By
_THOMAS A. H. MAWHINNEY_
THE SWORD OF THE HOUSE OF DE MARILLAC
ENGLISH OAK AND SPANISH GOLD
[Illustration: The Lance Was Almost Torn From His Grasp]
THE MESSENGER
OF THE
BLACK PRINCE
By
THOMAS A. H. MAWHINNEY
Illustrated by
Manning deV. Lee
THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1928
COPYRIGHT 1928
BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Made in the U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The King’s Fool 7
II. I Am Attacked in the Woods 22
III. A Visitor in the Night 31
IV. A Trickster 36
V. What I Learned in the Woods 48
VI. We Hunt the Wild Boar 59
VII. The Black Prince 69
VIII. The Silver-Hafted Dagger 82
IX. A Solitary House in the Woods 91
X. The Highwayman of Tours 107
XI. I Find a Companion 117
XII. The Three Crows Inn 123
XIII. The Silver-Hafted Dagger 133
XIV. Pursued 141
XV. The Scrivener Disappears 150
XVI. The Scrivener Turns Traitor 162
XVII. On the Highway 172
XVIII. Escape! 183
XIX. On the Island 190
XX. No Man’s Land 198
XXI. The Defense of the Cave 206
XXII. Trapped! 227
XXIII. The Fight in the Inn 239
XXIV. Besieged 247
XXV. Friends and Enemies 257
XXVI. The Abbot of Chalonnes 270
XXVII. The Black Prince Again 283
XXVIII. Victory ... and Home 292
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Lance Was Almost Torn From His Grasp _Frontispiece_
The Arrow Struck With a Click 78
They Came Into View From Among the Thick Trunks 146
His Countenance Was Black With Anger 218
The Messenger of the Black Prince
CHAPTER I
THE KING’S FOOL
I remember the beginning of it as though it were yesterday. My brother
André had sent me to the armorer’s to have some broken links mended in
his gear. I was standing near the forge watching Le Brun send the sparks
flying from his anvil and marveling with what strength and ease he was
able to turn the stubborn bits of steel, when a man appeared at the door
and with a smile bid us the time of day. There is nothing strange in
that, to be sure. But yet the manner of his saying it struck us both,
for his tone held a kind of sharpness as of mockery. I looked around
quickly. Le Brun eased off the stroke as it came down. With a scowl upon
his brow he leaned his weight upon the hammer. His big chest heaved as
he glared towards the door.
“I agree, stranger,” he said. “It is a fair day.” He waved with his
hand. “You will find the inn about half a league further down the road.”
It was a strong hint for the man to be on his way, but he took no more
notice of it than if Le Brun were a child. Three quick steps and he was
beside the bellows with the smile broader than before.
“Do I look like a man who could eat in an inn?” he demanded. At the same
time he pointed to his clothes which were indeed only rags. He took the
soiled cap from his head and threw it on the floor. Then, without a word
he placed the palm of his hand upon it and turned the swiftest
somersault that you could imagine. When he was standing upright again,
he gazed into our faces with an expression as though he had performed
the cleverest trick in the world.
“Look here!” growled the armorer with a frown. “You were here yesterday.
I gave you a piece of silver to get rid of you. You are back again. Do
you think——”
The fellow threw his hand in the air.
“Of course I am back again,” he cried. “Is it a crime for me to want to
pay my debt?” With that he fumbled in the lining of his coat and brought
forth a shining piece of gold. “There!” he called, flinging it on the
anvil till it rang. “You have three times and more the sum you gave me!”
The slow-witted Le Brun looked at me and I at him. Both of us were
sorely puzzled. The armorer shook his head.
“A beggar one day—a rich man the next,” he began. “There is but one
conclusion——”
“Ah!” interrupted the other. “Do not say the word. It is ugly and I’d
rather say it for you. The long and short of it is that you take me for
a thief.”
“Gold doesn’t grow on trees,” remarked Le Brun darkly. “Listen, sir
stranger,” he said advancing a step, “have you no honest calling?”
I thought the fellow would flare into a rage, but to my surprise he
threw back his head and laughed a long trilling laugh almost like the
song of a bird. When he ceased, he laid his palms on his hips and bowed
mockingly at us.
“I told you yesterday that I was a fool,” he said. “I am the same
today—a king’s fool. Look!” He put his hand into his coat again and drew
out a silly-looking cap, which he placed over one ear, and a bauble with
tiny bells. He shook it with the glee of a child. The more it tinkled,
the broader grew his grin. As though he was actually captivated by the
sound, he began to caper about and finally struck into a quickly moving
dance.
He stopped as suddenly as he began. Then he bowed once more.
“Now,” he exclaimed, “can you tell me, sirs, where I can find a
position?”
“—as a fool?” I asked with a smile.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Why,” I replied, “by what I have seen you are clever enough to amuse
the King of France himself.”
He jerked his head around and shot a look at me. For one second I saw a
flash of hate and anger. In the next a wise smile curled about his
mouth.
“Strange words,” he muttered and repeated it. “Strange words to fall
from the lips of a Norman lad. Have you all grown so weak? There was a
time when the gentry of Normandy thought the only way to amuse the King
of France was with spears and swords and battle-axes, not with such toys
as these.”
He spoke slowly and with a half smile, but under it lay a sting that cut
me to the bone. I cast a sidelong glance at Le Brun who stood scowling
as black as night, but withal puzzled. He was no good hand at solving of
riddles nor in the sifting of double meaning statements. His way was
with a cuff or blow, and there an end to it.
“Is this a jest, sir Fool?” I asked. “Would you have the Norman barons
arm themselves and fight when there is no need for it?”
For a reply all that he did was to break into a long low whistle and
toss the bauble into the air. When it came down, he caught it with great
deftness and twirled it about in his fingers. Then he shrugged his
shoulders.
“There was a meeting at Rouen——” he said and curled his brows, as though
I ought to understand the rest.
“I know that,” I replied quickly. “There was a meeting of the Norman
barons at Rouen——” Here I stopped and eyed him closely. “Such things
were better left to themselves. For all I know, sir Fool, to give you a
short answer, I may even be talking to a King’s spy.”
The man tossed his head to one side and uttered a little painful laugh.
“The Black Prince of England,” he went on as though he would brush my
objection aside, “has left Bordeaux. He is ranging along the western
coast of France. There is no one to oppose him. Not a soldier of the
King is within a hundred leagues. He is toppling over one castle after
the other——Suppose,” he said closing one eye and looking at me
cunningly, “the King of France were to rush towards the west to destroy
him? Would any of you Normans come to his aid?”
It was a question far too deep for my boyish brain. Besides I knew that
silence was the beginning of caution, so I flung my hand in the air as
though the affair were of no importance to me.
“From what I have heard,” I said, “the Black Prince is well able to care
for himself.”
I saw an expression of contempt gather on his face.
“The meeting at Rouen was a blow to your country,” the man went on with
more perseverance than ever. “A good dozen of your finest blood lost
their lives. It’s a good thing,” he added with biting scorn, “that you
were not there yourself!”
I was growing angry.
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because,” he replied with cutting deliberation, “you would not have had
the courage to raise an arm in your own defence!”
The hot blood stole slowly to my neck and face. I saw out of the corner
of my eye that the armorer was rolling his sleeves up over his elbows,
while one hand reached out for the hammer that lay alongside the anvil.
“Have you come here to pick a quarrel?” I demanded.
“As you wish,” he said and spat derisively upon the ground.
It was a challenge flung into my teeth. I was but a lad, of course, but
for all that of big bone and strong from the life which I had lived in
the open. My opponent was a man full grown and, from what I had just
seen, as quick and slippery in his actions as an eel. For the moment in
my wrath I took little heed of these things but knotted my fists
together and advanced towards him.
I thought that if I could strike the first blow I could settle him once
for all and so end his insolence. With a lunge that ought to have
carried him off his feet I made at him. To my surprise I beat only into
the empty air. The fellow had slipped to the one side with a light
gliding motion that for quickness fairly took my breath away. Then, to
add fire to my discomfiture, he calmly placed his hands flat upon his
hips and stood smiling at me.
“A Norman calf!” he cried. “If the rest of your race can fight no better
than that, it is no wonder that the King of France will soon devour
you!”
I made no answer. The taunt struck me with the sharpness of a knife. If
I was full of wrath before, I was boiling with anger now. I steadied
myself on the balls of my feet and looked the fellow in the eye. Then,
with greater quickness than at first, I rushed again upon him. But he
was ready, even more than I had expected. Instead of leaping to the
side, he jumped back and, as I came towards him, struck me a sharp blow
on the face with his open hand.
By this time I was fighting mad, but rather at my own bungling than at
his adroitness. I would have given my right arm to have caught him a
single stunning crash. I plunged forward, reckless and determined to the
last degree. Now he slipped past me so close that I was able to touch
the sleeve of his coat. Again his hot breath touched my face. He came in
so near that he gave my arm a twist. But with all my effort I could not
lay a finger on him. It was like a game—a contest with speed on one side
and strength on the other——
“Henri!”
It was Le Brun’s voice coming like a warning. I knew I had to be on the
alert. But before I realized what my opponent was about, he had caught
me by sliding his arm entirely under mine. I felt a twang run across my
shoulder as though it was being wrenched from the socket. My feet loosed
themselves from the ground and in the next second I was rolling over
towards the anvil of the armorer.
But I was not entirely gone. With a kind of instinct I extended my hand
to grasp whatever might save me from utter humiliation. It was mere
luck, I know, but even at that I had to grit my teeth and hang on with
what strength was still in me. My fist was closing around the Fool’s
wrist and the surer I was of myself, the harder I held on. A sudden jerk
brought him slightly towards me. A hard steady pull bent him still
further. With a twist I threw myself with my back upon the ground. I had
two hands free now and I wrapped both around his wrist with the sureness
of a vise. He struggled like an animal taken in a trap. With the fingers
of his free hand he tried to pry my grip loose. He twisted and squirmed.
He dug his nails into my flesh. He jumped from one position to another.
He pretended to fall towards me and then with his arms relaxed sprang
suddenly back again. But I clung to him as though it were my only hope
for life until his tugs and pulls spent themselves and I grew the more
confident of victory.
His breath was getting shorter and a paleness overspread his face. It
was now or never for me, so with one firm effort I drew him steadily
down until his face was near mine and his feet kept tapping at my ribs.
Then, he fell. His whole body covered mine. His knees dug into my
stomach and the crook of his elbow fastened itself in my throat.
For a moment I feared I would choke. I had to let go his wrist with one
hand to clear myself of his weight. As soon as I had shoved him away, I
reached out to grasp him by the throat if I could, but in the same
moment I felt him clutching at mine.
We were struggling with every sinew, each for the mastery. With a
quickness that I might have been expecting, my opponent gave one final
lurch. It was an effort that wrenched free the hand which I held in my
grip. I tried again and again to clutch it, but I succeeded only in
closing my fist in the air. I caught his body between my knees in the
hope that I could squeeze the breath out of him. I squirmed this way and
that. Now I had his arm or his wrist between my fingers, but before I
was sure of myself he had twisted out of danger. We rolled over locked
together like tangled pieces of twine, but with every rolling it was he,
because of his adroitness, who came uppermost and it was I who was prone
upon my back upon the ground.
At last the end came. By a piece of mere chance I had slid my arm
forward with its entire length under his. Then with a twist of my wrist
I laid my hand around his throat. His shoulder was like the resting
place of a lever. I began to press steadily. His chin went back and his
eyes turned upwards. A little more and his mouth opened showing a row of
even white teeth. I was on the verge of tossing him from me when he
squirmed once more, this time to the one side. He slid from out the vise
that was closing in on him and almost with the same effort sprang
quickly to his feet.
I jumped up of course, for I thought the conflict but begun when he
raised his hand as though to tell me that he had enough and between the
heavings of his breath called in a shaking voice, “I did not come here
to fight!”
I almost laughed in his face.
“Why, then, did you come?” demanded Le Brun with a growl.
“I came to make friends!” was the answer.
“——to make friends?” I echoed. “Do you think a man makes friends through
jibes and insults?”
By this time both of us had somewhat recovered our breath. In the most
serious manner imaginable he threw his hands apart and looked from the
armorer to me.
“It’s an unfortunate habit I have,” he exclaimed. “It lies in my
disposition to dig to the bottom of things—to prod people till they
squirm.”
“Some day,” said I by way of admonishment, “you’ll prod the wrong
person. In such dangerous times as these, when everyone is the other’s
enemy, it’ll likely cost you your life.”
He paid no more heed to me than if I had not spoken. As though he was
aroused by a sudden curiosity, he half closed his eyes and made a mental
measurement of me as I have often seen a buyer measure a horse. He took
a step or two to the rear. He circled around me. I saw his lips move as
though he was noting this or that to himself. Then, with the same ease
and confidence as though we had been life-long friends, he came up to me
and laid his fingers on the upper part of my arm.
“All brawn,” he said. “Tough. Great endurance, but a trifle slow in
action.” And with a smile of satisfaction he clapped me heartily on the
shoulder. “Can you fight?” he demanded.
I wrinkled my brows.
“I held my own with you, didn’t I?” I asked.
“Na. Na. Lad. Not that,” he said. “That was no fight. It was only a
little rolling in the dirt. What I mean is this: Are you good with a
sword, an ax or a dagger?”
“Well,” I answered slyly, “a bit ago you made an accusation. You
upbraided me for being a Norman.”
His head came up with a jerk and the fire flashed from his black eyes.
“That was only a bit of my prodding,” he replied quickly. “I wanted to
stir you up. Oh,” he cried when I looked questioningly at him, “you’ll
all need stirring up. What skill you have in the handling of weapons
will soon be sorely useful. Can’t you realize that the King of France is
watching you like a cat watches a mouse?”
“I know,” I answered rather downcast, “he would like to add our
territories to his own.”
By this time the armorer had returned to his forge. His great hairy arm
lay along the shaft of the bellows. The sparks from the coals of peat
flew like tiny shooting-stars towards the rafters. He was like a great
ox, patient and plodding, that did not realize its strength.
“You are too much like him,” came the answer as the Fool pointed to Le
Brun, “—powerful, but not far-sighted. What you ought to have is a bit
of cunning to match your wits against your foes.”
I said not a word for I did not know exactly what he was driving at.
With a toss of my head I ambled slowly towards the door. The Fool went
with me talking and jabbering at my elbow. When we came to the
threshold, he slid his body carefully along the wall and like a thief
peered up and down the road with more than usual circumspection. Then as
though he was thoroughly alarmed he spun about and took me anxiously by
the arm.
“You won’t say that I have been here, will you?” he begged.
“Why,” I laughed, “as far as that goes I shall forget all about you
within an hour.”
The expression on his face fell. He looked at me as though I had dealt
him a terrible blow.
“No you won’t,” he exclaimed. “The fact is that you’ll remember me till
your dying day. You’ll tell your children about me long after I’m dead.”
Here he seized my arm again even more firmly than before. “I must be
off,” he cried. “And you won’t forget, will you? Never breathe to a soul
that I’ve been here!”
I was puzzled but yet more amused. I was sure that it was some whim or
other that had taken hold of his fancy. So to flatter him I promised
that his presence here would never be mentioned. With that he seemed
pleased and with a skip and a hop he made his way around to the back of
the forge where he was quickly lost among the trees.
To satisfy my own curiosity I gazed a long time up and down the road.
There was nothing as far as I could see that could have given him cause
for alarm. The whole highway was as void as a desert save that on the
brow of the hill, like a speck in the sky, there came riding towards us
a solitary horseman, booted and spurred, in all likelihood a guest for
the village inn for the night. At most he was only a passing stranger
like hundreds of others. I smiled at myself that I had taken the Fool so
seriously. I went back to have my laugh out with Le Brun and to wait for
my brother’s gear.