Fair Margaret

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"Do not speak so madly, Sir," said Peter; "these matters are between you
and God. What have we to do with them, and who made us judges over you?
We only pray that your fears may come to nothing, and that you may reach
your grave in peace and honour."

"I thank you for your generous words, which are such as befit your
nature," said Castell gently; "but what says Margaret?"

"I, father?" she answered, wildly. "Oh! I have nothing to say. He is
right. It is between you and God; but it is hard that I must lose my
love so soon." Peter looked up, and Castell answered:

"Lose him! Why, what did he swear but now?"

"I care not what he swore; but how can I ask him, who is of noble,
Christian birth, to marry the daughter of a Jew who all his life has
passed himself off as a worshipper of that Jesus Whom he denies?"

Now Peter held up his hand.

"Have done with such talk," he said. "Were your father Judas himself,
what is that to you and me? You are mine and I am yours till death part
us, nor shall the faith of another man stand between us for an hour.
Sir, we thank you for your confidence, and of this be sure, that
although it makes us sorrowful, we do not love or honour you the less
because now we know the truth."

Margaret rose from her chair, looked a while at her father, then with a
sob threw herself suddenly upon his breast.

"Forgive me if I spoke bitterly," she said, "who, not knowing that I was
half a Jewess, have been taught to hate their race. What is it to me of
what faith you are, who think of you only as my dearest father?"

"Why weep then?" asked Castell, stroking her hair tenderly.

"Because you are in danger, or so you say, and if anything happened to
you--oh! what shall I do then?"

"Accept it as the will of God, and bear the blow bravely, as I hope to
do, should it fall," he answered, and, kissing her, left the chapel.

"It seems that joy and trouble go hand in hand," said Margaret, looking
up presently.

"Yes, Sweet, they were ever twins; but provided we have our share of the
first, do not let us quarrel with the second. A pest on the priests and
all their bigotry, say I! Christ sought to convert the Jews, not to kill
them; and for my part I can honour the man who clings to his own faith,
aye, and forgive him because they forced him to feign to belong to ours.
Pray then that neither of us may live to commit a greater sin, and that
we may soon be wed and dwell in peace away from London, where we can
shelter him."

"I do--I do," she answered, drawing close to Peter, and soon they forgot
their fears and doubts in each other's arms.

On the following morning, that of Sunday, Peter, Margaret, and Betty
went together to Mass at St. Paul's church; but Castell said that he was
ill, and did not come. Indeed, now that his conscience was stirred as to
the double life he had led so long, he purposed, if he could avoid it,
to worship in a Christian church no more. Therefore he said that he was
sick; and they, knowing that this sickness was of the heart, answered
nothing. But privately they wondered what he would do who could not
always remain sick, since not to go to church and partake of its
Sacraments was to be published as a heretic.

But if he did not accompany them himself, Castell, without their
knowledge, sent two of his stoutest servants, bidding these keep near to
them and see that they came home safe.

Now, when they left the church, Peter saw two Spaniards, whose faces he
thought he knew, who seemed to be watching them, but, as he lost sight
of them presently in the throng, said nothing. Their shortest way home
ran across some fields and gardens where there were few houses. This
lane, then, they followed, talking earnestly to each other, and noting
nothing till Betty behind called out to them to beware. Then Peter
looked up and saw the two Spaniards scrambling through a gap in the
fence not six paces ahead of them, saw also that they laid their hands
upon their sword-hilts.

"Let us pass them boldly," he muttered to Margaret; "I'll not turn my
back on a brace of Spaniards," but he also laid his hand upon the hilt
of the sword he wore beneath his cloak, and bade her get behind him.

Thus, then, they came face to face. Now, the Spaniards, who were
evil-looking fellows, bowed courteously enough, and asked if he were not
Master Peter Brome. They spoke in Spanish; but, like Margaret Peter knew
this tongue, if not too well, having been taught it as a child, and
practised it much since he came into the service of John Castell, who
used it largely in his trade.

"Yes," he answered. "What is your business with me?"

"We have a message for you, Senor, from a certain comrade of ours, one
Andrew, a Scotchman, whom you met a few nights ago," replied the
spokesman of the pair. "He is dead, but still he sends his message, and
it is that we should ask you to join him at once. Now, all of us
brothers have sworn to deliver that message, and to see that you keep
the tryst. If some of us should chance to fail, then others will meet
you with the message until you keep that tryst."

"You mean that you wish to murder me," said Peter, setting his mouth and
drawing the sword from beneath his cloak. "Well, come on, cowards, and
we will see whom Andrew gets for company in hell to-day. Run back,
Margaret and Betty--run." And he tore off his cloak and threw it over
his left arm.

So for a moment they stood, for he looked fierce and ill to deal with.
Then, just as they began to feint in front of him, there came a rush of
feet, and on either side of Peter appeared the two stout serving-men,
also sword in hand.

"I am glad of your company," he said, catching sight of them out of the
corners of his eyes. "Now, Senors Cut-throats, do you still wish to
deliver that message?"

The answer of the Spaniards, who saw themselves thus unexpectedly
out-matched, was to turn and run, whereon one of the serving-men,
picking up a big stone that lay in the path, hurled it after them with
all his force. It struck the hindmost Spaniard full in the back, and so
heavy was the blow that he fell on to his face in the mud, whence he
rose and limped away, cursing them with strange, Spanish oaths, and
vowing vengeance.

"Now," said Peter, "I think that we may go home in safety, for no more
messengers will come from Andrew to-day."

"No," gasped Margaret, "not to-day, but to-morrow or the next day they
will come, and oh! how will it end?"

"That God knows alone," answered Peter gravely as he sheathed his sword.

When the story of this attempt was told to Castell he seemed much
disturbed.

"It is clear that they have a blood-feud against you on account of that
Scotchman whom you killed in self-defence," he said anxiously. "Also
these Spaniards are very revengeful, nor have they forgiven you for
calling the English to your aid against them. Peter, I fear that if you
go abroad they will murder you."

"Well, I cannot stay indoors always, like a rat in a drain," said Peter
crossly, "so what is to be done? Appeal to the law?"

"No; for you have just broken the law by killing a man. I think you had
best go away for a while till this storm blows over."

"Go away! Peter go away?" broke in Margaret, dismayed.

"Yes," answered her father. "Listen, daughter. You cannot be married at
once. It is not seemly; moreover, notice must be given and arrangement
made. A month hence will be soon enough, and that is not long for you to
wait who only became affianced yesterday. Also, until you are wed, no
word must be said to any one of this betrothal of yours, lest those
Spaniards should lay their feud at your door also, and work you some
mischief. Let none know of it, I charge you, and in company be distant
to each other, as though there were nothing between you."

"As you will, Sir," replied Peter; "but for my part I do not like all
these hidings of the truth, which ever lead to future trouble. I say,
let me bide here and take my chance, and let us be wed as soon as
may be."

"That your wife may be made a widow before the week is out, or the house
burnt about our ears by these rascals and their following? No, no,
Peter; walk softly that you may walk safely. We will hear the report of
the Spaniard d'Aguilar, and afterwards take counsel."

CHAPTER VI

FAREWELL

D'Aguilar came to supper that night as he had promised, and this time
not on foot and unattended, but with pomp and circumstance as befitted a
great lord. First appeared two running footmen to clear the way; then
followed D'Aguilar, mounted on a fine white horse, and splendidly
apparelled in a velvet cloak and a hat with nodding ostrich plumes,
while after him rode four men-at-arms in his livery.

"We asked one guest, or rather he asked himself, and we have got seven,
to say nothing of their horses," grumbled Castell, watching their
approach from an upper window. "Well, we must make the best of it.
Peter, go, see that man and beast are fed, and fully, that they may not
grumble at our hospitality. The guard can eat in the little hall with
our own folk. Margaret, put on your richest robe and your jewels, those
which you wore when I took you to that city feast last summer. We will
show these fine, foreign birds that we London merchants have brave
feathers also."

Peter hesitated, misdoubting him of the wisdom of this display, who, if
he could have his will, would have sent the Spaniard's following to the
tavern, and received him in sober garments to a simple meal.

But Castell, who seemed somewhat disturbed that night, who loved,
moreover, to show his wealth at times after the fashion of a Jew, began
to fume and ask if he must go himself. So the end of it was that Peter
went, shaking his head, while, urged to it by her father, Margaret
departed also to array herself.

A few minutes later Castell, in his costliest feast-day robe, greeted
d'Aguilar in the ante-hall, and, the two of them being alone, asked him
how matters went as regarded de Ayala and the man who had been killed.

"Well and ill," answered d'Aguilar. "Doctor de Puebla, with whom I hoped
to deal, has left London in a huff, for he says that there is not room
for two Spanish ambassadors at Court, so I had to fall back upon de
Ayala after all. Indeed, twice have I seen that exalted priest upon the
subject of the well-deserved death of his villainous servant, and, after
much difficulty, for having lost several men in such brawls, he thought
his honour touched, he took the fifty gold angels--to be transmitted to
the fellow's family, of course, or so he said--and gave a receipt. Here
it is," and he handed a paper to Castell, who read it carefully.

It was to the effect that Peter Brome, having paid a sum of fifty angels
to the relatives of Andrew Pherson, a servant of the Spanish ambassador,
which Andrew the said Peter had killed in a brawl, the said ambassador
undertook not to prosecute or otherwise molest the said Peter on account
of the manslaughter which he had committed.

"But no money has been paid," said Castell.

"Indeed yes, I paid it. De Ayala gives no receipts against promises."

"I thank you for your courtesy, Senor. You shall have the gold before
you leave this house. Few would have trusted a stranger thus far."

D'Aguilar waved his hand.

"Make no mention of such a trifle. I would ask you to accept it as a
token of my regard for your family, only that would be to affront so
wealthy a man. But listen, I have more to say. You are, or rather your
kinsman Peter, is still in the wood. De Ayala has pardoned him; but
there remains the King of England, whose law he has broken. Well, this
day I have seen the King, who, by the way, talked of you as a worthy
man, saying that he had always thought only a Jew could be so wealthy,
and that he knew you were not, since you had been reported to him as a
good son of the Church," and he paused, looking at Castell.

"I fear his Grace magnifies my wealth, which is but small," answered
Castell coolly, leaving the rest of his speech unnoticed. "But what said
his Grace?"

"I showed him de Ayala's receipt, and he answered that if his Excellency
was satisfied, he was satisfied, and for his part would not order any
process to issue; but he bade me tell you and Peter Brome that if he
caused more tumult in his streets, whatever the provocation, and
especially if that tumult were between English and Spaniards, he would
hang him at once with trial or without it. All of which he said very
angrily, for the last thing which his Highness desires just now is any
noise between Spain and England."

"That is bad," answered Castell, "for this very morning there was near
to being such a tumult," and he told the story of how the two Spaniards
had waylaid Peter, and one of them been knocked down by the serving-man
with a stone. At this news d'Aguilar shook his head.

"Then that is just where the trouble lies," he exclaimed. "I know it
from my people, who keep me well informed, that all those servants of de
Ayala, and there are more than twenty of them, have sworn an oath by the
Virgin of Seville that before they leave this land they will have your
kinsman's blood in payment for that of Andrew Pherson, who, although a
Scotchman, was their officer, and a brave man whom they loved much. Now,
if they attack him, as they will, there must be a brawl, for Peter
fights well, and if there is a brawl, though Peter and the English get
the best of it, as very likely they may, Peter will certainly be hanged,
for so the King has promised."

"Before they leave the land? When do they leave it?"

"De Ayala sails within a month, and his folk with him, for his
co-ambassador, the Doctor de Puebla, will bear with him no more, and has
written from the country house where he is sulking that one of them
must go."

"Then I think it is best, Senor, that Peter should travel for a month."

"Friend Castell, you are wise; I think so too, and, I counsel you,
arrange it at once. Hush! here comes the lady, your daughter."

As he spoke, Margaret appeared descending the broad oak stairs which led
into the ante-room. Holding a lamp in her hand, she was in full light,
whereas the two men stood in the shadow. She wore a low-cut dress of
crimson velvet, embroidered about the bodice with dead gold, which
enhanced the dazzling whiteness of her shapely neck and bosom. Round her
throat hung a string of great pearls, and on her head was a net of
gold, studded with smaller pearls, from beneath which her glorious,
chestnut-black hair flowed down in rippling waves almost to her knees.
Having her father's bidding so to do, she had adorned herself thus that
she might look her fairest, not in the eyes of their guest, but in those
of her new-affianced husband. So fair was she seen thus that d'Aguilar,
the artist, the adorer of loveliness, caught his breath and shivered at
the sight of her.

"By the eleven thousand virgins!" he said, "your daughter is more
beautiful than all of them put together. She should be crowned a queen,
and bewitch the world."

"Nay, nay, Senor," answered Castell hurriedly; "let her remain humble
and honest, and bewitch her husband."

"So I should say if I were the husband," he muttered, then stepped
forward, bowing, to meet her.

Now the light of the silver lamp she held on high flowed over the two of
them, d'Aguilar and Margaret, and certainly they seemed a well-matched
pair. Both were tall and cast by Nature in a rich and splendid mould;
both had that high air of breeding which comes with ancient blood--for
what bloods are more ancient than those of the Jew and the
Eastern?--both were slow and stately of movement, low-voiced, and
dignified of speech. Castell noted it and was afraid, he knew not
of what.

Peter, entering the room by another door, clad only in his grey clothes,
for he would not put on gay garments for the Spaniard, noted it also,
and with the quick instinct of love knew this magnificent foreigner for
a rival and an enemy. But he was not afraid, only jealous and angry.
Indeed, nothing would have pleased him better then than that the
Spaniard should have struck him in the face, so that within five minutes
it might be shown which of them was the better man. It must come to
this, he felt, and very glad would he have been if it could come at the
beginning and not at the end, so that one or the other of them might be
saved much trouble. Then he remembered that he had promised to say or
show nothing of how things stood between him and Margaret, and, coming
forward, he greeted d'Aguilar quietly but coldly, telling him that his
horses had been stabled, and his retinue accommodated.

The Spaniard thanked him very heartily, and they passed in to supper. It
was a strange meal for all four of them, yet outwardly pleasant enough.
Forgetting his cares, Castell drank gaily, and began to talk of the many
changes which he had seen in his life, and of the rise and fall of
kings. D'Aguilar talked also, of the Spanish wars and policy, for in the
first he had seen much service, and of the other he knew every turn. It
was easy to see that he was one of those who mixed with courts, and had
the ear of ministers and majesty. Margaret also, being keen-witted and
anxious to learn of the great world that lay beyond Holborn and London
town, asked questions, seeking to know, amongst other things, what were
the true characters of Ferdinand, King of Aragon, and Isabella his wife,
the famous queen.

"I will tell you in few words, Senora. Ferdinand is the most ambitious
man in Europe, false also if it serves his purpose. He lives for self
and gain--that money and power. These are his gods, for he has no true
religion. He is not clever but, being very cunning, he will succeed and
leave a famous name behind him."

"An ugly picture," said Margaret. "And what of his queen?"

"She," answered d'Aguilar, "is a great woman, who knows how to use the
temper of her time and so attain her ends. To the world she shows a
tender heart, but beneath it lies hid an iron resolution."

"What are those ends?" asked Margaret again.

"To bring all Spain under her rule; utterly to crush the Moors and take
their territories; to make the Church of Christ triumphant upon earth;
to stamp out heresy; to convert or destroy the Jews," he added slowly,
and as he spoke the words, Peter, watching, saw his eyes open and
glitter like a snake's--"to bring their bodies to the purifying flames,
and their vast wealth into her treasury, and thus earn the praise of the
faithful upon earth, and for herself a throne in heaven."

For a while there was silence after this speech, then Margaret said
boldly:

"If heavenly thrones are built of human blood and tears, what stone and
mortar do they use in hell, I wonder?" Then, without pausing for an
answer, she rose, saying that she was weary, curtseyed to d'Aguilar, her
father and Peter, each in turn, and left the hall.

When she had gone the talk flagged, and presently d'Aguilar asked for
his men and horses and departed also, saying as he went:

"Friend Castell, you will repeat my news to your good kinsman here. I
pray for all your sakes that he may bow his head to what cannot be
helped, and thus keep it safe upon his shoulders."

"What meant the man?" asked Peter, when the sound of the horses' hoofs
had died away.

Castell told him of what had passed between him and d'Aguilar before
supper, and showed him de Ayala's receipt, adding in a vexed voice:

"I have forgotten to repay him the gold; it shall be sent to-morrow."

"Have no fear; he will come for it," answered Peter coldly. "Now, if I
have my way, I will take the risk of these Spaniards' swords and King
Henry's rope, and bide here."

"That you must not do," said Castell earnestly, "for my sake and
Margaret's, if not for yours. Would you make her a widow before she is a
wife? Listen: it is my wish that you travel down to Essex to take
delivery of your father's land in the Vale of Dedham and see to the
repairing of the mansion house, which, I am told, needs it much. Then,
when these Spaniards are gone, you can return and at once be married,
say one short month hence."

"Will not you and Margaret come with me to Dedham?"

Castell shook his head.

"It is not possible. I must wind up my affairs, and Margaret cannot go
with you alone. Moreover, there is no place for her to lodge. I will
keep her here till you return."

"Yes, Sir; but will you keep her safe? The cozening words of Spaniards
are sometimes more deadly than their swords."

"I think that Margaret has a medicine against all such arts," answered
her father with a little smile, and left him.

On the morrow when Castell told Margaret that her lover must leave her
for a while that night--for this Peter would not do himself--she prayed
him even with tears that he would not send him so far from her, or that
they might all go together. But he reasoned with her kindly, showing her
that the latter was impossible, and that if Peter did not go at once it
was probable that Peter would soon be dead, whereas, if he went, there
would be but one short month of waiting till the Spaniards had sailed,
after which they might be married and live in peace and safety.

So she came to see that this was best and wisest, and gave way; but oh!
heavy were those hours, and sore was their parting. Essex was no far
journey, and to enter into lands which only two days before Peter
believed he had lost for ever, no sad errand, while the promise that at
the end of a single month he should return to claim his bride hung
before them like a star. Yet they were sad-hearted, both of them, and
that star seemed very far away.

Margaret was afraid lest Peter might be waylaid upon the road, but he
laughed at her, saying that her father was sending six stout men with
him as an escort, and thus companioned he feared no Spaniards. Peter,
for his part, was afraid lest d'Aguilar might make love to her while he
was away. But now she laughed at him, saying that all her heart was his,
and that she had none to give to d'Aguilar or any other man. Moreover,
that England was a free land in which women, who were no king's wards,
could not be led whither they did not wish to go. So it seemed that they
had naught to fear, save the daily chance of life and death. And yet
they were afraid.

"Dear love," said Margaret to him after she had thought a while, "our
road looks straight and easy, and yet there may be pitfalls in it that
we cannot guess. Therefore you must swear one thing to me: That whatever
you shall hear or whatever may happen, you will never doubt me as I
shall never doubt you. If, for instance, you should be told that I have
discarded you, and given myself to some other husband; if even you
should believe that you see it signed by my hand, or if you think that
you hear it told to you by my voice--still, I say, believe it not."

"How could such a thing be?" asked Peter anxiously.

"I do not suppose that it could be; I only paint the worst that might
happen as a lesson for us both. Heretofore my life has been calm as a
summer's day; but who knows when winter storms may rise, and often I
have thought that I was born to know wind and rain and lightning as well
as peace and sunshine. Remember that my father is a Jew, and that to the
Jews and their children terrible things chance at times. Why, all this
wealth might vanish in an hour, and you might find me in a prison, or
clad in rags begging my bread. Now do you swear?" and she held towards
him the gold crucifix that hung upon her bosom.

"Aye," he said, "I swear it by this holy token and by your lips," and he
kissed first the cross and then her mouth, adding, "Shall I ask the same
oath of you?"

She laughed.

"If you will; but it is not needful. Peter, I think that I know you too
well; I think that your heart will never stir even if I be dead and you
married to another. And yet men are men, and women have wiles, so I will
swear this: That should you slip, perchance, and I live to learn it, I
will try not to judge you harshly." And again she laughed, she who was
so certain of her empire over this man's heart and body.

"Thank you," said Peter; "but for my part I will try to stand straight
upon my feet, so should any tales be brought to you of me, sift them
well, I pray you."

Then, forgetting their doubts and dreads, they talked of their marriage,
which they fixed for that day month, and of how they would dwell happily
in Dedham Vale. Also Margaret, who well knew the house, named the Old
Hall, where they should live, for she had stayed there as a child, gave
him many commands as to the new arrangement of its chambers and its
furnishing, which, as there was money and to spare, could be as costly
as they willed, saying that she would send him down all things by wain
so soon as he was ready for them.

Thus, then, the hours wore away, until at length night came and they
took their last meal together, the three of them, for it was arranged
that Peter should start at moonrise, when none were about to see him go.
It was not a very happy meal, and, though they made a brave show of
eating, but little food passed their lips. Now the horses were ready,
and Margaret buckled on Peter's sword and threw his cloak about his
shoulders, and he, having shaken Castell by the hand and bade him guard
their jewel safely, without more words kissed her in farewell, and went.

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