IN THE FIELDS TOWARD OSNEY ABBEY
It was dark in the passage outside the door, and Hugh fumbled stupidly
to find the latch. Inside two patches of moonlight, checkered like the
diamond panes of the windows, lay on the floor. Hugh stood staring at
them dully a moment before he spoke, “Dick.”
“Well?” came from the black corner where the bed stood; it was
Strangwayes’ assertion that he always slept with one eye and one ear
alert.
Hugh stepped over to the bedside. “I have met with Philip Bellasis,” he
began quickly, as if he had a lesson he knew must be repeated. “He
slandered my father. I gave him the lie. We are to fight with rapiers
to-morrow at twilight in the fields toward Osney Abbey.”
Strangwayes was sitting upright in bed now. “You are to fight Bellasis?”
he repeated.
Hugh nodded. “Have you the time to come out to the field with me, Dick?
George offered, but I’d rather—”
“Did George Allestree suffer you enter on such a quarrel?” There was a
sharp, ringing quality in Strangwayes’ voice Hugh had seldom heard.
“Nay, ’tis no fault of George,” he answered quickly, and detailed all
that had befallen at the ordinary.
Strangwayes dropped back on his elbow. “Hugh, you fool, you babe!” he
broke out, still with that odd quality in his voice. “That scoundrel
trapped you deliberately; he durst not meet your father again; he tried
to trap you, and you suffered him!”
“I could do nothing else,” Hugh answered.
“Well, get to bed now,” Strangwayes said in his kindest tone. “You must
have all the rest you can before you go to spit our friend Philip.”
Lying down obediently, Hugh stared at the moonlight creeping along the
floor, and listened to the watch that paced the street below.
Strangwayes at his side breathed uneasily and once or twice turned
somewhat; but Hugh lay quiet till his opened eyes ached and were heavy,
and he slept a sleep full of dreams.
When he came broad awake again there was chilly daylight in the room,
and Strangwayes was up and half dressed. “What sort of day is it?” Hugh
asked.
“A gray day,” Dick answered cheerily. “’Tis good for your work. There’ll
be no sun to dazzle either of you.”
Hugh got up, and in the midst of drawing on his clothes glanced at
Dick’s watch, where he saw it was past their rising hour. “Is this the
way you pamper a fighter, as if I were one of Butler’s gamecocks?” he
asked.
“You were sleeping well,” Strangwayes answered; “’twere pity to wake
you. I’ll fetch some breakfast and we’ll eat together here.”
“You can get food from the shop below; you’ve no need of your hat and
cloak. Where are you going, Dick?”
Strangwayes hesitated an instant while he drew his cloak about him, then
replied, “I am going to your father.”
“You shall not!” Hugh cried, and, crossing to the door, set his back
against it.
“Assuredly I shall,” Strangwayes answered. “The matter has gone beyond
jest.”
“He will call me a snivelling coward,” Hugh pleaded; “he will say I made
a mash of it and then came whimpering to him.”
“Let him,” Strangwayes interrupted, “’tis his quarrel and he should
manage it himself. Why did you ever thrust in?”
“I know not,” Hugh answered. “Only he is my father. And he is no coward.
They lied about him in that. And he was not there to reply. I had to
come in.”
“Well, he can come in now,” Strangwayes retorted, and strode over to the
door.
Hugh thrust up one arm against his friend’s chest. “You will not tell
him?” he begged. “I know you can put me aside, Dick; you’re the
stronger. But prithee, do not use me thus. He despises me so already.
I’d liefer Bellasis killed me twice over. You won’t speak a word to him,
Dick?”
“No, I won’t speak to him, Hugh,” Strangwayes answered soothingly.
“Come, come, you’re foolish as a girl. Go get on your coat, and be ready
to eat a full breakfast.” He put Hugh aside with one arm about his
shoulders, and went out of the room.
When Hugh had finished dressing he opened the casement and leaned out a
little into the raw morning air; the chilly wind seemed to brush away
something of the heaviness of his unrefreshing sleep. Down in the street
below he saw men passing by, and a townswoman in a scarlet hood that
showed bright against the muddy road and dark houses. Across the way he
saw Major Bludsworth come leisurely down the steps from Sir William’s
quarters, and presently he saw a trooper, lumbering briskly up the
stairs, disappear inside the house.
Just then a kick upon the door made him turn in time to see Strangwayes,
keeping the door braced open with one foot, come sidewise through the
narrow aperture. In one hand he held two mugs of ale and in the other a
pasty, which Hugh had the wit to catch before it fell to the floor. “Ay,
treat it reverently,” Dick said, “’tis mutton, and age has ever
commanded reverence. Part of the ale has gone up my sleeve, but the rest
is warranted of a good headiness.”
After he had thrown off his cloak the two set them down at the table
with the pasty and the ale between them, and drew out their knives.
Strangwayes scored a line across the middle of the mutton pie. “Now each
man falls to,” he ordered, “and he who works the greatest havoc on his
side gets the mug that is full, while the other must content him with
the scant measure. Now, then, charge for England and St. George!”
They were well at work, Hugh eating dutifully and Dick both eating and
setting forth an interminable tale of a fat citizen’s wife he had
accosted in the bakeshop, when there sounded a quick stamping on the
stairs. “I’ll wager ’tis the popinjay,” said Strangwayes, pausing with
his knife suspended.
Right on the word Frank Pleydall burst into the room. “Is it true you’re
to fight?” he cried.
“A guess near the truth,” answered Strangwayes. “Draw up and share with
us.”
“I’ve eaten breakfast. They were talking of the duel there at the table.
So you’re to fight Bellasis, Hugh? Aren’t you afraid?”
The full mug of ale suddenly went crashing and slopping to the floor.
“If I were the Creator and had men to make,” said Strangwayes, down on
his knees among the fragments, “I’d make men without elbows, at least
without such elbows as mine. Come aid me, you lazy fellow.”
Hugh obediently began mopping up the spilt ale, but Strangwayes did not
stay to help him. He was speaking with Frank over by the window, and
Hugh just caught something like, “If you don’t hold your foolish tongue,
I’ll cuff your head off.”
In any case, when Hugh rose to his feet he found Frank very subdued.
“’Twas my father sent me hither,” he began, with a little trace of
sullenness. “He said if you really had it in mind to fight, you were
best slip out of the town early. The matter has got abroad, and the
provost may send to apprehend you just for accepting the challenge.”
“Then we’ll disappoint the provost,” said Strangwayes. “I’ve sent to the
stable already to have our horses brought round. Clap into your boots,
Hugh, but bring your shoes along. You can’t fight with a ton of leather
about your heels.”
“Is there aught I can lend you, Hugh?” asked Frank, studying his friend
with interested eyes.
“I’m well enough,” Hugh answered cheerfully. “Dick is going to let me
use his rapier.”
“Can’t I come out to the field with you?” Frank begged. “Oh, I’ll not
speak a word, Dick, and I’ll do whatever you may tell me.”
“If a second man came it would have to be Allestree,” answered
Strangwayes. “Better go back to quarters now, Frank. Tell Sir William we
thank him for his warning, and I have taken a day’s leave of absence.”
But as Strangwayes was edging him toward the door Frank dodged by him
and ran back to Hugh. “Good luck to you,” he said, putting his arms
round Hugh and kissing him. “And—and God keep you.”
Then he clattered out and down the stairs, and Hugh, for a moment,
neither looked at Dick nor spoke.
He was drawing on his cloak, still with his back toward Strangwayes, who
stood by the window, when his friend struck in gayly: “In good time,
here are the horses. Come along, now.” Thus Hugh was hurried out at the
door, with time only for a single backward glance at the little crowded
chamber, and barely an instant in which to ask himself, would he ever
look upon that room again?
At the foot of the first flight of stairs they met Turner, recognizable
by his slim figure, though the corridor was too dark for them to
distinguish his face. “Going out to the field, eh, Gwyeth?” he asked,
thrusting out his hand. “Well, success to you, lad, good success.” He
shook hands a second time with a strong pressure that lingered on Hugh’s
fingers till after they were mounted and off.
Under foot the mud and slush were heavy, but the horses kept up a
tolerable pace, which Hugh, unknown to himself, was setting for them. A
feverish desire to be moving quickly was upon him, and with it a dread
of being silent. He laughed and chatted indifferently of whatever caught
his eye upon the western road till he soon had Strangwayes talking back
glibly. “We’ll dine at an alehouse called the ‘Sceptre,’” Dick rattled
on. “I know it well of old. I used to have a score as long as my arm
chalked on the door. There’s a very pretty bowling green behind the
house. Which explains my long score. When the spring comes I must have
you out thither and teach you to bowl. ’Tis good for the muscles of the
arm, let alone the exhilaration of the spirits.”
It was mid-morning when they drew rein before the much belauded
alehouse, a low gray building, in a field somewhat apart from the
surrounding cottages, with tall poplars in a row on either side that
made it seem the more remote. The short-breathed host and his staid,
gray-headed drawer had had acquaintance with Strangwayes as late as that
winter, to judge by the warmth of their greeting. They had the horses to
the stable at once, and the gentlemen to the big front chamber of the
upper story, where a good fire was started, a cloth laid, and all made
comfortable. “We’ll not dine till one o’clock,” Strangwayes ordered. “If
you hear scuffling before then be not dismayed; we may try some sword
practice. You understand, eh, Martin?”
The sober drawer showed sparks of interest. “Be you to fight, Master
Strangwayes?” he asked.
“This gentleman is, this afternoon. Now keep a quiet tongue, Martin, as
you always do.” He slipped a piece of money into the drawer’s hand, and
the man departed slowly, with his gaze on Hugh.
“Now make yourself at ease,” Strangwayes bade. “Or will you try a little
rapier practice to limber your muscles?”
Hugh was ready enough, so Strangwayes procured from the host a pair of
blunted rapiers with which they fell to fencing. Hugh watched Dick’s
sword-hand and did his best, but again and again the point slipped past
his blade; there seemed no suppleness in his wrist nor spring in his
body, and when he tried desperately to retort faster he laid himself
open to his adversary. In the end, as he attempted a vigorous thrust in
quarte, his foot slipped so he only saved himself by catching at the
table. As he recovered himself he looked at Dick, and saw his face was
of an appalling soberness. “You’ve a steady enough hand, Hugh,” he began
hastily. “Only you must quicken your thrusts somewhat. No, don’t try any
more; you’ll only spend yourself needlessly.”
Hugh handed back his weapon, and made a great work of putting on his
coat again. But presently it would out. “My father is considerable of a
swordsman, is he not?” he began.
“He has that reputation,” Strangwayes answered dryly.
“Yet he did not contrive more than to wound Bellasis.”
“I doubt if he put his whole skill into the business,” Strangwayes said
quickly. “Come, Hugh, try a hand at primero with me,—unless you fear I
worst you there.”
He drew the cards from his pocket, and they sat down to the table by the
fire. How many games they played Hugh did not heed; he dealt recklessly
and talked and laughed his loudest; sometimes he won of Strangwayes,
sometimes he lost, but it all mattered nothing. He was in the thick of a
boisterous exposition of the merits of the hand he held, when some one
knocked at the door. “Come!” Strangwayes cried eagerly, and sprang to
his feet.
The door was pushed open, and Ridydale, spattered to the thighs, walked
in. “A letter for you, sir, from Colonel Gwyeth,” he said, crossing to
Hugh. “The colonel lay from his quarters yesternight, and came not back
till late this morning.”
This last was spoken more to Strangwayes than to Hugh, but the boy did
not heed. He was tearing open the letter with fingers that shook with
impatience. It was very brief, he saw at first glance; then he read:—
WORTHY SIR:
For something like forty years I have contrived unaided to keep my honor
and my reputation clear. By the grace of Heaven I hope to do so for
forty years longer, still without a boy’s assistance. Quit at once this
absurd quarrel you have entered on. Take yourself back to your quarters.
I shall myself deal with Master Bellasis.
Your obedient servant,
ALAN GWYETH.
Hugh read the paper over once more, slowly, then passed it to Dick.
“That is what he writes me,” he said without passion, and getting up
went to fetch a standish and paper from an open cupboard in one corner
of the room.
He placed them on the table as Strangwayes looked up from finishing the
letter. He, too, said nothing, but his mouth was set in a hard line
under his mustache. “I’ll write an answer,” Hugh said quietly, as he
seated himself.
“Will you not ride back to the city with me, sir?” Ridydale put in
eagerly.
Hugh was silent a moment while he adjusted his paper and pen, then
replied: “I am not coming to the city with you. Moreover, Corporal
Ridydale, if you ever again mention unto me one word of Captain Gwyeth,
I’ll have no more dealings with you.”
Then he turned resolutely to his task and wrote his answer, slowly, for
he was an unhandy penman, and he wished the letter to be quite dignified
in neatness.
WORTHY SIR:
When we parted at Shrewsbury perhaps you may remember I said to you that
you had no right to lay a command upon me. Since that time you have done
naught to get you the right; by your will I am no son of yours. Yet so
long as I bear the name of Gwyeth it is my part to defend that name from
any slander. Therefore I did enter on a quarrel with the one who defamed
my family. The quarrel is now mine and I shall pursue it to the end.
Though I have been flogged by your troopers, I have some notion of what
becomes a gentleman of honor. Such a gentleman as my mother would wish
me to be does not suffer another to undertake his defence.
Your obedient servant,
HUGH GWYETH.
He chose his words deliberately; it was amazing how ready they were to
his hand, now that he had come to the realization that Alan Gwyeth had
used him with brutal unjustness.
He folded the paper carefully. “Here, take it, Ridydale,” he ordered.
“But remember, I’ve no quarrel with you, Corporal. You have been a good
friend to me, and I’d still keep you so. Only never another mention of
Captain Gwyeth.”
Ridydale hesitated a moment with the letter in his hand before he broke
out: “Tell you what, Master Hugh, I’ll send this by another messenger.
I’m going to rest here till the fight’s over. You may want me.”
“That’s well,” Strangwayes said promptly.
After Ridydale had left them, Dick ordered up dinner, and they tried to
talk over it as before. Strangwayes made out fairly, but a numb silence
was on Hugh; in the bracing anger of a few moments before his resolution
seemed all to have vanished and left him spiritless. He could not help
looking to the window to see what time of day it was, and involuntarily
he interrupted Strangwayes with a question as to how soon they should
start for the field. “Not for a couple of hours,” the other replied.
“’Tis a bit of a walk; we’ll take supper here afterward—”
With a sudden gesture Hugh pushed by his plate and swung about with his
head hidden against the back of his chair. For of a sudden there came
sweeping upon him overpoweringly the realization he had been battling
off all the morning: this was the last meal he might ever eat.
He got to his feet unsteadily and walked to the door; the scrape of a
chair told him Strangwayes had risen. “Don’t!” Hugh cried. “I want to be
alone.”
Somehow he felt his way down a flight of backstairs, and pushing open a
side door stumbled out into the air. There was a level stretch of pashy
bowling green down which he splashed his way. But press forward as he
would, he knew he could not run from what he had bound himself to, so,
where the green ended at the hedge, he flung himself down on a wet bench
and sat with his head in his hands. In one of the bare poplars a snow
bird was chirruping; over toward the stable he could hear a man calling
and a horse stamp. He dropped his head on his knees and stared dumbly at
the trodden mud between his feet. For he knew now there was nothing to
help him, even Dick’s friendship and affection were of no avail; there
was only himself to rely on. Once he thought of God, but the God the
Oldesworths had taught him was distant and very stern; He would never
take pity on a duellist, even if he cried to Him. So Hugh, with his head
bowed down, wrestled through the struggle alone, and little by little
forced himself to accept with a soldier’s resignation the fate that
should take from him the joy of battle, and of friendship, and of life
that summed up all joys.
When he rose his face was quite steady, though he made no pretence to
the cheerfulness he had kept up that morning. Walking briskly back to
the house, he made his way to their chamber, where he found Strangwayes
pacing up and down. Hugh went to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s not try to pretend about it any more, Dick,” he said simply.
“Bellasis has handled a rapier for years where I’ve used it but weeks.
There is no hope for me. Frankly, is there? On your honor, Dick.”
“There is this hope,” Strangwayes answered, after an instant. “It may be
he will content himself with disabling you, and then—he will force you
to crave his pardon.”
“The other way suits me better,” Hugh said quietly.
“You can only do your best,” Strangwayes replied. “He may be careless.
Be ready to use every opportunity.”
“I will,” Hugh nodded, and then, sitting down by the fire, he beckoned
his friend to sit beside him. “I take it, time’s short,” he began, “so I
want to tell you, Dick, you’re to take Bayard and keep him, and be very
kind to him, only I know you’ll be that.”
Strangwayes reached out his arm; the two griped hands, and sat so.
“Give my sword to Frank,” Hugh went on, “and give Ned Griffith back his
red sash. Ridydale can have my spurs. Then there’s six shillings I’ve
here; I want a trooper named Robert Saxon in Gwyeth’s company to have
them; he’ll be sorry and drunk at once. Give my duty to Captain Turner
and Sir William, and commend me to George Allestree.” He paused a
moment, then resumed: “There’s a girl at Everscombe Manor, Lois Campion;
we were playfellows then. She has not writ me since, but I’d like her to
know that I held her in remembrance. I’d fain send my duty to my
Grandfather Oldesworth, too, but I doubt if he’d accept of it.”
“I’ll do all as you bid,” Strangwayes answered. “God! if I could but
fight that coward for you.”
After that outburst they sat side by side without speaking, while the
quick moments slipped by, till at last Strangwayes rose unwillingly to
his feet. “We must start now,” he said, so Hugh put on his cloak, and
arm in arm they went out from the house.
At the door Ridydale saluted them, then fell into step behind them, and
in such order they splashed down the bowling green. Through a gap in the
hedge they entered a field where some patches of snow still lingered in
the hollows. Beyond they passed through a copse of naked trees, and so
across a dry ditch entered a level piece of open ground. At the farther
end two men stood waiting. “Faith, I had judged you meant to shirk your
hour,” cried the taller of the two in a sharp, high voice.
“Close of twilight is a rather loose appointment, Master Bellasis,”
Strangwayes answered curtly.
“And you fetched a third man, did you? Two to one—”
“Maybe you would wish the city guard to come upon you with blades in
your hands?” Strangwayes interrupted. “I have brought a sure man to
watch the road. But if you object—”
“Oh, by no means,” laughed Bellasis. “And ’tis well you brought him.
’Twill need two of you to convey your gentleman from the field.”
“In any case I shall have legs left to walk back to the field and find
you,” Strangwayes retorted, with his nostrils drawn thin. “Strip off
your coat, Hugh. Take your place beyond the bushes there, Ridydale.”
Hugh was glad that Dick unfastened his coat for him; for a sick instant
the control he had acquired of himself seemed slipping away. But it was
only an instant, and then, grasping his rapier firmly, he had stood up
stiffly in the place they bade him stand. In the distance, against the
darkening twilight, he could see the bare trees and the towers of Osney
Abbey; then his eyes descended to Bellasis’ keen sallow face, and then
they dropped to the man’s bony sword-hand, and he saw nothing else.
Some one said, “Now!” and the rapiers crossed, how, he scarcely knew. He
heard the quick click of the blades, and with it came a sudden flash of
pain in his right thigh; he thrust desperately at Bellasis’ shoulder,
but his point went wide.
“That shall quit the blow you struck me,” his adversary spoke, softly,
as the blades clicked again.
Hugh shifted his body, stiffly, for his right leg felt strangely numb,
yet with his utmost skill he contrived to put by two thrusts; all his
attention was riveted to the blades, but some inner consciousness was
telling him that Bellasis was only feinting carelessly, and had not yet
shown his strength. His very despair drove him forward in a useless
thrust, and at that the other’s rapier seemed in his eyes, and he felt
something warm on his left cheek.
“And there’s for your father’s blow,” said Bellasis, in a low voice.
“Get your breath now for the last bout.”
There was thrust and parry for what seemed endless hours; click of
blade, desperate effort that set Hugh, mad with his helplessness,
panting to the point of sobbing. Then, of a sudden, as he made an
instinctive swerve to the right, there came a rasping sound of tearing
cloth, a deathly agony swept through his body. But he saw Bellasis
leaning toward him with body all exposed, and, springing forward, with
all the strength in him he thrust home the rapier.
The hilt of the rapier slipped from his hand. Bellasis’ shirt and face
showed white on the muddy ground at his feet. All the rest was blackness
and pain. A second thrill pierced through his side. Some one’s arm was
about him, and Dick’s voice cried, “Hugh, Hugh!” with an agony in it he
marvelled at. He could feel Strangwayes’ fingers tearing open his shirt,
a cloth pressing in upon his side. “Ha’ done!” he gasped out, clutching
Dick round the neck.
Right upon that, somewhere very far distant, he heard Ridydale’s voice:
“Off with you! The guard’s upon us!”