mother chatted eagerly about her daughter's wedding.

The joy passed suddenly, like a thunder-clap, and the old care returned, and more fiercely because she had thought it gone entirely. The twilight was coming as she sat at the window, telling her mother what was going on in the street, the workmen straggling off in ones and twos because the day's work was ended. It was not that which made the rosy cheeks white, and drove the love-light from her eyes, and made her heart beat with anxiety. Not that commonplace thing.

Some men were moving along the street, and the sound came up to the open window, like the steady tramp of soldiers. Then she saw the City Guard.

She had already seen them go by twice that day, but the conditions of the coming had changed. Two men were walking with the Captain of the Guard: one of them Cochlaeus; the other the Dean of the Senate, who never accompanied the Guard unless the business was of the most serious import.

She hoped they would pass, but the soldiers ranged up in a double line before the door of her father's house, just as they had done in front of Herman's home; and then the Captain and the Dean followed Cochlaeus into the shop.

She was dismayed and confounded, for her thoughts went to the cellar where the bundles were hidden away. These men had but to go there, and the mere presence of the press would lend suspicion as to its use in that unusual place. They had but to strip away one of the strong wrappers and they would see those printed sheets!

"Mother, there is Mistress Amon passing!" she exclaimed, making that her excuse for leaving the room so abruptly. She was going down to face the trouble, for it must be that.

When she passed the doors on her way downstairs the rooms seemed silent, tragic almost in their suggestion of disaster. A hush had come over the place which boded ill, but there was the rush of sound in her ears, and the beating of her heart. A mirror was at the bend of the stairs, and she was startled to see her face; it looked so weary, and so drawn with fear.

She went on, wanting to learn the worst. It meant so much for the home; for her father, of whom she was so fond and proud; for her darling mother, from whom they kept all the rough winds of life because she had enough to bear in the way of bodily pain. Yes. And it meant so much for herself. For how could she think of marriage when she was known to the world as the daughter of a man who was to die at the stake, or, as an act of uncommon mercy, to end his days at the galleys?

At the foot of the dark stairs she stood unseen, either by her father, or the Dean, or Cochlaeus. The Dean was unusually serious, and it was easy to see that his errand was an unwelcome one; solely one of duty; whereas Cochlaeus betrayed his satisfaction at the prospect of seeing Byrckmann undone, and Tyndale's hope of getting his Bible printed vanish.

[Illustration: COCHLAEUS AND THE SOLDIERS SEARCHING THE PRINTER'S WORKSHOP.]

What struck her most was her father's bearing. He was faced, she knew, with ruin, and she did not see how he could escape discovery. Cochlaeus was reputed to be well versed in all the tricks of heretics to hide their guilt, and he was not easily baffled. Yet her father was quite at ease. He was grave enough, but he had not the bearing of a man who feared the outcome of this search. Margaret saw the Dean look at him askance.

They went to the workshop, followed by a couple of soldiers, who left their halberds in the shop as being too cumbersome to carry in the winding passages.

Margaret stole after them, but was careful to keep out of sight. The workmen were all gone home, and through the glass door she saw that the workshop was left as usual. Printed sheets lay about. The presses were there, empty, waiting for the morning. The written papers which were copy for the printing were in the usual places, and tools, and ink, and other things.

Her father contented himself with waving his hand, but she heard him say:

"This is my workshop. Search as you will."

The searchers moved in all directions, and Cochlaeus, more active than any, looked around for hidden places, and seemed to be calculating the thickness of the walls, suggestive of room for hiding; but there was nothing to bear out his suspicions in that matter.

Nothing was discovered in the workshop, although with his strong hand Cochlaeus tore open every package to see that nothing in them was likely to belong to Tyndale. Even the paper wanted for printing was dealt with in the same ruthless way, until Byrckmann's patience reached its limit, and he made a protest to the Dean.

"This priest, who has no official standing in the city, has chosen to suspect me, yet he is welcome to make his search. But prevent him from doing such wanton damage to my goods, or I will sue the Senate for the charges."

Cochlaeus swung round and stared in amazement at the printer, but he caught the glint in his eyes, and saw that Byrckmann, far from being afraid, was almost defiant. He went about his work more carefully, and did no more preventible damage.

Nothing was found; nor in the inner shop, where special work was done. But what of that? Margaret's mind was on the cellar, where the real danger lay. She watched anxiously, lest any stray piece of paper might betray her father, but she wondered whether, with all his sharpness, Cochlaeus would think of the cellar.

"Master Byrckmann," cried Cochlaeus peremptorily, "remove the bundles from this side of the room, so that we may see the floor beneath."

"Nay; I do not make the search," came the sturdy answer. "'Tis not for me to give a hand in what you think will be my undoing."

The tone was decisive. The Dean looked askance at the printer, and muttered to himself that Byrckmann did not bear himself like a man who had anything to fear. He turned to the soldiers, and bade them remove the bales to the other side of the room. They responded sulkily, for this was not their work. As the last bale was dropped on top of the others, Cochlaeus stamped over the cleared space.

"Ha! This is hollow!"

Bending low, he scanned every part of the floor, and at last he went on his knees to feel about for any sign of an opening.

"Byrckmann, come and raise the floor!" he cried.

"Nay, 'tis your business, not mine," was the quiet retort. "'Tis your search, as I told you just now; not mine. You can lift it as readily as I."

The Dean looked round again and, ignoring the Captain of the Guard, who yielded to his superior, he nodded to a soldier. The man came forward and, looking carefully, thrust in the point of his sword at the spot where the floor seemed to be moveable, and, lifting it, threw it back with a noisy clatter and a prodigious dust.

"Now we shall see!" cried Cochlaeus triumphantly, and he hurried down the steps. The Deacon of the Church of the Blessed Virgin had discarded his dignity in his eagerness.

Every pulse in Margaret throbbed wildly. She felt like falling in a fainting heap, but she controlled herself, and watched, to mark the fatal ending of this quest. Yet she marvelled to mark her father's ease.

As the last soldier moved down, and his head went out of sight, she was more amazed than ever to see him rub his hands, and his face broaden into a smile. She wondered whether he had suddenly gone mad with the strain of the last few days, and therefore he did not realise his danger.

Presently a soldier's head appeared, and his face, when it came in sight, had a whimsical look on it. So it was with the next, and he stamped his foot as his heavy boot touched the floor. He dropped his sword noisily into its scabbard, as if there would be no use for it.

The Dean came into view, impassive as before, unless one could interpret that peculiar look on his lean face as one of satisfaction because the quest had ended so. There was bewilderment in the Captain's face when he also emerged from the cellar.

Last of all came Cochlaeus, and his sinister face was red with wrath. As he stepped away from the ladder he swung round on Byrckmann, and spoke in a passionate tone.

"Why did you not say there was nothing here to connect you with that fellow Tyndale?"

"You put no question that I could so answer," was the quiet, but exasperating response. "You came to my shop, and without asking me anything, you said, 'We have come to search your premises.' You did not say for what, and since the Dean was here, a man whom I esteem, I offered no protest, although you have no authority in this city, and suffered you to have your way. You have had it."

While the soldiers left the house, Cochlaeus stamped to and fro, protesting against being made a laughing-stock.

"Nay," said the Dean quietly. "You came to the Senate House and lodged your information in such confident terms that Master Byrckmann was printing off this Bible for Tyndale, that we granted you the opportunity for the search. You cannot blame the printer because his hands are clean in this matter."

Cochlaeus scowled and walked away, while Margaret, still wondering how it came about that the cellar was clear, followed him through the shop, and gazed after him through the window when he stalked along in anger down the silent street.