A week later a party of knights and court gallants, riding across the
fields without the walls, checked their horses to look at a struggle
which was going on between two parties of boys. One, which was
apparently the most powerful, had driven the other off from a heap of
rubbish which had been carried without the walls. Each party had a flag
attached to a stick, and the boys were armed with clubs such as those
carried by the apprentice boys. Many of them carried mimic shields made
of wood, and had stuffed their flat caps with wool or shavings, the
better to protect their heads from blows. The smaller party had just
been driven from the heap, and their leader was urging them to make
another effort to regain it.
“That is a gallant-looking lad, and a sturdy, my Lord de Vaux,” a boy of
about ten years of age said. “He bears himself like a young knight, and
he has had some hard knocks, for, see, the blood is streaming down his
face. One would scarcely expect to see these varlets of the city playing
so roughly.”
“The citizens have proved themselves sturdy fighters before now, my
prince,” the other said; “they are ever independent, and hold to their
rights even against the king. The contingent which the city sends to the
wars bears itself as well as those of any of the barons.”
“See!” the boy interrupted, “they are going to charge again. Their
leader has himself seized the flag and has swung his shield behind him,
just as a knight might do if leading the stormers against a place of
strength. Let us stop till we see the end of it.”
With a shout of “Aldgate! Aldgate!” the leader of the assailants dashed
forward, followed by his comrades, and with a rush reached the top of
the heap.
“Well done!” the young prince exclaimed, clapping his hands. “See how
he lays about him with that club of his. There, he has knocked down the
leader of the defenders as if his club had been a battle-axe. Well done,
young sir, well done! But his followers waver. The others are too strong
for them. Stand, you cowards, rally round your leader!” and in his
enthusiasm the young prince urged his horse forward to the scene of
conflict.
But the assailants were mastered; few of them could gain the top of the
heap, and those who did so were beaten back from it by the defenders.
Heavy blows were exchanged, and blood flowed freely from many of their
heads and faces, for in those days boys thought less than they do now
of hard knocks, and manliness and courage were considered the first of
virtues. Their leader, however, still stood his ground on the crest,
though hardly pressed on all sides, and used his club both to strike and
parry with a skill which aroused the warmest admiration on the part of
the prince. In vain his followers attempted to come to his rescue; each
time they struggled up the heap they were beaten back again by those on
the crest.
“Yield thee prisoner,” the assailants of their leader shouted, and the
prince in his excitement echoed the cry. The lad, however, heard or
heeded them not. He still kept his flag aloft in his left hand. With a
sudden spring he struck down one of his opponents, plucked up their flag
from the ground, and then fought his way back through his foes to the
edge of the battleground; then a heavy blow struck him on the temple,
and, still holding the flags, he rolled senseless to the foot of the
heap. The defenders with shouts of triumph were rushing down when the
prince urged his horse forward.
“Cease!” he said authoritatively. “Enough has been done, my young
masters, and the sport is becoming a broil.”
Hitherto the lads, absorbed in their strife, had paid but little heed
to the party of onlookers; but at the word they at once arrested their
arms, and, baring their heads, stood still in confusion.
“No harm is done,” the prince said, “though your sport is of the
roughest; but I fear that your leader is hurt, he moves not; lift his
head from the ground.” The boy was indeed still insensible. “My lords,”
the prince said to the knights who had now ridden up, “I fear that this
boy is badly hurt; he is a gallant lad, and has the spirit of a true
knight in him, citizen's son though he be. My Lord de Vaux, will you bid
your squire ride at full speed to the Tower and tell Master Roger, the
leech, to come here with all haste, and to bring such nostrums as may be
needful for restoring the boy to life.”
The Tower was but half a mile distant, but before Master Roger arrived
Walter had already recovered consciousness, and was just sitting up when
the leech hurried up to the spot.
“You have arrived too late, Master Roger,” the prince said; “but I doubt
not that a dose of cordials may yet be of use, for he is still dazed,
and the blow he got would have cracked his skull had it been a thin
one.”
The leech poured some cordial from a vial into a small silver cup and
held it to the boy's lips. It was potent and nigh took his breath away;
but when he had drunk it he struggled to his feet, looking ashamed and
confused when he saw himself the centre of attention of so many knights
of the court.
“What is thy name, good lad?” the prince asked.
“I am known as Walter Fletcher.”
“You are a brave lad,” the prince said, “and if you bear you as well as
a man as you did but now, I would wish no better to ride beside me
in the day of battle. Should the time ever come when you tire of the
peaceable life of a citizen and wish to take service in the wars, go to
the Tower and ask boldly for the Prince of Wales, and I will enroll you
among my own men-at-arms, and I promise you that you shall have your
share of fighting as stark as that of the assault of yon heap. Now, my
lords, let us ride on; I crave your pardon for having so long detained
you.”
Walter was some days before he could again cross London Bridge to
inform his friend Geoffrey of the honour which had befallen him of being
addressed by the Prince of Wales. During the interval he was forced to
lie abed, and he was soundly rated by Master Giles for again getting
into mischief. Geoffrey was far more sympathetic, and said “Well,
Walter, although I would not that Gaffer Giles heard me say so, I think
you have had a piece of rare good fortune. It may be that you may never
have cause to recall the young prince's promise to him; but should
you some day decide to embrace the calling of arms, you could wish for
nothing better than to ride behind the Prince of Wales. He is, by all
accounts, of a most noble and generous disposition, and is said, young
as he is, to be already highly skilled in arms. Men say that he will be
a wise king and a gallant captain, such a one as a brave soldier might
be proud to follow; and as the king will be sure to give him plenty of
opportunities of distinguishing himself, those who ride with him may be
certain of a chance of doing valorous deeds. I will go across the bridge
tomorrow, and will have a talk with Master Fletcher. The sooner you are
apprenticed, the sooner you will be out of your time; and since Madge
married eight years since I have been lonely in the house and shall be
glad to have you with me.”
Geoffrey Ward found his friend more ready to accede to his request, that
Walter should be apprenticed to him, than he had expected. The bowyer,
indeed, was a quiet man, and the high spirits and somewhat turbulent
disposition of his young charge gave him so much uneasiness, that he
was not sorry the responsibility of keeping him in order should be
undertaken by Geoffrey. Moreover, he could not but agree with the
argument, that the promise of the Prince of Wales offered a more
favourable opportunity for Walter to enter upon the career of arms and
so, perhaps, someday to win his way back to rank and honours than
could have been looked for. Therefore, on the following week Walter
was indentured to the armourer, and, as was usual at the time, left his
abode in Aldgate and took up his residence with his master. He threw
himself with his whole heart into the work, and by the time he was
fifteen was on the way to become a skilful craftsman. His frame and
muscles developed with labour, and he was now able to swing all save the
very heaviest hammers in the shop. He had never abated in his practice
at arms, and every day when work was over, he and his master had a
long bout together with cudgel or quarterstaff, sword or axe; Walter of
course used light weapons, but so quick was he with them that Geoffrey
Ward acknowledged that he needed to put out all his skill to hold his
own with his pupil. But it was not alone with Geoffrey that Walter had
an opportunity of learning the use of arms. Whenever a soldier, returned
from the wars, came to have a weapon repaired by the armourer, he would
be sure of an invitation to come in in the evening and take a stoup of
ale, and tell of the battles and sieges he had gone through, and in the
course of the evening would be asked to have a bout of arms with the
young apprentice, whom Geoffrey represented as being eager to learn how
to use the sword as well as how to make it.
Thus Walter became accustomed to different styles of fighting, but found
that very few, indeed, of their visitors were nearly so well skilled
with their arms as his master. Some of the soldiers were mortified at
finding themselves unable to hold their own with a boy; others would
take their reverses in good part and would come again, bringing with
them some comrade known to be particularly skilled with his weapons,
to try the temper of the armourer's apprentice. At the age of fifteen
Walter had won the prize at the sports, both for the best cudgel play
and the best sword-and-buckler play among the apprentices, to the great
disgust of many who had almost reached the age of manhood and were just
out of their time.
On Sundays Walter always spent the day with Giles Fletcher and his wife,
going to mass with them and walking in the fields, where, after service,
the citizens much congregated. Since Walter had gone to work he had
taken no part in the fights and frolics of his former comrades; he was
in fact, far too tired at the end of his day's work to have any desire
to do aught but to sit and listen to the tales of the wars, of the many
old soldiers who pervaded the country. Some of these men were disabled
by wounds or long service, but the greater portion were idle scamps, who
cared not for the hard blows and sufferings of a campaign, liking better
to hang about taverns drinking, at the expense of those to whom they
related fabulous tales of the gallant actions they had performed. Many,
too, wandered over the country, sometimes in twos or threes, sometimes
in large bands, robbing and often murdering travelers or attacking
lonely houses. When in one part or another their ill deeds became too
notorious, the sheriffs would call out a posse of men and they would be
hunted down like wild beasts. It was not, however, easy to catch them,
for great tracts of forests still covered a large portion of the country
and afforded them shelter.
In the country round London these pests were very numerous, for here,
more than anywhere else, was there a chance of plunder. The swamps on
the south side of the river had an especially evil reputation. From
Southwark to Putney stretches a marshy country over which, at high
tides, the river frequently flowed. Here and there were wretched huts,
difficult of access and affording good hiding-places for those pursued
by justice, since searchers could be seen approaching a long way off,
and escape could be made by paths across the swamp known only to the
dwellers there, and where heavily-armed men dared not follow. Further
south, in the wild country round Westerham, where miles of heath and
forest stretched away in all directions, was another noted place where
the robber vagrants mustered thickly, and the Sheriff of Kent had much
trouble with them.
The laws in those days were extremely severe, and death was the penalty
of those caught plundering. The extreme severity of the laws, however,
operated in favour of its breakers, since the sympathy of the people who
had little to lose was with them, and unless caught red-handed in
the act they could generally escape, since none save those who had
themselves been robbed would say aught that would place the pursuers
on their traces, or give testimony which would cost the life of a
fellow-creature. The citizens of London were loud in their complaints
against the discharged soldiers, for it was upon them that the loss
mainly fell, and it was on their petitions to the king that the sheriffs
of Middlesex and Hertford, Essex, Surrey, and Kent, were generally
stirred up to put down the ill-doers.
Sometimes these hunts were conducted in a wholesale way, and the whole
posse of a county would be called out. Then all found within its limits
who had not land or visible occupation were collected. Any against whom
charges could be brought home were hung without more ado, and the rest
were put on board ship and sent across the sea to the army. Sometimes,
when they found the country becoming too hot for them, these men would
take service with some knight or noble going to the war, anxious to take
with him as strong a following as might be, and not too particular as to
the character of his soldiers.
Walter, being of an adventurous spirit, was sometimes wont of a summer
evening, when his work was done, to wander across the marshes, taking
with him his bow and arrows, and often bringing home a wild duck or two
which he shot in the pools. More than once surly men had accosted him,
and had threatened to knock him on the head if they again found him
wandering that way; but Walter laughed at their threats, and seeing,
that though but an apprentice lad, he might be able to send an arrow as
straight to the mark as another, they were content to leave him alone.
One day when he was well-nigh in the heart of the swamp of Lambeth he
saw a figure making his way across. The hour was already late and the
night was falling, and the appearance of the man was so different
from that of the usual denizens of the swamp that Walter wondered what
business there might be. Scarcely knowing why he did so, Walter threw
himself down among some low brushwood and watched the approaching
figure. When he came near he recognized the face, and saw, to his
surprise, that it was a knight who had but the day before stopped at
the armourer's shop to have two rivets put in his hauberk. He had
particularly noticed him because of the arrogant manner in which he
spoke. Walter had himself put in the rivets, and had thought, as he
buckled on the armour again, how unpleasant a countenance was that of
its wearer. He was a tall and powerful man, and would have been handsome
had not his eyes been too closely set together; his nose was narrow, and
the expression of his face reminded Walter of a hawk. He had now laid
aside his helmet, and his figure was covered with a long cloak.
“He is up to no good,” Walter said to himself, “for what dealings could
a knight honestly have with the ruffians who haunt these swamps. It is
assuredly no business of mine, but it may lead to an adventure, and I
have had no real fun since I left Aldgate. I will follow and see if I
can get to the bottom of the mystery.”
When he came close to the spot where Walter was lying the knight paused
and looked round as if uncertain of his way. For four or five minutes
he stood still, and then gave a shout of “Humphrey” at the top of
his voice. It was answered by a distant “Hallo!” and looking in the
direction from which the answer had come, Walter saw a figure appear
above some bushes some four hundred yards distant. The knight at once
directed his steps in that direction, and Walter crept cautiously after
him.
“A pest upon these swamps and quagmires,” the knight said angrily as he
neared the other. “Why didst not meet me and show me the way through, as
before?”
“I thought that as you had come once you would be able to find your way
hither again,” the man said. “Had I thought that you would have missed
it I would have come ten times as far, rather than have had my name
shouted all over the country. However, there is no one to hear, did you
shout thrice as loud, so no harm is done.”
“I thought I saw a figure a short time since,” the knight said.
The man looked round in all directions.
“I see none,” he said, “and you may have been mistaken, for the light is
waning fast. It were ill for anyone I caught prying about here. But come
in, sir knight; my hovel is not what your lordship is accustomed to, but
we may as well talk there as here beneath the sky.”
The two men disappeared from Walter's sight. The latter in much surprise
crept forward, but until he reached the spot where he had last seen the
speakers he was unable to account for their disappearance. Then he saw
that the spot, although apparently a mere clump of bushes no higher
than the surrounding country, was really an elevated hummock of ground.
Anyone might have passed close to the bushes without suspecting that
aught lay among them. In the centre, however, the ground had been cut
away, and a low doorway, almost hidden by the bushes, gave access into a
half subterranean hut; the roof was formed of an old boat turned bottom
upwards, and this had been covered with brown turf. It was an excellent
place of concealment, as searchers might have passed within a foot of
the bushes without suspecting that aught lay concealed within them.
“A clever hiding place,” Walter thought to himself. “No wonder the posse
search these swamps in vain. This is the lowest and wettest part of the
swamp, and would be but lightly searched, for none would suspect that
there was a human habitation among these brown ditches and stagnant
pools.”
To his disappointment the lad could hear nothing of the conversation
which was going on within the hut. The murmur of voices came to his ear,
but no words were audible; however, he remained patiently, thinking that
perhaps as they came out a word might be said which would give him a
clue to the object of the mysterious interview between a knight and one
who was evidently a fugitive from justice.
His patience was rewarded. In the half hour which he waited the night
had fallen, and a thick fog which was rising over the swamps rendered it
difficult to discern anything at the distance of a few paces.
“You are quite sure that you can manage it?” a voice said as the two men
issued from the hut.
“There is no difficulty in managing it,” the other replied, “if the boat
is punctual to the hour named. It will be getting dusk then, and if one
boat runs into another no one need be surprised. Such accidents will
happen.”
“They will be here just before nightfall,” the other said, “and you will
know the boat by the white mantle the lady will wear. The reward will be
fifty pieces of gold, of which you have received ten as earnest. You
can trust me, and if the job be well done I shall take no count of the
earnest money.
“You may consider it as good as done,” the other replied. “If the boat
is there the matter is settled. Now I will lead you back across the
swamps. I would not give much for your life if you tried to find the way
alone. Who would have thought when you got me off from being hung,
after that little affair at Bruges, that I should be able to make myself
useful to your worship?”
“You may be sure,” the knight replied, “that it was just because I
foresaw that you might be useful that I opened the doors of your cell
that night. It is always handy in times like these to be able to lay
one's hand on a man whom you can hang if you choose to open your mouth.”
“Did it not strike you, sir knight, that it might enter my mind that
it would be very advisable for me to free myself from one who stands
towards me in that relation?”
“Certainly it did,” the knight replied; “but as I happen to be able to
make it for your interest to serve me, that matter did not trouble me.
I knew better than to bring money into this swamp of yours, when I
might be attacked by half a dozen ruffians like yourself; and I took
the precaution of informing Peter, the captain of my men-at-arms, of the
spot to which I was going, bidding him, in case I came not back, to set
a hue and cry on foot and hunt down all who might be found here, with
the especial description of your worthy self.”
Walter could hear no more; he had taken off his shoes and followed them
at a distance, and their voices still acted as a guide to him through
the swamp. But he feared to keep too close, as, although the darkness
would conceal his figure, he might at any moment tread in a pool or
ditch, and so betray his presence. Putting his foot each time to the
ground with the greatest caution, he moved quietly after them. They
spoke little more, but their heavy footsteps on the swampy ground were a
sufficient guidance for him. At last these ceased suddenly. A few words
were spoken, and then he heard returning steps. He drew aside a few
feet and crouched down, saw a dim figure pass through the mist, and then
resumed his way. The ground was firmer now, and, replacing his shoes, he
walked briskly on. As he neared the higher ground along which the road
ran he heard two horsemen galloping away in the distance. He now turned
his face east, and after an hour's walking he reached the armourer's.
“Why, Walter, you are late,” the smith said. “The men are in bed this
hour or more, and I myself can scarce keep awake. Where hast thou been,
my boy?”
“I have been in the swamps and lost my way,” Walter replied.
“It is a bad neighbourhood, lad, and worse are the people who live
there. If I had my way the whole posse should be called out, and the
marshes searched from end to end, and all found there should be knocked
on head and thrown into their own ditches. There would be no fear of any
honest man coming to his end thereby; but now to bed, lad. You can tell
me all about it tomorrow; but we have a rare day's work before us, and
the fire must be alight at daybreak.”
On his way back Walter had debated with himself whether to inform
his master of what had happened. He was, however, bent upon having an
adventure on his own account, and it was a serious thing in those days
for an apprentice lad to bring an accusation against a noble. The city
would not indeed allow even an apprentice to be overridden, and although
Geoffrey Ward's forge stood beyond the city walls it was yet within the
liberties, the city allowing its craftsmen to open shops just outside
the gates, and to enjoy the same privileges as if dwelling actually
within the walls.
On the following afternoon Walter asked leave to cease work an hour
earlier than usual, as he wished to go across into the city. The
armourer was surprised, since this was the first time that such a thing
had happened since the lad had worked for him.
“What are you up to, Walter?--some mischief, I will be bound. Go, lad;
you have worked so steadily that you have well earned more than an
hour's holiday should you want it.”
Walter crossed the bridge, and seeking out four or five of his old
companions, begged them to bring their bows and clubs and rejoin him
at the stairs by London Bridge. To their laughing inquiries whether he
meant to go a-shooting of fish, he told them to ask no questions until
they joined him. As soon as work was over the boys gathered at the
steps, where Walter had already engaged a boat. There were some mocking
inquiries from the watermen standing about as to where they were going
shooting. Walter answered with some light chaff, and, two of the party
taking oars, they started up the river.
“Now I will tell you what we are bent on,” Walter said. “From some words
I overheard I believe that some of the ruffians over in the marshes
are this evening going to make an attack upon a boat with a lady in
it coming down the river. We will be on the spot, and can give them a
reception such as they do not expect.”
“Do you know who the lady is, Walter?”
“I have not the least idea. I only caught a few words, and may be wrong;
still, it will do no harm should I be mistaken.”
The tide was running down strongly, for there had been a good deal of
rain during the preceding week, and all night it had poured heavily. It
was fine now, but the stream was running down thick and turbid, and it
needed all the boys' efforts to force the wherry against it. They rowed
by turns; all were fairly expert at the exercise, for in those days the
Thames was at once the great highway and playground of London. To the
wharves below the bridge ships brought the rich merchandise of Italy and
the Low Countries; while from above, the grain, needed for the wants of
the great city was floated down in barges from the west.
Passing the Temple, the boys rowed along by the green banks and fields
as far as Westminster, which at that time was almost a rival of the
city, for here were the abbey and great monastery; here were the king's
palace and court, and the houses of many of his nobles. Then they went
along by the low shores of Millbank, keeping a sharp lookout for boats
going down with the stream. It was already getting dark, for Walter had
not allowed for the strength of the stream, and he was full of anxiety
lest he should arrive too late.