A boat was rowing rapidly down the stream. It had passed the village of
Chelsea, and the men were doing their best to reach their destination
at Westminster before nightfall. Two men were rowing; in the stern sat
a lady with a girl about eleven years old. A woman, evidently a servant,
sat beside the lady, while behind, steering the boat, was an elderly
retainer.
“It is getting dark,” the lady said; “I would that my cousin James had
not detained us so long at Richmond, and then after all he was unable to
accompany us. I like not being out on the river so late.”
“No, indeed, my lady,” the woman replied; “I have heard tell lately much
of the doings of the river pirates. They say that boats are often picked
up stove in and broken, and that none know what had become of their
occupants, and that bodies, gashed and hewn, are often found floating in
the river.
“How horrible,” the girl said; “your tale makes me shiver, Martha; I
would you had said nothing about it till we were on land again.
“Do not be afraid, Edith,” the lady said cheerfully; “we shall soon be
safe at Westminster.”
There were now only two or three boats to be seen on the river. They
were nearing the end of their journey now, and the great pile of the
Abbey could be seen through the darkness. A boat with several men in
it was seen rowing across the river towards the Lambeth side. It was
awkwardly managed.
“Look out!” the steersman of the boat coming down stream shouted; “you
will run into us if you don't mind.”
An order was given in the other boat, the men strained to their oars,
and in an instant the boat ran with a crash into the side of the other,
cutting it down to the water's edge. For a minute there was a wild scene
of confusion; the women shrieked, the watermen shouted, and, thinking
that it was an accident, strove, as the boat sank from under them, to
climb into that which had run them down. They were speedily undeceived.
One was sunk by a heavy blow with an oar, the other was stabbed with
a dagger, while the assailants struck fiercely at the old man and the
women.
At this moment, however, a third boat made its appearance on the scene,
its occupants uttering loud shouts. As they rowed towards the spot their
approach was heralded by a shower of arrows. Two of the ruffians were
struck--one fell over mortally wounded, the other sank down into the
boat.
“Row, men, row,” their leader shouted, “or we shall all be taken.”
Again seizing their oars, the rowers started at full speed towards the
Lambeth shore. The arrows of their pursuers still fell among them, two
more of their number being wounded before they reached the opposite
shore. The pursuit was not continued, the newcomers ceasing to row at
the spot where the catastrophe had taken place. Walter stood up in the
boat and looked round. A floating oar, a stretcher, and a sheepskin
which had served as a cushion, alone floated.
Suddenly there was a choking cry heard a few yards down stream, and
Walter leapt into the river. A few strokes took him to the side of the
girl, and he found, on throwing his arm round her, that she was still
clasped in her mother's arms. Seizing them both, Walter shouted to his
comrades. They had already turned the boat's head, and in a minute were
alongside.
It was a difficult task to get the mother and child on board, as the
girl refused to loose her hold. It was, however, accomplished, and
the child sat still and quiet by Walter's side, while his comrades
endeavoured to stanch the blood which was flowing from a severe wound in
her mother's head. When they had bound it up they rubbed her hands, and
by the time they had reached the steps at Westminster the lady opened
her eyes. For a moment she looked bewildered, and then, on glancing
round, she gave a low cry of delight at seeing her child sitting by
Walter's side.
On reaching the steps the boys handed her over to the care of the
watermen there, who soon procured a litter and carried her, she being
still too weak to walk, to the dwelling of the Earl of Talbot, where
she said she was expected. The apprentices rowed back to London Bridge,
elated at the success of their enterprise, but regretting much that they
had arrived too late to hinder the outrage, or to prevent the escape of
its perpetrators.
Walter on his return home related the whole circumstance to his master.
“I would you had told me, Walter,” the latter said, “since we might have
taken precautions which would have prevented this foul deed from
taking place. However, I can understand your wanting to accomplish the
adventure without my aid; but we must think now what had best be said
and done. As the lady belongs to the court, there is sure to be a fine
pother about the matter, and you and all who were there will be examined
touching your share of the adventure, and how you came to be upon the
spot. The others will, of course, say that they were there under your
direction; and we had best think how much of your story you had better
tell.”
“Why should I not tell it all?” Walter asked indignantly.
“You should never tell a lie, Walter; but in days like these it is safer
sometimes not to tell more than is necessary. It is a good rule in life,
my boy, to make no more enemies than may be needful. This knight, who
is doubtless a great villain, has maybe powerful friends, and it is as
well, if it can be avoided, that you should not embroil yourself with
these. Many a man has been knocked on head or stabbed on a dark night,
because he could not keep his tongue from wagging. 'Least said, the
sooner mended,' is a good proverb; but I will think it over tonight, and
tell you in the morning.”
When they met again in the workshop the armourer said: “Clean yourself
up after breakfast, Walter, and put on your best clothes. I will go with
you before the mayor, and then you shall tell him your story. There is
sure to be a stir about it before the day is done. As we walk thither we
can settle how much of your story it is good to tell.”
On their way over the bridge Geoffrey told Walter that he thought he had
better tell the whole story exactly as it had occurred, concealing only
the fact that he had recognized the knight's face. “You had best too,”
he said, “mention nought about the white cloak. If we can catch the man
of the hut in the swamp, likely enough the rack will wring from him
the name of his employer, and in that case, if you are brought up as a
witness against him you will of course say that you recognize his face;
but 'tis better that the accusation should not come from you. No great
weight would be given to the word of a 'prentice boy as against that of
a noble. It is as bad for earthen pots to knock against brass ones, as
it is for a yeoman in a leathern jerkin to stand up against a knight in
full armour.
“But unless the lady knows her enemy she may fall again into his snares.
“I have thought of that,” Geoffrey said, “and we will take measures to
prevent it.”
“But how can we prevent it?” Walter asked, surprised.
“We must find out who this knight may be, which should, methinks, not
be difficult. Then we will send to him a message that his share in this
night's work is known to several, and that if any harm should ever again
be attempted against the lady or her daughter, he shall be denounced
before King Edward himself as the author of the wrong. I trust, however,
that we may capture the man of the swamp, and that the truth may be
wrung from him.”
By this time they had arrived at the Guildhall, and making their way
into the court, Geoffrey demanded private speech with the Lord Mayor.
“Can you not say in open court what is you business?” the Lord Mayor
asked.
“I fear that if I did it would defeat the ends of justice.”
Retiring with the chief magistrate into an inner room, Geoffrey
desired Walter to tell his story. This he did, ending by saying that
he regretted much that he had not at once told his master what he had
heard; but that, although he deemed evil was intended, he did not know
that murder was meant, and thought it but concerned the carrying off of
some damsel, and that this he had intended, by the aid of his comrades,
to prevent.
“You have done well, Master Walter, since that be your name,” the
magistrate said. “That you might have done better is true, for had you
acted otherwise you might have prevented murder from being done. Still,
one cannot expect old heads upon young shoulders. Give me the names of
those who were with you, for I shall doubtless receive a message from
Westminster this morning to know if I have heard aught of the affair.
In the meantime we must take steps to secure these pirates of the marsh.
The ground is across the river, and lies out of my jurisdiction.”
“It is for that reason,” Geoffrey said, “that I wished that the story
should be told to you privately, since the men concerned might well
have sent a friend to the court to hear if aught was said which might
endanger them.”
“I will give you a letter to a magistrate of Surrey, and he will
despatch some constables under your guidance to catch these rascals. I
fear there have been many murders performed by them lately besides that
in question, and you will be doing a good service to the citizens by
aiding in the capture of these men.
“I will go willingly,” the smith assented.
The Lord Mayor said, after a moment's thought. “It will be quicker; I
will tell the justice that if he will come to the meeting of the roads
on Kennington Common, at seven this evening, you will be there with your
apprentice to act as a guide.”
“I will,” the armourer said, “and will bring with me two or three of my
men who are used to hard blows, for, to tell you the truth, I have no
great belief in the valour of constables, and we may meet with a stout
resistance.”
“So be it,” the Lord Mayor said; “and luck be with you, for these men
are the scourges of the river.”
That evening the armourer shut up his shop sooner than usual, and
accompanied by Walter and four of his workmen, and all carrying stout
oaken cudgels, with hand-axes in their girdles, started along the lonely
road to Kennington. Half an hour after their arrival the magistrate,
with ten men, rode up. He was well pleased at the sight of the
reinforcement which awaited him, for the river pirates might be expected
to make a desperate resistance. Geoffrey advised a halt for a time until
it should be well-nigh dark, as the marauders might have spies set to
give notice should strangers enter the marsh.
They started before it was quite dark, as Walter doubted whether he
should be able to lead them straight to the hut after the night had
completely fallen. He felt, however, tolerably sure of his locality, for
he had noticed that two trees grew on the edge of the swamp just at the
spot where he had left it. He had no difficulty in finding these, and
at once led the way. The horses of the magistrate and his followers were
left in charge of three of their number.
“You are sure you are going right?” the magistrate said to Walter.
“The marsh seems to stretch everywhere, and we might well fall into a
quagmire, which would swallow us all up.
“I am sure of my way,” Walter answered; “and see, yonder clump of
bushes, which you can just observe above the marsh, a quarter of a mile
away, is the spot where the house of their leader is situated.”
With strict injunctions that not a word was to be spoken until the bush
was surrounded, and that all were to step noiselessly and with caution,
the party moved forward. It was now nearly dark, and as they approached
the hut sounds of laughter and revelry were heard.
“They are celebrating their success in a carouse,” Geoffrey said. “We
shall catch them nicely in a trap.”
When they came close, a man who was sitting just at the low mouth of the
hut suddenly sprang to his feet and shouted, “Who goes there?” He had
apparently been placed as sentry, but had joined in the potations going
on inside, and had forgotten to look round from time to time to see that
none were approaching.
At his challenge the whole party rushed forward, and as they reached the
hut the men from within came scrambling out, sword in hand. For two or
three minutes there was a sharp fight, and had the constables been alone
they would have been defeated, for they were outnumbered and the pirates
were desperate.
The heavy clubs of the armourers decided the fight. One or two of the
band alone succeeded in breaking through, the rest were knocked down and
bound; not, however, until several severe wounds had been inflicted on
their assailants.
When the fray was over, it was found that nine prisoners had been
captured. Some of these were stunned by the blows which the smiths had
dealt them, and two or three were badly wounded; all were more or less
injured in the struggle. When they recovered their senses they were made
to get on their feet, and with their hands tied securely behind them
were marched between a double line of their captors off the marsh.
“Thanks for your services,” the justice said when they had gained the
place where they had left their horses. “Nine of my men shall tie each
one of these rascals to their stirrups by halters round their necks, and
we will give them a smart run into Richmond, where we will lodge them in
the jail. Tomorrow is Sunday; on Monday they will be brought before me,
and I shall want the evidence of Master Walter Fletcher and of those who
were in the boat with him as to what took place on the river. Methinks
the evidence on that score, and the resistance which they offered to us
this evening, will be sufficient to put a halter round their necks; but
from what I have heard by the letter which the Lord Mayor sent me, there
are others higher in rank concerned in the affair; doubtless we shall
find means to make these ruffians speak.”
Accordingly, at the justice's orders, halters were placed round the
necks of the prisoners, the other ends being attached to the saddles,
and the party set off at a pace which taxed to the utmost the strength
of the wounded men. Geoffrey and his party returned in high spirits to
Southwark.
On the Monday Walter went over to Richmond, accompanied by the armourers
and by the lads who had been in the boat with him. The nine ruffians,
strongly guarded, were brought up in the justice room. Walter first
gave his evidence, and related how he had overheard a portion of the
conversation, which led him to believe that an attack would be made upon
the boat coming down the river.
“Can you identify either of the prisoners as being the man whom you saw
at the door of the hut?”
“No,” Walter said. “When I first saw him I was too far off to make out
his face. When he left the hut it was dark.”
“Should you know the other man, the one who was addressed as sir knight,
if you saw him again?”
“I should,” Walter replied. He then gave an account of the attack upon
the boat, but said that in the suddenness of the affair and the growing
darkness he noticed none of the figures distinctly enough to recognize
them again. Two or three of the other apprentices gave similar testimony
as to the attack.
A gentleman then presented himself, and gave his name as Sir William
de Hertford. He said that he had come at the request of the Lady Alice
Vernon, who was still suffering from the effects of the wound and
immersion. She had requested him to say that at some future occasion she
would appear to testify, but that in the confusion and suddenness of
the attack she had noticed no faces in the boat which assailed them, and
could identify none concerned in the affair.
The justice who had headed the attack on the hut then gave his evidence
as to that affair, the armourer also relating the incidents of the
conflict.
“The prisoners will be committed for trial,” the justice said. “At
present there is no actual proof that any of them were concerned in
this murderous outrage beyond the fact that they were taken in the place
where it was planned. The suspicion is strong that some at least were
engaged in it. Upon the persons of all of them were valuable daggers,
chains, and other ornaments, which could not have been come by honestly,
and I doubt not that they form part of the gang which has so long been a
terror to peaceful travelers alike by the road and river, and it may
be that some who have been robbed will be able to identify the articles
taken upon them. They are committed for trial: firstly, as having been
concerned in the attack upon Dame Alice Vernon; secondly, as being
notorious ill-livers and robbers; thirdly, as having resisted lawful
arrest by the king's officers. The greatest criminal in the affair is
not at present before me, but it may be that from such information as
Dame Vernon may be able to furnish, and from such confessions as justice
will be able to wring from the prisoners, he will at the trial stand
beside his fellows.”
Walter returned to town with his companions. On reaching the armourer's
they found a retainer of the Earl of Talbot awaiting them, with the
message that the Lady Alice Vernon wished the attendance of Walter
Fletcher, whose name she had learned from the Lord Mayor as that of
the lad to whom she and her daughter owed their lives, at noon on the
following day, at the residence of the Earl of Talbot.
“That is the worst of an adventure,” Walter said crossly, after the
retainer had departed. “One can't have a bit of excitement without being
sent for, and thanked, and stared at. I would rather fight the best
swordsman in the city than have to go down to the mansion of Earl Talbot
with my cap in my hand.”
Geoffrey laughed. “You must indeed have your cap in your hand, Walter;
but you need not bear yourself in that spirit. The 'prentice of a London
citizen may have just as much honest pride and independence as the
proudest earl at Westminster; but carry not independence too far.
Remember that if you yourself had received a great service you would
be hurt if the donor refused to receive your thanks; and it would be
churlish indeed were you to put on sullen looks, or to refuse to accept
any present which the lady whose life you have saved may make you. It
is strange, indeed, that it should be Dame Vernon, whose husband, Sir
Jasper Vernon, received the fiefs of Westerham and Hyde.”
“Why should it be curious that it is she?” Walter asked.
“Oh!” Geoffrey said, rather confusedly. “I was not thinking--that
is--I mean that it is curious because Bertha Fletcher was for years
a dependant on the family of Sir Roland Somers, who was killed in the
troubles when the king took the reins of government in his hands, and
his lands, being forfeit, were given to Sir Jasper Vernon, who aided the
king in that affair.”
“I wish you would tell me about that,” Walter said. “How was it that
there was any trouble as to King Edward having kingly authority?”
“It happened in this way,” Geoffrey said. “King Edward II, his father,
was a weak prince, governed wholly by favourites, and unable to hold in
check the turbulent barons. His queen, Isabella of France, sister of
the French king, a haughty and ambitious woman, determined to snatch the
reins of power from the indolent hands of her husband, and after a
visit to her brother she returned with an army from Hainault in order to
dethrone him. She was accompanied by her eldest son, and after a short
struggle the king was dethroned. He had but few friends, and men thought
that under the young Edward, who had already given promise of virtue and
wisdom, some order might be introduced into the realm. He was crowned
Edward III, thus, at the early age of fifteen, usurping the throne of
his father. The real power, however, remained with Isabella, who was
president of the council of regency, and who, in her turn, was governed
by her favourite Mortimer. England soon found that the change which had
been made was far from beneficial. The government was by turns weak
and oppressive. The employment of foreign troops was regarded with
the greatest hostility by the people, and the insolence of Mortimer
alienated the great barons. Finally, the murder of the dethroned king
excited throughout the kingdom a feeling of horror and loathing against
the queen.
“All this feeling, however, was confined to her, Edward, who was but a
puppet in her hands, being regarded with affection and pity. Soon after
his succession the young king was married to our queen, Philippa of
Hainault, who is as good as she is beautiful, and who is loved from one
end of the kingdom to the other. I can tell you, the city was a sight
to see when she entered with the king. Such pageants and rejoicing
were never known. They were so young, he not yet sixteen, and she but
fourteen, and yet to bear on their shoulders the weight of the state. A
braver looking lad and a fairer girl mine eyes never looked on. It was
soon after this that the events arose which led to the war with France,
but this is too long a tale for me to tell you now. The Prince of Wales
was born on the 15th of June, 1330, two years after the royal marriage.
“So far the king had acquiesced quietly in the authority of his mother,
but he now paid a visit to France, and doubtless the barons around
him there took advantage of his absence from her tutelage to shake her
influence over his mind; and at the same time a rising took place at
home against her authority. This was suppressed, and the Earl of Kent,
the king's uncle, was arrested and executed by Isabella. This act
of severity against his uncle, no doubt, hastened the prince's
determination to shake off the authority of his haughty mother and to
assume the reins of government himself. The matter, however, was not
easy to accomplish. Mortimer having the whole of the royal revenue at
his disposal, had attached to himself by ties of interest a large number
of barons, and had in his pay nearly two hundred knights and a large
body of men-at-arms. Thus it was no easy matter to arrest him. It was
determined that the deed should be done at the meeting of the parliament
at Nottingham. Here Mortimer appeared with Isabella in royal pomp. They
took their abode at the castle, while the king and other members of the
royal family were obliged to content themselves with an inferior place
of residence.
“The gates of the castle were locked at sunset, and the keys brought by
the constable, Sir William Eland, and handed to the queen herself. This
knight was a loyal and gallant gentleman, and regarded Mortimer with no
affection, and when he received the king's commands to assist the barons
charged to arrest him he at once agreed to do so. He was aware of the
existence of a subterranean communication leading from the interior of
the castle to the outer country, and by this, on the night of the 19th
of October, 1330, he led nine resolute knights--the Lords Montague,
Suffolk, Stafford, Molins, and Clinton, with three brothers of the name
of Bohun, and Sir John Nevil--into the heart of the castle. Mortimer was
found surrounded by a number of his friends. On the sudden entry of the
knights known to be hostile to Mortimer his friends drew their swords,
and a short but desperate fight took place. Many were wounded, and Sir
Hugh Turpleton and Richard Monmouth were slain. Mortimer was carried
to London, and was tried and condemned by parliament, and executed for
felony and treason. Several of his followers were executed, and others
were attacked in their strongholds and killed; among these was Sir
Roland Somers.
“Queen Isabella was confined in Castle Risings where she still remains
a prisoner. Such, Walter, were the troubles which occurred when King
Edward first took up the reins of power in this realm; and now, let's
to supper, for I can tell you that my walk to Kingston has given me a
marvellous appetite. We have three or four hours' work yet before we
go to bed, for that Milan harness was promised for the morrow, and the
repairs are too delicate for me to entrust it to the men. It is good to
assist the law, but this work of attending as a witness makes a grievous
break in the time of a busy man. It is a pity, Walter, that your mind
is so set on soldiering, for you would have made a marvellous good
craftsman. However, I reckon that after you have seen a few years of
fighting in France, and have got some of your wild blood let out,
you will be glad enough to settle down here with me; as you know, our
profits are good, and work plentiful; and did I choose I might hold mine
head higher than I do among the citizens; and you, if you join me,
may well aspire to a place in the common council, aye, and even to an
alderman's gown, in which case I may yet be addressing you the very
worshipful my Lord Mayor.”
“Pooh!” Walter laughed; “a fig for your lord Mayors! I would a thousand
times rather be a simple squire in the following of our young prince.”