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Updated: June 7, 2025
"That is not wonderful," answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying the child, "seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him. Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black mane." "Aye, Lady," broke in Bolle, "and there he lies also where he fell; they buried him with never a Christian prayer," and he pointed to a little careless mound between two willows.
God in heaven! to think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am shamed. I'll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your rat-run, Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to me again. Also forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my side for that's witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your soul gain benefit.
Myself cannot throw straighter." "Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn. "Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply. "Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle." "Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?" "Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot." "Thomas Bolle, you are right.
Now I have bethought me of that red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though foolish, he is a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he understands horses and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that Thomas Bolle will be my companion on this journey, with leave from the Abbot, or without it?" and again she looked her in the eyes.
At the end of this room stood a huge, proud-looking man with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox's skull, as Thomas Bolle said afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff and wore a velvet cap upon his head.
"Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of Blossholme, and leave to marry." "To marry whom?" "Her, Sire," and he pointed to Emlyn. "What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay, woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom and her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when the chance came your way?
Night by night, lying brooding in her bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her strong soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding him to listen, to obey, to come. At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish! This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn's mind Thomas Bolle, who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She strove in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that he could not, or would not, understand.
There is a man here who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle." "What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief." "Now all is finished," murmured Emlyn to Cicely, "for assuredly fool Thomas will land us in the mire." "Your Grace," said Bolle in his big voice, "I obey in four words I was the devil."
That day the King's men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely, who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion.
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