The battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light.--Shakspere.
Thine is th' adventure, thine the victory;
Well has thy fortune turned the die for thee.--Dryden.
Sir Osborne immediately turned into the forest, and, rousing his
companions, called them to horse; but, however, though confessedly the
hero of our story, we must leave him for a little time and follow the
traveller we have just left upon the road.
For a considerable way he rode on musing, and if one might judge from
his countenance, his meditations were somewhat bitter; such as might
become the bosom of a king on finding the treachery of the world, the
hollowness of friendship, the impossibility of securing affection, or
any other of the cold lessons which the world will sometimes teach the
children of prosperity. At length he paused, and, looking to the
declining sun, saw the necessity of hastening his progress; whereupon,
setting spurs to his horse, he galloped along the road without much
heeding in what direction it led him, till, coming to one of those
openings called _carrefours_ by the French, where a great many roads
met, he stopped to consider his farther route. In the midst, it is
true, stood a tall post, which doubtless in days of yore pointed out
to the inquisitive eye the exact destination to which each of the
several paths tended; but old Time, who will be fingering everything
that is nice and good, from the loveliest feature of living beauty to
the grandest monument of ancient art, had not spared even so
contemptible a thing as the finger-post, but, like a great mischievous
baby, had scratched out the letters with his pocketknife, leaving no
trace of their purport visible.
The traveller rode round it in vain, then paused and listened, as if
to catch the sound of the distant hunt; but all was now silent. As a
last resource, he raised his hunting-horn to his lips, and blew a long
and repeated call; but all was hushed and still: even babbling Echo,
in pure despite, answered not a word. He blew again, and had the same
success. There was an ominous sort of quietness in the air, which,
joined with the sultriness of the evening, the expecting taciturnity
of the birds, and some dark heavy clouds that were beginning to roll
in lurid masses over the trees, gave notice of an approaching storm.
Some road he must choose, and, calculating as nearly as he could by
the position of the sun, he made his election, and spurred along it
with all speed. A dropping sound amongst the green leaves, however,
soon showed that the storm was begun, and once having commenced, it
was not slow in following up its first attack: the rain came down in
torrents, so as to render the whole scene misty, and the lightning,
followed by its instant peal of thunder, flickered on every side with
flash after flash, dazzling the traveller's sight, and scaring his
horse by gleaming across his path, while the inky clouds overhead
almost deprived them of other light. In vain he every now and then
sought some place of shelter, where the trees seemed thickest; the
verdant canopy of the leaves, though impervious to the summer sun, and
a good defence against a passing shower, were incapable of resisting a
storm like that, and wherever he turned the rain poured through in
torrents, and wet him to the skin. Galloping on, then, in despair of
finding any sufficient covering, he proceeded for nearly half-an-hour
along the forest road, before it opened into the country; and where it
did so, instead of finding any nice village to give him rest, and
shelter, and food, and fire, the horseman could distinguish nothing
but a wide, bare expanse of country, looking dismal and desolate in
the midst of the gray deluge that was falling from the sky. About
seven or eight miles farther on, he could, indeed, see faintly through
the rain the spire of some little church, giving the only sign of
human habitation; except where, to the left, in the midst of the heath
that there bordered the forest, he perceived the miserable little hut
of a charcoal-burner, with a multitude of black hillocks before the
door, and a large shed for piling up what was already prepared.
To this, then, as the nearest place of shelter, the stranger took his
way, very different in appearance from what he had been in the
morning; his rich dress soaked and soiled, his velvet hat out of all
shape or form, his high plume draggled and thin, with all the feather
adhering closely to the pen; and, in short, though still bearing the
inalienable look of gentleman, yet in as complete disarray of apparel
as the very worst wetting can produce. Without ceremony he rode up to
the door, sprang off his horse, and entered the cabin, wherein
appeared a good woman of about forty, busily piling up with fresh fuel
a fire of dry boughs, over which hung a large pot of soup for the
evening meal. The traveller's tale was soon told, and the dame readily
promised him shelter and food, in the name of her husband, who was
absent, carrying charcoal to the distant village; and seeing that the
storm was likely to last all night, he tied his horse under the shed,
placed himself by the side of the fire, aided the good woman to raise
it into a blaze, and frankly prepared to make himself as comfortable
as circumstances would permit. Well pleased with his easy good-humour,
the good dame soon grew familiar, gave him a spoon to skim the pot,
while she fetched more wood, and bade him make himself at home. In a
short time the husband himself returned, as dripping as the traveller
had been, and willingly confirmed all that his wife had promised. Only
casting himself, without ceremony, into the chair where the stranger
had been sitting--and which, by-the-way, was the only chair in the
place, all the rest of the seats being joint-stools--he addressed him
familiarly, saying, "I take this place by the fire, my good gentleman,
because it is the place where I always sit, and this chair, because it
is mine; and you know the old proverb--
"By right and by reason, whatever betide,
A man should be master by his own fireside."[17]
"Faith, you are in the right," cried the traveller, laughing; "so I
will content myself with this settle. But let us have something for
supper; for, on the word of a--knight, my ride has taught me hunger."
"Give us the soup, dame," cried the charcoal-burner. "Well I wot, sir
traveller, that you might be treated like a prince, here on the edge
of the wood, did not those vile forest laws prevent a poor man from
spearing a boar as well as a rich one. In truth, the king is to blame
to let such laws last."
"Faith, and that is true," cried the traveller; "and heartily to
blame, too, if his laws stand between me and a good supper. Now would
I give a link of this gold chain for a good steak of wild boar pork
upon those clear ashes."
The cottager looked at his wife, and the cottager's wife looked at her
husband, very like two people undecided what to do. "Fie, now!" cried
the stranger; "fie, good dame! I will wager a gold piece against a cup
of cold water, that if I look in that coffer, I shall find wherewithal
to mend our supper."
"Hal ha! ha!" roared the charcoal-burner; "thou hast hit it. Faith,
thou hast hit it! There it is, my buck, sure enough! Bring it forth,
dame, and give us some steaks. But, mind," he continued, laying his
finger on his lip, with a significant wink; "mind, mum's the word!
never fare well and cry roast beef."
"Oh! I'm as close as a mouse," replied the stranger in the same
strain; "never fear me: many a stout stag have I overthrown in the
king's forests, without asking with your leave or by your leave of any
man."
"Ha! ha! ha!" cried the cottager; "thou'rt a brave one! Come, let us
be merry while the thunder rolls without. It will strike the king's
palace sooner than my cottage, though we are eating wild boar
therein."
In such sort of wit passed the evening till nightfall; and the storm
still continuing in its full glory, the traveller was fain to content
himself with such lodging as the cottage afforded for the night.
Though his dress bespoke a rank far higher than their own, neither the
cottager nor his wife seemed at all awe-struck or abashed, but quietly
examined the gold lacing of his clothes, declared it was very fine,
and seemed to look upon him more as a child does upon a gilded toy
than in any other light. When night was come, the good dame strewed
out one corner of the hut with a little straw, piled it high with dry
leaves, and the stranger, rolling up his cloak for a pillow, laid it
under his head, stretched himself on the rude bed thus prepared, and
soon fell into a profound sleep.
Taking advantage of his nap, we will now return to Sir Osborne, who
with all speed roused his companions from their slumbers, and bade
them mount and follow. With military alacrity, Longpole was on his
horse in a moment, and ready to set out; but for his part, the young
Hainaulter yawned and stretched, and, somewhat bewildered, looked as
if he would fain have asked whither the knight was going to lead him.
A word, however, from Longpole hurried his motions, and both were soon
upon the track of Sir Osborne, who was already some way on the little
bridle-path by which they had arrived at the grassy mound where they
had been sleeping. When he reached the road they had formerly left, he
paused, and waited their coming up.
"Now, Longpole," cried he, "give me your judgment: does this road lead
to any crossing or not? Quick! for we must not waste a moment."
"Most certainly it does, my lord," replied the shield-bearer: "most
probably to the spot where they all meet in the heart of the wood."
"Perhaps he may tell us with more certainty," said the knight; and
changing his language to French, for the ear of the young Hainaulter,
he asked the same question.
"Oh, yes, certainly," replied Frederick: "it leads to the great
carrefour; I have hunted here a hundred times."
"Then, are we on French ground or Flemish?" demanded the knight.
"The French claim it," replied the youth; "but we used to hunt here in
their despite."
"Quick, then! let us on!" cried Sir Osborne; "and keep all your eyes
on the road before, to see if any one crosses it."
"He has something in his head, I'll warrant," said Longpole to their
new companion, as they galloped after Sir Osborne. "Oh! our lord knows
the trade of war, and will snuff you out an enemy, without ever seeing
him, better than a beagle dog with bandy legs and a yellow spot over
his eyes."
"Halt!" cried the knight, suddenly reining in his horse as they came
within sight of the carrefour we have already mentioned. "Longpole,
keep close under that tree! Frederick, here by my side; back him into
the wood, my good youth; that will do. Let every one keep his eyes
upon the crossing, and when you see a horseman pass, mark which road
he takes. How dark the sky is growing! Hark! is not that a horse's
feet?"
They had not remained many minutes when the cavalier we have spoken of
appeared at the carrefour, examined in vain the finger-post, sounded
his horn once or twice, as we have described, and then again took his
way to the left.
"Whither does that road lead?" demanded the knight, addressing the
young Hainaulter.
"It opens out on the great heath between the forest and Lillers, my
lord," answered Frederick.
"Is there any village, or castle, or house near?" asked Sir Osborne
quickly.
"None, none!" replied Frederick; "it is as bare as my hand: perhaps a
charbonier's cottage or so," he added, correcting himself.
"Let us on, then," replied the knight. "We are going to have a storm,
but we must not mind that;" and putting his horse into a quick pace,
he led his followers upon the track of the traveller, taking care
never to lose sight of him entirely, and yet contriving to conceal
himself, whenever any turn of the road might have exposed him to the
view of the person he pursued. The rain poured upon his head, the
lightning flashed upon his path; but still the knight followed on
without a moment's pause, till he had seen the traveller take refuge
in the cottage of the charcoal-burner. Then, and not until then, he
paused, spurred his horse through some thick bushes on the edge of the
wood, and obtained as much shelter as the high beeches of the forest
could afford; nor did he pause at the first or the thickest trees he
came to, but took particular pains to select a spot where, though
concealed by a high screen of underwood, they could yet distinguish
clearly the door of the hut through the various breaks in the
branches. Here, having dismounted with his followers, he stationed
Frederick at a small opening, to watch the cottage, while he and
Longpole carefully provided for the security and refreshment of their
horses, as far as circumstances would admit, although the long
forest-grass was the only food that could be procured for them, and
the storm still continued pouring through the very thickest parts of
the wood. To obviate this, the knight and his shield-bearer plied the
underwood behind them with their swords, and soon obtained a
sufficient supply of leafy branches to interweave with the lower
boughs of the trees overhead, and thus to secure themselves against
the rain.
While thus employed, Frederick gave notice, as he had been commanded,
that some one approached the cottage, which proved to be the
charbonier himself, returning with his mule; and after his arrival,
their watch remained undisturbed by the coming of any visitor till
nightfall.
As soon as it was dark, Sir Osborne allotted to his followers and to
himself the portion of the night that each was to watch, taking for
his own period the first four hours; after which Longpole's turn
succeeded; and lastly, towards morning, came the young Hainaulter's.
With his eye fixed upon the light in the cottage, and his ear eager
for every sound, Sir Osborne passed the time till the flame gradually
died away, and, flashing more and more faintly, at last sank entirely.
However, the dark outline of the hut was still to be seen, and the ear
had now more power; for the storm had gradually passed away, and the
only sounds that it had left were the thunder rolling faintly round
the far limits of the horizon, and the dropping of the water from the
leaves and branches of the forest. Towards midnight, Sir Osborne
roused Longpole, and recommending him to watch carefully, he threw
himself down by the young Hainaulter and was soon asleep.
Somewhat tired with the fatigues of the day, the knight slept soundly,
and did not wake till Frederick, who had replaced Longpole on the
watch, shook him by the arm; and starting up, he found that it was
day.
"Hist, hist! my lord," cried the youth; "here are Shoenvelt and his
party."
Sir Osborne looked through the branches in the direction the young man
pointed, and clearly distinguished a party of seven spearmen, slowly
moving along the side of the forest, at about five hundred yards'
distance from the spot where they lay. "It is Shoenvelt's height and
form," said the knight, measuring the leader with his eye, "and that
looks like Wilsten by his side; but how are you sure?"
"Because I know the arms of both," replied Frederick, "See! they are
going to hide in the wood, close by the high road from Lillers to
Aire."
As he spoke, the body of horsemen stopped, and one after another
disappeared in the wood, convincing Sir Osborne that the young
Hainaulter was right.
"Then, nerve your arm and grasp your lance, Frederick," said the
knight with a smile; "for if you do well, even this very day you may
win your golden spurs. Wake Longpole there; we must be all prepared."
The youth's eyes gleamed with delight, and snatching up his casque, he
shook Longpole roughly, and ran to tighten his horse's girths, while
Sir Osborne explained to the yeoman that they were upon the eve of an
encounter.
'"Odslife!" cried Longpole, "I'm glad to hear it, my lord. I find it
vastly cold sleeping in a steel jacket, and shall be glad of a few
back-strokes to warm me. You say there are seven of them. It's an
awkward number to divide; but you will take three, my lord; I will do
my best for two and a-half, and then there will be one and a-half for
Master Frederick here. We could not leave the poor youth less, in
honesty; for I dare say he is as ready for such a breakfast as we
are."
The bustle of preparation now succeeded for a moment or two; and when
all was ready, and the whole party once more on horseback, the knight
led the way to a gap, from whence he could issue out upon the plain
without running the risk of entangling his horse in the underwood.
Here stationing himself behind the bushes to the left, he gave orders
to Longpole and Frederick not to stir an inch, whatever they saw, till
he set the example; and then grasping his lance, he sat like marble,
with his eyes fixed upon the cottage.
In about a quarter of an hour the door of the hut opened, and the
cottager, running to the shed, brought up the traveller's horse. By
this time, he seemed to have discovered that his guest was of higher
rank than he imagined; for when the stranger came forth, he cast
himself upon his knees, holding the bridle, and remained in that
situation till the other had sprung into the saddle.
Dropping some pieces of gold into his host's hand, the traveller now
shook his rein; and, putting his horse into an easy pace, took his way
over the plain, at about three hundred yards' distance from the
forest, proceeding quietly along, totally unconscious of danger. A
moment, however, put an end to his security; for he had not passed
above a hundred yards beyond the spot where the knight was concealed,
when a galloping of horse was heard, and Shoenvelt's party, with
levelled lances and horses in charge, rushed forth from the wood upon
him.
In an instant Sir Osborne's vizor was down, his spear was in the rest,
and his horse in full gallop. "Darnley! Darnley!" shouted he, with a
voice that made the welkin ring. "Darnley to the rescue! Traitor of
Shoenvelt, turn to your death!"
"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Longpole, following his lord. "St. George
for Darnley! down with the traitors!"
The shout was not lost upon either Shoenvelt or the traveller. The one
instantly turned, with several of his men, to attack the knight; the
other, seeing unexpected aid at hand, fell back towards Darnley, and
with admirable skill and courage defended himself, with nothing but
his sword, against the lances of the marauders, who--their object
being more to take him living than to kill him--lost the advantage
which they would have otherwise had by his want of armour.
Like a wild beast, raging with hate and fury, Shoenvelt charged
towards the knight, his lance quivering in his hand with the angry
force of his grasp. On, on bore Sir Osborne at full speed towards him,
his bridle in his left hand, his shield upon his breast, his lance
firmly fixed in the rest, and levelled in such a manner as to avoid
its breaking. In a moment they met. Shoenvelt's spear struck Sir
Osborne's shield, and, aimed firmly and well, partially traversed the
iron; but the knight, throwing back his left arm with vast force,
snapped the head of the lance in twain. In the mean while, his own
spear, charged at the marauder's throat with unerring exactness,
passed clean through the gorget-piece and the upper rim of the
corslet, and came bloody out at the back. You might have heard the
iron plates and bones cranch as the lance rent its way through. Down
went Shoenvelt, horse and man, borne over by the force of the knight's
course.
"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Sir Osborne, casting from him the spear,
which he could not disengage from the marauder's neck, and drawing his
sword. "Darnley! Darnley to the rescue! Now, Wilsten! now!" and
turning, galloped up to where the traveller, with Longpole and
Frederick by his side, firmly maintained his ground against the
adventurers.
Wilsten's lance had been shivered by Longpole; and now, with his sword
drawn, on the other side of the _mêlée_, he was aiming a desperate
blow at the unarmed head of the traveller, who defended himself from a
spearman in front; but at that moment the knight charged the
adventurer through the midst, overturning all that came in his way,
and shouting loud his battle-cry, to call his adversary's attention,
and divert him from the fatal blow which he was about to strike. The
plan succeeded. Wilsten heard the sound; and seeing Shoenvelt dead
upon the plain, turned furiously on Darnley. Urging their horses
between all the others, they met in the midst, and thus seemed to
separate the rest of the combatants, who, for a moment or two, looked
on inactive; while the swords of the two champions played about each
other's heads, and sought out the weaker parts of their harness. Both
were strong, and active, and skilful; and though Sir Osborne was
decidedly superior, it was long before the combat appeared to turn in
his favour. At length, by a quick movement of his horse, the knight
brought himself close to the adventurer's side, and gaining a fair
blow, plunged the point of his sword through his corslet into his
bosom.
At that moment, the combat having been renewed by the rest, one of the
marauders struck the knight from behind so violently on the head, that
it shook him in the saddle, and breaking the fastenings of his helmet,
the casque came off and rolled upon the plain. But the blow was too
late to save Wilsten, who now lay dead under his horse's feet; and Sir
Osborne well repaid it by a single back-stroke at this new opponent's
thigh.
By this time only two of the marauders remained on horseback, so well
had Longpole, the traveller, and Frederick, done their devoir; and
these two were not long in putting spurs to their steeds and flying
with all speed, leaving the knight and his companions masters of the
field. Looking round, however, Sir Osborne missed the gallant young
Hainaulter, while he saw his horse flying masterless over the plain.
"Where is Frederick?" cried the knight, springing to the ground. "By
my knighthood! if he be dead, we have bought our victory dear!"
"Not dead, monseigneur, but hurt," said a faint voice near; and
turning, he beheld the poor youth fallen to the earth, and leaning on
one arm, while with the other he was striving to take off his casque,
from the bars of which the blood dripped out fast upon the greensward.
Darnley hastened to his aid; and having disencumbered him of his
helmet, discovered a bad wound in his throat, which, however, did not
appear to him to be mortal; and Longpole, with the stranger, having
dismounted and come to his aid, they contrived to stanch the bleeding,
which was draining away his life.
When this was done, the noble traveller turned towards Darnley.
"Sir knight," said he, with the calm, dignified tone of one seldom
used to address an equal, "how you came here, or why, I cannot tell;
but it seems as if heaven had sent you on purpose to save my life.
However that may be, I will say of you, that never did a more famous
knight wield sword; and, therefore, as the best soldiers in Europe may
be proud of such a companion, let me beg you to take this collar, till
I can thank you better;" and he cast over the knight's neck the golden
chain of the order of St. Michael, with which he was decorated.
"As for you, good squire," he continued, addressing Longpole, "you are
worthy of your lord; therefore kneel down."
"Faith, your worship," answered the yeoman, "I never knelt to any man
in my life, and never will to any but a king, while I'm in this
world!"
"Fie, fie! Heartley!" cried Sir Osborne; "bend your knee. It is the
king, man! Do you not understand? It is King Francis!"
"Oh! that changes the case," cried Longpole; "I crave your highness's
pardon. I did not know your grace;" and he bent his knee to the king.
Francis drew his sword, and laid it on the yeoman's shoulder; then
striking him three light blows, he said, "In the name of God, our
Lady, and St. Denis, I dub thee knight. _Avance, bon chevalier!_ Noble
or not noble, from this moment I make you such."
Longpole rose, and the king turned to the young Hainaulter, who,
sitting near, and supporting himself by his sword, had looked on with
longing eyes. "No one of my gallant defenders must be forgotten," said
Francis. "Knighthood, my good youth, will hardly pay your wound."
"Oh, yes, yes!" cried Frederick, eagerly; "indeed it will, your
highness, more than repay it."
"Then be it so," replied the king, knighting him. "However, remember,
fair knights, that Francis of France stints not here his gratitude, or
you may think him niggard of his thanks. We will have you all go with
us, and we will find better means to repay your timely aid. I know
not, sir," he continued, turning to Sir Osborne, and resuming the more
familiar first person singular, "whether I heard your battle-cry
aright, and whether I now see the famous Lord Darnley, the knight of
Burgundy, who, in wars now happily ended, often turned the tide of
battle in favour of the emperor." Sir Osborne bowed his head. "Then,
sir," continued Francis, "I will say, that never did monarch receive
so much injury or so much benefit from the hand of one noble
adversary."