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NOW HE RAISED HIMSELF ON HIS ARM AND CLAIMED THE VICTORY
CEDRIC THE FORESTER
BY BERNARD MARSHALL
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK : LONDON : MCMXXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1920-1921, by The Sprague Publishing Company
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
DP Transcriber’s notes can be found at the end of the book.
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CEDRIC THE FORESTER
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Contents
- [CHAPTER I—THE SIEGE OF CASTLE MOUNTJOY]
- [CHAPTER II—THE TAPPING ON THE DUNGEON WALL]
- [CHAPTER III—CEDRIC THE FORESTER]
- [CHAPTER IV—THE CHAMPION OF MOUNTJOY]
- [CHAPTER V—THE FESTIVAL OF THE ARCHERS]
- [CHAPTER VI—WOLF’S HEAD GLEN]
- [CHAPTER VII—THE OUTLAWS OF BLACKPOOL]
- [CHAPTER VIII—“THE FORTRESS OF THE MONKSLAYER”]
- [CHAPTER IX—CHURL AND OVERLORD]
- [CHAPTER X—THE PASS OF THE EAGLES]
- [CHAPTER XI—BY KIMBERLEY MOAT]
- [CHAPTER XII—THE IRON COLLAR]
- [CHAPTER XIII—ON THE ROAD TO RUNNYMEDE]
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ILLUSTRATIONS
[Now he raised himself on his arm and claimed the victory]
[Dame Franklin and the old soldier were frozen in their places]
[The force of my blow drove him backward, but my weapon pierced him not]
[While I spoke my mother had grown pale as death]
[Then Elbert did come to the mark and, with a merry grin, sent five arrows toward the target]
[He gave no inch of ground save to leap from side to side in avoiding my downward strokes]
[In a twinkling armed and mounted men were all about us]
[Hard we rode, indeed, and with little mercy on our mounts]
[Both were red of face with hurry, and their horses were well lathered and breathing hard]
[Then with loud menaces I drove him to the wall where I made him stand with hands above his head]
[Sir Cedric rose to his feet and for a moment looked from one to the other of our company]
[CHAPTER I—THE SIEGE OF CASTLE MOUNTJOY]
That was a blithe spring morning when the messenger from the King brought to my father the order to join the army at Lincoln for the great expedition into Scotland. Six armored knights with their squires and a hundred men-at-arms made up the Mountjoy quota; and these my father, liege lord of the domain and loyal subject of the crown, lost no time in bringing together.
Messengers, on horseback and afoot hurried out with his commands; and at the castle we were all in a pretty flurry of making ready.
The armorers were hammering and riveting in the courtyard, making a most merry din; the big ox-carts lumbered in over the drawbridge, bearing meat and grain for my father’s company while on its way to the assembly ground and for us who were to remain at Mountjoy; and our men in their leathern jackets and hoods and with their cross-bows slung on their backs were coming in by ones and twos and in groups of half a score.
Now my lady mother drew near to Father’s side as he watched the labor of the armorers, and I, having no will to lose any word of his, came forward also.
“My lord,” she said, “I would speak with thee where the noise of these hammers will not deafen our ears.”
My father laughed as one laughs at the sorriest jest when he is gay.
“Gadzooks! my lady,” he said with a curtsy which my mother says he learned in Italy, and which, try as I may, I cannot copy—“a daughter of the Montmorencys should find in the din of armorers’ hammers a music far sweeter than that of the lute or viol.”
“’Tis well enough,” said my mother, hurriedly, “and I should sorrow to live where it never was heard. But I have a grave matter upon which to consult thee. Hast thou given thought, my lord, to the castle’s defense during thine absence and that of the best part of our men?”
My father’s brow became furrowed. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mother frowned at me so I held my peace. Methinks she sometimes thinks of me as naught more than a child, forgetting that it was my fifteenth birthday that we marked at Candlemas.
“Some little I have thought of that,” began my father, “and, indeed, Kate, I would not have thee think I would leave thee unsecured. Marvin, the old cross-bowman who attended me through all my campaigns, and whose eye for the homing place of his arrow, is, in spite of his years, like that of Robin Hood himself, shall be thy right-hand servitor, and with him six good serving men, who, like him, are of the older day and unfit for the long marches, but who can handle the cross-bow or, at need, the spear as well as in their best days. These shall be at thy command; and will be ample for these quiet times.”
“Nay, my lord,” she answered, quickly, “these days are none so quiet, with the Old Wolf of Carleton sharpening his fangs for us and ours.”
“The Old Wolf hath his summons to the King’s banner as I have mine. Our smaller quarrels must be laid aside while the war is on; and if Fortune desert me not, I shall return far higher in the favor of the King than e’er before. It is this very business, well and faithfully done, that shall put an end to Carleton’s insolence. The Wolf shall snap his jaws in vain. The fat goose of Mountjoy for which he hungers shall show itself an eagle with beak and talons.”
“I hope it may be as thou sayest, my lord. Still, leave with us Old Alan, the armorer. He too is past the days of hard campaigns; and thou wilt have the young smith, Dickon, for thy work in the camp. Alan shall make for us such a store of cross-bow bolts as will make Old Marvin and his men seem a score in case of need.”
“As thou wilt, Kate. I had need of Old Alan’s head far more than his hands; but ’tis true enough he’s not the man who followed my father to the wars.”
Then he turned to me and smiled as on that greeting day of his return from the Holy Wars.
“But, Kate,” he cried, “here is the Champion of Mountjoy now. We had forgot the chief of our defenders. Mayhap Sir Dickon here, if any seek to do thee harm, will find better marks for his bolts than rooks and hares.”
I knew that he made a jest of me; for he, too, hardly knows that I lack but half a foot of being as tall as himself and that when I am not put about by hurry or the like, my voice is as low a bass. But I answered in goodly earnest:
“That I will, Father. An if any varlet throw but an unmannerly word at my lady mother, I’ll stop his mouth with a good steel bolt. Let but any one—Gray Wolf or other—threaten Mountjoy while thou’rt away, and come within bow-shot of our walls, and he shall rue it well.”
“Ha! The young eagle tries his wings,” laughed my father. “Spoken like a true Mountjoy, Dickon. Thou’lt do. Give thee but a few more years and thou’lt serve the King like all thy line.”
“And like a true Montmorency, my lord,” put in my mother. “Forget not that.”
“’Pon my soul, ’tis true,” he laughed, “Dickon hath as good blood on the distaff side as any his father can boast.—But to the matter of the castle’s defense in need. Will-o’-the-Wallfield shall stay behind also to see that stores of grain and beef are ample. He’s ever a good hand with the farmers and as sound as an oak staff.” And with a kiss for my mother and a pinch o’ the ear for me, he hurried out again to the armorers.
His spirits in good sooth were high that morning, as well might they be. It was full two years since his return from the Holy Land. I had seen him in London, riding in his shining mail with those who had helped redeem the Blessed Sepulcher, and he the bravest, finest figure of them all. Since that time he had stayed here at the castle with naught to do save to judge the suits of the countryfolk and now and again chase down and hang some forest-lurking robber. His comrades in arms and those that knew his temper and his deeds were at the Court, a hundred miles away; and many a dull day must have seemed a week in passing. Here in the West we have no tourneys and of travelers from the farther world not many. Only lately some little stir of life did we have. The Gray Wolf of Carleton from his castle at Teramore, three leagues away, had sent to us an insolent demand for tribute, claiming forsooth that the Lords of Mountjoy were but a younger line of the House of Carleton and that we held our fiefs on sufferance and at the will of them, our superiors.
Always shall I remember the language of my father’s answer. The clerkly knave who brought Lord Carleton’s message shrunk and shriveled before it like a leaf too near the fire. Just so will I meet all such threats and insolence when I have but a few more years.
“Suzerain of Mountjoy, forsooth! Let the Gray Wolf look well to Teramore, lest we of Mountjoy smoke him from his lair. Mountjoy banners will dip before those of Carleton when England pays tribute to the Saracen, and Beelzebub, thy master’s friend, sits on the throne.”
The knave slunk back to Teramore; and for some weeks the Gray Wolf’s pack had yapped and yowled. Two of Lord Carleton’s bailiffs had their heads well broken by Mountjoy tenants of whom they demanded rental; and an armed party was sent out to avenge them. These men-at-arms were even more roughly used by some of our Mountjoy cross-bowmen who spied the Carleton banner from afar as it entered the village.
Real fighting would surely have come of it, and we of Mountjoy outnumbered three to one, had not the King sent messengers to Teramore and Mountjoy also, commanding all of us to cease from any violence in the quarrel till his men could report to him the rights and wrongs of it.
Now came the King’s call to his vassals, great and small, to serve in the Scottish war; and my father was gay with the thought of service under his sovereign’s banner,—service that might place the name and fame of Mountjoy high in his master’s favor, and show what manner of man and subject it was whom the Gray Wolf would rob of his lands.
A week from that morning my mother had in hand a letter brought by a courier from the King’s army and bearing my father’s greetings. They were well on their way to the north, and believed the Scots would soon have reason to repent them of their folly. Father had been given a post in the advance guard, and was in high feather over rejoining some of his comrades of earlier years.
On the same day, and from another source, we had news that the Gray Wolf was delayed at Teramore by an illness,—the same that had plagued him at times since his campaigns in the Holy Land, but that he had sent word to the King that he would overtake the banners ere they reached the Scottish border.
At seven of the next morning, I stood with Old Marvin by the drawbridge wheel. He had seen to its lowering, and a wain-load of wheat from the grange at the Wallfield was coming slowly into the courtyard. Suddenly I espied a body of horsemen approaching at a trot half a mile away, at a bend on the wooded road from Mannerley. With pointing finger, I guided the eyes of Marvin; and for half a minute we both stood watching the riders without a word. They were soon lost behind the trees, but our old archer, with his hand on the wheel, now shifted his looks to the road where it came out of the forest, a scant bowshot below us.
Now we could hear the hoofbeats and once and again the ring of steel. This could be no friendly call from our neighboring knights and squires so early in the day. Besides, the loyal men of the whole region were with the King’s banner. Had the horsemen come by the Teramore road, our thoughts would have flown at once to the Old Wolf and his designs, and the drawbridge had gone up in a twinkling; but these came from Mannerley; and I knew well that the good lady of Mannerley had days since sent her small quota of knights and men-at-arms to Lincoln. We had not long to wonder, for now the column came from the wood at a swinging trot, and with a tall, gray-bearded knight at its head came forward swiftly toward the open gate.
Marvin stayed his hand no longer. I seized the crank with him; and we swiftly turned it. We drew the bridge to a slant, half way to the upright and barely in time to halt those riders on the yonder side of the moat.
“I know thee, my Lord Carleton,” shouted Marvin, “what would’st thou at Mountjoy? Dost think we keep no watch and ward?”
The Old Wolf (for verily he was the leader of the horsemen) shouted back to us in tones that made my ear drums ache:
“Lower the bridge, varlet. Know’st thou not I am liege lord of Mountjoy, and will hang thee higher than Haman if thou stay’st me by so much as an instant. Lower the bridge, if thou would’st save thy carcass from the crows!”
Before Marvin could say aught in reply he was thrust aside, and my mother, the Lady of Mountjoy, stood by the sally port. In a moment I stood close behind her with cross-bow drawn and bolt in groove.
“My Lord Carleton,” she said, and her voice was wonderfully sweet after the rasping tones that had been filling our ears, “what dost thou here with three score mounted men when the King hath summoned all loyal vassals to his banner?”
So evil a face as he made at this greeting I hope never to see again.
“Ah! ’tis thou, then, Kate of Montmorency. I have somewhat pressing business of my own to forward ere I send final answer to the King. Now deliver to me the keys of this my castle of Mountjoy. Or mayhap thou wilt send yonder leather-coated varlet to act as thy champion ’gainst one of my kitchen knaves. Now lower thy bridge, and all shall be well. I will send thee and the boy there with a convoy of trusty knights to the Convent of St. Anne. If thou hast the folly to attempt to stay me, I will take the place by storm; thy varlets shall hang, every one; and thine own fate thou canst guess. Come now! which, shall it be? I am not accustomed to stay long for answers.”
“Traitor and Hound of Bedlam!” cried my mother in such a voice as I knew not she possessed, “thine own head with the gray locks thou dishonorest shall hang from my battlements ere thou gainest aught by this attack on what thou thinkest to be a defenseless woman. While my lord fights for his country under the banner of the King, thou sendest back lying messengers, and arm thy crew for robbing him of his lands. Now back, with all thy bloody-handed band, or my cross-bowmen shall see if they cannot find with their bolts the joints of your harness. I give no more time to parley. Back with you!”
Already my cross-bow was leveled at the gray beard of the leader on the other side of the moat. I would make good my boast made to my father but a week since. I was trembling and my hair stood up like that of a dog that meets his bitter enemy. Muttering a little prayer for the bolt, and closing my eyes with a sudden, foolish dread, I pulled the trigger. But my mother, just then seeing my design, struck up the weapon with one swift blow, so that the bolt sped harmlessly over the heads of the horsemen.
“Hold thy arrows, boy,” she commanded, “we cannot shoot men down at parley, be they never so villainous. And we shall have fighting enough ere long.”
Lord Carleton made a move of defiance; but he wheeled his steed and led his men down the road by which they came. In the shadow of the woods they halted; and the Gray Wolf called about him three or four knights to whom he gave hurried orders. Very soon his troop broke into three parties. One rode to the right and another to the left, while the third, under the old lord’s command, remained opposite the main gate and drawbridge. Then our watchers on the battlements saw the other parties posted at points of vantage around the castle and a young squire riding at full gallop along the road to Teramore. The siege of Castle Mountjoy had begun.
We passed some weary hours while the Carleton knights gave no sign of meaning to attack. The approaches to the drawbridge are steep and rocky, and the moat is commanded by the cross-bowmen from the slits in the towers and from the battlements above. I well knew that Carleton was an old and skillful soldier, even though a cruel and bloodthirsty one; and it was easy to be seen that he had no mind to lose any of his armored knights in vain attempts to reach us. Now and again a cross-bow bolt sped from our battlements toward the besiegers; and some of these rang on their helmets or breastplates; but the hounds had good Toledo armor, and no bolt found its way to joint or visor. I found none to stay me now; and stood by a firing slit, sending arrow after arrow at our enemies.
Twice old Marvin had dinted with well-aimed bolts the hauberk on which rested the long gray beard of the leader of the pack. A younger knight, whom I took to be Ronald of Egleston, seemed to beg him to take to the shelter of the trees; but the Old Wolf just shook his head with impatience, and rode on from one to another of the sentry posts.
At noon we could see in the edge of the wood, beneath the oak branches not yet clothed with leaves, leathern wallets opened and bread and meat passed around, this being followed by horns of ale and skins of wine from the load of a pack-mule tethered near by.
Then my mother, aided by old Dame Franklin, her nurse as a child and ever her faithful servitor, and by me as the Heir of Mountjoy and the representative of my father here, carried to the sentinels on the ramparts and at the arrow slits bounteous refreshments of bread and cheese and ale, encouraging them the while by friendly, confident words and by her dauntless demeanor in readiness for the attack which we all well knew was to come.
“Marvin,” she said, as we came near my old friend and worthy teacher of the arts of war, “shall we give them as good or better than they can send?”
“Aye, that we will, Lady,” quoth Marvin with an obeisance, losing the while no glance of what might be happening in the edge of the wood opposite, “if the wind will but ease a thought, and the Gray Wolf take not to some shelter, I will land an arrow yet at the roots of that beard which flaunts there in the breeze like a banner for those robber hounds.”
“God speed thy bolt, good Marvin. An thou dost that, ’twill be as loyal a service as e’er them did’st the House of Mountjoy. His band would not linger long to annoy us, I think. And that cottage and half dozen acres by the mill shall be thine in fee simple.”
“Lady Mountjoy,” he said, with another bow, “I have served my Lord of Mountjoy and his father before him for fifty years. Your bounty is ever welcome, but, with it or without, I serve while I live. But hold! there’s the Gray Wolf again, looking our way with hungry eyes,—”
He took long and careful aim, while I who had often seen him bring down a running hare at a greater distance, watched him with halted breath. But Fortune smiled not on him. A gust of wind came just as he drew trigger, and turned his bolt enough in the hundred and fifty yards of its flight to make it pass harmlessly to one side of our enemy. Old Marvin made a bitter groan at this bad hap, and stood looking at the knight with grinding teeth.
“Better luck and a quieter air next time, good Marvin,” quoth mother, “thou’lt wing him yet, be sure.” And she passed to another embrasure to greet old Alan, the armorer, who was busy with carrying fresh supplies of bolts to the archers.
At two o’ the clock a cry came down from our lookouts that reënforcements were coming for our enemies. My mother and I hurried to the battlements and from there descried a motley array of a hundred or more men-at-arms, archers and peasants with axes and spades, tramping along the road from Teramore.
For a moment we were frightened at what we saw. Here was proof indeed that the Old Wolf meant no hurried foray but an attack in such force as might be expected to gain the castle and the lands of Mountjoy.
Most of its proper defenders were far away, marching with other loyal men under the banner of the King; and now it was clear that Carleton had let no man go forward from all his lands, reserving all for this treacherous blow. Armored knights could not swim the moat or climb up its steep sides; but the Carleton force was now twenty times greater than ours, and the Gray Wolf was well skilled in all the arts of attack.
We had not long to wait in suspense. The men-at-arms and the peasants turned into the wood before coming within range of our archers. Soon after we heard the sound of many axes. Before a half hour had passed there came from the forest a body which seemed like a part of the wood itself. A hundred men ran out, clad in leathern jackets or the peasants’ homespun, and carrying no weapons save axes or poniards stuck in their belts, each bearing before him a great, withe-bound armful of branches. Following these came a score with planks and beams from a little lodge in the wood which they had torn down; then eight huge fellows, running with a tree, trimmed of its branches and carried butt foremost as a battering ram. This was the thing that made me quake for the safety of the castle, for it was clear to all of us that if those robber beasts could fill the moat with their fascines and lumber, they could swarm across, force down the drawbridge and with that accursed log break down the inner gate. Once inside the courtyard, they would hold all in the castle at their mercy.
Surrounding the churls who acted as ram-bearers, and running as best they might in their heavy armor, was a group of knights and squires, led by the savage old graybeard of Carleton. Last of all came a dozen cross-bowmen with bows drawn and bolts in groove.
A half dozen of our bolts hummed through the air at their on-coming line. I was at one of the arrow slits, glad indeed of a fair chance at the Carleton curs, and using as best I might the good steel bow which my father had brought back from the Crusade. Some of our first volley of bolts found their marks, but most flew over their heads or buried themselves in the bundles of branches which served them well as shields. With might and main we loaded and fired again, this time with more effect. One of my bolts felled the leader of the ram-bearers and threw his fellows into confusion. But now the line was at the moat, the fascines were hurled into it, the planks and beams followed helter skelter, and a few of the boldest of their men-at-arms dashed out on the footing thus made.
Now indeed our bolts began doing their work. The fascines gone, the leathern jackets were but the sorriest protection, and at twenty to forty paces hardly a bolt failed to bring down its man. We were firing as fast as we could lay the bolts in groove. All their burdens were in the ditch, but it was not filled enough to allow a crossing. Some of those who had ventured on the planks and branches became foot-caught, slipped through to the water below and perished miserably like thieving rats caught and drowned in a trap of meal strewn on the water of a tub.
The Carleton cross-bowmen could do little against our stone walls pierced with narrow firing slits. Some of their arrows came through, but none of us were injured. Two huge stones, hurled by Alan, the armorer, from the battlements above, came down on the heads of the luckless churls in the moat and helped to scatter the scanty footing. Thrice more had old Marvin dinted with his bolts the armor of the Gray Wolf, who was running up and down behind his men, shouting threats and orders; but still the arrows failed in drawing blood. Two other knights were not so fortunate, for bolts struck them full in the faces, and they were borne from the field by their comrades.
In time, mid curses and threats, old Carleton shouted an order for retreat. It was none too soon, for already half the homespun varlets and men-at-arms, seeing no hope of reaching us, and expecting any moment the fate which was falling on their comrades, were on their way to the shelter of the woods. The Carleton crew recrossed the open ground more quickly than it had come. Twenty or more of their number remained behind, in the ditch or on its bank, and the battering ram lay where its bearers had dropped it when their comrades broke and ran.
TWO HUGE STONES, HURLED BY ALAN THE ARMORER, CAME DOWN ON THE HEADS OF THE LUCKLESS CHURLS IN THE MOAT
Hardly had the last of them disappeared under the oaks when Marvin and Alan appeared in the moat, armed with long-handled pikes. Quickly hauling together some of the planks and beams to make a raft, they began pulling and pushing apart the rest of the matter which had been meant to form a crossing. There had not been enough of the brush and lumber for the Carleton purpose but could they place as much more in the same spot, it might make them a footway. We who guarded them from above and stood ready to give warning of any new attack were able to tell them over and again that none of our enemies were showing their heads. So holpen, the old soldiers made a thorough piece of work, and in half an hour had hauled out all the planks and beams and so scattered the brush bundles that they would be of little use to the attackers should they find stomachs for another assault.
That night was a weary one for all of us. The camp fires of the Carleton robbers made a kind of circle about our place and gave us warning of how close they made the siege. My mother gave orders that half her men should lie down to sleep, though with their arms beside them, while she and Marvin often made the rounds to be sure of the watchfulness of the others. She would have had me go to my bed like a very child; but I begged it as a boon to share the watch, to which prayer she most unwillingly gave ear. That night I could not have slept in the downiest of couches, e’en with the softest music of well-played lutes. There was men’s work afoot; and ours were all too few. At midnight the sleepers were awakened and the watch changed; but always we three remained on guard.
The night was quiet, even so; and so was the whole of the day that followed. Beyond bowshot on the open ground, we could see the groups of our enemies and watch the sentries pacing their beats. Nearer at hand on the wooded side, we could hear from time to time the calls of men and the strokes of axes.
In the afternoon my mother found a few hours for sleep, leaving Marvin, who seemed to have no need for rest, in charge. Our old soldier and worthy lieutenant had told her that the siege might last for weeks, and that it would be folly for her to wear out her strength in its very beginning. To this good advice I made bold to add my urging. Dame Franklin had followed her mistress everywhere, bringing her food and drink when of herself she would have forgotten, and trying always to place herself between Lady Mountjoy and her enemies.
The first night had been starlit, but that which now came on was cloudy and so dark that one could scarce discern an enemy at a dozen paces, and not then unless his figure were seen against the sky. None of our men were allowed to sleep, for it was felt that the Carletons might come at us again at any moment and with much better chances for success than before. No one in the castle forgot that our enemies outnumbered us by almost a score to one or had any doubts as to what would come to us if by force or by treachery, the Gray Wolf and his pack made their way into our courtyard.
Soon after midnight we heard a loud tramp and roar of footsteps in the direction of the wood. Arrows we sent hap-hazard toward the attack, but in the darkness these did little more than tell our enemies that the Mountjoy men were at their posts. In a moment the other side of the moat was thronged with half-seen figures. Cries of command rang out and the waters of the ditch splashed high with the strokes of fascines, logs and sacks of earth. Now again our archers found victims, but in the murk and mid the wild cries and running to and fro these were but few. Most of our bolts struck harmlessly into the ground or the water or rang against the stones of the moat wall.
The frontmost of the churls who bore the brush and sacks, when they had cast their loads into the ditch, turned and ran back to the edge of the wood whence they presently returned with fresh supplies. Had it not been for the good labors of old Marvin and Alan in moving the matter cast down in the first attack a way would soon have been laid to the foot of the drawbridge. As it was, our ditch was fast filling. There seemed to be thousands of the burden bearers, running like Imps of Darkness with planks and great bundles; and in the pitchy dark of that black night the fire of our garrison had no effect.
I was firing as fast as might be from one of the arrow-slits; but, like the others, could not tell whether any of my bolts were finding victims. Each moment the numbers of our enemies increased. The pile of planks and brush now reached nearly to the inner wall of the moat. My mother ran back and forth behind the archers, carrying new supplies of missiles, and shouting heartening words. Old Marvin was hurling bolts as fast as he could load, and roundly cursing the hounds of Carleton and the blackness of the night that sheltered them. A moment more and I could hear axes ringing against iron. The bloody crew were hacking at the fastenings of the chains of the drawbridge.
Suddenly a thought crossed my mind like a shooting star; and I sprang away from my firing port.
“Mother,” I cried, “we must have light to shoot by or we’re undone. Quick! the torches!”
Throwing down my cross-bow, I ran into the great hall and caught up a torch from the mantel. Thrusting it deeply into the fireplace embers, I quickly kindled it; then sped up the stairs toward the battlements.
Not for nothing is my lady mother a Montmorency of the old fighting line. In a trice she had understood my plan and was following me with a lighted torch. Close behind her came old Dame Franklin, bearing another. The three of us ran with all our might up the crooked stair and the ladders, and came out on the battlements, under the black sky.
As if the castle were all aflame, the moat and the farther bank were lighted by the glare. In an instant the cross-bowmen found their targets among the fascine bearers and the men-at-arms who were already swarming across. At once we heard their cries of rage and pain, and could see corpses rolling down the bank into the muddy waters. Alan heaved great stones from his supply on the battlements on to the heads of the men-at-arms in the ditch who but now had been raising a shout of victory. Old Marvin took most careful aim at a gray beard which caught the flare of light, and sent forth a mighty yell of joy as the knight spun around on his heel and fell to the ground.
Oh, the crowding and shouting and trampling under foot in the ranks of our enemies! The threats and the fear and the curses! Our arrows kept pouring from the firing slits. A younger knight caught his chief by the shoulders while another seized his legs, and they bore him quickly away. There was no need for any order to retreat. The whole body was in headlong flight in the winking of an eye, pursued by the whizzing bolts and the jeering yells of our fellows in the towers. On the battlements above stood my lady mother, old Dame Franklin and I, holding aloft our flaming torches.
Suddenly the old nurse screamed that I was hurt. And indeed, I now felt a most sharp pain through my shoulder where, it seems, had struck a bolt discharged by some Carleton archer. My doublet was covered with blood; and I felt a most unmanly giddiness. It was over in a flash; but my mother, pale as a ghost under the torchlight, had seized me by one arm while Dame Franklin grasped the other, fearing forsooth lest I fall from the battlements to the moat below. Between them, I made my way down to the hall where they led me to a couch, they all the while mumbling and weeping and forgetting our glorious victory which had all my thoughts.
Soon old Marvin had drawn the arrow and dressed the hurt with the simples he had at hand. ’Twas my first wound, and, truth to tell, as Marvin plucked the bolt away my stomach was none too well at ease, and the room and all its folk swung slowly round and round. Yet when I heard him declare to my lady mother that the young master was now a man in his own right and a worthy son of the Mountjoys, I closed my eyes to the dizzying hall with its dancing armor suits and its nodding pictures of my long dead forbears, and soon slumbered, well content.
For two hours and more I slept as one drugged. When my eyes opened, the hall had ceased its swinging, and my mother sat by my couch and did hold my hand in both of hers as she was wont to do long, long ago when I was but a child. Dame Franklin, in a chair near by did slumber deeply and with most comical groans and snores. Just then returned old Marvin, fresh from new labors in the moat. He and Alan had again cleared away all the contrivings of our enemies; and he was in high feather at our victory.
“Lady Mountjoy,” he said, making due obeisance, “we have beaten the wolf-pack full soundly. The Old Wolf himself is sore stricken, if not dead; and the others will gladly crawl to their holes. Sir Dickon will have a merry tale and true to tell my lord when he comes from the Scottish war.”
“Say’st thou so, good Marvin?” quoth my mother in reply. “Dost think we have smitten them so they will give over all their evil design?”
“My word upon it, Lady. We have beaten off all their strokes, killed a score and more of their men, and gi’en to the Old Wolf himself some measure of his just deserts. The morning will show their camp fires cold and the woods and fields of Mountjoy deserted by the whole wolf-pack. Ere three days have passed thou shalt walk abroad with thy women and without fear of any Carleton, lord or churl.”
These goodly words were to me better than physic; and the smile which my lady mother gave to me was a fair guerdon for any service. Soon I slept again and dreamed of riding my white mare on the banks of Tarleton Water on a day most fair to see. But I wakened to a gray and frosty dawn and to things far other than my dreams. My mother had just returned from the ramparts. The besiegers were still at their posts, and their camp fires burned brightly. She had made out messengers speeding along the road to Teramore, but of a breaking of the siege could see no signs around the camps of our enemies.
When she brought this news to me, I spurned the quilted robes and the silken coverlet which she had laid over me, sat up on the couch and asked for boots and cross-bow. She was deeply frightened at this, fearing my giddiness had returned and that I knew not what I said. But Marvin, coming into the hall just then, did say that my wound was too slight a thing to keep a fighting man in his bed; and thus aided I had my way, and soon was on the ramparts again.
[CHAPTER II—THE TAPPING ON THE DUNGEON WALL]
As before, the siege went on, the sole variance being the absence of the gray-bearded horseman from the groups of knights and squires who made the circuit of the sentry-posts. Days and weeks went by, and they made no further assaults, but so closely were the siege lines drawn that, without wings no creature could enter or leave the castle. It was evident that the Carleton men hoped to starve us into submission. We smiled at this when we thought of the loads of grain and salted meats which had been brought into the storerooms in the first week of my father’s absence, and which would be enough to feed all our little garrison for a year. A well of most sweet water in the courtyard had never been known to run dry; so we had little cause for fear of either hunger or thirst.
What with Marvin’s simples, my wound was fast healing, and I longed for another fray where I could use my bow at close quarters. Scarce a day passed without one of my bolts striking the steel harness of some Carleton knight; but none found their way to armor joints; and the peasants and leather-coated men-at-arms kept well beyond a hurtful range.
One dismal morning, when a month had passed, my heart sank, as did those of all the Mountjoys, as we made out the tall figure in black armor and the long gray beard of the Lord of Carleton, again making his rounds at the head of a group of knights and squires. Plain to see, he had recovered from his wound and was as bent as ever on Mountjoy’s fall. The old Gray Wolf was hungry not only for the house and lands of Mountjoy but also for the vengeance which to him would be sweeter than all the lands of England. Now might we expect new assaults, planned with their two failures in mind, and bringing to bear new plans and schemes and all their beastly hate and greed. Some of our old serving men shivered as they spoke of the devilish deeds of the Gray Wolf, and of the fate in store for them if the next assault should win its way.
That night, at something after ten, the weather being raw and dismal with a cold spring rain and the spirits of all the Mountjoy folk somewhat adroop, one of the archers had been sent to the cellars to draw a pitcher of ale. In a moment he came up the stairs on the run, and burst into the hall with the empty pitcher held in shaking hands and with teeth chattering with fright.
“Oh, my lady!” he said, catching for his breath, “the Evil One hath us now, and all our doings are for naught.”
“What say’st thou, Gavin?” called his mistress, “who tells thee tales of the Evil One?”
“’Tis—’Tis the truth,” answered poor Gavin, “but now, in the cellars, he goes—tap tap tap in the ground at one’s feet. So has he come to take many a poor mortal. We be called for, and all our sins on our heads, with no holy man at hand to say him nay with book and bell.”
“Go to. Thou’rt a coward when in the dark by thy lone,” said my lady, scornfully, “though thou fight’st well and truly with comrades at thy elbow. Marvin, if our watchers are to have their sup of ale on this raw night, thou must even draw it thyself.”
But our brave old archer, hero of a hundred battles, turned pale and answered slowly:
“Nay, my lady, it is not well for mortal men, with mayhap many a word and deed unconfessed and unpenanced, to meddle with the Powers of Darkness. For my sins I know them of old, and I dare not face them. Show me a mortal man, and I’ll stand before him with whatever weapons, but not the spirits that thump on the footstones by night or twist the neck of a sleeping man with a hand not seen.”
My mother turned pale, and I could see the fringe of her sleeve barely aquiver in the candlelight. She opened her mouth to speak in reproof of Marvin; but found no words, and sat gazing toward him with wide and glistening eyes. Truth to tell, it was a fearsome thing, and for myself I had but the smallest wish to face the dungeon passages on that black night. ’Twas not so long since I would not have faced them by my lone on the most quiet and peaceful of nights with no armed enemies within a day’s journey; and a great round lump came up into my throat as I thought of it. Yet, even as we sat eying one another in fear, a thought came to my mind of the duty of a Mountjoy. ’Twas but natural that our serving men should fear the evil sprites let loose by darkness and troublous times; and e’en my mother, a fair and gracious lady, and withal none too strong of body, was not made to face such things. But I was the Heir of Mountjoy; and my father had knelt before a King of France and been made Knight of a holy order for his deeds on the Plains of Jerusalem. I started up and cried:
“Tush! good Marvin. Methought thee far too bold for frightening with old wives’ tales. Come! I’ll go before thee bearing a candle to fright away thy imaginings.”
“Spoken like a true Montmorency,” said my mother with a strange little laugh, “truly, Dickon, thou’lt shame us all.”
Then she rose and reached to the shelf behind her for a candlestick.
“Oh, now, my lady!” cried old Dame Franklin. “Go not to the dungeons on such a night. The men can better want their sup of ale. ’Tis an ill night for all uneasy sprites. Bide here by the fire, for soon we go to the battlements again.”
But my lady already stood with her hand on the great latch of the door at the head of the stairway which led to the donjon keep. I took my cross-bow.
“If any of the Imps of Darkness challenge us,” I said, “I’ll see whether or no they can stand before a good steel bolt.”
But even in the midst of my confident words, I had a thought anent the spectral tappings which chilled the blood in my veins. Ghostly visitants I was ready then to challenge; but I had heard my father tell how the Crusaders took one Saracen stronghold by means of a mine or tunnel, dug with weeks of toil under the walls and into the passages of the ancient keep. Why should not the Old Wolf of Carleton have planned a like attack? During the weeks when his men had seemed so quiet and had given the Mountjoys scarcely a chance for a long bowshot, might they not have been driving such a tunnel under their very feet? Suppose that tapping that Gavin thought the work of the Evil One were the sound of the tools of the servants of one scarcely less evil and with even more cause to wish us ill!
“Come then,” said my mother, her face white but firm. Opening the great oak door, she led the way toward the dungeons.
Cross-bow in hand, I followed; and just behind me came Dame Franklin. As she moved toward the door, Old Marvin picked up his cross-bow, made sure of the poniard in his belt and followed also, mumbling the while, as best he might, the words of a Latin prayer.
We came to pause amid the stillness of the vault which was like unto that of the Mountjoy tomb at Kirkwald Abbey to which one day, with my hand tightly clasping my father’s, I had paid a well remembered visit. The candle wavered and guttered in a faint draught, and the light gleamed on the wide eyes of the old dame and the trembling hands of the archer. I was standing full still with my eyes on my mother’s face. For long we stood while I could hear no sound save the beating strokes beneath my doublet. Then, suddenly, from the floor beneath or the solid wall beside us,—
Tap, tap—tap—tap tap.
No one spoke. The candle shook in my lady’s hand till it threatened to fall and leave us in utter darkness. Dame Franklin and the old soldier were frozen in their places. Then again:
Tap tap—tap—tap tap.
“Oh, Mother,” I whispered, “the passage! The secret passage! Our enemies have found it.”
There was another fearsome silence. Then again—Tap tap—tap—tap tap.
Then the echoes of the great vault were roused by a loud, clear call from my lady mother:
“Oh, my lord! My Lord Mountjoy, is it thou?”
There came a muffled voice in reply, and again we heard the tapping.
DAME FRANKLIN AND THE OLD SOLDIER WERE FROZEN IN THEIR PLACES
At once she leaped toward the wall with a glad cry:
“Oh, my lord, my lord, have patience but a moment. I will undo the door.”
She brushed aside some old and mildewed hangings, all heavy with dust and grime, and brought to view a small iron door. Snatching from her girdle the largest key, she fitted it into the lock. Still, try as she would, she could not turn it till old Marvin came to her help. Then indeed the rusty lock gave way, the door swung slowly open, and my father, the Lord of Mountjoy, followed by half a score of knights and men-at-arms, stepped forth into the candlelight.
When Lady Mountjoy at last was free from my father’s embrace, she stood with her hands on his shoulders and asked a dozen questions, demanding that he answer all at once.
“Whence comest thou, my lord? Are the Scots beaten? Had’st thou news of the treachery of the Old Wolf of Carleton? How many men hast thou? Oh! I had forgot this secret passage and the door to which thou gavest me the key on our wedding day. My foolish men, and almost myself, believed thy signal was a ghostly tapping. But Dickon remembered the passage; and when I had thrice heard the signal I knew it for the knock that thou makest at my door,—the signal that means thee and none else in the world.”
Meanwhile old Marvin had made fast the secret door, and we all were moving toward the stairway, my father’s arm encased in link armor thrown around the waist of the castle’s mistress.
“Welladay, my dearest Kate! Not quite so fast and I will tell thee. The Scots are beaten; and we of Mountjoy had an honorable share in it. The campaign goes on, but a loyal youth from Mountjoy village found me after the battle and told of the doings of the traitor, Carleton. Straightway I took the boy before the King. And he being pleased with some work I had done that day, did bid me take ten of my best men, make my choice of ten horses from his train, and ride post haste to the relief of my house and my lady. We reached the Tarn Rock, half a league from here, at nightfall, and reconnoitered Carleton’s camp. He being in greater force than we could cope with at once, I bethought me of this old passage from the wood two furlongs off. And so I have been tap, tap tapping for an hour, hoping at last to get the news of my coming to thee. And art thou well, my Kate? And have the rascals done aught to harm thee or Dickon here?”
“Not a whit, my lord. Save for an arrow stroke our Dickon hath come by in open fight, and which is already nearly healed. They have made some mighty threats, and would have carried them through with right good will could they have reached us; but, thanks to Dickon, to old Marvin here and the others, they got much worse than they gave. Many a Carleton knave will ne’er cut another throat, be it of man or pig; and the Old Wolf himself was very near to his just reward in the shape of a good steel bolt from Marvin’s bow.”
On the ramparts next morning swung my father’s banner of purple and gold. Watching our enemies’ camp, I could plainly see that the display of this flag, which they knew should signify naught else than the presence of the head of our house, early brought most of them, and finally the Gray Wolf himself, to gaze at the flagstaff. They were telling one another, as I could well imagine, that this was but a ruse on the part of the castle’s mistress, intended to deceive them into the belief that Lord Mountjoy had come through their lines in the night. What was their surprise therefore, when Lord Mountjoy appeared on the battlements in full armor and wearing the purple plume he had brought from Italy, and yet more when they saw him attended and followed as he was. Armored knights, in numbers they could not tell, came into sight and passed from view on the battlements and at the casements. We could fairly see the rumor flying through the Carleton camp that Lord Mountjoy had returned with all his men and by stealth or by magic had passed their sentinels during the night.
The Gray Wolf stared long and viciously at our battlements, and called on those with younger eyes to make sure of what he saw. Then with oaths and curses that made his men quail before him, he gave orders to break camp and return to Teramore.
By midday the last signs of the siege were gone, the ashes of the circling camp fires were cold, and the great drawbridge was down once more. A messenger was sent to the Tarn Rock to bring in the horses and their guards. In the sunny spring afternoon, when we went forth to reconnoiter the deserted camps of our enemies, I rode at my father’s side, wearing for the first time the gold-hilted sword which had been brought from Damascus.
Two months later, the King returning to London, confirmed my father in possession of his estates, and sent messengers to old Lord Carleton demanding his instant attendance at court. Again the Old Wolf was ill, too much so to obey the command of his sovereign; but this time he was not to rise from his bed as soon as the messengers had turned their backs.
The wound in his throat made by Marvin’s bolt had never fully healed, and now this, coupled with his old distemper, had laid him low. Even while the heralds waited, the priest in the great upper chamber was saying the prayers for the dying. At sunset on that day, I could see from the Tarn Rock the blue and white banner of Carleton flying at half mast over the battlements of Teramore.
[CHAPTER III—CEDRIC THE FORESTER]
It was on a sunny noontide, in fair October, some six months after we had driven the hounds of Carleton from our castle of Mountjoy, that I was riding in the forest, three leagues and more from home, on the way to see my cousins of Leicester at their manor by the edge of Pelham Wood, and mayhap to share with them one of those goodly pasties of venison which their table never lacks.
My bonny white mare, Clothilde, did amble along the woodland path with dainty and springing steps, as though ’twere joy enough to be abroad and lightly burdened on such a day; and it seemed to me I felt my youth and growing bones and sinews as ne’er before. As I passed the Tarleton Water which was rippling most sweetly under the sun glints, I was minded of a fair dream that had come to me on that night we halted the second assault of the Carletons, and after old Marvin had bathed and dressed the wound I had from a cross-bow bolt. Here was the sparkling water, just as I had seen it then, and the glimmering of the light on the oak leaves of red and brown and gold; and here was I astride the goodly mare that I had raised and broken from a colt, and on an errand far enough removed from the grim business of that dark and dangerous time.
By my side was the gold-hilted sword from Damascus which had been mine since the return of my father, Lord Mountjoy, from the Scottish war; and I bore no other arms nor thought of any need for them. My sixteenth birthday would not now be long in coming; and already my mark on the lintel post was within a handsbreadth of my father’s own. My voice had grown more settled of late; and, in the lonely reaches of the forest, I was practicing for my own delight a sweet ballad which I had often heard him sing, and which he had from the minstrels of Provence who had journeyed with the armies to the Holy Land.
Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I marked the movement of a bush in a little glade two hundred yards to the right of my path. The swing it made was none such as are caused by the wind; and indeed at the time all the air about was still and warm with the quietness of the summer of St. Martin’s. Rather was the movement I had scarcely seen the twitch of the leafy top of a sapling when its stem is roughly seized or when some heavy thing hath fallen against it. To me it told, plainly and well, that either was a deer grazing in that thicket or that some man, mayhap with good reason for not wishing to be seen, was hiding there.
In a moment I had turned Clothilde’s head from the path and was riding through the light underbrush with my eyes fixed on the ferny glade. Soon I broke through the bushes that screened it and saw a youth in the Lincoln green of a forester, stripping the hide from a fine antlered buck. There had been, in the troublous times of the past year and more, while most of the knights and gentlemen of the countryside were with the King’s banner in Scotland, far too much of lawless slaying of deer by poaching villains and forest hiding thieves. Twice had I, in the thick of the woods, come on the half-flayed and mangled carcasses which had been left to waste or to feed the wolves after tenderloins and haunches had been cut away. Now my choler quickly rose within me, and I called out, full rough and loud:
“How now! Thou deer-stealing varlet! I have thee red-handed. By my faith, thou shalt smart well for this.”
The poacher sprang up and faced me; and I saw that he was a youth of not more than my own time, though perhaps a thought broader of the shoulders and hips. He seemed not like a forest lurker either, for he had a good and open English face with the wide blue eyes that low-hearted knaves but seldom have. Now, however, he answered my threatening looks with a stare as bold as that of Robin Hood, and flung back at me in snarling tones:
“I steal no deer. I am the son of Elbert the forester of Pelham. My lord of Pelham allows us four good deer in each twelve-month; and this is but the third we have taken.”
“Thou liest, scurvy knave,” I shouted, drawing my sword and making it whistle through the air about my head, “leave that carcass and walk before me to Pelham Manor; and we shall see what Lord Pelham says to this pretty tale of thine.”
For answer the forester leaned forward and seized his cross-bow which was leaning, ready drawn and with bolt in groove, against the bole of a sapling near at hand. Leveling the piece at my throat, he growled, full surlily:
“Now, Sir Dickon of Mountjoy, turn thy horse and betake thee from here as fast as may be. I have spoken truth, as you may learn full easily if you ride to Pelham; but never will I, who go about my lawful business, consent to walk as your prisoner like a stealer of sheep. Get thee gone now, for truly my finger itches at the trigger.”
His blue eyes blazed at me with a menace not to be gainsaid. Here was no crouching knave who might receive a buffet for his insolence, but one full capable of making good his word. I was looking straight down the cross-bow groove at the steel bolt which another threat from me would send flying into my face. The knave was well beyond the reach of my sword, and could kill me as easily as he had the great buck that lay at his feet. I wheeled the mare and rode away out of the thicket, throwing over my shoulder the while a string of threats of the punishment his acts should bring down on his head when I had but spoken with his master of Pelham. To all these the young forester answered never a word, but stood with leveled weapon till I had passed from sight and hearing.
In the midst of my wrath at being thus balked I could not but admit that he bore himself well and truly. And I thought of a saying of my father’s that the greatness of England in battle was not the work of her armored horsemen or even of her stout men-at-arms, but of these same yeomen of the field and forest, who on many a hard-fought field had stood in leathern coats or homespun smocks like the oaks of their native woods and rained their arrows on the faces of the enemy spearmen till the lines wavered and broke and made way for the charge of the mail-clad knights.
I soon regained the pathway, and was riding slowly while I meditated the things I should say to Pelham of the insolence of his forester,—if indeed the churl were the son of Elbert as he claimed. And so were my thoughts disturbed that I saw no more the beauty of the day in the greenwood nor heard the trills and twitterings of the birds overhead. Thus engaged, and with my eyes fixed on the track in front, it was with surprise that I heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs and looked up to see approaching me, and but a hundred yards away, a tall young man, dressed in the style more affected at the court than in our rough Western land. It needed but a second glance for me to name him as Lionel, the twenty-years old son of the old Lord of Carleton, and the bitterest enemy of our house.
Early in the summer the Old Wolf of Carleton, as he was known to the countryside, had died of a wound given him two months before by our old Marvin with his good cross-bow when the Carletons were carrying forward their traitorous assault on the Castle of Mountjoy, the while my father with the best part of his men were with the King’s banner in Scotland.
For five years Lionel had been absent from Teramore, and one of a group of high-born youths who, at the great London house of the Duke of Cumberland, were being trained as squires-at-arms whilst they awaited the day for receiving the order of knighthood. At the news of his father’s death he hurried to Teramore to join his mother and take charge of the great estate.
Often had we heard since then of the dire threats that he breathed against the House of Mountjoy and all its people; but the King himself had declared our quarrel just and affirmed our rights to the lands of Mountjoy; and we gave little heed to the mouthings of one who had yet his spurs to win and his name to make ’mongst fighting men. But now the thought came over me of a sudden that I was but half a league from Teramore Castle, mounted on a gentle palfrey and with no weapon save the good sword at my side. If the threats of Lionel of Carleton were aught but empty air, he would scarce let slip such an opportunity.
These thoughts were but too well founded. Carleton was gazing fiercely at me as he came forward; and as his horse came opposite, pulled him up with a wrench on the bridle rein so violent that the mettlesome steed all but cast himself on his haunches.
“Ha! Well met, young Dickon of Mountjoy!” he snarled. “By my troth, my good fairy must have guided my bridle to-day to give me this chance to say my say to this young whelp of a race of dogs! Now shalt thou learn what it is to have the Carleton for an enemy.”
Carleton was taller and longer-limbed than I. He wore a stout broadsword and, stuck in his belt on the other side, a poniard of most wicked design. He had the better of me in respect to four years and more of practice of arms; and I knew full well that, were their quarrels right or wrong, the Carletons were no weaklings. But already I smarted with the affront given me by the poaching varlet; and now this insult to the honorable name of Mountjoy was not to be borne. I threw his words back in his teeth.
“Thou Wolf-pup from a race of thieves unhung!” I shouted. “Get thee down from yon tall war-horse, and draw that sword if thou darest. Thou’lt make good thy mighty words or verily thou shalt eat them here and now.”
So saying I swung to the ground and drew my weapon. Carleton lost no time in doing likewise, and came at me with a fury which I had scarce expected. I met his thrust with the parry which my father had well taught me years agone; and had my enemy not sprung aside with the quickness of a cat, my sword in return had pierced his neck.
“Ha!” growled Carleton between his gritting teeth, “so the Mountjoy whelp hath already a trick or two of fence. ’Twill make the game the more worth the playing. Hast stomach for cold steel? Look now!”
He danced about me, thrusting and slashing wickedly with his heavy sword, and displayed not ill the training he had had in the halls of Cumberland. But since the day I could raise a foil, it had been my dearest plaything; and whenever my father had been at home, he had made my teaching his special care. Since his return from Scotland there had been scarce a day when we had not spent a brace of hours with the foils or with broadswords and bucklers. Some men are born for sword-play, as others, like Old Marvin, for the cross-bow; but Lionel of Carleton was not of these. A minute had not passed, as we circled and danced about one another, with our weapons striking fire in the shadow of the wood, before I knew that Carleton, with all his added years and training, was no more than a match for me, if indeed as much. He panted and cursed as each trick of thrust was met by its proper parry, and slipped most dangerously on the oak leaves underfoot as I stepped aside from his bull-like rushes. Presently my sword nicked him fairly on the arm, drawing a spurt of blood and a stream of oaths. He lunged wildly forward. I parried his thrust and drove my sword straight at his breast bone.
THE FORCE OF MY BLOW DROVE HIM BACKWARD, BUT MY WEAPON PIERCED HIM NOT
The force of my blow drove him backward, but my weapon pierced him not. Then at once I realized that which made my blood turn cold. He was wearing beneath his doublet a shirt of linked mail; and I, without defense of any sort, was fighting an armored enemy.
“Ho!” I cried, “so thou gard’st thy coward heart with mail, lest peradventure one might fight with thee on even terms.”
The wicked look he gave me in reply reminded me, even in that moment of peril, of that on the face of the Gray Wolf of Carleton when he answered my mother’s challenge as to his errand at the gates of Mountjoy. But he spent no breath in reply, and fought on with fury, bent on pressing his unknightly vantage to the utmost. Twice I narrowly escaped his blade; then once mine grazed his neck, for that was now my mark; and again blood spurted from the gash.
At this he lost all caution and rushed upon me as a bear upon his foe, getting within my guard by some ill chance, and seizing me about the neck and arms. Both our swords were dropped in the struggle; and we wrestled and fought, not like knights and gentlemen, but like drunken lackeys who have fallen out over their games of dice. Now, indeed, did Carleton’s weight and strength befriend him. I strove for my life to topple him beneath me, but all to no purpose. In an instant I was whirled through the air, and came down with a crash on my back, with Carleton’s knee firmly planted on my breast bone.
At once he drew his poniard and pressed the point against my throat.
“Now yield thee, Whelp of Mountjoy,” he panted, “quick, ere thou diest.”
“Thou hast won,” I answered, “but, fighting thus, ’twere more to thy honor to have been overcome.”
“None of thy insolence,” he snarled, “yield thee now as my prisoner and vassal, and say that thou’lt ever yield obedience to the Carleton as thy liege lord.”
At this my gorge rose and the world turned black about me. “Never,” I groaned, “better far to die than suffer such disgrace.”
“Die then,” he shouted, hideously, and drew back his poniard for the thrust.
I closed my eyes, yet blood-red figures swam across my vision. In an instant the steel would pierce my throat. Then of a sudden the grip of my enemy relaxed, and his body rolled heavily from me.
I started up, and saw the Carleton lying face up on the oak leaves, his forehead pierced by a cross-bolt. Running toward me through the undergrowth was a figure in Lincoln green which my staring eyes soon told me was the young forester who had defied me in the glen but half an hour gone. His cross-bow was in his hand, and he panted for breath as he approached and called:
“Art thou hurt, Master? Has he stabbed thee?”
“Not a whit,” I answered dazedly, examining my limbs and body the while, “I have to thank thee then for my life. Thou camest in the nick of time.”
“The Saints be thanked,” he answered joyfully. “The Carleton there has what he well deserves. I heard the sword-play from the glen yonder, and soon knew the voice of that black caitiff. I was coming softly through the woods, wishing but to see close at hand a gallant passage at arms, when he overthrew thee and would have foully murdered thee, his prisoner. ’Twas well my bolt already lay in groove.”
“Son of Elbert,” I answered, offering him my right hand, “thou’rt a ready man and a true, and willing I am to call thee friend. But what other name hast thou?”
He took my hand in a mighty grip and smiled most winsomely. “Cedric,” he replied, “a goodly Saxon name, borne by my grandfather before me.”
“Well then, Cedric, we must bethink us what shall be done in this juncture. Yonder horse of the Carleton’s is ours by lawful spoil. Mount therefore, and let us betake ourselves from here as soon as may be.” I took up my sword and my cap from the oak leaves.
He turned toward the horse, and in so doing his glance carried far down the pathway which there for a quarter mile was straight beneath the oak-trees. Then he turned back to me with a cry of alarm.
“Mount and quickly. There be a half dozen of the Carleton men-at-arms. An they catch us here by the body of their master, they will have our blood. Come! For our lives!”
With one bound he vaulted to the saddle of the war horse. Scarcely knowing what I did, I found myself on the mare’s back and spurring away up the forest path. Cedric had no spurs, but he quickly urged his mount to a gallop by blows of his heels; and we raced away at full speed. The Carletonians raised a shout as they caught sight of us, and spurred their horses in pursuit. Over our shoulders we saw them pause for a moment by the body of Lionel; then resume the chase with a fury that boded ill for us. I knew full well the fate in store should they overtake us; and pressed the little mare for all the speed she had. Cedric, on the tall war horse, quickly drew ahead, then, seeing me losing ground, drew rein till I overtook him. Our pursuers were well mounted, and were spurring and lashing their horses without mercy. The thunder of hoofs along the forest road was like that at a tourney or a great race-course.
If I had had but a better mount, we could soon have drawn away from them, for the tall steed which Cedric bestrode was the best of the Carleton stables, and our horses were more lightly burdened than those of our pursuers. As it was, we had gone scarce half a mile when ’twas plainly to be seen that my little mare was no match for the long-limbed steeds of the Carletons. Yard by yard we lost ground; and now we could hear the clashing of stirrups and scabbards as our enemies panted close upon our trail.
WE HAD GONE SCARCE HALF A MILE WHEN ’TWAS PLAINLY TO BE SEEN THAT MY LITTLE MARE WAS NO MATCH FOR THE LONG-LIMBED STEEDS OF THE CARLETONS
We were going up a slope where the path ran between groups of boulders and great rocks. Suddenly Cedric drew rein and turned aside behind a sheltering ledge. Clothilde was panting hard, and I gladly followed him, though knowing naught of what he intended.
Throwing himself from the saddle, the forester quickly braced his cross-bow and placed a bolt in groove. Resting the weapon on the corner of the rock, he took quick aim, and let drive at the leading horseman. Instantly the rider fell headlong to the ground, and his companions drew rein in confusion. With a wondrous deftness, my companion loaded again and let fly. This time one of the horses, struck in the breast by the bolt, reared up and threw his rider.
Like a flash Cedric leaped again on his horse’s back, and signaling me to follow rode straight away into the forest. The branches were so low and the undergrowth so thick that it would seem that no rider could make his way; but we were riding for our lives, and knew that the limbs would hold back our enemies even more than ourselves. For five minutes we tore wildly through the woods, half the time with our faces hidden in our horses’ manes to save our eyes from being plucked out by the branches. We could hear shouts and curses behind us; but these momently grew fainter, and then could be heard no more.
Soon we came to the bank of a shallow brook. Into this, without stop or parley, plunged Cedric, but instead of riding straight across as I had thought, he turned his horse’s head up-stream and urged him at a trot along its bed. For a quarter of a mile we rode thus, then coming to a ford and a half-blind pathway, turned aside in the direction away from Teramore, and again laying our heads on the necks of our mounts, sped through the woods at a ringing gallop. When we had covered a mile in this way, the path merged into a wider one; and I recognized a little vale to which my father and I had once come a-hunting, and which was scarce five miles from Mountjoy.
Here for a moment we paused, and Cedric threw himself down and placed his ear to the ground. Then he rose with a glad smile and shook his head.
“Dost hear nothing of hoof-beats?” I questioned.
“Not a stroke,” he answered. “I had bethought me of a cave hard by here where we might be hidden if the hounds were close upon us. There, with the cross-bow, we could have stood off a hundred if need be, but we must have turned the horses loose, with the chance of their being taken.”
“Nay,” said I, “we’ve shaken them off full well. In half an hour or less we can be crossing the drawbridge at Mountjoy. That noble steed thou ridest is too fine a prize to be left to the Carleton wolves.”
Just then something whirred viciously through the air between us, and a steel cross-bow bolt half buried itself in a tree-trunk close at hand.
Wheeling about toward the place whence came the arrow, I saw the steel cap and the ugly face of a Carleton man-at-arms over the top of a rock a hundred yards away which concealed and sheltered the rest of him. Cedric, with a twist of the bridle rein and some vicious blows with his heels, urged his horse behind the tree which had received the bolt; and I mayhap would have shown more wisdom had I done likewise. But I saw but the single enemy before me; and for the instant his arrow groove was empty. Cedric had already taken toll of two of our enemies, while I, the heir of our house whose quarrel he had espoused, had done naught but fly before their pursuit. With a yell, “A Mountjoy, A Mountjoy,” which is the battle cry of our people, I set spurs to my horse, and, sword in hand, charged straight toward the rock.
The Carleton man was striving sore to draw his bow and place another bolt; and had he been but half so deft with that goodly weapon as Cedric had twice shown himself that day, he might have stopped me in full career with an arrow in the breast or face. But he fumbled sadly with the string, and ere he could reach another bolt from his pouch I was almost upon him. In this strait he dropped the bow and, standing erect, whisked a broadsword from his belt. The scoundrel was tall and long of arm; and now I saw that he wore a quilted and steel-braced jacket which none but the heaviest blow might pierce. I had already repented me of my folly in rushing, for the second time that day, into combat so unequal, and was bethinking me what trick of fence might serve my turn with this brawny and ill-visaged swordsman, when once again the skilled and ready hand of my friend of the Lincoln green saved me from dire peril. Even as our blades clashed, and I felt in his sword-play the firm, sure wrist of my enemy, a bolt whizzed past me and pierced his neck, just where the quilted jacket lay open at the throat. Without a cry, he fell forward on his face.
I looked wildly about, in effort to espy more of the men-at-arms, if so be they were awaiting us in ambush. But I could see no one; and no more arrows came from hidden foes. The woods were as quiet and serene, and the westering sun sent its beams as sweetly into the bonny glade as though men had never killed one another for gain or vengeance. Cedric, on the Carleton war-horse, came forward at a canter, with his bow made ready for another shot if need were.
“Are there more of the hounds?” he called, “if so be, we must take shelter.”
“I see none,” I answered, “though yonder, midst the little birches, is the horse which this one rode. Mayhap his comrades have ridden by other roads to cut us off.”
“’Tis truth,” said Cedric, “yon Jackboots, that lieth now so still, did come about by Wareham Road at breakneck pace while we made but slow riding through the tangle. ’Twas well he had not the skill of a yeoman with the cross-bow, else one or both of us would ne’er again have seen Mountjoy. But come! Can thy little mare hold full stride through the glen and over yonder hill? An if she can, we may soon be where no Carletons will dare pursue.”
For answer I set spurs to the mare’s sides and led the way down the path to the brook at the bottom of the valley. In a cloud of spray we forded the stream, then drove on without mercy up the long slope of Rowan Hill. Soon we were in sight of the towers of Mountjoy, and while the sun had yet an hour’s height, went safely o’er the drawbridge.
[CHAPTER IV—THE CHAMPION OF MOUNTJOY]
As Cedric of Pelham Wood rode with me into the courtyard, we met my father, the Lord of Mountjoy, coming from the stables. His favorite steed, a fine black stallion, Cæsar by name, did suffer from a sprain he had come by at the tournament at Winchester; and my father was much in fear would never again be fit to bear him in the lists or to the wars. We came forward but slowly; and Lord Mountjoy had ample time to note the mud-stained and foam-flecked sides of our mounts, the rents in my garments and the bloody scratches which the forest boughs had made on our faces. Truly, I fear I made but a sorry picture; and ’tis little wonder that a frown was on my father’s brow and a roughness in his voice as he called to me:
“How now, Sir Dickon! Hast thou ridden thy little mare through the Devil’s Brake and foundered her once for all? And who is this fellow in rags and shreds of Lincoln green that rides at thy side like a comrade? Methinks ’twere better if he kept his place, an ell or two behind.”
Cedric’s face grew red with wrath at these words; but I hastened to answer before he could make utterance.
“Hold, Father. This is Cedric, a forester of Pelham Wood, and our good and true friend. Twice or thrice this day hath he with his good cross-bow (of which he hath a skill like that of Old Marvin himself) saved me from death at the hands of the Carletons.”
“By my faith! Say’st thou so, my boy?” exclaimed Father, with a wondrous change of countenance. Then, turning to Cedric,
“Any who fights the Carleton wolves is a friend to all true Mountjoys. Come my lad, thy hand! And thy pardon if I did speak a thought rough, not knowing thy deserts. Wert thou sore beset? And did thy bolts make good men and quiet of some of those restless knaves?”
“Some of them, my lord, will ne’er again rob an honest farmer of his stores or burn a woodman’s cottage,” said Cedric with a smile.
“By’r Lady! Thou’rt a man, and shall be a Mountjoy, if guerdon can keep thee,” cried my father. “But hold! Give thy mounts to the grooms, and come to the hall. ’Tis ill talking with an empty stomach and a dry throttle. And I’ll warrant you’re famished, both. There’s a hot pasty and somewhat else to be found, I’ll be bound. You shall tell me of this day’s work by the board and the fire.”
In the hall we were greeted by my lady mother, who had heard somewhat of that which passed in the courtyard. Cedric doffed his cap when I presented him to her ladyship, and bowed with a grace I looked not for. And she did ask most eagerly if aught of harm had come to either of us. Being assured that we were yet whole of skin save for the woodland boughs, she brought with her own hands a bench before the fire, and bade Cedric sit as she might have bidden any knight or courtier who visited the hall of Mountjoy. Then she hurried out and bade the maids bring meat and drink of the best for our refreshment.
My father and mother sat down by either side of us as we ate; and when our hunger had been something dulled, and the maid had been despatched for a jar of the Mountjoy honey which my mother so closely guards against the coming of noble guests, I began the tale of the fortunes of the day.
“Thou knowest, Father, that young Lionel of Carleton hath often sworn to have the lives of you and me for the check the Carletons had in their foray on Mountjoy in the spring and for the bolt which came from Marvin’s bow which laid low his father, the Old Wolf of Carleton.”
“Full well I know it,” growled my father, “an if he were aught but a beardless youth, I would long ago have challenged him to the combat. When he hath won his spurs, if he be still of the same mind, I’ll meet him with whatever weapons he chooses, and trust to put an end to his mouthings.”
“That thou’lt never do, Father,” I cried, “for Cedric here hath come before thee. This day, but half a league from Teramore, young Lionel did meet me as I went my way alone through the forest; and did curse and revile me and all my house, saying that we of Mountjoy were a race of dogs. This being more than e’en a Mountjoy could bear, I did challenge him to mortal fight, and we did meet with swords, on foot there in the path. I quickly found that he wore, beneath his garment, a coat of linked mail which shielded him from all my thrusts. All his strokes I made shift to parry, and at last, when he found he could not reach me with his sword, he rushed within my guard, seized me with a wrestling hold and flung me on my back. Then, kneeling on my chest, he placed a poniard at my throat and sought to make me swear allegiance to the Carleton, acknowledging him as lord and suzerain. This I would never do; and truly I thought my last hour had come, for he had drawn back his dagger for the thrust, when this brave youth, coming through the woods with cross-bow drawn, did see the Carleton’s murderous aim, and let fly a bolt which struck him through the forehead.”
While I spoke my mother had grown pale as death and my father red, with blazing eyes and angry clinching hands. When I paused my mother cried:
“Oh, Dickon! And had’st thou no wound at all?”
“Not a nick,” I answered, “though ’twas close enough, in faith. But we had more to do in no time at all, for no sooner had the Carleton breathed his last than there came a-riding towards us six stout men-at-arms of the Carleton livery. We took horse and rode for our lives, Cedric here on the Carleton’s great war-horse. But my little Clothilde being no match for their long-limbed steeds, we should have been overhauled and slain had not Cedric twice turned on them with his cross-bow, each time landing a bolt that sent one of the robber hounds to earth. With that, and with hard riding through the woods where no paths were, we at last got safe away.”
“Ah!” cried my father, joyfully, rising and offering his hand again to Cedric, “’twas sweetly done, i’faith. Three of the Carleton hounds in one brief day! Whose son art thou, my friend? And where did’st thou learn such deadly handling of thy weapon?”
“Elbert’s son am I,” answered Cedric, steadily, “he is forester to my lord of Pelham; and last year did carry away the prize for archery at the Shrewsbury tourney. Since I could carry bow, I have shot as he did teach me.”
“What years hast thou?”
“Sixteen, come Candlemas.”
“The very age of Dickon here,” cried my mother. “Cedric, lad, does thy mother live?”
“Nay, my lady,” quoth he, sadly, “two years agone we buried her.”
WHILE I SPOKE MY MOTHER HAD GROWN PALE AS DEATH
“Then thou shalt come to live at Mountjoy,” she went on with bonny, flushing cheeks and bright and eager eyes. “Hast thou learned thy letters? Canst thou read prayer book or ballad?”
“Nay, my lady,” he said again, with a blush. “We of the forest know little of letters.”
“Then I will teach thee. Thou’rt a mannered lad and well spoken for one who knows not court or town. Thou shalt be a clerk an thou wishest.”
“No clerk shall he be,” I cried. “Saving thy pardon, good Mother, he shall be my squire-at-arms. A man that fights as he shall be no shaven-pate. He shall teach me his craft with the bow, and of him I will make a bonny swordsman. What say’st thou, Father? Have I not the right of it?”
My father did smile somewhat to see me so hot and eager in my plans. And truly, I bethought me then that this lad whom I was choosing for my comrade-in-arms was one whom but three hours gone I had never seen, and that now I knew naught of him save that he fought well and truly and with a wondrous skill of his weapon. Yet, looking at his clear, blue eyes and his way of holding up his head as a freeman of England, I repented me not of my words.
Cedric was gazing at Lord Mountjoy, and quietly awaiting his word, while my lady mother glanced quickly from one to another of us. When my father began to speak it was slowly and soberly enough.
“Not quite so fast, Sir Dickon. There’s many a thought to be taken yet anent thy knightly training. But now it comes to me that Cedric here e’en must remain at Mountjoy for some months at least, if he would guard his life and limb. After this day’s work, should any of the Carleton men come upon him at a vantage, his shrift would be short and no prayers said.”
So was it settled that Cedric should remain with us of Mountjoy. The next day a messenger was despatched to Elbert, the forester, with the news of his son’s brave deeds and his present safety. I lost no time in beginning his training for sword-play; and he showed himself the best of learners. Within a week, moreover, he had shown to me some tricks of the cross-bow of which I had never heard, and fairly ’mazed our men with the marks he struck at a hundred paces distance. Already we planned a match ’twixt Cedric and Old Marvin which should be a fête-day for all the friends of Mountjoy.
Then came a messenger from Shrewsbury, where for the time the King made his seat, bearing a scroll addressed to my father and sealed with the sign royal. Father read it slowly to himself as he stood with his back to the fire in the hall and the King’s messenger was quaffing a cup of wine in the courtyard. My mother and I waited eagerly to hear its contents. Cedric sat in a farther corner, saying over to himself the names of the great letters which my mother had made for him on a sheet of parchment.
’Twas plain to see that the message was not to my father’s liking, for he scowled fearsomely as he conned the words. Suddenly he began reading it in a loud and wrathful voice; and Cedric dropped his parchment to listen.
“To Robert, Lord of Mountjoy and Knight of the Holy Sepulcher, from Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Lord of Anjou, Acquitaine, and Gascony, Greeting.
“Know thou that there hath appeared before our Court at Shrewsbury, Elizabeth, Lady of Carleton and Teramore, and relict of Geoffrey, Lord of Carleton, deceased, who hath, on oath, made complaint against thee, thy minor son, Richard and a certain yeoman of Pelham Forest, Cedric, son of Elbert, and now harbored by thee at Mountjoy, as follows:
“That, on Saturday, of October the twenty-second day, thy son Richard did ride in the forests of Teramore without lawful right and leave from the holders thereof; that Lionel of Carleton, son of Geoffrey and Elizabeth of Carleton aforesaid, did meet with him and order him to leave those lands and return not; that thy son Richard did then and there attack Lionel of Carleton; and while they did fight, the yeoman, Cedric, being a servitor and confederate of Richard of Mountjoy did most foully slay Lionel of Carleton by a mortal weapon, to wit, a cross-bow bolt discharged from a point of hiding; that the servitors of Carleton did pursue and endeavor to arrest Richard of Mountjoy and the yeoman, Cedric, the which they did resist with force and arms, and that the aforesaid Cedric did again from hiding strike down and kill two of the Carleton retainers, so that he and thy son, Richard, did make their way to the Castle of Mountjoy where thou hast since harbored and protected them.
“Now therefore, know that it is my will that thou repair to our Court at Shrewsbury, bringing with thee thy son Richard and the yeoman, Cedric, and with not more than ten of thy retainers or men-at-arms, that fair trial of this cause may be had before our presence, on Thursday, of November the second day, at ten of the clock.
“And be thou here solemnly charged and commanded to desist from all violence and quarrel against the family of Elizabeth of Carleton or any of her servants and retainers, and to cause all thy family, thy servants and retainers to likewise refrain.
“Given under our hand and seal, this thirty-first day of October.
“Henry (Rex).”
“Henry (Rex).”
When the reading was finished we were silent for a space, my father pacing back and forth with roughened brow, and Mother gazing anxiously upon him. At last he turned and said:
“We must to Shrewsbury. ’Tis the King’s command; and the Mountjoys have ever been loyal vassals, as none know better than the King himself. What say’st thou, Richard? Canst thou tell in open court the tale of that day’s work even as we heard it here?”
“That I can, Father,” I replied, “’tis the truth, and I care not who hears it.”
“And thou, Cedric,” he said, turning to face the forester who had now advanced to my side, “darest thou to face thy enemies and ours thus? Remember, ’twill go hard with thee if we fail to bring the King to see the truth o’t. He might order thy hanging easily as the whipping of a thief. Shall not I rather mount thee on the good horse thou didst win from the Carleton, with thy cross-bow on thy back and a bag of gold pieces beneath thy coat, and send thee to my cousin of Yorkshire, there to bide till this ill wind hath overblown?”
“My lord,” answered Cedric, proudly, “that were to save myself at thy cost. The King hath commanded thee to bring me before his court; and if thou fail, he will visit his wrath upon thee. I will not fly. Rather will I ride the good steed thou speakest of to Shrewsbury in thy good company.”
“Well said and bravely,” said my father, with a note in his speaking which I had heard but once, and that when an old comrade-in-arms, whom he had thought dead in the Holy Land, came in illness and want to our castle door. Now he gazed for a moment full keenly at the face of Cedric, then turned and hurried to the courtyard to give orders for the morrow’s journey.
The King’s Court was held in the great hall at Shrewsbury, with such a brave array of lords and knights and men-at-arms, not to speak of clerks and counsellors with their mighty gowns and wigs, as was but seldom seen in our Western country. As I gazed at the King in his robes of state, seated on the dais in the midst, and noted his cold, gray eye and the hard lines about his mouth, my heart did somewhat misgive me, for all my repeating over and over to myself that none could gainsay the justice of our quarrel.
A word overheard as we entered the hall had set me thinking deeply; and though I feared not for myself, I began to wish that Cedric who now sat so uprightly by my side had thought fit to take the hint my father gave when first the summons reached us. ’Twas said that the King, in his youth, more than thirty years agone, had known Elizabeth of Winchester, before she was the bride of the Lord of Carleton, that she had then been one of the fairest and proudest maidens in the kingdom, and Prince Henry had felt for her more than a passing fancy. However this had been, and whatever its bearing on the day’s fortunes, it was now too late to do aught but await the event. The herald was announcing the cause against Richard of Mountjoy and Cedric, son of Elbert.
Two of the Carleton men-at-arms were sworn as witnesses, and told the tale of the killing of Lionel much as it had been set forth in the complaint of Elizabeth, their mistress. They declared that when they first came in sight of us, the Carleton and I were fighting with swords and hand to hand, and that I, seeming to have the worse of the fray, did shrilly call to some one hidden in the tangle behind, whereat a cross-bow bolt came from this ambush and slew their master. From that time on, their tales of the day’s doings kept near the line of truth; and they did assert full stoutly their honesty in all this business when the King questioned them, making, ’twas plain to see, no little impress on his mind. Indeed, ’twas possible they believed the tale themselves, it being to them most likely from the things that they had seen.
Then was I called upon for my account; and I did set forth all the doings of that day from the time the Carleton met me in the path, forgetting not the foul insults with which Lionel began our quarrel nor the hidden coat of mail with which he thought to shield him. Cedric, with head held high and wide blue eyes gazing straight at the King, next told the tale; and his telling was closely like to mine.
When we both had done, the King sat with his eyes on the ground before him; and the hall was very still till Elizabeth of Carleton, tall, white-haired and queenly, in silken robes of black, rose in her place, and, stretching forth her hands, addressed the King:
“Henry of Anjou,” she cried, “Elizabeth of Winchester, in her old age and sorrow, calls to you for vengeance for her murdered son.”
More she would have spoken, but bitter tears streamed down her face, and her voice was choked with sobs.
The King gazed steadily at the weeping lady, and made as though to speak when my father started from his seat and shouted:
“There was no murder done, my Lord. The Carleton brought his death upon himself.”
The King turned upon him a stern and heavy look.
“Mountjoy,” he said, “wast thou there in the forest when Carleton was slain?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“Then knowest thou aught save what thy son tells thee of this fray with thy enemies?”
“Nay, my lord; but ’tis enough. The Mountjoys fight their enemies and do not lie about them.”
With a wave of his hand the King bade my father be seated. Then he sat motionless and thoughtful for long, while none ventured to disturb him. His brow was drawn as with pain and he rested his head on his hand, the while we of Mountjoy, our enemies of Carleton all the members of that brilliant company awaited his verdict.
At last he slowly lifted his head and began to speak:
“I find the prisoners guilty of the charge that lies against them. To Richard, son of Robert, Lord of Mountjoy, I extend my clemency in view of the loyal and valiant service rendered by his father to our house, commanding only that he desist from bearing arms till he receive our permission.
“As for yonder varlet, called Cedric, he shall hang, to-morrow at dawn; and his body shall swing from Shrewsbury gate as an example to like evil-doers.”
Some of the clerks and constables strove to raise the shout—“Long live the King”; but all became utterly silent when my father sprang from his bench, and with a face of fury addressed his sovereign:
“Not so, my lord! Not so! By the Holy Sepulcher, it shall not be.”
The King sprang to his feet, and his right hand went to his sword hilt.
“Mountjoy,” he shouted, “thou forget’st thyself. Beware lest thou bring down on thy head a wrath more terrible than that of any Carleton.”
“By Heaven, my lord!” returned the Lord of Mountjoy in tones that matched the King’s, “that brave youth shall never hang for having done a deed that should bring him praise instead. I stand on my rights as a freeman of England, and demand the trial by battle. There lies my glove.”
Tearing from his hand his leathern gauntlet, he dashed it on the floor at the feet of the King.
All the assembled knights and soldiers drew a deep breath, as one man. There was a low murmur of applause, for the Mountjoys have many friends. The King’s hand left his sword, and his face relaxed.
“Thou hast the right, Mountjoy,” he said. Then, turning to the Carleton benches, went on: “Is there any among you who will take up this challenge?”
At this there started forth from a group of knights who had been standing a little behind the Lady of Carleton, a man of middle age, short of stature and of wide-mouthed, ill-favored face, but broad of shoulder and with arms so long that his hands reached nearly to his knees like those of a great ape I had seen in the train of the Cardinal.
“I, Philip, Knight of Latiere in Gascony, am cousin of Elizabeth, Lady of Carleton,” he shouted. “I take up this glove as her protector and champion.”
Then, seizing the glove, he tossed it high in air; and while it soared aloft, drew a long and slender blade from its scabbard, and as the glove fell, pierced it with a flashing thrust so that he held it high where all might see it impaled on the point of his sword.
“So let it be,” said the King. “This cause shall be tried by wager of battle, here and now. Sir Philip De Latiere, the conditions are at your will, so they be fair and equal.”
“Let him take a sword like unto this,” said De Latiere, carelessly, “and if he chooses one a handsbreadth longer, I care not. Then let him lay aside all other weapons, as I do; and I trust, with the favor of Heaven, to be the means of affirming the righteousness of thy judgment.”
With this speech, he made a low bow to the King and another to the assembled knights, and, loosening his sword-belt, handed it with his scabbard and his outer cloak to a squire.
Then I found voice for a thought that had been boiling within me.
“’Twere well, my lord,” I said to the King, “to have this champion searched for hidden armor. I have grievous knowledge that the Carletons scruple not to gain that vantage.”
Some of the friends of Mountjoy raised a shout:
“Ay! Well spoken! Let him be searched.”
The King quelled the tumult with a royal gesture.