For
a time they ate in silence. Every other while, the Vicar's sudden eye glinted
upon Lessingham; it was as if he had a mind to propound some matter, but would
be besought for it first. But Lessingham sat sphinx-like and unconcerned in his
pleasant ease, as wanting nothing, desiring nothing, at peace with himself and
the hour and the fresh morning. At length the Vicar spoke: 'You are as unquiet
and restless as an October stag: but three days here, and already I see you in
a fever for some new action.'
Lessingham
smiled.
After
a time the Vicar spoke again: 'For my own part, I had as lief sit quiet now:
enjoy that fortune hath given us.'
'I
praise your resolution,' said Lessingham: 'a most pious and fine humility in you,
whom fortune hath so much blest, without all seconding of your proper action.'
The
Vicar took a peach and skinned it. 'Could we but count', he said, 'on others
for the like temperate withholding.'
Lessingham
said nothing.
'The
south breedeth hot bloods and hot livers like summer flies,' said the Vicar
after a pause. He poured out some more wine. ' 'Tis that gives me stay,' he
said. ' 'Tis that makes me think may be we should do somewhat,' he said, after
another mouthful
Lessingham
waited.
The
Vicar smote his fist on the table. ‘I am master of the game, by this lucky
turn,' he said: 'play off the fat Admiral 'gainst the Duke, and all the poppets
of Meszria 'gainst each in turn: cheap as kissing, and twice as profitable.
But it needs suasion, cousin, specious arguments; butter 'em, tickle 'em,
conycatch 'em; you must go to 'em like coy wenches: amuse 'em, feed 'em with
pathetical flim-flams, flout 'em, then seem to forget 'em, then be somewhat
bold with 'em, laugh at 'em; last, i' the happy instant, ring up the grand main
piece. Now I, cousin, am a loose, plain, rude talker: call a spade a spade. But
you, and you would, should do this to admiration.'
‘I
have handled such a matter ere now,' said Lessingham, 'and have not spoilt
things utterly.'
'Cousin,'
said the Vicar: 'harkee, I would have your head in this. I would have you fare
south and play this game for me. You shall be my ambassador. And, so you
magnify it not beyond all reason, you shall name your own reward.'
‘I
did think you knew', said Lessingham, 'that it is not my way to do aught upon
reward. Reason why, that to such things only am I wont to set my hand as the reward
thereof lieth in the doing of 'em.'
'
'Twould make a dog laugh to hear such fiddle-faddle,' said the Vicar. 'Go to, I
shall give you wide choice of dominion and treasure when the time comes. Will
you do it?'
'I
will do it,' answered Lessingham: 'but upon conditions.' His eyes were
a-sparkle. 'Well,' said the Vicar.
Lessingham
said, 'First is, that you uphold the King's testament.'
'That',
replied he, 'proceedeth without question. It is my open proclaimed policy to
uphold it throughly, and if you will I'll swear to it.'
'Second
is,' said Lessingham, 'that you own and acknowledge to me, for my private ear only,
here in this place, that 'twas by your rede, more, your direct commandment,
the King was lately thus miserably murdered.'
The
Vicar laughed. ' 'Las cousin, will you, too, give credit to that slanderous
rumour and obloquy now going abroad?'
'I
see', said Lessingham: *you will not fulfil my second condition. Good. Get you
another ambassador.'
The
Vicar's face was scarlet to look upon. He said, *I swear to you by God, the
very founder, furtherer, and finisher of truth—'
Lessingham
brake in upon him: 'Give over, cousin. Indeed, if you be not damned already
'twere pity damn yourself for so hopeless an attempt as make me credit what I
well know to be a lie. Be not angry, cousin: here we be close as the grave:
surely 'twixt you and I 'tis stretch courtesy past use and reason to pretend I
know you not for a most approved liar and forswearer.' He ate a bit of
marmalade, and leaned back in his chair. 'To be open with you,' he said, 'you
have put me into such a gog of going. I would not stay now for the world. Yet
see the pass we stand in: if it be as hard for you to tell the truth as for me
to go back from my word, I'm sorry for it, for then all goeth miss.'
'Put
case it were true,' said the Vicar. 'Were it not rash in you to desire a
knowledge might hurry you to ruin? Like to that great man's mistress, wheedled
him to confess a horrid murder, which done, he swore her to -silence upon a
poisoned book: knowing it lay not in her to conceal his counsel, bound her to't
by death.'
Lessingham
looked at him with the flicker of a smile in his eyes. 'When I am grown so
useless to you, cousin, as you should afford to lose me, I'll think it danger
to receive such secrets of you. Till then, no. I'll trust no man's affections,
but I trust your wisdom most securely. Most securely, cousin.'
The
Vicar toyed with his wine-cup. 'Be that as it may,' he said at last. 'This you
talk on is a monstrous folly. Where's the reason of the thing? I were a fine
fool to a murdered the young suck-egg, when 'twas in my hand to have overthrown
him with force of arms.'
'There',
replied Lessingham, 'you do much belie your prudent mind. It had been folly
indeed to stand in the eyes of the world a usurping rebel, when 'twas the
readier way, with some devilish pothecary stuff, stibium, henbane, I know not
what, to whiffle him off and then put on your mourning and say his jealous
brother did it.'
'Ay,
and did he,' said the Vicar. 'And did set too the lying tongues a-wag to say
'twas I.'
Lessingham
yawned and studied the back of his hand, the little silky black hairs that grew
fine and smooth on the shapely finger-joints, and the heavy ancient golden worm
that he wore on his middle finger, scaly, eating of its own tail, its head a
cabochon ruby big as a sparrow's egg, that glowed with inward fires like the
blood-red fires of sunset.
'You
will go then?' said the Vicar.
'But
upon condition of confession,' answered he.
The
Vicar lurched up from the table and began to pace about. Lessingham yawned
again and played with his ring. Neither spoke. After a minute the Vicar,
grinding his teeth, came and stood over against him. Lessingham looked up.
'Dear cousin,' he said, 'how long will you stay this matter's going into
action, of so much worth and moment? And how long will you seek to cast suds in
my eyes that am long since satisfied of the truth, but will have it of you in
friendship? You did send me out of the way to Mornagay whiles it was done. But
I know it.'
The
Vicar laughed with anger. 'Know it? Upon what evidence?' He ground his teeth.
'Gabriel, that filth, was't he told you this? I'll have him hewn in pieces.'
'O
spare your pains,' said Lessingham. 'Should Gabriel tell me at noonday 'twas
twelve o'clock, I'd have evidence corroborative ere I'd believe it. No, cousin,
I am satisfied you did act this murder; not by your own hand, indeed: that were
too simple: but yours the deed was. And since you will be so strange with me as
deny the thing: well, the Gods be with you, I'll have no further hand with
you.'
The
Vicar sat down again and leaned across the table, glowering at him awhile in
silence. Lessingham returned his gaze steadily; the eyes of Lessingham were
grey with brown and golden speckles. The Vicar at length turned away his gaze.
'Well,' he said betwixt his teeth: ‘I did it.'
Slowly
and luxuriously Lessingham stretched his arms, yawned, and then sat up. He
reached out a leisurely hand to the golden flagon and filled his goblet with
red hippo-eras. 'Truth hath been long time a-coming out,' he said. '* ‘I’ll
pledge her, so.' He drank, looking over the cup at the Vicar with a slow
smiling contentment, a strange, clouded look, in which came suddenly an
alteration as if the red sun had glared out through a rift in the clouds. 'This
murder,' said he, and there were now undertones and overtones in his voice that
made it terrible, for all it was so quiet and came on so even and undisturbed a
breath: 'This murder was one of the most filthiest acts that ever was done.'
The
Vicar faced him like a bull of Nineveh.
'You
did show me the testament,' said Lessingham. 'Was that some fine counterfeit
device of yours, or was it real and true?' The Vicar made no answer. Lessingham
said, 'Well, I know it was true, by tests beyond your protestations, cousin.
And I remarked it very particularly, wherein it did name you vicar and vice-regent
of the Queen and lord protector of her minority, and did enjoin you in all
points study her proper good and safety and the enhancement of her sovereign
power and dominion, and tender and cherish her lovingly as a father should. You
are not much practised in a father's part, I think. Since you did drive your
sons away into exile. This will be hard for you.'
He
paused, looking the Vicar straight in the eye. It was as if across that silent
table two thunder-clouds faced each other in an awful calm. Lessingham spoke:
'You have promised me to uphold that testament. Well, I'll help you, as I have
done before. I'll go on this embassage for you. I’ll follow and uphold you as
Vicar of the Queen. But this testament shall be to you as a thing enskied and holy.
Which if in any jot or tittle you shall offend against, or one finger's breadth
depart from it: no more, but you shall bitterly aby it'
The
Vicar ran his tongue over his lips. For a minute he was silent, then in a kind
of cold tart pride he said, ‘I were poorly paid then for my goodness and
forbearance; seeing these five minutes past I have had a more than most
intolerable lust to murder you, yet, I know not why, forbore.' He stood up with
a laugh, and with a forced pretence of jolly-scoffing bravery. 'What squibs be
these, for men of our kidney to tease ourselves withal of a spring morning!
And, cousin, this is the maggot in the oak-apple: you are clean fallen in love
with yonder little wagtail at mere hearsay.'
Lessingham
answered and said, 'With you, cousin, I have long fallen in love.'
VI
Lord Lessingham’s Embassage
THE
ADMIRAL AND THE CHANCELLOR
DISCORDS OF
LESSINGHAM'S PLANTING
THE ADMIRAL MUCH
PERPLEXED
DIVIDED POLITICS
LESSINGHAM AND VANDERMAST
CONFERENCE IN ACROZAYANA
THE DUKE BROUGHT TO BAY
A BROKEN CONSORT
THE DUKE AND LESSINGHAM: STRANGE CONCORDS.
That
was
of an evening of late May-time, the fourth week after these things but now
spoken of, that the Lord Beroald sat alone at the upper edge of a clearing in the
oak-woods that clothe the low Darial hills south of the lake, looking
northwards to Zayana. From his feet the ground fell gently away for a hundred
paces or more to the bridle-path. Below that, the tree-clad face of the hill
dropped sharply to the lake seven or eight hundred feet beneath. The sky was
fair, and the weather smooth and calm. His horse grazed at ease, moving to and
fro amid the lush grasses. Save for that munching sound, and the sound of
falling water, and now and then the note of a cuckoo calling, and now and then
the noise of the horse's hoof against a stone, there was silence. A marmot came
out of a heap of fallen rocks behind him on his left and sat up with little
fore-paws hanging down as if in a helpless soft dismay, viewing the Chancellor.
She whistled and retired back to her hole when the silence was broken
by a fresh noise of horse-hooves, and
the lord Admiral rode up into the clearing, greeted the Chancellor, and
dismounted beside him.
‘It
is very much', said the Lord Jeronimy, when they were sat down together upon a
great stone, 'that we should be fain to take counsel under the sky like owls or
moor-dogs.'
Beroald
smiled his cold smile. 'I am much beholden to your lordship for suffering this
inconvenience. In the city,
a
flea shall not frisk forth unless his
intelligencers comment upon her. And this new business both calleth for speedy
action, and needs that both you and I examine and consider of it o'erheard by
none.'
'Will
he not take my no for an answer?' said Jeronimy. *Why, what a loose hot
corrupter of virtue have we here. First getteth no from me; then no from the
Duke; and now sueth to your lordship to be in a manner his go-between, as if I
were a silly maid to comply at last, with oftener scenting of the flower. What
new conditions now then?'