Three sides are sure inbarred with craggs and hills,
The rest is easy, scarce to rise espy'd;
But mighty bulwarks fence the plainer part:
So art helps nature, nature strengtheneth art.--Fairfax.
Sir knight, if knight thou be,
Abandon this forestalled place as erst,
For fear of farther harm.--Fairy Queen.
It may well be supposed, that under the circumstances in which we last
left Sir Osborne, his feelings could not be of the most tranquil or
gratifying nature, when, after having heard all that passed upon deck,
he distinguished the steps of the officer sent to arrest him coming
down the ladder. Longpole, for his part, looked very much as if he
would have liked to display cold iron upon the occasion; but the
knight made him a sign to forbear, and in a moment after, a gentleman
splendidly dressed, as one high in military command, entered the
cabin, followed by two or three armed attendants.
"Well, sir," said the knight, not very well distinguishing the
stranger's features by the light in which he stood, "I suppose----"
But he had not time to finish his sentence, for the officer grasped
him heartily by the hand, exclaiming, "Now heaven bless us! Lord
Darnley, my dear fellow in arms! how goes it with you these two
years?"
"Excellent well, good Sir Henry Talbot," replied the knight, frankly
shaking the hand of his old companion. "But say, does your business
lie with me?"
"No, no, good faith!" replied Sir Henry; "I came upon a very different
errand. Since I was with Sir Thomas Peechy and yourself in Flanders,
by my good Lord Surrey's favour I have obtained the command of one of
the king's great ships, and as I lay last night off the mouth of the
river, a pursuivant came down from London, with orders to stop every
vessel that I saw, and search for a traitor who is endeavouring to
make his escape to the Continent."
The knight's cheek burned, and for a moment he hesitated whether to
avow himself at once, and repel the opprobrious epithet thus attached
to the name he had assumed, and under which, he felt full sure, he had
never merited aught but honour. A moment's thought, however, showed
him the madness of such a proceeding, and he replied, "I believe you
will find no greater traitor here, Sir Henry, than myself."
The officer smiled. "If that be the case," replied he, "I may as well
row back to the ship. Perhaps he may be in the other vessel that
lies-to there, about a mile to windward. But come, Darnley, leave this
filthy Dutch tub, come with me aboard, and after we have searched the
other, I will land you in any port to which you are going, if it be
between Middlebourg and Boulogne."
Although the knight did not feel himself bound, even by the most
chivalrous principles of honour, to betray his own secret to Sir Henry
Talbot, yet he did not consider himself at liberty to take advantage
of his offer, and thus make one of the king's own ships the means of
conveying him away from pursuit. He therefore replied, that as he was
going to Dunkirk in some haste, and the Dutchman was steering straight
thither, he thought it would be best to proceed without changing his
ship, though he felt extremely obliged by the offer.
The officer received his excuses in good part, and bidding him
farewell with many hearty wishes for his future prosperity, he mounted
again to the deck, called his men together, abused the Dutchman
vigorously for a few minutes, and getting into the boat, rowed away
for his own vessel.
It is hardly necessary here to inform the reader, that the distinction
which at present exists between the naval and military services has
not been known above a hundred and fifty years; and that,
consequently, the fact of Sir Henry Talbot's having distinguished
himself on land, so far from being a disqualification, was one of the
highest recommendations to him in the sea service! Vonderbrugius takes
no notice of the circumstance, as probably the same practice existed
in his time, although the latest instance that I can call to mind is
that of General Monk, who, after having lived on land all his life,
grew amphibious at the age of fifty.
However that may be, deceiving himself as we have seen, Sir Henry
Talbot left the young knight to meditate over the conduct of Wolsey,
who would indeed have committed an egregious piece of folly in sending
to arrest him by the name of Sir Osborne Maurice alone, if he had
known him to be Lord Darnley, as Sir Osborne thought. Attributing it,
however, to one of those accidental omissions which often disconcert
the best-arranged proceedings, the knight was congratulating himself
on his good fortune, when Master Skippenhausen descended to offer his
felicitations also, exclaiming, "My Cot! where did you hide yourself?
Under that pile of hammocks, I'll warrant."
"No, you man of salt herrings! No, you cousin-german to a tub of
butter!" exclaimed Longpole, whose indignation at the captain for
having by his delay of the night before put them in such jeopardy now
broke forth irresistibly. "No, you dyke-begotten son of a swamp and a
canal! If it had not been for you we should never have run any risk,
and don't flatter yourself that either you or your dirty hammocks
either had any hand in saving us."
"How did I make you run any risk, pray?" exclaimed the master. "You
would have made me and my ship run a risk if you had been found in it;
but I made you run none."
"Stockfish, you lie!" cried the custrel. "Did you not lie in the mouth
of the river all last night, when, if the blood in your veins had been
anything but muddy Dutch puddle, of the heaviest quality, you would
have had us over to Dunkirk by this time? Deny it if you dare,
Dutchman, and I will prove it upon your body, till I leave you no more
shape than one of your own cheeses."
The Dutchman bore the insolence of Longpole with all that calm
magnanimity for which his nation is famed (says Vonderbrugius).
However, Sir Osborne desired his attendant to be silent, and merely
begging Master Skippenhausen to carry them to their destination as
soon as possible, the matter ended.
It was night before they arrived at Dunkirk; and, without troubling
the reader with all the details of their disembarkation, we shall
merely beg him to look into the little hall of the Flemish inn, and
see the knight and Longpole seated at the same table, according to the
custom of the day, which we have before alluded to, while the host,
standing behind the chair of Sir Osborne, answers the various
questions which from time to time are addressed to him; and that
black-eyed, smooth-faced, dingy serving-boy, who one might swear was a
true sun of Hans Holbein, filches away the half-finished tankard of
raspis from Longpole's elbow, and supplies its place with an empty
one.
"And is Sir Albert of Koënigstein gone to Ratisbon too?" demanded Sir
Osborne, pursuing the inquiries which he was engaged in making
concerning his old comrades, amongst whom a sad dispersion had taken
place during his absence.
"Indeed I cannot tell, sir knight," replied the landlord; "but very
likely he is with the Count of Shoenvelt, at Cassel."
"What does Shoenvelt at Cassel?" asked the knight thoughtfully.
"He is collecting adventurers, they say, sir, under a commission from
the emperor," replied the host. "Some think, to go against the Moors;
but most people judge, to protect the frontier against Robert de la
Mark."
"But Koënigstein would not serve under him," said Sir Osborne,
meditating over what he heard. "He is a better captain a thousand
times, and a nobler spirit."
"Well, sir," answered the landlord, "I tell you only what I heard.
Somebody told me so, I am sure. Perhaps they command together. Boy,
give his worship another tankard; don't you see that is out?"
"Odds fish!" cried Longpole; "what! all gone? Your measures, mine
host, are not like that certain knight's purse that was no sooner
empty than full again. It seems to me they are no sooner full than
empty."
"At Cassel did you say he is?" demanded Sir Osborne.
"Not exactly at Cassel, sir knight," replied the host, glad to pass
away from the subject of the tankard; "but you know Mount St. Hubert,
about a league from Cassel. Your worship will find him there."
Sir Osborne made no reply; and, after a while, the host and his legion
cleared the table of its encumbrances, and left the knight and his
follower to pursue their own thoughts undisturbed. We can hardly
wonder that, though now free from all danger of pursuit, the heart of
the young knight was sad, and that his brow was clouded with many
melancholy imaginings. It may be said, indeed, that he was not now
worse in situation than when he was formerly in Flanders, at which
time he had been happy and cheerful; but he was far worse, inasmuch as
he had since entertained hopes and expectations which were now broken
and passed away; inasmuch as he had known scenes, and tasted joys,
that he had now lost, and which might never be his again. Every
enjoyment of the human heart is like a tree planted deeply in the
soil, which, when rooted out, leaves not the earth as it was before,
but tears it up and scatters it abroad, and makes a yearning void,
difficult to be filled again.
However, there was one thing which he had gained: an object in life.
Formerly his natural disposition, the chivalrous spirit of the age,
the ardour of high health, and the strong impulsive bias given by
early associations, had impelled him onward on the only path of renown
then open to a daring spirit. But now he had a still more inspiring
motive, a more individual incitement, to press forward to the goal of
fame. Constance de Grey was ever present to his thoughts, furnished
the spring of all his actions, and directed his every endeavour.
Renown in arms was his already; but fortune, station, he felt he must
gain at the sword's point, and he only sought a good cause wherein to
draw it.
The report that Albert of Koënigstein, his old friend and companion in
arms, had joined the adventurers which the Count of Shoenvelt was
collecting at Cassel, led him to imagine that the cause in which they
would be engaged was one that he could himself embrace with honour,
although Shoenvelt's name had not been hitherto very famous for the
better qualities of chivalry. He doubted not, also, from the high
station which he himself had filled in the armies of Burgundy, he
should easily obtain that rank and command which he was entitled to
expect amongst the troops thus assembled.
The history of the various bands of adventurers of that day offers us
some of the most curious and interesting particulars of a curious and
interesting age. These companies, totally distinct from the regular
armies of the time (if regular armies they might be called), were
generally levied by some enterprising feudal lord; and commencing,
most frequently, amongst his own vassals, afterwards swelled out into
very formidable bodies by a junction with other bands, and by the
continual accession of brave and veteran soldiers, cast upon the world
by the sovereigns they had served, when peace rendered their swords no
longer necessary. Of course, the numbers in these companies varied
very much according to circumstances, as well as their regulations and
deportment. Sometimes they consisted of thousands, sometimes of simple
tens. Sometimes, with the strictest discipline and the most
unshrinking valour, they entered into the service of kings, and
decided the fate of empires; sometimes they were little better than
roving bands of robbers, that lived by rapine and hardly acknowledged
law. Most frequently, however, in the age of which we treat, they
volunteered their support to the armies of their own sovereign or his
own allies, and often proved more active than the body they came to
aid.
However, if Theseus had played at pitch-and-toss with Ariadne's clue,
he would never have slain the Minotaur; and, therefore, we must go on
with the thread of our own story, notwithstanding a strong inclination
to pause and sport with the subject of the adventurers. Nevertheless,
thus much we will say: if our readers wish a treat, let them read the
delightful old Mémoires of Fleuranges--"_L'Aventurier_," as he calls
himself--which for simplicity, and, if I may use the term, bonhommie
of style, for curious incident and romantic adventure, is far superior
to any romance that ever was written. Many curious particulars, also,
concerning the appearance and conduct of the adventurers, may be found
in the letters of Clement Marot to Marguerite de Valois.
But to proceed. The next morning, by day-break, Sir Osborne and his
companion were once more on horseback, and on their way to Mount
Cassel, the knight having determined to learn, in the first place, the
views of Shoenvelt, and to examine the real state of his troops,
before he offered himself as a companion in the adventure. In case he
found their object such as he could not himself seek, his mind was
hardly made up whether to offer his services to the emperor, or to
Francis King of France. His old habits, indeed, tended to make him
prefer the imperial army; but, from all he had heard of the new chief
of the German confederacy, there was a sort of cold-blooded,
calculating policy in his every action, that little accorded with the
warm and chivalrous feelings of the young knight; while, at the same
time, there was in the whole conduct of Francis a noble, candid
generosity of heart: a wild, enthusiastic spirit of daring and
adventure, that wonderfully attracted Sir Osborne towards him.
Journeying on with a quick pace, Mount Cassel soon rose to the
traveller's sight, starting out of the vast plains in which it stands,
like some high spirit towering above the flat multitude.
Sweeping round its base, the knight turned his horse towards a lesser
hill, at about two miles' distance, the top of which was in that day
crowned by the castle of Shoenvelt. From the plain below, as the eye
wandered up the side of the mountain, amidst the wood and broom that
covered the rock in large masses, might be seen peeping forth wall,
and bastion, and outwork, while higher up, in zigzag lines upon the
clear background of the sky, appeared the towers and battlements of
the castle, with the tall donjon rising above them all, and the banner
of Shoenvelt, bearing sable a saltier gules, floating in the sunshine.
A broad, fair road offered itself for the travellers' horses, winding
along a narrow rocky ridge, which was the only part that, slowly
descending, joined the hill gradually to the plain. All the rest was
steep and precipitous, and too well guarded by nature to be liable to
attack; while overhanging this sole approach might be seen on every
side many a frowning defence, well prepared against any hostile
footstep. Gradually, as the road wound upwards, it grew narrower and
more narrow, confined between two high banks, commanded by the towers
of the castle, while the road itself was completely raked by the guns
of the barbican.
Sir Osborne remarked it all with a soldier's eye, looking on it as a
mechanist does on some fine piece of art, and observing the purpose of
every different part. Pressing on, however, he soon arrived at the
gate, and demanded if Sir Albert of Koënigstein was in the castle.
Though it was a time of peace, no gate was opened, and the sole
response of the soldier to whom he spoke was, "Who are you?" uttered
through the grille of the barbican. The knight gave his name, and the
man retired without making any further answer.
"This looks like precaution, Longpole," said the knight. "Methinks
they would run no great danger in letting two men pass the gate,
though they may be armed at all points."
"I suppose the custom of this castle is like the custom of a
rat-hole," replied Longpole, "to let but one in at a time. But I hope
you won't stay here, my lord. I have an invincible hatred at being
built up. As much of the camp and fair field as you like, but Lord
deliver me from stone and mortar! Besides, this place smacks
marvellously of a den of free companions. Look at that fellow with the
pike on his shoulder; neither his morion nor his corslet has known
sand and the rubbing-stick since his great ancestor was drowned with
Pharaoh; and 'twas then his harness got so rusty, depend on it."
"In a Red Sea, I am afraid," said Sir Osborne. "But here comes the
janitor."
As he spoke, the guardian of the gate approached with a bunch of keys,
and soon gave the knight the means of entrance. Sir Osborne, however,
still held his bridle in, and demanded once more if Sir Albert of
Koënigstein was in the castle.
"I cannot tell you, sir," replied the soldier. "I know not the titles
of all the knights here. All I can say is, that I gave your name and
errand to my lord, who sits at table in the great hall, and that he
greets you heartily and invites you in."
At this moment a group of gentlemen appeared, coming through the gate
of the inner ballium, and Sir Osborne, not doubting that they had been
sent by the count to conduct him to the hall, saw that he could not
now avoid entering, whether the officer he sought was there or not.
Riding through the gate, then, he dismounted, and giving his horse to
Longpole, met the party he had seen advancing, the principal of whom,
with much reverence and courtesy, prayed the Sire de Darnley, on the
part of Count Shoenvelt, to enter and quaff a cup of wine with him.
Sir Osborne expressed his willingness to do so in the same strain, and
then repeated his inquiry for his friend.
"We are unhappy in not having his company," replied the gentleman;
"but I believe the count expects him here in a few days."
He was a young man who spoke, and there was a sort of flush came over
his cheek, as he announced the probable coming of Koënigstein, which
induced Sir Osborne to imagine that his report was not very correct;
and fixing his eye upon him, he merely said, "Does he?" with a slight
degree of emphasis.
"Yes, sir, he does," said the youth, colouring still more highly. "Do
you mean to say he does not?"
"Not in the least," said Sir Osborne, "as you may see by my seeking
him here; and I am sure that so gallant a squire as yourself would
never swerve from truth."
The young man bent down his eyes, and began playing with his
sword-knot, while Sir Osborne, now perfectly convinced that the whole
tale was a falsehood, followed on in silence, prepared to act
according to this opinion. In a few minutes they passed through the
portal of the keep, and entered at once into the great hall, up the
midst of which was placed a long table, surrounded by the chief of
Shoenvelt's adventurers, with various pages and varlets, serving the
meats and pouring out the wine. Round upon the walls hung the arms of
the various guests, cumbering every hook or peg that could be found;
and where these had been scanty, they were cast upon the ground behind
the owners' seats, together with saddles and bards, and other horse
caparisons; while in the corner leaned several scores of lances,
mingled amongst which were one or two knightly pennons, and many a
sheaf of arrows, jostled by the upstart weapons destined in the end to
banish them from the stage, such as hackbuts, hand-guns, and other
newly-invented fire-arms.
At the farther end of the table, digging deeply with his dagger in a
chine of wild-boar pork, which had been just placed before him, sat
the Count of Shoenvelt himself, tall, strong-limbed, and grisly, with
a long, drooping, hooked nose, depressed at the point, as if some one
had set his thumb on it, at the same time squeezing it down, and
rather twisting it on one side. This feature was flanked, if one may
use the term, by a pair of small, keen, hawk's eyes, which expressed
more active cunning than vigorous thought; while a couple of immense
ears, sticking out on each side of his head, and worn into various
irregular callosities by the pressure of his helmet, gave a singular
and brute-like appearance to his whole visage, not easy to be
described. He was dressed in a hacqueton, or close jacket of buff
leather, laced with gold, on which might be seen, especially towards
the arms, sundry daubs and stains, to the number of which he had just
added another, by dashing all the gravy over his sleeve, in his
furious hacking of the large and stubborn piece of meat before him.
This accident had called into his face not the most angelic
expression, and as he sat he would have made a good picture of an
inferior sort of devil; the whole effect being heightened by a strong
ray of light passing through a purple pane of the stained glass
window, and falling with a ghastly lustre upon his dark, ferocious
countenance.
The moment, however, that he perceived Sir Osborne, his brow was
smoothed, and rising from his seat, he advanced towards him with great
expression of joy. "My dear Lord of Darnley!" cried he, taking him in
his arms and pressing him to his bosom with a hug that the knight
would willingly have dispensed with; "welcome! a thousand times
welcome to St. Hubert's Castle! Whether you come to stay with us as a
companion, or whether you are but a passing guest, your visit is an
honour and a delight to all within these walls. Knights and
gentlemen," continued he, "pledge me all a cup to the health of the
Sire de Darnley."
To the party by whom he was surrounded, such a proposal was what
nobody felt at all inclined to reject, and consequently there was
instantly a loud rattling of cups and tankards, and no one complained
that his bowl was too full. All pledged Lord Darnley, and he could not
refuse to do them justice in a cup of wine. After which, taking the
seat that Shoenvelt assigned him by his side, the knight gazed over
the various grim and war-worn faces which were gathered round the
table, some of which he knew merely by sight, and some who, having
exchanged a word or two with him in the various reciprocations of
military service, now looked as if they claimed some mark of
recognition. Sir Osborne was not the man to reject such appeal, and he
gave the expected bow to each, though amongst them all he saw no one
who had greatly distinguished himself for those high feelings and
generous virtues that ever marked the true knight.
Many were the questions that were asked him; many the conjectures that
were propounded to him for confirmation, respecting the designs of
France and England, and of Germany; and it was some time before he
could cut them short, by informing his interrogators that he had been
for the last three months in his own country, so deeply occupied by
his private affairs that he had given no attention to the passing
politics of the day. The whole party seemed greatly disappointed,
entertaining apparently a much more violent thirst for news than even
that which is commonly to be met with in all small communities, cut
off from general information, and unoccupied by greater or better
subjects of contemplation.
As soon as the meal, which was drawing towards its end when Sir
Osborne entered, was completely concluded, Shoenvelt rose, and begged
to entertain him for a few minutes in private; which being agreed to,
he led him forth into a small space enclosed with walls, wherein the
provident chatelain had contrived to lay up, against the hour of need,
a very sufficient store of cabbages, turnips, carrots, and other
_canaille_ of the vegetable kingdom, which might be very serviceable
in case of siege. Here, walking up and down a long path that bordered
the beds, with Sir Osborne on his right, and a knight named Wilsten
(whom he had invited to the conference) on his left, Shoenvelt
addressed Lord Darnley somewhat to the following effect; generally,
while he did so, fixing his eyes upon vacancy, as a man does who
recites awkwardly a set speech, but still from time to time giving a
quick sharp glance towards the knight's countenance, to see the
impression he produced:--
"Valiant and worthy knight--ahem! ahem!" said Shoenvelt. "Every one,
whether in Germany or France, England or Spain, or even here in our
poor duchy of Burgundy--ahem! ahem! Every one, I say, has heard of
your valorous feats and courageous deeds of arms; wherefore it cannot
be matter of astonishment to you, that wherever there is a captain
who, having gathered together a few hardy troops--ahem! ahem! is
desirous of signalizing himself in the service of his
country--ahem!--wherever there is such a one, I say, you cannot be
surprised that he wishes to gain you to his aid." Here Shoenvelt gave
a glance at Wilsten, to see if he approved his proem; after which he
again proceeded:--"Now you must know, worthy knight, that I have
here in my poor castle, which is a strong one, as you may
perceive--ahem!--no less than five hundred as good spearmen as ever
crossed a horse, which I have gathered together for no mean purpose. A
purpose," he continued, mysteriously, "which, if effected, will not
only enrich all persons who contribute their aid thereto, but will
gain them the eternal thanks of our good and noble emperor--ahem!
ahem! I could say more--ahem!"
"Tonder, man! tell him all," cried Wilsten, who had served with Sir
Osborne, and had the reputation of being a brave and gallant knight,
though somewhat addicted to plunder; "or let me tell him, for your
bedevilled 'hems' take more time than it would to storm a fort. This
is the case, sir knight. A great meeting is to take place between the
King of France and the King of England at the border, and all the
nobility of France are in motion through Picardy and the frontier
provinces, covered with more gold than they ever had in their lives
before. Even Francis himself, like a mad fool, is running from
castle to castle, along the frontier, sometimes with not more than
half-a-dozen followers. Now, then, fancy what a rich picking may be
had amidst these gay French gallants; and if Francis himself were to
fall into our hands, we might command half a kingdom for his ransom."
"But I thought that the two countries were at peace," said the knight,
with a coldness of manner sufficiently marked, as he thought, to
prevent any further communication of the kind.
Wilsten, however, was not to be stopped, and replied, "Ay, a sort of
peace; a peace that is no peace on the frontiers. Don't let that
frighten you: we can prove that they were the first aggressors. Why,
did not they, less than ten days ago, attack the garrison of St.
Omers, and kill three men in trying to force the gate? Have they not
ravaged half Hainault? But, however, as I said, be not startled at
that. Shoenvelt saw the emperor about two months ago, who gave him to
understand that we could not do him a better service than either to
take Francis alive or give him a stroke with a lance. And fear not
that our plans are well laid: we have already two hundred men
scattered over the frontier; every forest, every village, has its ten
or twelve, ready to join at a moment's notice, when we sound to the
standard: two hundred more follow to-night, and Shoenvelt and I
to-morrow, in small parties, so as not to be suspected. Already we
have taken a rich burgher of Beauvais, with velvets and cloths of gold
worth a hundred thousand florins. But that is nothing: the king is our
great object, and him we shall have, unless some cursed accident
prevents it; for we do not hunt him by report only: we have our
gaze-hound upon him, who never loses sight. What think you of that,
sir knight? Count William of Firstenberg, Shoenvelt's cousin, who is
constantly with Francis, ay, and well-beloved of him, is our sworn
companion, and gives us notice of all his doings. What think you of
that, sir knight--ha?"
"I think him a most infernal villain!" cried Sir Osborne, his
indignation breaking forth in spite of his better judgment. "By
heaven! before I would colleague with such a traitor, I'd have my hand
struck off."
"Ha!" cried Shoenvelt, who had marked the knight's coldness all along,
and now burst into fury. "A traitor! Sir knight, you lie! Ho! shut the
gates there! By heaven! he will betray us, Wilsten! Call Marquard's
guard; down with him to a dungeon!" and laying his hand upon his
sword, he prepared to stop the knight, who now strode rapidly towards
the gate. "Nay, nay," cried Wilsten, holding his companion's arm.
"Remember, Shoenvelt, 'tis your own hold. He must not be hurt here;
nay, by my faith he shall not. We will find a more fitting place:
hold, I say!"
While Shoenvelt, still furious, strove to free himself from Wilsten,
Sir Osborne passed the gate of the garden, and entered the space of
the outer ballium, where Longpole had pertinaciously remained with the
two horses, as close to the barbican, the gate of which had been left
open when they entered, as possible, seeming to have had a sort of
presentiment that it might be necessary to secure possession of the
bridge.
The moment the knight appeared without any conductors, the shrewd
custrel conceived at once that something had gone wrong, sprang upon
his own horse, gave a glance round the court to see that his retreat
could not be cut off, and perceiving that almost all the soldiers were
near the inner wall, he led forward his lord's charger to meet him.
Sir Osborne had his foot in the stirrup when Shoenvelt, now broken
away from Wilsten, rushed forth from the garden, vociferating to his
men to shut the gate and to raise the drawbridge; but in a moment the
knight was in the saddle; and spurring on, with one buffet of his hand
in passing, he felled a soldier who had started forward to drop the
portcullis, and darted over the bridge.
"On to the other gate, Longpole!" cried he. "Quick! Make sure of it;"
and turning his own horse, he faced Shoenvelt, who now seeing him gone
beyond his power, stood foaming under the arch. "Count of Shoenvelt!"
cried he, drawing off his glove, "thou art a liar, a traitor, and a
villain, which, when you will, I will prove upon your body. There lies
my gage!" and casting down his gauntlet, he galloped after Longpole,
who stood with his sword drawn in a small outer gate, which had been
thrown forward even beyond the barbican.
"Up! archers, up!" cried Shoenvelt, storming with passion; "up, lazy
villains! A hundred crowns to him who sends me an arrow through his
heart. Draw! draw, slaves! Draw, I say!"
In a moment an arrow stuck in Sir Osborne's surcoat, and another
lighted on his casquet; but, luckily, as we have seen, the more easily
to carry his harness or armour, he rode completely armed, and the
missiles from the castle fell in vain.
However, lest his horse should suffer, which, not being sufficiently
covered by its bard to insure it from a chance arrow, might have been
disabled at the very moment he needed it most, the knight spurred on
as fast as possible, and having joined Longpole, descended the narrow
way by which they had mounted.
Still for some way the arrows continued to fall about them, though
with less assured aim and exhausted force; so that the only danger
that remained might be apprehended either from the guns of the castle
being fired upon them, or from Shoenvelt sending out a body of
spearmen in their pursuit. Neither of these, however, took place, the
inhabitants of the country round, and the commander of Cassel, being
too jealous and suspicious of Shoenvelt already for him to do anything
which might more particularly attract their attention; and to this
cause, and this cause only, was Sir Osborne indebted for his unpursued
escape.