For a time the garrison at the castle had but little to do. Lord Grey
had taken no steps to recover the estates from which his retainers had
been so unceremoniously ejected. He had, indeed, marched a strong force
through them; but the Welsh had entirely withdrawn, and it would be
necessary to keep so large a force unemployed, were he to reoccupy the
land, that he abstained from taking any decisive action, prior to the
return of the messenger whom he had despatched to inform the king of
the forcible measures that Glendower had taken to recover the estate.
It would have been no trifling step to take, to carry his arms into
Wales, and so bring on a fresh struggle after so many years of peace;
and he would not move in the matter, until he had the royal authority.
Henry lost no time in replying. Glendower had been an open supporter of
Richard, and had retired from court rather than own his successor as
king. He had made his complaints against Lord Grey before Parliament,
and his appeal had been rejected by an overwhelming majority. His
attack upon Lord Grey was, therefore, viewed in the light of an insult
to the royal power; and, a fortnight after Oswald and his party arrived
at Sir Edmund's, a messenger arrived with a royal order, to all barons
holding castles on the border, to proclaim Owen Glendower an outlaw,
and to take all measures necessary to capture him.
Sir Edmund shook his head, as he read the proclamation, copies of which
were to be fixed to the castle gate, and in other conspicuous places.
"Lord Grey has stirred up a fire that it will be difficult to
extinguish. It were as wise to kick over a hive of bees, when naked to
the waist, as to set Wales in a ferment again. Had this proclamation
been sent to me, only, I would have taken it upon myself to hold it
over until I had, myself, made a journey north to see the king, and to
submit to him my views on the subject; and to point out how dire might
be the consequences, to the inhabitants of our marches, and how great
would be the effort required, if Glendower should be supported by the
whole of his countrymen, as I believe he will be. However, as it has
been sent to all the keepers of the marches this cannot be done; and I
shall, at once, send orders to the sheriffs of Shropshire, and
Hereford, to warn the militia that they may be called out at any
moment, and must hold themselves in preparedness, having every man his
arms and accoutrements in good condition, and fit for service,
according to the law. I shall also issue orders to my own tenants to be
ready to take up arms, and to drive their herds away, and bring their
wives and families into the castle, as soon as the beacon fire is
lighted on the summit of the keep."
This was said to Oswald, to whom Sir Edmund had taken a strong liking,
and to whom he spoke more freely than he might have done to his own
knights and officers, as being in Earl Percy's service, and having no
personal interest in the matters in debate.
"You yourself have heard the tales that have been brought in to me,
showing how greatly the people have been stirred by the belief in
Glendower's powers of necromancy; how blue flames have been seen to
issue from every window and loophole of his house; how red clouds, of
various strange shapes, hover over it; and mysterious sounds are heard
throughout the night. For myself, I believe not these tales, though I
would not take upon myself to say they are false, since everyone knows
that there are men who have dealings with the powers of darkness.
Still, I should have, myself, to see these things, before I gave
credence to them. That, however, makes no difference in the matter;
true or not, they seem to be believed by the Welsh, and cannot but
increase his power.
"Well, we shall soon hear what reply he makes to the proclamation, of
which he will certainly hear, within a few hours of its posting."
The answer, indeed, was not long in coming; for, within a week, a copy
of the reply sent by Glendower to the king appeared, side by side with
every proclamation put up, none knowing who were daring enough to affix
them. In this, Glendower no longer spoke of his grievance against Lord
Grey; but declared that, with the will of the people, he had assumed
the sovereignty of Wales, to which he was legally entitled, by his
descent from her kings. He called upon every Welshman in England to
resort, at once, to his standard.
"The die is cast, now," Sir Edmund said, as he read the paper affixed
to the castle gate. "It is no longer a question whether Glendower is
wrongfully treated by Lord Grey; it is a matter touching the safety of
the realm, and the honour of our lord the king. There is, I have now
learned, some foundation for Owen's claim to be the representative of
the kings of Wales, through his mother, Elinor. She was the eldest
daughter of Elinor the Red, who was daughter and heiress of Catharine,
one of the daughters of Llewellyn, the last Prince of Wales. For aught
I know, there may be others who have a better claim than he; but at
least he has royal blood in his veins.
"At present, that matters little. He has usurped the title of King of
Wales, and is evidently a most ambitious and dangerous fellow; and none
can doubt that this scheme has not just sprung from his brain, but has
long been prepared, and that his quarrel with Lord Grey has but
hastened the outbreak.
"I shall myself ride to Ruthyn, and consult with Lord Grey as to the
measures to be taken. It may be that our forces may be sufficient to
crush the movement, ere it gains strength; though I greatly doubt it.
Still, it would be well that we should act in concert.
"Sir John Burgon and Sir Philip Haverstone, do you take half a dozen
men-at-arms, and ride through the country, bidding all the tenants
assemble here, next Saturday, in their arms and harness, that I myself
may inspect them. You may tell them that a third of their number must
be in readiness tonight, and must ride hither by morning. The others
must, on an alarm being given, gather in strong houses, selected by
themselves as the most defensible in their district, with their wives
and families, so as to repel any attack the Welsh may make; leaving
behind them the boys and old men, to drive out their flocks and herds,
either towards the nearest castle, or to Hereford or Shrewsbury, as may
be nearest to them."
When the knights had left, messengers were sent out to all the owners
of castles in Radnor, Hereford, and Shropshire; bidding them assemble,
in four days' time, at Ludlow. On the day of the meeting, nearly three
hundred tenants and vassals presented themselves. To them Sir Edmund,
having first inspected them and their arms, explained the situation.
Then, each man was asked how many he could bring into the field, in
accordance with the terms of his holding, and it was found the total
amounted to nigh eight hundred men.
"I know not when the affair is likely to begin; and will, therefore,
call only for a quarter of your force. Send your sons and unmarried
men. At the end of a month they can return to you and, if needs be, you
can send as many more in their places. It may be that I shall not
require these; but, possibly, every man may have to come out; but you
must bear in mind it is not for the defence of this town and castle
that men are required, for the garrison and burghers can hold out
against any attack, but to save your homesteads from destruction."
The news had created a deep sensation. Although none of those present
had experienced the horrors of border warfare, there was not one but
had heard, from their fathers, tales of burning, massacre, and
wholesale destruction by the Welsh forays. But so long a time had
passed, since the last serious insurrection, that the news that Wales
might shortly be in arms, again, came as a terrible blow to them. All
agreed to send in their proportion of men, at once, and to see that the
rest were all ready to assemble, immediately the summons came.
The next day some forty knights, owners of the castles thickly
scattered through the border counties, assembled in Ludlow Castle.
There was a long consultation. Arrangements were made for the despatch
of messengers, by those nearest to the frontier, with news of any Welsh
raid. Points were fixed upon where each should assemble, with what
force he could gather; thence to march to any threatened place, or to
assemble at Ludlow Castle, Mortimer being the warden of the marches
along that line of the border.
On the following day Sir Edmund rode, with two of his knights, to hold
council with Lord Grey, at Ruthyn. The distance was considerable, and
he was absent six days from his castle. Before he returned, an event
happened that showed Glendower was in earnest, and intended to maintain
his pretensions by the sword.
At daybreak, on the third day after Mortimer had left, a messenger
arrived at the castle; with news that a large body of Welsh had, the
evening before, entered Radnor by the road across the hills from
Llanidloes, and were marching towards Knighton, burning the villages as
they went, and slaying all who fell into their hands.
The horn was at once sounded, and Sir John Wyncliffe and the other
knights hastily assembled in the courtyard. Here, after a short
consultation, it was determined that a mounted party should be, at
once, despatched to endeavour to harass the advance of the Welsh; the
troop consisting of Alwyn's men-at-arms, twenty men of the garrison,
and fifty mounted men who formed part of the new levy. Four hundred
footmen were to follow, at once.
Sir John Wyncliffe at first thought of taking the command himself, but
it was pointed out to him that his presence would be required, in
Ludlow, to marshal the forces that would speedily arrive from all the
country round. Sir John Burgon, therefore, a valiant knight, who had
greatly distinguished himself against the French, was unanimously
chosen by his companions as leader of the whole party; while with him
rode Sir Philip Haverstone, and Sir William Bastow.
"This reminds one of one's doings at home, Oswald," his uncle said, as
he formed up his little troop. "I trust the Welsh will not retreat,
until we have had a taste of their quality; but I doubt much if they
will prove as formidable foes as the Scotch borderers."
For a considerable portion of the distance, the roads led through
forests, which at that time covered the greater part of the country.
Oswald, at the invitation of the knights, rode with them at the head of
the cavalcade. The way was beguiled by anecdotes, that had been passed
down from mouth to mouth, of the last Welsh war.
They reached Knighton by nine o'clock. The enemy had not, as yet, come
within sight of the town; but, throughout the night, the sky to the
west had been red with the flames of the burning villages and
homesteads.
The male inhabitants were all under arms. Many had already sent their
wives and children, in waggons, towards Ludlow; but, as the town had a
strong wall, the men were determined upon making a stout defence.
They crowded round the newly arrived troops, with loud cheers; which
were raised, again and again, when they heard that, by midday, four
hundred footmen would arrive to their assistance. It had been arranged
that Sir Philip Haverstone should remain in the town, to take charge of
the defence; and that the mounted men should, under Sir John Burgon,
endeavour to check the Welsh plundering parties in the open. Sir
William Bastow was to remain, to assist Haverstone in the defence of
the town. There was no great fear of this falling; as, before the day
was out, four or five thousand men would be assembled at Ludlow, and
would be able to march to its relief. These matters being arranged, Sir
John Burgon led his little troop out of the town.
The accounts of the Welsh forces were very conflicting, but the balance
of opinion was that there were not less than four or five thousand of
them. Beyond the fact that they were skirting the hills, and advancing
towards Knighton, the terrified fugitives could say nothing, save of
their own experiences. It was evident, however, that the Welsh force
was not keeping together; but, after crossing the border, had broken up
and scattered over the country, burning and slaying. Some of the bands
had approached to within five miles of the town; and they might, not
improbably, come in contact with fresh bands of the enemy, crossing the
hills near the source of the Severn. As soon as they had sallied from
the castle, and left the town behind them, Sir John halted his party.
"Now, men," he said, "there is one thing that you should
remember--these Welshmen are not to be despised. Doubtless you will be
able to ride over them, but do not think that, when you have done so,
you have defeated them. They will throw themselves down on the ground,
leap up as you pass over them, stab your horses from below, seize your
legs and try to drag you from your saddles, leap up on to the crupper
behind you, and stab you to the heart. This is what makes them so
dangerous a foe to horsemen, and at Crecy they did terrible execution
among the French chivalry.
"Therefore be careful, and wary. Spit all you see on the ground, with
your lances; and hold your swords ever in readiness, to strike them
down as they rise up beside you. Keep in as close order as you can, for
thus you will make it more difficult for them to rise from the ground,
as you pass over."
He then formed his troop into two lines. In the centre of the front
line he placed the twenty men-at-arms from the castle, with fifteen of
the tenants on either hand. Oswald's troop formed the centre of the
second line, with ten of the tenants on either flank. Another of the
knights was in command in this line. They were to ride some fifty paces
behind the first, to cut down all who rose to their feet after the
first line had passed; and if the resistance were strong, and the first
line brought to a stand, they were to ride up and reinforce them.
They had ridden some three miles, when they saw a column of smoke rise,
half a mile away. The pace was quickened, and they had gone but a short
distance when some panic-stricken men came running down the road.
"How many Welshmen have attacked your village?" Sir John asked.
"Hundreds of them, Sir Knight," one of the men panted out; "at least,
so it seemed to me; but indeed, we were this side of the village when
they rushed into it; and, seeing that nought could be done to resist
them, we fled at once."
When within three hundred yards of the village they entered open
ground, and at once formed up in the order the knight had directed.
Oswald took his place by the side of his uncle, a couple of lengths in
advance of their own troop.
Scarce a word was spoken in the ranks. Here and there dead bodies were
scattered over the ground, showing that the pursuit of the fugitives
had been maintained thus far. From the village the wild shouts of the
triumphant Welsh sounded plainly; but mingled with these came,
occasionally, a cry of pain, that seemed to show that either the work
of slaughter was not yet completed, or that some of the villagers still
held one of the houses, and were defending themselves until the last.
Every face was set and stern. The tenants knew that, at any moment,
similar scenes might be enacted in their own villages; while the
men-at-arms were eager to get at the foe, and take vengeance for the
murders they had perpetrated.
"Be sure you keep your ranks," Sir John said; "remember that any who
straggle may be attacked by a score of these wild men, and slain before
others can come to their help. Ride forward in perfect silence, till we
are within striking distance."
At a gallop, the troop swept down upon the village. As they reached the
first houses, they saw that the road was full of wild figures. Some
were emerging from the houses, laden with such spoil as could be
gathered there, chiefly garments; others, with torches, were setting
fire to the thatched roofs; while, in the middle of the village, a
number were attacking a house somewhat larger and more massively built
than the rest.
Sir John raised his sword, with the shout of "A Mortimer! A Mortimer!"
The shout was re-echoed by his followers, and a moment later they
dashed into the midst of the Welsh. At first they swept all before
them; but speedily the mountaineers, running out from the houses,
gathered thickly on each side of the road and, as the first line
passed, closed in behind it; and, running even more swiftly than the
charging horses, strove to leap up behind. Some struck at the horses
with their swords, hamstringing several of them, and slaying their
riders as they fell.
"Ride, ride!" the knight in command of the second line shouted, and at
even greater speed than before his followers rode hotly forward; and
came, ere long, on the struggling mass, for the first line were now
endeavouring to turn, so as to face their assailants.
With a great shout, the second line fell upon them, the war cries of "A
Percy! A Percy!" being mingled with those of "A Mortimer!" Their
approach had been unnoticed by the Welsh, and their onslaught was
irresistible. The Welsh were hurled to the ground by the impetus of the
charge, and the two lines joined hands.
"Forward again!" Sir John shouted, and the troop, dashing forward, were
soon hotly engaged with the enemy, who were in strong force at the
point where they were attacking the house. The orders of their
commander were now impossible to follow. It was a fierce melee, where
each fought for himself.
"Face round!" Oswald shouted. "Now, men, lay about you.
"A Percy! A Percy!"
The active little horses swung round instantly, and faced the crowd
surging up against them. This was the style of fighting to which the
border men were accustomed. Active as the Welsh were, the border ponies
were as quick in their movements, wheeling and turning hither and
thither, but keeping ever within a short distance of each other. The
troopers hewed down the foe with their heavy swords; and, being partly
protected by their armour, they possessed a great advantage over their
opponents.
Oswald and his uncle fought slightly in advance of the others, lending
a helping hand to each other, when the pressure was greatest. On one
occasion a Welshman seized Alwyn's leg, while he was engaged with a
foeman on the other side, and strove to throw him from his horse.
Oswald wheeled his pony, and with a sweeping blow rid his uncle of his
foe; but, at the same moment, a man leapt up behind him, while two
others assailed him in front.
The Welshman's sinewy arms prevented him from again raising his sword,
and he would have been slain by those in front, had he not, at the
moment, slipped his right foot from his stirrup and thrown himself from
his horse, his leg sweeping off the man who held him behind, and hurled
him to the ground beneath him.
The Welshman's grasp instantly relaxed; but, as Oswald tried to rise, a
blow fell upon his helmet, and four Welshmen threw themselves upon him.
He threw his arms around two of them, and rolled over and over with
them, thereby frustrating the efforts of their companions to strike or
stab him, through some unguarded point in his armour; when suddenly
there was a mighty shout, two tremendous blows were struck in quick
succession, then there was a shout, "Hold them still, Master Oswald,
hold them still!"
Oswald tightened his grasp on his assailants, who were now striving to
rise. There was another crashing blow, and then his last opponent
slipped from his grasp, and fled.
"Thanks, Roger," he said, as he leapt to his feet, "you were but just
in time; another minute, and those fellows would have got their knives
into me."
"I have had my eye upon you, master, all the time; and while doing a
little on my own account, have kept myself in readiness to come to your
aid, if need be."
Roger was fighting with a heavy mace, and the number of men lying
round, with their skulls crushed in, showed with what terrible effect
he had been using it. Oswald again leapt on to his horse, which had
been too well trained to leave his master's side; and had indeed in no
small degree aided him, by kicking furiously at the Welsh, as they
strove to aid their comrades on the ground.
By this time the combat was well-nigh over. The protection afforded by
Alwyn's band, against any attack on their rear, had enabled Sir John's
men-at-arms and the tenants to clear the street in front of them; but
the Welsh, though unable to hold their own in open fight, had now
betaken themselves to their bows and arrows, and from behind every
house shot fast.
The door of the house that had still resisted had been thrown open, and
eight men had come out, followed by some twenty women and children.
"Do each of you leap up behind one of us!" Sir John shouted.
"Help the women up, men, then right-about, and ride out of the village.
It is getting too hot for us, here."
The order was quickly obeyed and, placing the horses carrying a double
burden in the centre, the troop rode out in a compact body. The Welsh
poured out into the road behind them.
"Level your spears!" Alwyn shouted to his men; who had, by his orders,
fallen in in the rear of the others.
The long spears were levelled and, with a shout, the twenty men rode
down on their pursuers, bursting their way through them as if they had
been but a crowd of lay figures; then, wheeling, they returned again,
none venturing to try to hinder them, and rejoined the main body.
"Well done, indeed!" Sir John Burgon exclaimed, "and in knightly
fashion. Verily, those long border spears of yours are right good
weapons, when so stoutly used."
Once outside the village, the troop rode quietly on to the spot at
which they had first charged. Then the villagers dismounted.
"You made a stout defence, men," Sir John said. "It was well that you
had time to gain that house."
"It was agreed that all should take to it, Sir Knight," one of the men
said; "but the attack was so sudden that only we, and these women, had
time to reach it before they were on us; and, had it not been for your
arrival, they must soon have mastered us, for they were bringing up a
tree to burst in the door; and as none of us had time to catch up our
bows and arrows, we had no way of hindering them. Still, methinks many
would have fallen, before they forced their way in."
The men now fell in again. Their numbers were counted. The losses were
by far the heaviest in the front line. Five of the castle men-at-arms,
and fourteen of the levy were killed. Several others had gashes from
the long knives and light axes of the Welsh. Five of the tenants in the
second line had fallen, but none of Alwyn's band, although most of the
latter had received wounds, more or less serious, in their combat with
the Welsh.
"The loss is heavy," Sir John said, "but it is as nought to that
inflicted upon the Welsh. I did not count them, as we rode back, but
assuredly over a hundred have fallen, not counting those who were slain
in that last charge of yours, Alwyn. Truly your men have fought
gallantly, as was shown by the pile of dead, where your men-at-arms
defended our rear.
"The Welsh will be moving, ere long. Half the village is already
burning, and you may be sure that there is nothing left to sack, in the
other houses. If they come this way we must fall back, for in the
forest we shall be no match for them. If they move across the open
country, we may get an opportunity of charging them, again."
He told two of his men to dismount, and to crawl cautiously along, one
on each side of the burning village; and to bring back news, the moment
the Welsh began to leave it. In twenty minutes both returned, saying
that the enemy were streaming out at the other end of the village,
laden with plunder of all kinds. There seemed to be no order or
discipline among them, each trooping along at his pleasure.
"Good!" the knight said. "We will give them another lesson, and this
time on more favourable terms than the last."
The troops formed into column, and galloped at a canter through the
burning village. At the other end they came upon a number of
stragglers, who were at once killed. Then they emerged into the fields
beyond, and formed line. The plain was dotted with men, the nearest but
a hundred yards away, the farthest nearly half a mile.
In a single line the horsemen swept along. The rearmost Welshmen turned
round at the tramp of the horses, and at once, throwing to the ground
the bundles that they carried, took to their heels with shouts of
warning. As these were heard, the alarm spread among the rest, who,
believing that their foes had ridden away through the forest, were
taken completely by surprise.
A panic seized them. Leaders in vain shouted orders, their voices were
unheard among the cries of the men. Some, indeed, gathered together as
they ran; but the greater portion fled in various directions, to escape
the line of spears vengefully following them.
Those unable to avoid the charge stood at bay, like wild animals. First
shooting their arrows, they drew their short axes or their knives, as
the horsemen came within a short distance of them. Few had a chance of
striking, most of them falling, pierced through and through by the
spears. Those who, by swiftness of eye, escaped this fate, sprung at
the horses like wildcats, clinging to the saddles, while they strove to
bury their knives in the riders' bodies.
Their back pieces now served the troopers in good stead, as did their
superior personal strength. Some beat their assailants down on to the
pommel of their saddles, and throttled or stabbed them; while in many
cases, where they were hard pressed, the sword of a comrade rid them
from their foes.
So the line held on its way, until they reached the head of the body of
fugitives. Then in obedience to the shout of Sir John Burgon they
turned, broke up into small bodies, and scoured the plain, cutting down
the flying foe; and did not draw bridle, until what remained of the
enemy had gained the shelter of the wood. Then, at the sound of their
leader's trumpet, they gathered around him in the centre of the plain.
Two or three had fallen from the Welsh arrows, and not a few had
received ugly slashes from their knives; but, with these exceptions,
all had come scatheless through the fray. At least two hundred dead
Welshmen were scattered on the plain.
"You have done your work well, men," Sir John said, "and taught them a
lesson that they will not forget. Now, let us ride back to Knighton,
and see how matters go there."
On arriving at the little town, they found that all was quiet, and that
no bodies of Welsh had approached the town. The party of horse were
again sent out, in various directions, the smoke serving them as a
guide. The villages were found to be entirely deserted; but, pushing
farther on, many fugitives came out from hiding places.
Their reports were all of the same character. The Welsh were in full
retreat for their own country.
By the time the troops returned with the news to Knighton, the footmen
from Ludlow had marched in, and were being entertained by the
inhabitants; who, now that the danger had passed, had returned.
"Retired have they, Sir John?" his two fellow knights said, as he
arrived with his following. "It was but a raid for plunder, then, and
not an invasion. Doubtless, Glendower merely wished to warm their
blood, and to engage them so far in his enterprise that they could no
longer draw back. They must have carried off some hundreds of cattle
and sheep, to say nothing of other plunder; and, had it not been for
our having the news soon enough to get here before they retired, they
would have got off scatheless. As it is, they have learned that even a
well-planned foray cannot be carried out with impunity; but the loss of
three hundred lives will not affect them greatly, when it is clear that
they have murdered twice that number, as well as enriched themselves
with plunder."
"I think not that we shall hear of them, again," Sir John said.
"Glendower has shown us, without doubt, what are his intentions; and he
may now wait to see what comes of last night's work. I expect that he
will keep among the hills, where he can fight to better advantage; for
horsemen are of little use, where there are mountains and forests."
After a consultation between the knights, it was agreed that two
hundred of the footmen were to remain, for two or three days, at
Knighton; in case the retreat of the Welsh might be a feigned one,
intended to lull the inhabitants into a state of security, and then to
make a sudden night attack upon the walls. The whole force remained
until the next morning, and then, leaving Sir Philip Haverstone in
command of the party remaining at Knighton, the rest, horse and foot,
marched back to Ludlow.
"Your band have indeed distinguished themselves, Oswald," Sir John had
said, on the previous evening, as they talked on the events of the day.
"Truly they are as stout men as I have ever seen fighting. And you have
escaped without a wound, though I marked that your armour and clothes
were covered with mire, as if you had been rolling in the road."
"That is just what I have been doing, Sir John. One of them leaped on
to the horse behind me, and pinioned my arms; while two or three others
made at me, with axes and staves. The clasp of the fellow was like an
iron band and, seeing that my only chance was to rid myself of him, I
slung my leg over my horse, and we came down together, he undermost.
Whether the fall killed him or not, I cannot say, but his arms relaxed.
Half a dozen sprang on me, and in another minute I should have been
killed, had not that big trooper of mine come to my aid, and with a
mighty mace dashed out their brains, well-nigh before they knew that
they were attacked."
"A stout fellow, indeed," Sir John said, "and one I should like to have
to ride behind me, on the day of battle. I had marked him before, and
thought that I had never seen a more stalwart knave; though methinks
that he would look better, did he not crop his hair so wondrously
short."
Oswald laughed.
"He does it not to beautify himself, Sir John, but to hide the fact
that the hair on his crown is but of six weeks' growth."
And then he related the circumstances under which Roger came to be a
member of his troop.
"By my faith, he has done well!" Sir John said. "A man with such sinews
as that is lost in a cloister. He is a merry fellow, too. I have often
marked him at the castle, and his laugh is a veritable roar, that would
sound strange echoing along the galleries of a monastery. The abbot did
well to let him go, for such a fellow might well disturb the peace and
quiet of a whole convent.
"You say that he has skill in war?"
"Yes, Sir John. He has been the instructor in arms of the lay brothers,
and of some of the monks, too; and he led the contingent of the abbey
at Otterburn; and, although the day went against the English, he and
his followers greatly distinguished themselves."
"If you would part with him, I would better his condition, Master
Oswald; for, on my recommendation, Sir Edmund would, I am sure, make
him captain of a company."
"I should be sorry, indeed, to part with him, Sir John, and the more so
since he has saved my life today; but, even were I willing, I feel sure
he would not leave me, as we have gone through some adventures
together, and he believes that it is to me that he owes his escape from
the convent."
"What were these adventures, Oswald?"
"It was a matter touching the Earl of March--not Sir Edmund's nephew,
now in the care of the king, but the Scottish earl, George, Earl of
Dunbar, also bearing the title of Earl of March. Now that he has taken
the oath to King Henry, there is no reason why I should not speak of
it."
And he then gave them an account of his visit to Dunbar, and of his
escape.
"And why did the earl wish to keep you?"
"Maybe, sir, that he had not then made up his mind, and thought that
affairs might yet have been accommodated between himself, Douglas, and
the Scottish king."
"Perhaps that was so," Sir John agreed. "He is a crafty, as well as a
bold man. However, you were well out of Dunbar, and you and your monk
managed the affair well. Think you that the earl is to be trusted?"
"I should say so. These great Scottish nobles deem themselves well-nigh
the king's equal, and carry on their wars against each other as
independent lords. His castle of Dunbar is in the hands of his
bitterest enemy, and Douglas will come into no small portion of his
estates. Without the aid of England he could not hope to recover them,
and his interests, therefore, are wholly bound up with ours."
"'Tis strange that there should be two Earls of March, of different
families and names; and, now that Dunbar has become a vassal of the
king, it will make the matter stranger. However, at present no mistakes
can arise, seeing that the one is an able warrior, and the other a mere
boy. But in the future, were the two Earls of March at the same time at
the court of our king, mistakes might well be made, and strange
complications take place.
"Doubtless you are aware that Sir Edmund's nephew is, by right of
birth, King of England. He was, you know, sprung from the Duke of
Clarence, the elder brother of the Duke of Lancaster. The duke died
without male issue, and his rights fell to Edmund Mortimer, Earl of
March, the husband of his daughter Philippa. From their marriage was
born the Roger Mortimer who was lord lieutenant of Ireland, during a
part of King Richard's reign, and was killed in the wars of that
country. He left two sons, of whom the elder was but eight or nine
years old, when Richard was dethroned; and he and his brother are now
living at Windsor, and are well treated there by the king.
"Had my lord's nephew attained the age of manhood, at the deposition of
Richard, many would doubtless have supported his right to the throne;
but for a child of eight to rule this realm, and keep in check the
turbulence of the great lords, would be so absurd that no one even
mentioned his name; and Henry, of course, ascended the throne as if by
right of conquest."
"I have heard something of this before, Sir John; but as the Percys
were among the chief supporters of Henry, the fact that there was one
who had greater rights to the throne was never talked of, at Alnwick;
although, by Percy's marriage with Sir Edmund's sister, he became uncle
of the young Earl of March."
"I can understand that, and indeed Sir Edmund himself has never, in the
most intimate conversation with us, expressed any opinion that the
young earl would, if he had his rights, be King of England."