The degraded priest proceeded slowly amidst the sympathizing crowd that attended his steps. Several times he stopped, with the intention of requesting the people to return home and leave him to pursue his journey as he might, but he could not collect that firmness of demeanor3 which had been wont4 to distinguish him; and ashamed further to betray his weakness, he each time passed on without uttering a word. They had cleared the town, and were crossing the bridge on the left, over the Isborn, when Calverley, and about half a dozen retainers well mounted, darted6 from the bridge into the high road. Four of the men, springing from their horses, surrounded the monk and were about placing him on the back of one of the steeds, when the faculties7, which had been for the moment chained by astonishment8 and indignation, burst forth9 with unexpected energy, and, with a form expanded to its full height, and an eye flashing fire, he shook off their rude grasp, and stepping back, demanded by what authority he was thus molested10.
"By the authority of the Baron de Boteler," replied Calverley, as the monk fixed12 his eyes sternly upon him.
"It is false!" he replied, "no human law have I violated, and to no man's capricious tyranny will I submit."
"It becomes the bondman to speak thus of his lord," said Calverley with a sneer13.
"I am not a bondman—nor is the Baron de Boteler my lord," said father John, in a deep, collected voice.
"O, I crave14 your pardon, good father," returned Calverley smiling; "I mistook you for one John Ball, the son of a bondman of this barony."
"My name is John Ball, and I have been the son of a bondman, insulting craven," replied the father, indignantly;—"but I owe the Baron de Boteler no allegiance—you well know that the priest can be servant to none save he who created the bond and the free."
"And this is the habit of some new order, that is to be honored by being adopted by the unpriestly son of a bondman!" said Calverley, pointing, in derision, at the coarse woollen dress of the monk. Something burst from the lips of the latter, but it was lost in Calverley's sudden command to seize him. The men again approached, but the first who caught the monk's arm fell to the ground, stunned15 and bleeding.
Another succeeded, and met the same fate—then another, and another;—but at length, overpowered by numbers, the gallant16 priest was bound, and placed before one of the retainers on horseback.
There was now a simultaneous rush made to the bridge by the crowd, who stood watching the horsemen till they entered the castle; when they formed into groups, wondering at what they had just beheld17—at what might be the fate of the monk, and at their own supineness in suffering half-a-dozen men, even though armed and mounted, to carry him off without a blow.
That evening, Wat Turner, who had been liberated18 from the keep, after a short confinement19, was leaning on his folded arms, which rested for support on the sill of the aperture20 in his shed, that served the purpose of a window. The forge-fire had died away; the servitor and the journeyman had been dismissed; but Wat still lingered, as if he could there indulge his reflections more freely than in his own house. His eyes were bent21 on the ground, and so far was he lost in some waking dream, that, until his name was repeated in rather a loud tone, he was not conscious of any one's approach.
"Ah, Tom Merritt!" said the smith, raising his head and recognizing, in the dusk, a stout23, active, young man, a mason, who resided at Winchcombe.
"Have you heard the news, Wat?" asked the mason.
"No—I have enough to think of, without troubling my head about news!"
"Aye, aye, true—but didn't you hear of father John?"
"Yes, I heard they dealt badly enough with him, because he would not betray poor Stephen—and for giving the sacrament to that unfortunate scape-grace. They told me he was to be turned from the abbey to-day, so I sent Dick with a few groats to help him on a little—but I don't know yet, whether the lad is come back, for I have not seen him."
"O, he is among the group that stands looking at the castle walls, I dare say," said Merritt. "Did you not hear he was thrown into prison?"
"What! my Dick," asked the smith, eagerly, starting up from his posture24 at the window, and his listless countenance25 suddenly becoming animated26.
"No, no, not the boy," replied Merritt, rather impatiently.
"Oh," said the smith, again sinking upon the window frame; and then, as if perfectly28 comprehending what had been said, he added, as a bitter smile passed across his lips, "in prison did you say? What had he done that he should be caged? Refused to say where Stephen is hid?"
"May be so; but I can only tell you this—that when the poor monk was turned out of the abbey, Calverley seized upon him like a dog, or a thief."
"Calverley, the fiend!" interrupted the smith, fiercely. "If I could only give that beggar's vagabond a sample of what this hand could do, I think I should take a good night's rest—and that's what I have not done since the night they gave me a lodging29 in the castle dungeon30; and you say that Calverley has put him in prison? Now, I tell you what, Tom Merritt," continued Turner, "if there be a drop of man's blood in your body, they shan't keep him there."
"Will you help?" asked the young mason, eagerly.
"Will I help, man! Aye, that I will, with a good stomach—Why, if they shut up a dog that I cared for within those four stone walls, I would help him out!—But that monk is a holy man—and they think to frighten him as they thought to frighten me. Tom," added Turner, leaning through the aperture, and laying his hand upon the young man's shoulder, "I have never held up my head like a man since that night. To be set upon like a fox! To be dragged and hauled, and thrown into a prison—Tom! (grasping the arm of the other with a force that made him shrink) when I think of this in the day when I am at work, I throw down the hammer, for my blood boils, and I could not strike a sure blow for hours after, if a king's ransom31 was offered me. But, by St. Nicholas! 'tis little work that Wat Turner has done ever since—all has gone wrong—but I shall soon leave the parish altogether—and then, may be, things will go on better. For, here, if a man looks at me, it seems as if he would say, 'Turner, you have been in jail!' Tom Merritt, never boast or brag32 of anything!"
"Indeed, master Turner, I have as little as any man to brag of; for—if—it hadn't been for the watching and the advice of poor father John, my old mother might have been this day hanging her head with shame, instead of looking up as bold as any of them, and saying, 'my son,' or 'my Tom,' as well as the best."
"That's all very well; but, Tom, as I just said, never boast. I used to brag that there never was a woman dishonest, nor a man a rogue33, in my family; and that none of the name of Turner ever had a key turned upon them. And you see what it's come to."
"Aye, aye, master Turner," replied Merritt (impatient of a long speech, yet knowing the smith's irascible temper too well to interrupt him,) "I don't know what will come next! Here were you, who paid scot and lot, and cared for no one—see how you were treated! And now here is the holy father (with whom, though he got into disgrace at the Abbey, one would have thought, for the sake of their own souls, they wouldn't meddle,) dragged off like a common thief; and if we do not go to the rescue, the saints preserve us! who can tell if he will ever come out again? for there is none but poor Stephen akin22 to him."
"Enough! Tom Merritt, this is no place for an honest man. I was to have gone in a few days, but when this night's job is done, I shall just pack up all I can get together into a cart, and let the black fiend, or his imp27, Calverley, take the rest. Aye! with my wife, the boy, and Will, I shall be out of Gloucester before sun-rise—and the sooner the better. But now let us talk of the rescue. How many honest hands can you get among the town's folk?"
"Why," replied Merritt, "every mother's soul who could grasp an axe34; but I have seen a dozen lads who have sworn to free father John, or lose their lives. And knowing that you would give a helping35 hand, I told them so, though without your leave. We have provided paint for our faces. The retainers in the castle are few; and while myself and the men keep guard over them, you, as a smith, know best how to manage the lock of the keep."
"Give me your hand, for a brave fellow," answered Turner, grasping cordially the conceded member. "There are yet a few bold spirits in this manor36. I shall seek them, and I'll warrant they will not leave Wat Turner in the lurch37 for this bout5 at least. And as for the lock, the foul38 fiend himself could not scheme or forge a spring that could keep me out for five minutes. Have your friends together in the field at the back of the town. The nights are dark now; and when I hear the clock strike eight, I shall be with you with all the hands I can gather."
Merritt presently departed; and at eight the two confederates again met. Soon a compact and resolute39 body of more than twenty men slowly and cautiously proceeded to the castle, and, in double file, ensconced themselves close to the walls, and so contiguous to the gate of usual egress40 as to be ready to rush in at the first opening. They had stood thus, scarcely drawing breath, for about half an hour; and Merritt, who, with the smith, was at the head of the little band, was about to propose that they should attempt to force an entrance, when the gate opened, and John Byles, who had been engaged upon some business with Calverley, unsuspectingly issued forth.
The smith caught him in his iron grasp ere he closed the gate, and, placing his broad hand over his mouth, held him till a bandage could be properly fastened; then flinging him on the ground, secured him hand and foot, bound him to a tree at a few steps distant, and, with the two men who had assisted, rushed after Merritt and the others, who were by this time in the court-yard.
No sound escaped them, and it was only the quick footsteps on the pavement that attracted attention. But ere the alarm was given, the intruders had reached the keep. The smith, with astonishing celerity, picked the huge lock of the lower dungeon, in which, by virtue41 of former experience, he imagined the father was confined; and beheld, by a torch, which they had now lighted, what fired even the most sluggish42 soul among them. The monk lay stretched on the ground, nearly divested43 of covering, with his arms and legs drawn44 by cords attached to iron rings in the four corners of the cell, and with iron weights pressing upon his chest.
"By St. Nicholas!" said the smith, as he stooped to remove the pressure, while the tears started to his eyes, "this is too bad. 'Tis enough to make a heathen sick to see a christian45 man served in this manner. Here, father John, (assisting him to rise) take my jerkin, and wrap this about you (snatching a cloak from the shoulders of one of the men). And now, good father, tell me who did this?"
But the exhausting punishment he had endured for above four hours, together with the cold that penetrated46 his whole frame, from lying so long exposed on the damp earth, so much impeded47 his speech, that he could not utter an intelligible48 word.
"And thus they could serve the Lord's anointed!" said Turner, compassionately49, as he looked on the livid and swollen50 face and trembling limbs of him, whom he had ever, till now, seen with the beauty of holiness giving dignity to his fine countenance, and with the vigour51 of manhood exhibited in every motion of his muscular form. "Hark!" added the smith, starting—"there is a scuffle outside! Tom Merritt will have enough of them." For an instant he paused, and then, snatching up one of the cords that had tied the monk, he severed52 it with his axe from the ring in the wall, and passing one end round the monk's arm, fastened the other round his own waist. "Now you will have no trouble in holding by me—keep close. Here, father, could you not hold this? it might keep off some scurvy53 knave54," drawing a sharp wood-knife from his belt, and placing it in the monk's tremulous hand. Turner then ordering the few who were with him to cover the retreat, to keep compact as they followed, and to strike at all within reach, with a keen-edged battle-axe in his right hand, and a formidable club, pointed55 with steel and firmly bound with iron, in his left, he hurried from the dungeon.
Turner had not been above five minutes in releasing the monk; but, when he came to the entrance of the keep, Merritt and the remainder of the band were sharply engaged with the domestics and the few tenants56 who kept guard about the castle. The smith pushed on with the monk; passed Merritt and the others, who closed in his rear; and, with that boldness, which often effects what more prudent57 courage would fail to accomplish, rushed into the midst of the assailants, brandishing58 his weapons, and shouting defiance59 at the top of his stentorian60 lungs.
"Stand aside, ye graceless carles! Shame to ye, cursed cravens, to serve a christian priest like an infidel! Stand back, or, by St. Nicholas! you will never die on your beds!" dealing61 sturdy blows as he spoke62, and pressing forward to a postern beside the principal gate which was not many paces from the keep.
"'Tis the smith!—'tis Wat Turner," shouted a dozen voices.
"Aye, it is Wat Turner," swinging round his club, and levelling a couple of those who were nearest; "and tell the doomed63 Calverley, if ever Wat Turner sets eyes upon him, we shall not part so easily as I now do from you!"
The weapons wielded64 by the powerful arm of the smith were not such as those, who had little interest in the detention65 of the monk, would care to encounter. The attacks of the castle people relaxed, the energy of the rescuers increased; the smith, with the skill of a practised workman, loosed the fastenings of the postern gate, and the band, rushing through and forcibly closing it after them, father John was again a free man.
"Now, lads, to your homes," cried Turner, as they hurried on, "every man of ye. Go by different roads, and you will not be suspected. There is not a man they can swear to but myself. Now, brave hearts, farewell! We may not meet together again: but all the harm I wish ye is, that Calverley and I may soon meet; and if ever he plagues free man or bond among ye after that, say Wat Turner is a coward—Away! Tom Merritt," said he, drawing the mason aside, "do you think of leaving Winchcombe?—you know there are always busy tongues."
"Thank ye, master Turner, but I think I shall wait and see how matters go."
"As you like Tom—only mind they don't coop you up. To my mind, there is not a man in the parish safe;—but things will not always go on so. Now, good father, we must be gone."
Merritt bent his knee to the monk, who pronounced a tremulous, but fervent66 benediction67, on the brave fellow, who, bidding a friendly farewell to Turner, and being assured that father John should remain under his protection as long as he desired, bounded, with the spring of a deer, in the direction of his home.
On the fifteenth of July, 1377, about six months after father John was liberated by the sturdy smith, the city of London was arrayed with a costliness68, and adorned69 throughout with a radiance in which it was befitting it should appear on the day when the royal diadem70 was to be placed on the brow of a young and blooming sovereign. Father John was literally71 borne along in the current that streamed from the adjacent villages to witness the reception of the young king as he passed over the city-bridge from his palace at Sheen.
The day was favourable72 for the pageant73, and the houses seemed to vie with each other in the variety of their silken colours and tinselled ornaments74, glowing and glittering in the morning sun. At Cornhill, indeed, the meretricious76 adornments of art were superseded77 for a brief space by the simple beauty of nature, and the eye felt a momentary78 relief in resting on the green grass, and the few shaded trees that covered the open ground. But this green spot was succeeded by a dense79 mass of dwellings80 covered with hangings of a richness suitable to the reputed wealth of the city merchants; here the scene was animated in the extreme,—the motions of the crowd became unsteady and irregular, as they were actuated at once by eagerness to hurry on, and a desire to linger among the rainbow diversity of hues83 around them, and the glowing beauty which, arrayed with costly84 elegance85, and smiling with anticipated enjoyment86, graced every open window.
"Alas87! alas!" exclaimed a solitary88 wanderer among the multitude, as he turned away sorrowfully from the gaudy89 display, "alas, for this great city, which was clothed in fine linen90, and purple, and scarlet91, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearl—for in one hour will she be made desolate92: and, instead of a stomacher, have only a girding of sackcloth, and burning instead of beauty." But he had hardly repeated these words, ere a full stream of music, swelling93 in the air, overpowered the hum that arose from the multitude, and John Ball—for it was the degraded priest who had spoken—imagining this to be a prelude94 to the appearance of the young king, mounted upon a door-step, and, from this slight elevation95, and favoured by his stature96, he obtained a full view of the procession, which almost immediately passed.
First came the band of musicians, mounted on gaily98 caparisoned horses, and clad in jacks99 of crimson101-damasked satin, laced round with gold; the arms of the city richly emblazoned on the back and front, and the white velvet102 sleeves of their jerkins so closely laced and interlaced with gold, as almost to conceal103 the material on which it was wrought104. Then two heralds105 in white-damasked velvet tabards, worked with gold in a variety of fanciful patterns, and with the city arms also emblazoned on the back. Then the sword-bearer of the chief magistrate106, in a suit of polished scale armour107, and on a steed accoutred in all the panoply108 of war. Then the Lord Mayor himself, in a flowing mantle109 of rich crimson velvet trimmed with ermine, and with a collar of fine gold adorned with gems110, and mounted on a stately horse, whose velvet housing, fringed with gold, almost touched the ground. Two pages suitably attired111 walked on either side. Next appeared the two sheriffs in their scarlet mantles112 and gold chains. Then rode the four-and-twenty aldermen, two abreast113, in loose gowns or robes of damasked-velvet or brocaded silk; and, finally, the members of the common-council closed the train.
"And is this the apparel and the bravery of merchants?" said the wandering monk within himself, as the splendid cavalcade114 passed by; "surely the pomp of royalty115 cannot surpass this." And John Ball did not draw a wrong conclusion—for when, in about half an hour, the citizens repassed, escorting their youthful sovereign, although there certainly was more cost and elegance, there was less of gorgeous display in the royal than in the civic116 train.
Richard, then a well-grown boy of eleven, with a countenance the early bloom of which was brightened by an eye of singular intelligence, sat with the ease of a practised rider on a beautiful white palfrey. A cap of purple velvet, trimmed with vair, shaded his fair, open forehead and thick bright curls, and a purple mantle, lined and edged with the same costly fur, and confined at the throat with a jewelled clasp, fell back from his shoulders over the housings of the animal. His tunic117 was of damasked satin, of a bright pink colour, and round the waist was a purple belt, on which a variety of fanciful devices were wrought with pearls. The housings of the palfrey were of velvet, as soft and rich as the royal mantle, and of a similar hue82, but enlivened with a profusion118 of goldsmiths' work, and bordered round with a heavy gold fringe.
Richard looked upon the pomp and circumstance around him with all the pleasure and vanity of a boy, turning every moment with some laughing sally addressed to his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, who rode by his side, or, more frequently, to the young Earl of Arundel, the newly-installed marshal of England. These were followed by Percy, Earl of Northumberland, who had so recently resigned the office of lord marshal, Sir John Burleigh, lord chamberlain, the Earls of Oxford120, Kent, Buckingham, &c.
The procession moved on, and the monk followed amidst the mass; but if he looked wistfully at the pageant, it was only in the hope that some opportunity might offer of publicly addressing the young king, or, rather, his uncle, and appealing for justice; but no opportunity did offer. Indeed, at such a moment, when the good citizens were displaying their taste and munificence121, it seemed little less than folly122 to expect it.
Next to the considerate hospitality (if it may be so termed) of allowing the water-conduit in Cheapside spout123 wine, nothing elicited124 more unqualified approbation125 from the lower classes than a temporary building erected126 at the extremity127 of the before-mentioned place. This building, coloured so as to give an idea of firmly-cemented stone, presented the appearance of a castle, with four circular towers and a spacious128 gateway129 midway between. The arch stretched across nearly the whole extent of the horse-road, so that the towers terminating the four angles of the gateway stood parallel with the verge130 of the footpath131. In each of the towers, at about five feet from the ground, was an arched doorway132, in which stood a young maiden133 about sixteen, attired in a white flowing robe, with a chaplet of white roses encircling her hair, and holding a gold cup in her right hand, and a crystal vase in her left. On the castellated summit of the arch, which was about four feet in depth, and just in the centre between the towers, was placed a figure of equal height with the maidens134, apparently135 of gold, representing an angel holding a beautifully wrought crown in its right hand, which, as the procession approached, the angel bent down, and presented to the young king. At the same instant, the two maidens, in the two towers at the east side, filled their cups with wine from a crystal fountain at their right hand, and each, with a graceful136 smile, proffered137 the draught138 to Richard. They then took, from the vase on their left, a handful of golden leaves, which they wafted139 towards the young king, and concluded by showering a number of counterfeit140 gold florences on his head.
Richard, after tasting of the cups, presented the first to his uncle, and the other to Arundel; and then each noble, as he passed, took the replenished141 cup from the hands of the Hebes, and drank health and prosperity to the youthful sovereign.
The monk mingled142 with the multitude, and saw the merry citizens escort their sovereign to Temple-bar; and then the royal train proceeded, with somewhat less applause than had as yet attended their route. Indeed, after passing the few houses in the suburbs, the solitary dwellings of the nobles stood along the Strand143, few and far between—those on the left with their spacious gardens sloping to the river, and the three or four on the right occupying a space as extended as the wall which enclosed the capacious garden attached to the convent of the abbot of Westminster would permit. So large, indeed, was this garden, as to cover the whole space between the gardens of the Strand houses and the site of what is now Long-acre, and eastward144 and westward145 the space between Saint Martin's and Drury-lane. When they had passed the pretty village of Charing146, with its cross, the procession turned to the left, leaving behind an ample extent of open country, intersected by the Oxford and Reading roads on the west, and bounded on the north by the bold and picturesque147 range of the Hampstead and Highgate hills.
John Ball pressed on with the multitude; but the immediate97 proximity148 of the palace, where all was splendour and motion, was not to the liking149 of one who till that day had never even dreamed of such things as had now met his sight. His nerves were weak, and he felt irritated at the insolence150 with which the royal guards, and the pages of the nobles, drove back the populace. His body, too, was weak, and he felt exhausted151 with his long and fatiguing152 walk: slowly and sadly he at length retraced153 his steps to his humble154 dwelling81 in the Minories.
The next morning he repaired again to Westminster. The hall of the palace was open for all who chose to enter, and in the midst, elevated on three circular marble steps, was a hollow marble pillar, surmounted155 by a large gilt156 eagle, from beneath whose talons157 flowed wine into four marble basins, of which all who entered were permitted to drink at pleasure. But the monk was no wine-drinker; and with the feelings of one unaccustomed to behold158 extravagance, he turned away from the pillar with an inward reproach to the donor159, for not applying the money to a better purpose. He left the hall, and seeing that a path was found from the gate of the palace to the north-west entrance of the abbey, by a slightly elevated platform, covered with fine crimson cloth of tapestry160, he naturally concluded that the king would pass that way to hear mass, and accordingly took his stand as near as possible to the platform. Inexperienced as the monk was in the etiquette161 of courts, he augured162 ill for his suit when he saw the royal retainers, with all the insolence of office, range themselves along the platform, and the nobles and their pages, and the officers of the royal household in their splendid dresses issue from the palace. But when he beheld the young king himself, with Simon Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, on his right hand, and the Bishop163 of London on his left, he started back with an exclamation164 of surprise (for wrapped up in himself, and heedless of the passing gossip of the day, he had not heard of Sudbury's elevation); and forcing a passage through the assembled crowd, hopeless and despondent166, he pursued his journey eastward.
On the sixth morning from the coronation, Richard, satisfied with shows and revelry, left Westminster, and retired167 with his mother, the fair Joan of Kent, to Kensington, to rest, as it were, his young head upon the maternal168 bosom169. But even here the officious loyalty170 of his good subjects intruded171; for a gorgeous mummery was to be played that night by a hundred and thirty of the wealthiest citizens of London.
A little after nightfall, the beautiful widow of the Black Prince sat in the oriel window of the hall, alternately looking with a mother's eyes upon her son, who was sporting with some of the young nobles, and then again turning to the window to listen for the approach of the citizens. She wore a small conical cap of gold tissue, terminated by a narrow band of purple velvet, closely studded with diamonds, beneath which her hair, soft and glossy172 as in her girlhood, was parted on the forehead, and fell back on her shoulders in rather a waving mass, than distinct curls. Her dress was composed of a petticoat and boddice of saffron-coloured damasked satin, with long hanging sleeves. The boddice sat close to the bust174, and was confined up the front by twelve gold studs. A girdle of purple and gold, fastened by a buckle175 radiant with gems, encircled her waist; and the full long-trained petticoat, beneath which the sharp points of the poleyn, or gold-embroidered176 shoe, was just visible, was clasped in the front at equal distances by two rose-jewels. A mantle of purple velvet, confined on each shoulder by a diamond brooch, fell in rich folds at her back.
While she was listening and wondering at the lateness of the hour, the hall door was suddenly thrown open, and a blaze of light, and a strain of melody, burst simultaneously177 upon her senses. A dozen minstrels gaily attired with timbrels, cornets, sackbuts, and other instruments, preceded by as many youths, carrying large wax tapers178 or torch-lights, formed into a double rank in the hall; in the middle of which passed the city pageant. The lord mayor was at its head, habited as an emperor, in a tunic of cloth of gold, tastefully embroidered with black eagles, and the sleeves, which hung full, confined at the wrist and just below the elbow, by bands of black velvet, on which eagles were represented by small pearls. A mantle of black velvet lined with minever, or powdered ermine, floated from his shoulder. On his right hand was a citizen attired as the pope. Then followed the twenty-four aldermen in the dress of cardinals179; then forty-eight in the gowns of say and red cloaks of esquires;—others in the purple robe, lined with fur, peculiar180 to the knight181: while some, still more ambitious, wore the emblazoned surcoat of a baron.
The lord mayor approached the table at which Richard had seated himself, and presenting a box of dice173, challenged the young monarch182 to play. At the same instant, one esquire placed on the table a bowl of gold, another a box containing jewels, and a third a golden cup, as pledges for the civic gambler. Richard accepted the challenge, and of course was permitted to win; and father John, who stood among the group looking on, seized the favourable moment of royal exultation183 to prefer his suit. He stepped forward, and kneeling before the young king, to the surprise of all, and to the particular annoyance184 of the ostentatious citizens, exclaimed—
"Thou art set over the people, and to the Lord's anointed I come to seek for justice."
"Who are you, bold man?" inquired the Duke of Lancaster, impatiently, "who thus break in upon his Grace's sport?"
"I am one," replied the monk, rising, and turning calmly to Lancaster, "whom injustice185 has thus forced——"
"Hah!" interrupted Sudbury, advancing, and who had hitherto sat apart looking on at the mummery; "is it thou who presumest to approach the presence? Please your Grace, and you, noble duke," looking first at Richard and then addressing Lancaster, "he is a monk of our late abbey at Winchcombe, whom, for certain acts of rebellion to our authority, we expelled."
"Why, monk," asked Richard quickly, "why dost thou appeal to us?"
"Pardon me, my liege," interposed Sudbury, "but it becomes not your grace to parley186 with a degraded monk—a bondman's son! one who would fain excite a spirit of insubordination among the class from which he sprung: who would sow the seeds of disobedience and disorder188, and inculcate the absurd doctrine189 that all should be free!"
"Does he indeed hold such opinions, my Lord of Canterbury?" asked Lancaster.
"He does, my Lord, and that was one of the causes of his suspension."
"Indeed!" said Lancaster; "next then, I suppose, we shall have the villeins of the soil dictating190 to their lords, when they hear that a base-born priest has had the audacity191 to enter the royal presence! Ho! attendants! Away with this serf-sprung shaveling! who holds that all should be free!"
"Triumph not, John of Lancaster, for I say unto you, all SHALL be free! You, and it may be that the proudest of you all, may yet quail192 before the base-born!" and the monk fixed a glance first upon the duke, and then upon Sudbury. The archbishop turned away, while Lancaster, laughing scornfully at the threat, commanded the royal attendants instantly to eject him: and, amidst the jeers193 of the nobles and citizens, the monk was, without further parley, hurried away from the hall.
It was something more than a year from the flight of Holgrave, when business called Calverley to Gloucester; and, on passing along Silver girdle-street, his eye encountered Black Jack100, whom he had not before seen since Edith's trial. The foreman accosted194 him after his usual manner, and whispered that he had something of moment to communicate, if he would accompany him to the Mitre. After some hesitation195 Calverley, consented, more especially as Black Jack hinted something about news of Holgrave; and, when seated in the room, in which their former interview had taken place, Oakley inquired if the Lord de Boteler, some twelve months ago, did not offer a reward for the apprehension196 of a certain bondman named—
"Stephen Holgrave!" eagerly interrupted Calverley. "Have you heard or seen any thing of him?"
"By the green wax! steward197, one would think the man was your property, you seem so anxious—but now tell me has any thing been ever heard of him?"
"No, not a syllable198;" replied Calverley in almost a fever of excitement, "but be quick, and say what you know?"
"Not so fast, Master Calverley. Did you ever send in the direction of Dean Forest?"
"Yes, yes, many times," answered the impatient steward; "and we offered a large reward to any one who would give information of his retreat?"
"A very pretty method, truly! You know not the miners and forgers of Dean Forest!—why I would stake a noble to a silver-penny, that if you had discovered he was hidden there, and legally demanded him, he would be popped down in a bucket, to the bottom of some mine, where, even the art of Master Calverley could not have dragged him to the light of day until the Forest was clear of the pack:—but, however, to speak to the point," perceiving that the steward's patience was well nigh exhausted—"I saw Stephen Holgrave yesterday, in the Forest."
"And did you not arrest him?"
"No, no, steward—Black Jack is not so sick of his life as to throw himself into a furnace. There were not less than one hundred smiths and miners about him; and woe199 be to the man who should stir their ire."
"I shall back to Sudley," cried the steward, hastily, "and my lord will reclaim200 him."
"But, steward, surely it is more than a year and a day since I heard the shouting of the hue and cry; and you know the Forest of Dean is privileged. I'll warrant he knows too much of the bondage201 of Sudley to venture beyond its precincts."
Calverley did not reply to the interrogatory or allusion202, but persisted in saying that the baron would claim the bondman, and that the ranger203 of the Forest durst not dispute the demand: and, besides, should it be necessary, a royal mandate204 could be procured206.
Black Jack was for an instant vexed207, that Calverley did not require his assistance; but, shrewdly guessing that the steward wished to have as little to do with him as possible, and also conscious how small chance there was of succeeding by the direct mode, he laughed within himself at the probability that, after failing to accomplish the object he seemed so much to desire, Calverley would, ultimately, be compelled to apply to him. Indeed, had not the steward's mind been so entirely208 engrossed209 by the thoughts of Holgrave, he could not have failed to remark how quickly the foreman, from offering the strongest objections to the plan he proposed adopting, agreed with him that it was the wisest and best.
"But, Master Calverley," said Black Jack, as the former abruptly211 rose to depart, "is my intelligence worth nothing, setting aside the actual loss I have sustained by sitting for four hours spending my money in this room, when I ought to have been fishing about for jobs?"
"O yes, I had forgotten," (drawing out his purse, and presenting a mark to the foreman);—"I could not expect you could have troubled yourself in this affair without payment;—are you satisfied?"
"Yes, yes," he replied, grumblingly212, as he pocketed the coin, "Black Jack is easily satisfied."
"And so is the cormorant," muttered Calverley, as he closed the door after him, and hastened to remount his horse.
Supper was served up in the hall ere Calverley had returned to the castle, and he paused a few moments to consider whether he should immediately impart what he had heard, or defer213 the communication until the banquet were ended; but this hesitation did not arise from any delicacy214 he felt in disturbing the social enjoyment of the hour, but guests had arrived that morning, and Calverley, ever since the loss of his ear, had been very reluctant to appear before strangers. But the recollection of his mutilation, thus forced upon his mind, instantly decided215 him. The delay of a single hour might enable Holgrave to leave the forest; for who could say that it was his intention to make the place a permanent residence? He, therefore, instantly changed his riding dress for one more adapted for the occasion, and placing a black velvet cap on his head (for we have before observed it was his peculiar privilege to remain always covered), without a moment's delay he proceeded to the hall, and entering it through the upper door, stood at a little distance behind De Boteler's chair, awaiting until the baron's eye should fall upon him. De Boteler presently turning to give some order to a page, Calverley took the opportunity to approach, and, bowing, said softly, "My lord, I have heard tidings of Stephen Holgrave."
De Boteler's colour deepened as he made some hasty exclamation in reply, but the duties of hospitality were paramount216 at that moment, and shortly saying he would attend to him another time, Calverley retired.
Isabella's quick eye had observed the action of Calverley and the momentary embarrassment217 of De Boteler; and as the idea of her lost child was connected with every thing strange or doubtful that she saw, her mind was instantly filled with a thousand surmises218.—Had any trace of Holgrave been discovered? Had the obstinate219 monk made any disclosure that Calverley, by some fortunate chance might have become acquainted with? These, and a variety of other conjectures220, possessing less colour of reason, so much engrossed her thoughts, that she could scarcely command her feelings sufficiently221 to pay that graceful and courteous222 attention to her guests, for which she was in general so much distinguished223. No opportunity, however, offered of satisfying her curiosity until the guests had retired for the night; and then, upon entering the ante-room of her chamber119, De Boteler was sitting listening to the steward's statement.
"Isabella," said the baron, as she entered, "Calverley has ascertained224 the retreat of Stephen Holgrave." She had anticipated something of the kind; but the effect it produced was singular. An electrical thrill seemed to vibrate through her frame, and a sudden coldness chilled her brow; but ere it could have been said that her cheek was pale, the whole countenance was suffused225 with a deepened glow, and rallying her energies, she asked, with assumed composure, "where he was hidden?"
"In the Forest of Dean," replied De Boteler; "and Calverley has every reason to suppose he has been concealed226 there since he left Sudley."
"Did not the hue and cry pass through the forest?"
"Yes, Isabella; but, by my faith, it seems they are such sturdy knaves227 in that forest, that even the promise of reward has no effect upon them."
"Then they must be compelled to surrender the bondman.—Calverley," continued the lady, turning to the steward; "can you rely on your information?"
Calverley replied in the affirmative: and then, on a motion from Isabella, withdrew.
"My lord, you will give proper instructions," resumed Isabella, in a tone that seemed to imply she expected the most rigorous measures to be adopted.
"I am afraid, Isabella," replied De Boteler, "that the knave has escaped us. Dean Forest is a royal demesne228, and a bondman, remaining unclaimed, in such a place, for a year and a day, can claim the privilege of a king's villein."
"Roland de Boteler, do you intend to submit?—but you have not a mother's feelings!"
"There can be no reasons for the suspicions you still entertain," replied the baron, with more seriousness than he had spoken before. "The knave has been punished enough. There was no great matter of crime after all in burning the house—it was his own—aye, as much as this castle is mine. And do you think that any chance would ever make me consider that another had a better right to this building than I?—If I could have got hold of him at the time I would—but now, let it pass—an obstinate spirit like his, is better away. You see what we obtained by imprisoning229 the monk—the whole barony up in arms in a rescue! and the bravest retainer in my castle killed by the club of the audacious smith! But that shall not pass so easily—for, by my faith, if I light upon that meddling230 varlet ten years hence, he shall hang as high as gibbet can raise him. I repeat," continued he, in a determined231 tone, "that I will not interfere232" and, rising hastily; as if he meant to escape from the argument, he left the room.
There might be one reason found for the more merciful feelings De Boteler evinced on this occasion, when it is said that he was on the eve of departing for London to join the Duke of Gloucester, who was preparing to make an incursion into France. The idea, no doubt, of again treading the French soil, recalled to his mind the service which the fugitive233 Holgrave, had performed. The baroness234, however, did not appear to heed165 the decisive tone of her lord; for, with the wilfulness235 of her sex, she determined that his departure should be the signal for commencing operations.
Immediately upon De Boteler's departure, which occurred in a few days, measures were taken to procure205 a royal grant of the villein to his late lord; and upon the instant of its being obtained, Calverley, attended by about a score of retainers, left the castle, without the slightest apprehension for his personal safety, or the most distant fear that his application would fail.
On arrival, his errand was made known to Neville, the deputy constable236 of St. Briavel's, who readily attended him with his men. As they rode towards the foundry, which had been indicated as the place of Holgrave's employment, a suppressed murmur237 from the trees by the road side attracted the constable's attention, and it was said by those nearest, that he gave a significant smile as he passed. The party dismounted at the foundry, and on entering, Holgrave was observed standing238 close to the forge, surrounded by about a dozen smiths. Neville smiled as he addressed Holgrave.
"I am commanded," said he, "by King Edward, to deliver you to the Lord de Boteler's steward. Here is the royal mandate;" and he drew from his pocket a parchment bearing the privy239 signature.
"And here," said Calverley, unfolding the royal grant, "is the deed that transfers the king's villein to his late and rightful lord."
"Master Neville," said Holgrave, "can the king's grant make a freeman a slave? or can the king's order give you authority to molest11 a man who has committed no crime? I owe no fealty240 to King Edward, except as a freeman, and as you yourself are bound to do. I stand here as free as any man of you, and no one shall compel me to become a slave.—But it is to you, foul murderer!" glancing fiercely on Calverley, who shrank from his gaze—"it is to you I owe this! Were my poor mother's death, my own ruin, and the loss of my farm and my home, not enough, that you continue to hunt me down like a wild beast?"
"Honest man," said Neville, mildly, "you are described in the king's writ241 as a bondman of his grace; and two men have this day deposed242 that you acknowledged yourself as Lord de Boteler's villein, and swore fealty to him in his own court."
"They lie, Master Neville! Bring them here, and I will maintain, in combat against them both, that they have sworn falsely."
"It was not to parley you came here, Sir Constable," said Calverley, "but to fulfil the king's command. This bondman, you must have been aware before-hand, would attempt to deny his bondage, like any other of his class who break their bonds."
"The king's order shall be obeyed to the letter, sir," replied Neville, as he looked somewhat contemptuously at Calverley, from whom he did not expect so abrupt210 an address; and then, gently taking the unresisting hand of Holgrave, placed it in that of the steward. A shout of pain from Calverley declared the cordiality of the gripe with which he was favoured by his enemy, and he withdrew his crushed fingers, amidst the cheers and shouts of the spectators.
"Now, steward," resumed the constable, "Mark Neville has performed the king's commands as a loyal subject, and it remains243 with you to do the rest."
"And do you not intend to give me safe conduct through the forest, Master Neville?" asked Calverley, with some alarm—"this is a part of your duty. You are bound to convey this bondman to the verge of the forest, and you are also bound to prevent any inhabitant of it from abetting244 his cause."
"Read this warrant," replied Neville: "is there a syllable there of safe conduct? I am ordered to deliver up the man—I have done so; and now I wish you good even, and a pleasant ride back."
A loud laugh from the smiths followed this speech; and Calverley, now overcome by personal apprehensions245, caught the constable's arm as he was passing through the doorway, and inquired, if he really imagined he was complying with the royal mandate by such a mockery.
"It is no mockery, steward—I have done my duty; and if you cannot do yours, is it my fault?" And then, shaking off Calverley's grasp, he mounted his horse, and with his attendants, amidst deafening246 cheers, took the road to the castle.
Calverley's eyes turned in the direction of the shout, and a mass of living beings, variously armed, were seen swarming247 from the adjacent wood, and rushing on to the foundry. He remembered that he had not more than twenty to oppose to this multitude; and his heart died within him as he saw the glowing cheek and derisive248 smile of Holgrave, and thought that now was the moment for his revenge. In an instant, not only was the foundry filled with the men, but the window and doorway were darkened with their black heads without.
Calverley was now forced to assume a courage which he did not feel; and looking sternly around, he asked, in as firm a voice as he could command, why he was thus surrounded? or whether they intended to make him a prisoner?
"No, steward," said the spokesman of the smiths, "you are no prisoner—you are at liberty to go as soon as you like; and I would advise you, as a friend, to go quickly, for we men of the forest are not like your Sudley folk." Calverley, in some measure, re-assured by the unexpected mildness of this reply, quickly said,
"I have no wish to remain longer—give me free passage with this bondman, and I shall instantly depart."
"Bondman!" exclaimed Holgrave, raising his clenched249 hand, but he did not strike—"lying craven!"
"I tell you, steward," said the smith who had before spoken, and stepping so near Calverley that he involuntarily drew back, "if you prize your life, you will call no man here a bondman. I am free—that man is free—" pointing to Holgrave, "and we are all free—all sworn brothers; and no one shall dare," raising his voice, "to brand, with such a name, a mother's son among us! You have received fair warning, and leave to go: retire now—instantly, if you are wise! Clear a passage there for my Lord de Boteler's steward! There is now room for you to pass—your retainers are waiting without—and now take the man you call a bondman, and away with you all. What! you will not lay hold of him? Take him, I say!" elevating his voice—"seize the villein, and drag him back to his bondage! What! not a finger, after all the trouble you have taken?—then, away with you alone!—away!" And Calverley, from the mere75 instinct of obedience187 to a superior power, moved towards the door. "And if ever," continued the smith, "you are found hunting in this forest again for bondmen, as you call them, we may chance to give you a lodging where you will have little reason to complain that the sun shines too brightly!"
Calverley made no reply; but, without looking either at Holgrave, or the man who had so fiercely and tauntingly250 addressed him, took the advantage offered—passed through the door of the foundry, and through the yielding ranks of sneerers and jibers outside; and mounting his horse, galloped251 rapidly away from the scene of his defeat, with the shout of a hue and cry following his track as far as the foresters considered their legitimate252 domain253.
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1
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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2
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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3
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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5
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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6
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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7
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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8
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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10
molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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12
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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13
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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14
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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16
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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17
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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18
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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21
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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22
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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25
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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30
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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32
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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33
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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34
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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35
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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38
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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39
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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egress
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| n.出去；出口 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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42
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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43
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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44
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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45
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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46
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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47
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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49
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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50
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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51
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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52
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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53
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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54
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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55
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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56
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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57
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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58
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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59
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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60
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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61
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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62
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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63
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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64
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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65
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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66
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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67
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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68
costliness
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| 昂贵的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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70
diadem
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| n.王冠，冕 | |
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71
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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72
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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73
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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74
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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76
meretricious
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| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
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77
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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78
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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79
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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80
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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81
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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82
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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83
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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84
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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85
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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86
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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87
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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88
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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89
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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90
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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91
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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92
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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93
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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94
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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95
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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96
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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97
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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98
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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99
jacks
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| n.抓子游戏；千斤顶( jack的名词复数 )；（电）插孔；[电子学]插座；放弃 | |
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100
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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101
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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102
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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103
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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104
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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105
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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106
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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107
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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108
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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109
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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110
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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111
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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113
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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114
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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115
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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116
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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117
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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118
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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119
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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120
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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121
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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122
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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123
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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124
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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126
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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127
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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128
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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129
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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130
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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131
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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132
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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133
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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134
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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135
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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136
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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137
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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139
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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141
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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142
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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143
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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144
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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145
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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146
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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147
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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148
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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149
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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150
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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151
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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152
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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153
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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154
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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155
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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156
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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157
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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158
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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159
donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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160
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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161
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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162
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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163
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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164
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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165
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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166
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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167
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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168
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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169
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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170
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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171
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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172
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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173
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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174
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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175
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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176
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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177
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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178
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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179
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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180
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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181
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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182
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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183
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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184
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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185
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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186
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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187
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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188
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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189
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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190
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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191
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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192
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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193
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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194
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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195
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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196
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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197
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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198
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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199
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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203
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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204
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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205
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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208
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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grumblingly
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| 喃喃报怨着，发牢骚着 | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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230
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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235
wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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236
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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240
fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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241
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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244
abetting
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的现在分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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246
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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247
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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248
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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249
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tauntingly
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| 嘲笑地，辱骂地； 嘲骂地 | |
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251
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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252
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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253
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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