Chapter XIII The Bird in the Cage
When William de Breauté and the priest reached the door of the chapel on Bromham Bridge, the latter simply pointed to it, saying,—
“There is the bird in the cage. But the key of the cage is in the keeping of the Church.”
After this parabolic remark, he led De Breauté away again to a small hostelry, where they entered a private room. De Breauté perceived that the priest had a proposal to make, but waited for him to begin.
“Thou spakest anon of guerdon to Holy Church for helping thee on with thy plans in hand,” the priest commenced.
“Ay, in good sooth,” said De Breauté, seeing that the ecclesiastic meant business; “or a reward to her servants,” he added. “Speak! what wouldst thou—money, lands, wealth?”
Fixing his cunning dark eyes on his companion’s face, the latter answered in one word,—
“Power!”
“Ah, pardie! and what have I to do with the advancement of churchmen?” said De Breauté, with a shrug. “Our name is in no good odour with Mother Church at this time, forsooth!”
The priest smiled sardonically.
“Certes, I have no wish that your brother Fulke should recommend me for high office among the Benedictines of St. Alban’s, for example.”
The news of Fulke’s penance and pardon had already spread far and wide among the churchmen of that neighbourhood.
“At St. Alban’s, pardie!” laughed De Breauté, as he recollected his brother’s account of the scene in the chapter-house, and of the manner in which he had, for the second time as it were, defrauded the abbey coffers.
But the priest suddenly changed the tone of banter in which he had hitherto addressed De Breauté, and the sarcastic expression of his face gave place to one of bitter anger.
“Hearken, Sir Knight,” he exclaimed. “Once I stood high in my order. Brother Bertram was honoured, respected, rising, among the brethren of St. ——. But I care not to tell a layman the reason of my fall. Suffice it that I fell, and that I was expelled my order. I, of more noble blood than all the other brethren together—I, more than half a Norman—here have I been for the last three years, ministering to Saxon swine who grovel in their hovels round yon bridge chapel; a mere mass-priest, offering prayers to St. Nicolas that travellers may pass safe, that sordid merchants may keep their chattels safe from roadside robbers! A fair portion, forsooth, for one who might have commanded men, been honoured, famed, obeyed!”
De Breauté shrugged his shoulders again.
“Marry, Sir Priest, but by my troth I see not how I am to help thee! What power can I give thee, save the command of a party of men-at-arms?”
“Sir De Breauté,” replied the other, “your chapel is unserved. No priest passes ’neath the castle portcullis.”
“Ay, and you speak true.”
“Hark ye,” continued the priest, “the castle of Bedford will be still more famous ere long. The star of the De Breautés riseth fast. The fault thy brother hath committed against Holy Church hath been pardoned, and what matter a few Saxon churls, if the Norman nobles but own him their peer?”
“Marry, Sir Priest, and I thank you heartily. I am, in good sooth, glad to hear that my family are so in fortune’s way. But how mattereth that to thee?”
“When the De Breautés rise and are ennobled, all who serve them will rise too. The chaplain of Bedford Castle shall be no mean priest then. As one of the secular clergy I would then lord it over the regulars, and show the order that expelled me, Bertram de Concours, that they must needs bow before one who stands well with a rich and powerful Norman baron.”
“If, then, the chaplaincy of the castle is all thou dearest, I can safely promise it shall be thine,” replied De Breauté, laughing in his sleeve at the price the other had named. “But, certes, we must have the chapel swept out and the altar repaired. By my troth, there will be much ado with my sister and her women when they hear there will be mass sung again at home,” he added, with a cynical laugh. “But say on now, Sir Priest or Sir Chaplain, as I may well call thee, how about the present work on hand?”
“Leave that to me,” returned the other. “The Church shall open her doors, and the bird will hop out. See thou to it that thou secure her when she is beyond my care.”
“And how so?” said William.
“Marry, that is your affair,” replied the priest. “Mine ends at the chapel door.”
“Pardie! shall I swing her up to my saddle-bow and be off with her? By St. Hubert, I might have done so this evening had I not bidden my varlets loose her. A curse on my hesitation! But counsel me, prithee.”
“If it is my counsel you wish, I will not deny it. Methinks the damsel should be conveyed through the streets of Bedford town otherwise than swinging to a saddle like a market-wife’s butter-basket. But, Sir Knight, thou knowest far better than I how to treat a fair lady.”
“I have it!” exclaimed De Breauté. “There is the horse-litter of my sister, in the which she sometimes is graciously permitted to go abroad, when her ailments allow her not to mount her palfrey. She is ever sickly, the woman. I will send to Bedford for it. Nay, I would go myself, could I trust my men to guard.”
“Go thyself, if thou art so minded,” replied the priest. “I will so far stand, on my part, to my pledge, that I will answer for it that the bird be not uncaged till I hear from thee. Do not thou show thyself in the matter at all. Seest thou not that in that case thou canst anon tell the fair one a pretty tale, of how thou callest thy men off from chasing her, even as thou didst in the marshes, and that they captured her without thy knowledge or consent? See,” he continued, “here is this small crucifix. Send it to me. When I receive it back from thy hands, I shall know that all is ready—that the litter waits anon.” And as he spoke, the priest handed the soldier a small metal emblem of redemption, the pledge of his nefarious doings. “See, also, that the Lady Margaret’s women prepare a suitable lodging for the lady. Thou wouldst, certes, see her well attended? I have thy knightly word that she is in honour treated, or I loose her not? Withdraw, then, thy men from guard here, and send others more seemly to escort a lady. I plight my word that, as I hope to be chaplain of thy brother’s castle, I loose her not till I receive thy pledge.”
“But,” objected De Breauté, “how am I to warrant me she will be conveyed—”
“Leave that to me,” said the treacherous priest. “If she be not placed of her own free will in the litter, I shall not have done my share of the work—that thou mayest hold sure. Have only a care, however, that naught about the horses or the litter proclaimeth it to be from De Breauté’s stables.”
So saying he passed out of the room. De Breauté followed him. Calling to the man who was not on guard to bring him his horse, and then to come after him with his fellow, De Breauté rode off to Bedford, some two miles distant from Bromham Bridge.