Windsor Castle by William Harrison Ainsworth
BOOK II — HERNE THE HUNTER
CHAPTER V
What befell Sir Thomas Wyat in the Sandstone Cave—
And how he drank a
maddening Potion.
THE cave in which Sir Thomas Wyat found himself, on the
removal of the bandage from his eyes, was apparently—for it was only
lighted by a single torch—of considerable width and extent, and hewn
out of a bed of soft sandstone. The roof, which might be about ten feet high,
was supported by the trunks of three large trees rudely fashioned into
pillars. There were several narrow lateral passages within it, apparently
communicating with other caverns; and at the farther end, which was almost
buried in obscurity, there was a gleam seemingly occasioned by the reflection
of the torchlight upon water. On the right hand stood a pile of huge stones,
disposed somewhat in the form of a Druidical altar, on the top of which, as
on a throne, sat the demon hunter, surrounded by his satellites—one of
whom, horned and bearded like a satyr, had clambered the roughened sides of
the central pillar, and held a torch over the captive's head.
Half-stifled by the noxious vapour he had inhaled, and blinded by the
tightness of the bandage, it was some time before Wyat fully recovered his
powers of sight and utterance.
"Why am I brought hither, false fiend?" he demanded at length.
"To join my band," replied the demon harshly and imperiously.
"Never!" rejoined Wyat. "I will have nought to do with you, except as
regards our compact."
" What I require from you is part of our compact," rejoined the demon. "He
who has once closed hands with Herne the Hunter cannot retreat. But I mean
you fairly, and will not delude you with false expectation. What you seek
cannot he accomplished on the instant. Ere three days Anne Boleyn shall be
yours."
"Give me some proof that you are not deceiving me, spirit," said Wyat.
"Come, then! " replied Herne. So saying, he sprang from the stone, and,
taking Wyat's hand, led him towards the lower end of the cave, which
gradually declined till it reached the edge of a small but apparently deep
pool of water, the level of which rose above the rock that formed its
boundary.
"Remove the torch!" thundered the demon to those behind. "Now summon your
false love, Sir Thomas Wyat," he added, as his orders were obeyed, and the
light was taken into one of the side passages, so that its gleam no longer
fell upon the water.
"Appear, Anne Boleyn!" cried Wyat.
Upon this a shadowy resemblance of her he had invoked flitted over the
surface of the water, with hands outstretched towards him. So moved was Wyat
by the vision, that he would have flung himself into the pool to grasp it if
he had not been forcibly detained by the demon. During the struggle the
figure vanished, and all was buried in darkness.
"I have said she shall be yours," cried Herne; "but time is required for
the accomplishment of my purpose. I have only power over her when evil is
predominant in her heart. But such moments are not unfrequent," he added,
with a bitter laugh. "And now to the chase. I promise you it will be a wilder
and more exciting ride than you ever enjoyed in the king's company. To the
chase!—to the chase, I say!"
Sounding a call upon his horn, the light instantly reappeared. All was
stir and confusion amid the impish troop—and presently afterwards a
number of coal-black horses, and hounds of the same hue, leashed in couples,
were brought out of one of the side passages. Among the latter were two large
sable hounds of Saint Hubert's breed, whom Herne summoned to his side by the
names of Saturn and Dragon.
A slight noise, as of a blow dealt against a tree, was now heard overhead,
and Herne, imposing silence on the group by a hasty gesture, assumed an
attitude of fixed attention. The stroke was repeated a second time.
"It is our brother, Morgan Fenwolf," cried the demon.
Catching hold of a chain hanging from the roof, which Wyat had not
hitherto noticed, he swung himself into a crevice above, and disappeared from
view. During the absence of their leader the troop remained motionless and
silent.
A few minutes afterwards Herne reappeared at the upper end of the cave. He
was accompanied by Fenwolf, between whom and Wyat a slight glance of
recognition passed.
The order being given by the demon to mount, Wyat, after an instant's
hesitation, seized the flowing mane of the horse nearest him—for it was
furnished neither with saddle nor bridle-and vaulted upon its back. At the
same moment Herne uttered a wild cry, and plunging into the pool, sunk
within. it. Wyat's steed followed, and swam swiftly forward beneath the
water.
When Wyat rose to the surface, he found himself in the open lake, which
was gleaming in the moonlight. Before him he beheld Herne clambering the
bank, accompanied by his two favourite hounds, while a large white owl
wheeled round his head, hooting loudly. Behind came the grisly cavalcade,
with their hounds, swimming from beneath a bank covered by thick overhanging
trees, which completely screened the secret entrance to the cave. Having no
control over his steed, Wyat was obliged to surrender himself to its
guidance, and was soon placed by the side of the demon hunter.
"Pledge me, Sir Thomas Wyat," said Herne, unslinging a gourd-shaped flask
from his girdle, and offering it to him. "'Tis a rare wine, and will prevent
you from suffering from your bath, as well as give you spirits for the
chase."
Chilled to the bone by the immersion he had undergone, Wyat did not refuse
the offer, but placing the flask to his lips took a deep draught from it. The
demon uttered a low bitter laugh as he received back the flask, and he slung
it to his girdle without tasting it.
The effect of the potion upon Wyat was extraordinary. The whole scene
seemed to dance around him;-the impish figures in the lake, or upon its bank,
assumed forms yet more fantastic; the horses looked like monsters of the
deep; the hounds like wolves and ferocious beasts; the branches of the trees
writhed and shot forward like hissing serpents;—and though this effect
speedily passed off, it left behind it a wild and maddening feeling of
excitement.
"A noble hart is lying in yon glen," said Morgan Fenwolf, advancing
towards his leader; "I tracked his slot thither this evening."
"Haste, and unharbour him," replied Herne, "and as soon as you rouse him,
give the halloa." Fenwolf obeyed; and shortly afterwards a cry was heard from
the glen.
"List halloa! list halloa! "cried Herne, " that's he! that's he! hyke!
Saturn! hyke, Dragon—Away!—away, my merry men all."