While the attention of the whole of the spectators and combatants was
fixed upon the struggle at the right-hand angle of the castle, a party
of twenty 'prentices suddenly leapt to their feet from among the
broken palisades of the outwork. Lying prone there they had escaped the
attention of the spectators as well as of the defenders. The reason
why the assailants carried the planks and ladders to this spot was
now apparent. Only a portion had been taken on to the assault of the
right-hand tower; those who now rose to their feet lifted with them
planks and ladders, and at a rapid pace ran towards the left angle
of the castle, and reached that point before the attention of the few
defenders who remained on the wall there was attracted to them, so
absorbed were they in the struggle at the other angle. The moment that
they saw the new assailants they raised a shout of alarm, but the din of
the combat, the shouts of the leaders and men were so loud, that their
cries were unheard. Two or three then hurried away at full speed to give
the alarm, while the others strove to repel the assault. Their efforts
were in vain. The planks were flung across the moat, the ladders placed
in position, and led by Walter the assailants sprang up and gained a
footing on the wall before the alarm was fairly given. A thundering
cheer from the spectators greeted the success of the assailants.
Springing along the wall they drove before them the few who strove to
oppose them, gained the central tower, and Walter, springing up to the
top, pulled down the banner of the defenders and placed that of the city
in its place. At this moment the defenders, awakened too late to the
ruse which had been played upon them, came swarming back along the wall
and strove to regain the central tower. In the confusion the assault by
the flying tower of the assailants was neglected, and at this point also
they gained footing on the wall. The young nobles of the court, furious
at being outwitted, fought desperately to regain their lost laurels. But
the king rose from his seat and held up his hand. The trumpeter standing
below him sounded the arrest of arms, which was echoed by two others who
accompanied Earl Talbot, who had taken his place on horseback close to
the walls. At the sound swords dropt and the din abruptly ceased, but
the combatants stood glaring at each other, their blood too heated to
relinquish the fray readily.
Already much damage had been done. In spite of armour and mail many
serious wounds had been inflicted, and some of the combatants had
already been carried senseless from the field. Some of the assailants
had been much shaken by being thrown backward from the ladders into
the moat, one or two were hurt to death; but as few tourneys took place
without the loss of several lives, this was considered but a small
amount of damage for so stoutly fought a melee, and the knowledge
that many were wounded, and some perhaps dying, in no way damped the
enthusiasm of the spectators, who cheered lustily for some minutes at
the triumph which the city had obtained. In the galleries occupied by
the ladies and nobles of the court there was a comparative silence.
But brave deeds were appreciated in those days, and although the ladies
would far rather have seen the victory incline the other way, yet they
waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their hands in token of their
admiration at the success of an assault which, at the commencement,
appeared well-nigh hopeless.
Lord Talbot rode up to the front of the royal pavilion.
“I was about to stop the fight, sire, when you gave the signal. Their
blood was up, and many would have been killed had the combat continued.
But the castle was fairly won, the central tower was taken and the flag
pulled down, a footing had been gained at another point of the wall,
and the assailants had forced their way through the sally-port. Further
resistance was therefore hopeless, and the castle must be adjudged as
fairly and honourably captured.”
A renewed shout greeted the judge's decision. The king now ordered the
rival hosts to be mustered before him as before the battle, and when
this was done Earl Talbot conducted Walter up the broad steps in front
of the king's pavilion. Geoffrey Ward, who had, after fastening on
Walter's armour in the tent, before the sports began, taken his place
among the guards at the foot of the royal pavilion, stept forward and
removed Walter's helmet at the foot of the steps.
“Young sir,” the king said, “you have borne yourself right gallantly
today, and have shown that you possess the qualities which make a great
captain. I do my nobles no wrong when I say that not one of them could
have better planned and led the assault than you have done. Am I not
right, sirs?” and he looked round. A murmur of assent rose from the
knights and nobles, and the king continued: “I thought you vain and
presumptuous in undertaking the assault of a fort held by an equal
number, many of whom are well accustomed to war, while the lads who
followed you were all untrained in strife, but you have proved that
your confidence in yourself was not misplaced. The Earl of Talbot has
adjudged you victor, and none can doubt what the end of the strife would
have been. Take this chain from your king, who is glad to see that his
citizens of London are able to hold their own even against those of our
court, than whom we may say no braver exist in Europe. Kneel now to the
queen of the tourney, who will bestow upon you the chaplet which you
have so worthily earned.”
Walter bent his knee before Edith Vernon. She rose to her feet, and with
an air of pretty dignity, placed a chaplet of laurel leaves, wrought in
gold and clasped with a valuable ruby, on his head.
“I present to you,” she said, “the chaplet of victory, and am proud that
my gage should have been worn by one who has borne himself so bravely
and well. May a like success rest on all your undertakings, and may you
prove a good and valiant knight!”
“Well said, Mistress Edith,” Queen Philippa said smiling. “You may well
be proud of your young champion. I too must have my gift,” and drawing a
ring set with brilliants from her finger she placed it in Walter's hand.
The lad now rose to his feet. “The prince my son,” the king said, “has
promised that you shall ride with his men-at-arms when he is old enough
to take the field. Should you choose to abandon your craft and do so
earlier I doubt not that one of my nobles, the brave Sir Walter Manny,
for example, will take you before that time.”
“That will I readily enough,” Sir Walter said, “and glad to have so
promising a youth beneath my banner.”
“I would that you had been of gentle blood,” the king said.
“That makes no difference, sire,” Sir Walter replied. “I will place him
among the young gentlemen, my pages and esquires, and am sure that they
will receive him as one of themselves.”
Geoffrey Ward had hitherto stood at the foot of the steps leading to
the royal pavilion, but doffing his cap he now ascended. “Pardon my
boldness, sire,” he said to the king, “but I would fain tell you
what the lad himself has hitherto been ignorant of. He is not, as he
supposes, the son of Giles Fletcher, citizen and bowmaker, but is the
lawfully born son of Sir Roland Somers, erst of Westerham and Hythe, who
was killed in the troubles at the commencement of your majesty's reign.
His wife, Dame Alice, brought the child to Giles Fletcher, whose wife
had been her nurse, and dying left him in her care. Giles and his wife,
if called for, can vouch for the truth of this, and can give you proofs
of his birth.”
Walter listened with astonishment to Geoffrey's speech. A thrill of
pleasure rushed through his veins as he learned that he was of gentle
blood and might hope to aspire to a place among the knights of King
Edward's court. He understood now the pains which Geoffrey had bestowed
in seeing that he was perfected in warlike exercises, and why both he
and Giles had encouraged rather than repressed his love for martial
exercises and his determination to abandon his craft and become a
man-at-arms when he reached man's estate.
“Ah is it so?” the king exclaimed. “I remember Sir Roland Somers, and
also that he was slain by Sir Hugh Spencer, who, as I heard on many
hands, acted rather on a private quarrel than, as he alleged, in my
interest, and there were many who avowed that the charges brought
against Sir Roland were unfounded. However, this matter must be inquired
into, and my High Justiciar shall see Master Giles and his wife, hear
their evidence, and examine the proofs which they may bring forward.
As to the estates, they were granted to Sir Jasper Vernon and cannot
be restored. Nevertheless I doubt not that the youth will carve out for
himself a fortune with his sword. You are his master, I suppose? I would
fain pay you to cancel his apprenticeship. Sir Walter Manny has promised
to enroll him among his esquires.”
“I will cancel his indentures willingly, my liege,” the armourer
answered, “and that without payment. The lad has been to me as a son,
and seeing his high spirit, and knowing the gentle blood running in his
veins, I have done my best so to teach him and so to put him in the way
of winning back his father's rank by his sword.”
“He hath gone far towards it already,” the king said, “and methinks
may yet gain some share in his father's inheritance,” and he glanced
at little Mistress Edith Vernon and then smiled at the queen. “Well,
we shall see,” he went on. “Under Sir Walter Manny he will have brave
chances of distinguishing himself, and when my son takes the field he
shall ride with him. But I am keeping the hosts waiting. Bring hither,”
he said to Earl Talbot, “Clarence Aylmer.”
The young noble was led up to the king. “You have done well, Clarence;
though you have been worsted you fought bravely, but you were deceived
by a ruse which might have taken in a more experienced captain. I trust
that you will be friends with your adversary, who will be known to you
henceforth as Walter Somers, son of Sir Roland of that name, and who
will ride to the wars, whither you also are shortly bound, under the
standard of Sir Walter Manny.”
The cloud which had hung over the face of the young noble cleared. It
had indeed been a bitter mortification to him that he, the son of one
of the proudest of English nobles, should have been worsted by a London
apprentice, and it was a relief to him to find that his opponent was one
of knightly blood. He turned frankly to Walter and held out his hand.
“I greet you as a comrade, sir,” he said, “and hope some day that in our
rivalry in the field I may do better than I have done today.”
“That is well spoken,” the king said. Then he rose and in a loud voice
addressed the combatants, saying, that all had borne themselves well and
bravely, and that he thanked them, not only for the rare pastime which
they had made, but for the courage and boldness which had been displayed
on both sides. So saying, he waved his hand as a token that the
proceedings were ended, and returned with the court to Westminster;
while the crowd of spectators overflowed the lists, those who had
friends in the apprentice array being anxious to know how they had
fared. That evening there was a banquet given by the lord-mayor.
Walter was invited to be present, with Giles and Geoffrey, and many
complimentary things were said to him, and he was congratulated on the
prospects which awaited him. After dinner all the 'prentices who had
taken part in the sports filed through the hall and were each presented
with a gold piece by the lord-mayor, in the name of the corporation, for
having so nobly sustained the renown of the city.
After the entertainment was over Walter returned with Geoffrey to the
bowyer's house, and there heard from his two friends and Bertha the
details of his mother's life from the time that she had been a child,
and the story of her arrival with him, and her death. He had still
difficulty in believing that it was all true, that Giles and Bertha,
whom he had so long regarded as father and mother, were only his kind
guardians, and that he was the scion of two noble families. Very warmly
and gratefully he thanked his three friends for the kindness which they
had shown to him, and vowed that no change of condition should ever
alter his feelings of affection towards them. It was not until the late
hour of nine o'clock that he said goodbye to his foster parents, for he
was next day to repair to the lodging of Sir Walter Manny, who was to
sail again before the week was out for the Low Countries, from which he
had only returned for a few days to have private converse with the king
on the state of matters there. His friends would have delivered to him
his mother's ring and other tokens which she had left, but thought it
better to keep these, with the other proofs of his birth, until his
claim was established to the satisfaction of the lord justiciaries.
The next morning early, when Walter descended the stairs, he found Ralph
Smith waiting for him. His face was strapped up with plaster and he wore
his arm in a sling, for his armour had been twice cut through as he led
his party in through the sally-port.
“How goes it with you, Ralph?” Walter said. “Not much the worse, I hope,
for your hard knocks?”
“Not a whit,” Ralph replied cheerfully, “and I shall be all right again
before the week is out; but the leech made as much fuss over me as if I
had been a girl, just as though one was not accustomed to hard knocks in
a smithy. Those I got yesterday were not half so hard as that which you
gave me the day before. My head rings yet with the thought of it. But I
have not come to talk about myself. Is the story true which they tell of
you, Master Walter, that you are not the son of Giles the bowyer, but of
a great noble?”
“Not of a great noble, Ralph, but of a gallant knight, which is just
as good. My father was killed when I was three years old, and my mother
brought me to Bertha, the wife of Giles the bowyer, who had been her
nurse in childhood. I had forgotten all that had passed, and deemed
myself the son of the good citizen, but since I have heard the truth my
memory has awakened somewhat, and I have a dim recollection of a lordly
castle and of my father and mother.”
“And they say, Walter, that you are going with Sir Walter Manny, with
the force which is just sailing to the assistance of Lady De Montford.”
“That is so, Ralph, and the good knight has taken me among his esquires,
young as I am, although I might well have looked for nothing better than
to commence, for two years at least, as a page, seeing that I am but
eighteen now. Now I shall ride with him into the battles and shall have
as good a chance as the others of gaining honour and winning my spurs.”
“I have made up my mind that I will go with you, Master Walter, if you
will take me; each squire has a man-at-arms who serves him, and I will
give you good and faithful service if you will take me with you. I spoke
to the smith, my master, last night when I heard the news, and as my
apprenticeship is out next week he was willing enough to give me the
few days which remain. Once out of my apprenticeship I may count to be
a man, and seeing that I am nineteen, and as I may say well grown of
my years, methinks I am fit for service as a man-at-arms, and I would
rather fight behind you than labour all my life in the smithy.”
“I shall be glad indeed, Ralph, to have you with me if such be really
your wish, and I do not think that Sir Walter Manny will say nay, for
they have been beating up for recruits through the kingdom, and we
proved yesterday that you have courage as well as strength. If he will
consent I should be glad indeed to have so brave a comrade with me, so
we may consider that settled, and if you will come down to Westminster,
to Sir Walter Manny's lodging, this afternoon, I will tell you what he
says touching the matter. You will, of course, need arms and armour.”
“I can provide that,” Ralph replied, “seeing that his worshipful the
lord-mayor bestowed upon me yesterday five gold pieces as the second in
command in the sports. I have already a steel cap and breast and back
pieces, which I have made for myself in hours of leisure, and warrant
will stand as hard a knock as the Frenchmen can give them.”
Going across into the city with Geoffrey, Walter purchased, with the
contents of the purse which the king had given him, the garments suited
for his new position. He was fortunate in obtaining some which fitted
him exactly. These had been made for a young esquire of the Earl of
Salisbury; but the tailor, when he heard from Geoffrey for whom they
were required, and the need for instant despatch, parted with them to
Walter, saying that he for whom they were made could well wait a few
days, and that he would set his journeymen to work at once to make some
more of similar fit and fashion.
Walter felt strange in his new attire, and by no means relished the
tightness of the garments, which was strictly demanded by the fashion of
the day. His long hose, one of which was of a deep maroon, the other
a bright yellow, came far up above the knee, then came a short pair
of trunks of similar colours divided in the middle. The tight-fitting
doublet was short and circled at the waist by a buff belt mounted in
silver, and was of the same colours as the hose and trunks. On his
head was a cap, peaked in front; this was of maroon, with a short
erect feather of yellow. The long-pointed shoes matched the rest of the
costume. There were three other suits similar in fashion, but different
in colour; two like the first were of cloth, the third was of white and
blue silk, to be worn on grand occasions.
“You look a very pretty figure, Walter,” Geoffrey said, “and will be
able to hold your own among the young gallants of the court. If you lack
somewhat of courtly manners it will matter not at all, since you are
leaving so soon for the wars.
“The dress sets off your figure, which is fully two years in advance of
your age, seeing that hard work has widened you out and thickened your
muscles. I need not tell you, lad, not to be quarrelsome, for that was
never your way; but just at first your companions may try some jests
with you, as is always the manner of young men with newcomers, but take
them in a good spirit and be sure that, seeing the strength of arm and
skill which you showed yesterday and the day before, none will care to
push matters with you unduly.”
One of the journeymen accompanied Walter to Westminster to carry up from
the boat the valise with his clothes and the armour which he had worn
in the sports. Sir Walter received the lad with much kindness and
introduced him to his future companions. They were five in number;
the eldest was a man of some thirty years old, a Hainaulter, who had
accompanied Sir Walter Manny to England at the time when the latter
first came over as a young squire in the suite of the Princess Philippa.
He was devotedly attached to the knight, his master, and although he
might several times have received the rank of knighthood for his bravery
in the field, he preferred remaining in his position as esquire and
faithful friend of his master.
The other four were between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one, and all
belonged to the families of the highest nobility of England, it being
deemed a distinguished honour to be received as a squire by the most
gallant knight at the court of England. Their duties were, as Walter
soon learned, almost nominal, these being discharged almost exclusively
by John Mervaux. Two of the young esquires, Richard Coningsby and Edward
Clifford, had fought in the melee, having been among the ten leaders
under Clarence Aylmer. They bore no malice for the defeat, but received
Walter with cordiality and kindness, as did the other young men. Walter
on his arrival acquainted the knight with Ralph's wish to follow him,
and requested permission for him to do so. This was readily granted,
Sir Walter Manny telling the lad that although esquires were supposed
to wait entirely upon themselves, to groom their horses, and keep their
armour and arms bright and in good order, yet, in point of fact, young
men of good families had the greater part of these duties performed for
them by a retainer who rode in the ranks of their master's following as
a man-at-arms.
“The other esquires have each one of their father's retainers with them,
and I am glad that you should be in the same position. After you have
taken your midday meal you had best go across to the Earl of Talbot's
and inquire for the Lady Vernon, who is still staying with him. She told
me at the king's ball last night that she wished to have speech with
you, and I promised to acquaint you with her desire. By the way, dost
know aught of riding?”
“I have learnt to sit on a horse, Sir Walter,” the lad answered. “My
good friend Geoffrey, the armourer, advised that I should learn, and
frequently hired from the horse-dealer an animal for my use. I have
often backed half-broken horses which were brought up by graziers from
Kent and Sussex for use in the wars. Many of them abode at the hostels
at Southwark, and willingly enough granted me permission to ride their
horses until they were sold. Thus I have had a good deal of practice,
and that of a rough kind; and seeing that latterly the horses have, for
the most part, found it difficult to fling me when sitting barebacked
across them, I think I could keep my seat in the high-peaked saddles on
the most vicious, but I have had no practice at tilting, or at the ring,
or other knightly exercises.”
“That matters not at all,” the knight said. “All these knightly
exercises which you speak of are good in time of peace, for they give
proficiency and steadiness, but in time of war he who can sit firmly
in his saddle and wield sword and battle-axe lustily and skillfully is
equal to the best; but never fear, when this expedition is over, and we
have time for such things, I will see that you are instructed in them.
One who has achieved so much martial skill as you have done at so early
an age will have little difficulty in acquiring what may be termed the
pastime of chivalry.”
Ralph arrived just as Walter was setting out. The latter presented
him to the knight, who spoke with praise of the gallantry which he had
displayed on the previous day, and then handed him over to John Mervaux,
with instructions to enroll him as a man-at-arms among his followers, to
inform him of his duties, and to place him with those who attended upon
the other esquires.
After seeing Ralph disposed of, Walter went across to the Earl of Talbot
and was again conducted to the presence of Dame Vernon.
“You have changed since we met last, young sir,” she said with a smile,
“though it is but a month since. Then you were a 'prentice boy, now you
are an esquire of Sir Walter Manny, and on the highway to distinction.
That you will win it I am well assured, since one who risked his life to
rescue a woman and child whose very names were unknown to him is sure to
turn out a noble and valiant knight. I little thought when my daughter
called you her knight, that in so short a time you might become an
aspirant to that honour. I hope that you do not look askance at us,
now that you know I am in possession of the lands of your parents. Such
changes of land, you know, often occur, but now I know who you are, I
would that the estates bestowed upon Sir Jasper had belonged to some
other than you; however, I trust that you will hold no grudge against
us, and that you may win as fair an estate by the strength of your arm
and the king's favour.”
“Assuredly I feel no grudge, madam,” Walter replied, “and since the
lands were forfeited, am pleased that of all people they should have
gone to one so kind and so fair as yourself.”
“What, learning to be a flatterer already!” Dame Vernon laughed. “You
are coming on fast, and I predict great things from you. And now, Edith,
lay aside that sampler you are pretending to be so busy upon and speak
to this knight of yours.”
Edith laid down her work and came forward. She was no longer the
dignified little queen of the tournament, but a laughing, bright-faced
girl.
“I don't see that you are changed,” she said, “except in your dress. You
speak softly and naturally, just as you used to do, and not a bit like
those little court fops, Uncle Talbot's pages. I am afraid you will
not want to be my knight any more, now that you are going to get great
honours at the war; for I heard my Uncle Talbot tell my lady mother that
he was sure you would gain great credit for yourself.”
“I shall be always your knight,” Walter said earnestly; “I told you I
should, and I never break my word. That is,” he went on, colouring, “if
Dame Vernon makes no objection, as she well might.”
“If I did not object before, Walter,” she said smiling, “why should I do
so now?”
“It is different, my lady; before, it was somewhat of a jest, a sort
of childish play on the part of Mistress Edith, though so far as I was
concerned it was no play, but sober earnest.
“It needs no permission from me,” Dame Vernon replied, “for you to wear
my daughter's colours. Any knight may proclaim any lady he chooses the
mistress of his heart, and a reigning beauty will often have a dozen
young knights who wear her colours. However, I am well content that one
who has done me such great service and who has shown such high promise
should be the first to wear the gage of my little daughter, and if in
after years your life fulfils the promise of your youth, and you remain
true to her gage, there is none among all the youths of the court whom
I would so gladly see at her feet. Remember,” she said, as Walter was
about to speak, “her hand will not be at my disposal, but at that of the
king. His majesty is wont to bestow the hands of his wards upon those
who most distinguish themselves in the field. You have already attracted
his royal attention and commendation. Under Sir Walter Manny you will be
sure of opportunities of distinguishing yourself, and the king may well
be glad some day at once to reward your services and to repair a cruel
injustice by bestowing upon you the hand of the heiress of your father's
lands. If I mistake not, such a thought has even now crossed his
majesty's mind, unless I misinterpreted a glance which yesterday passed
between him and our sweet queen. I need not tell you to speak of your
hopes to none, but let them spur you to higher exertions and nobler
efforts. Loving my little Edith as I do, I naturally consider the prize
to be a high one. I have often been troubled by the thought that her
hand may be some day given to one by years or temper unsuited for
her, and it will be a pleasure to me henceforth to picture her future
connected with one who is, I am sure, by heart and nature fitted for
her. And now, farewell, young sir. May God protect you in the field, and
may you carry in the battle which awaits you the gage of my daughter as
fairly and successfully as you did in the mimic fray of yesterday!”