Short Story.

Lake County Press, Issue 2300, 25 November 1909, Page 7

Short Story.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

AVALONIA.

(A Tale of Glastonbury.)

CHAPTEK 111

Continued.

Leaving for some few moments Sir Ralph llolmsbv (for such was the Knight's name), wc will join the two trooper- standing without the door. "I warrant me, gossip,"' quoth the elder one. "these monks have here some comfortable quarters. The King's troops in France have had on many in stormy night worse places to lay them in." "By our Lady, thou art right, brave comrade ; but if the last year's October be as good as the place would warrant, I should not be amiss for a draught of the same."

"Ah, Dickon, thou art ever a moist one or a dry, I know not which." "Well, well, as thou art not certain, I will tell thee that, after this our dusty march, I am now a dry one — but here comes our worthy porter!" "What ho, good porter 1 thy master would hardly wish the Kind's poor servants to leave his honoured house with dry lips. I'll warrant me thy buttery can boast of that which is stronger than water to quench a man's thirst this morn."

"Our buttery is but yonder, it it will please thee, sirs, to follow me; ana be it known our reverend Abbot is no nigg-ard of hospitality." Our two troopers were soon tasting' the good October, which was served out with no stint, and whilst they are thus comfortably engaged, return we to the guest chambe.r. Sir Ralph had not long- to wait ere two attendants entered to conduct him to the Abbot. Abbot Richard Whitingwas seated in the reception-room of •is own dwelling; on his right side .it his treasurer, on the left his "secretary and under-trcasurcr. And here a word respecting the appearance of the Abbot. His height was above the average, his complexion pale and dark, with a kind and handsome face —a face that impressed one with the belief that he could suffer and be strong, but would sympathise with the afflicted, and had an open heart and ready hand for all. Abbot Richard was dressed in his Abbot's robes, with a massive gold chain over his shoulders, attached to which in front was a crucifix of the same precious metal. Such was the Abbot as he arose to welcome his visitor. Extending his hand in a most cordial manner, he said:

"Welcome, Sir Ralph, welcome, to our monastery of Glastonbury, and right welcome as messenger from our liege the King." Sir Ralph, having acknowledged the greeting in suitable words, presented his despatch to the Abbot, who, after reading- it. said : "I am well acquainted with its import ; bear. Sir Ralph, our homage to our Sovereign, and say I will with all submission, attend me to this summons. Our noon-day's repast but now awaits your presence. I pray you, then, accompany us." Leaning on the Knight's arm, the Abbot, followed by his attendants, left for the dininngroom.

Our readers will wonder, perhaps, ( what the missive of Sir Ralph contained. It was a summons to appear at Wells on the 14th of the next month —to then and there take oath as touching' the Royal supremacy. Having delivered his message, and partaken of the Abbot's hospitality, the Knight, accompanied by his troops, left Glastonbury. CHAPTER IV. Robert Whitson, the younger, was, as we have stated, not what his father could have wished. He preferred a trav life amongst the roysterers of the city to his father's warehouse, although the promise of a partnership had been held out to him. Notwithstanding his laughing face and gay. careless manner he was. however, a shrewd man, and soon perceived that the Court party promised him a life which had far more charms for him than business ; moreover, he had a dim idea that he might by some means use this party to aid him in his cherished wish to be possessed of Amy. The 14th August, in obedience to the Royal mandate, saw Abbot Richard Whiting at Wells, where, in the beautiful Chapter-house of the Cathedral, he was proffered the oath of acceptance to the King's decree as being head of the Church, which he firmly declined to take, saying: "I have ever held his Holiness the Pope, successor to St. Peter, as supreme head of '.he visible Church, and, come what mav. I cannot. God helping me. belie my conscience by acknowledging any other; in all temporal matters I will obey his Majesty the King, but in this I cannot." So saying, he left the Chapter-house, mounted his muie. and repaired to his own Abbey. This was the eve of the festival of the Assumption, and the following day, the 15th, was a holiday of obligation to all Catholics. High mass was sung in the great church, the solemn service being attended by nearly all the inhabitants of the little kingdom of the Isle of Avalon; the day was dull, a kind of preface to an early autumn. At five o'clock in the afternoon came the time of vespers, and the great church was nearly full of worshippers. The service ended, the priest was about to bless all present, when a tramp as of many feet was heard, and with a crash the great west d->ors flew open, whilst a stentorian voice echo e d through the sacred building. What ho, within here! let none escape; I proclaim all here present as traitors to the King. Advance, my men, and take all prisoners." The scene of confusion that followed is indescribable. A portion cf the intruders rushed towards the high altar, where, stripping the Abbot of his vestments, they hurried him sway. The monks fled in wild confusion; the congregation were too surpris-d and startled to offer any resistance to the intruders., who were many and wtll armed. Some of the rabble had at tacked and plundered the Abbot's dwelling, where they secured and bound the treasurer and undcr-trea-surer. and then, it would seem by a pre-arraDged plan, dragged their captives to the place where the Abbot was held a prisoner. Hastily constructing a rough sledge, to which they lashed the Abbot, they compelled the two treasurers to drag him to the top of the Tor, up Weary-all-hill. In vain did the Abbet protest, in vain did he supplicate; all appeal to these

stony hearts was useless; to all his entreaties the only reply was, "Thou art a traitor, and must die." By this time the top of the Tor was gained and the Abbot loosed from the sledge. A few minutes were given him for prayer, when, devoutly crossing himself, he si>okc a word of courage and hone to his brothers in distress. The * three were then quickly slung into the air. After hanging some time, the bodies were cut down; that of the Abbot beine; divided into tour quarters. Portions were sent to be bleached by the winds at Wells, llchester. Rath, and Bridgwater., whilst His head was placed over his own Abbey gate ! Such was the end of the last of the sixty Abbots who reigned over the far-famed Abbey of Glastonbury.

Robert Whitson had joined the party in the raid on Glastonbury Abbey, thinking and hoping as he did, by some means or other, to gain possession of Amy. Dressed in the garb ol a soldier, he threw his energies into the project, and, being well acquainted with the neighbourhood, he was of great service to the leader of the marauding party, his only aim being to gain Amr Clifford. Amy and Reginald were in the church, kneeling side by side, little thinking that their devo.ions would be so suddenly disturbed. IVith a blow, from whom he knew not, Reginald was felled insensible to the ground, whilst Amy was instantly enveloped in the folds of a cloak, which, almost stifling her, prevented her cries from being heard, and in the arms of a stalwart man she was carried away from the church. Outside the building she was lifted on a horse in front of one who galloped away as fast as he could urge his steed, followed bv some two or three others, in the direction of Cheddar. The inhabitants of Glastonbury were, as may be imagined, in the greatest alarm and excitement, which was increased when the news was brought that both Withy Coombe and Ash Hollow were in flames. Smoke was also seen issuing from the sanctuary of the Abbev church. At this moment, Henry Clifford rushed up the street of the little town, asking of all, "Hast seen aught of Reginald and Amy; dost know what has become of or befallen them" None knew, for they had not been seen since thev were in church.

Three seaiching parties were speedily formed, one going to Ash Hollow, one to Withy Coombe. the other, with whom was Henry Clifford, in another direction, all determined to seek for Amy and Reginald, and asking of everyone they met if they had seen anything of the missing couple. None knew, but as the searchers pursued their inquiries they met many monks hurrying away for safety. The Abbot's dwelling, the stone kitchen, the cloisters. St." Joseph's chapel, all were searched in vain, although the searchers made the wails resound with their cries.

With lighted tapers they now enter the church. How changed in a few hours ! No silver lamp gleamed before the high altar; the perfume of incense was replaced by the smell of jurnt and smouldering wood ; the high altar had been smashed, its tabernacle overturned, statues scattered here and tnere.

Presently, a voice was heard from the nave of the church : "Help, good people, help!" Hastening to the spot, those who were thus aroused beheld the apparently lifeless body of Reginald. His face was covered with blood from a ghastly wound in his forehead. Lifting- the body with all care, the sympathising friends soon carried it to the great hall, where it was laid on one of the long tables. Most of the monks in the days we write of had some knowledge of surgery, and Father Francis excelled in the art. With a hand as gentle as any woman's, he began to examine the youth's injuries. "Blessed be God," exclaimed the monk, "he still breathes ; get me water and towels, good folk." Loving and busy hands quickly procured these requisites, from the application of which Reginald soon opened his eyes. Leaving Reginald to recover by the kindly nursing of the monks, we will relate the proceedings of those who went to Ash Hollow and Withy Coombe. The rumour was, indeed, too true : both homesteads were burnt and plundered. Old Clifford had done his best to defend his own, at the cost of his life. We know what had befallen Reginald, but of Amy no tidings could be gleaned. Our readers, no doubt, have already surmised that Amy Clifford was carried off by Robert Whitson. Such was the case. When about two miles from Glastonbury, the horse of one of the three of Robert's helps fell lame, which compelled him to leave the animal at a wayside cottage ; the other two proceeded with Whitson. about fifty yards in his rear, towards Cheddar. As Amy had not uttered a sound for some time, Whitson removed the cloak in which she was enveloped, when he found that the poor girl had swooned. Assisted by his companions, he lifted the inanimate form of Amy from the horse and bathed her temples with water from a wayside spring. This soon restored the fainting girl. who. opening her eyes and seeing Whitson, asked in anger:

"What means this outrage? Where arrr I, Master Whitson? Where is Reginald Markman, and what dost thou mean ?"

"Rest thy mind easy, fair Amy; an thou but listen to reason, no harm shall befall thee."

"Reason, Master Whitson! Why hast thou torn me from home and friends ? Thou art a false, bad man." "Thou wilt think better by and bye, love, when thou art Mistress Whitson."

"Mistress Whitson ! Is it thus thou dost think to gain my love ? I tell thee nay •, I would die sooner than call the' hvsband."

"We shall see, my bonny lass; thou art now in my power. (Here a fearful oath escaped his lips.) An you will not become my wedded wife, thou shalt be mv dainty mistress. So. so! I have tamed wilder and prouder birds, ere now." '

On '.-earing these words, Amy, with

a scream, sprung to her feet, and would have run she knew not where, if she had not been prevented by the three men around her. Struggling to tret free, she cried at the top of her voice, "Help! help! help!" At some distance, less than half a mile from this scene, two horsemen were leisurely riding along in the direction towards Amy and her captors; from their appearance they were soldiers ; both were fine, well-built men. mounted on good, sound horses, weli up to their weights. "Well. Jock, we be not many miles from Withy Coombe. and if good bed and board but suit thee, of which thou shalt have, I warrant me. enough thou wilt prefer my old dad's rcof to ■amp or guardroom."

"Hark ye. Will, I be not ashamed to say that of blows and fighting I have had my belly full, and a month

or so among the apple trees and grass will do us both more good than roystering in London city." "Right, lad, right; the old man little dreams his soldier son is now so near him. But what's amiss on yonder hill? If I be not heard of hearing, that was a woman's voice. 1 love the wenches too well to let one want a friend when Will Markman can lend a helping hand. Onward, Jock, onward."

So saying - , the two riders galloped up the hill, upon the top of which was Amy struggling- with her captors. Robert and his accomplices were too

busy to notice the approach of the two soldiers until they were but a few yards distant, when Will called out: "What ho, my masters. That be but rough usage for a woman. We be but two to three, but will have answer."

"This woman is a traitor to the Ring." said Robert, "that we would convey to Bristol." " 'Tis false, good sirs; I be but a poor maiden, torn from home and friends."

"I know a warrant when I see one." said Wili ; "but show me thine and thou shalt pass unquestioned." "Thou shalt not see my warrant, if thou wilt not take my word." "Hark ye, my men, if yonder maiden be a traitor, my eyes hath never rested on a prettier one. Thy word might be right or wrong, but I must see thy warrant."

"What ! wouldst attempt to stop honest men on the Kind's highway? These fellows be but robbers; draw, my men. and teach these miscreants manners."

During this conversation, Robert's men had mounted their horses, and at his command rushed upon the two soldiers ; one blow from Jock sent the foremost senseless from the saddle, nis horse rushing madly down the hill. Will engaged the other, who, after a few passes, he wounded. Robert, seeing one of his men unhorsed, released Amy and attacked Will as he was eniged with the man he afterwards wounded. Jock rushed to his friend's rescue, and ended the matter by passing his sword through the body of Whitson. Seeing his leader fall, the wounded man turned his horse's head and swiftly galloped away. During this contest. Amy, startled and confused, stood like one in a trance. Dismounting from his horse. Markman now approached the terrified girl, saying:

"Where wilt thou, mistress, that we ake thee ? Thou dost not purpose o remain here?"

"Oh. sir. but take me to Ash Hollow, near unto Glastonbury, and I will indeed thank thee for thy kindness."

"Ash Hollow ? Say, girl, art thou Amy Clifford ? It cannot be; thou vvert but a child when I saw thee; rulv it be some few years since." "That is my name, good sir. But. tell me thine, that I may know to whom I trust me ?"

"Name, child; why, Will Markman. brother to Reginald, to whom thou art betrothed. But why tarry here ? Mount thee, lass, with me." "But what of these poor men?" said Amy, forgetting all her injuries. "Let them be, maiden, let them be ; if they be dead they have but cheated the hangman ; if living., may they repent their evil ways." Lifting- Amy on his horse, and leaving" the two men lying in the road. Will Markman, attended by Jock, proceeded briskly back to Withy Coombe. On their journey Amy hurriedly related what she knew of the events we have recorded. This made them push on with all speed. Arrived at Withy Coombe, a painful surprise awaited them. All was desolation and ruin ! Nothing but the roofless walls to tell the hawowing tale! Thence to Ash Hollow. Alas, the same sad spectacle ! Anticipating further caamities, ihcy rode into Glastonbury. At any other time the inhabitants of the little town would have been in bed, but alarm and fright had entirely banished the thoughts of sleep. Amy was conducted to her widowed mother, to console her in her great distress. Having joined the mourners who stood weeping beside the body of her father, she was told that Reginald knew of her safety, but she was persuaded not to see him until the morning-. Night at length spread her sable wings over the little town and Abbev. Those who had done so much havoc had left, and quietness, if not sleep, fell upon the dwellers.

Our tale is ended ! The property and funds of the Abbey were confiscated, valued at ,£3311 7s. 6d. per annum; the monks were dispersed; and the grand old Abbey left to fall into ruin and decay. The Cliffords and Markmans, by the advice of William, left for Normandy. Reginald and Amy were married in their new country, and the same day saw William lead Mary Clifford to the self-same altar. We have traced the lives of our actors in this little drama through many troubles, let us now draw the curtain on their happiness. The Abbey was put up for sale in June last year by the proprietor, Mr. Stanley Austin, who inherited the property from his father. Mr. Ernest jarrlinc started the bidding at .£24,000. and he had two competitors, one of whom appeared to be an American, who carried the auctioneer by ,£IOOO bids to ,£29,000. Then Mr. Jardine bid ,£30,000, which was the reserve upon the property, and secured the Abbey. Afterwards it transpired that Mr. Jardine was acting- on behalf of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who made himself responsible for the money spent.

The history of Glastonbury goes back to the eighth century, or to a still remoter period, for it is not clear whether Ina. King of the West Saxons, founded or enlarged a monastery there. In 1184 it was almost entirely destroyed by fire. At the time of the dissolutions of the monasteries it was one of the richest in the kingdom. Of that building there remains the Abbot's kitchen, and other ancient buildings now in ruins are the Abbot's Barn, the George Inn, formerly the Pilgrim's Hostelry, the Tribunal or Abbey Court, and two churches. Here grew ihe famous Glastonbury thorn, the Cratoegus precox, which, according to popular belief, blossomed every Christmas Day. Though destroyed during the Crornwellian period, grafts still exist. Professor Freeman has written of the Abbey as "the great religious foundation which lived through the storm of English conquest, and in which Briton and Englishman have an equal share." —R. H. HAWKES. Look on vour worst enemies with ihe thought that they < may one day become your best friends. —Edward Voting. f there be good in what I wrought. Thy hand compelled it, Master Thine; Where I have failed to meet Thv thought, I know, through Thee, the blame is mine. — Kipling.