CHAPTER I

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THE WORKS OF

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

SWANSTON EDITION

VOLUME VIII

_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five

Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS

STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies

have been printed, of which only Two Thousand

Copies are for sale._

_This is No. ........._

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A DRAWING BY R. L. S. WHEN HE WAS STAYING

AT LE MONASTIER IN 1878]

THE WORKS OF

ROBERT LOUIS

STEVENSON

VOLUME EIGHT

LONDON : PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND

WINDUS : IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL

AND COMPANY LIMITED : WILLIAM

HEINEMANN : AND LONGMANS GREEN

AND COMPANY MDCCCCXI

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS

THE BLACK ARROW

PROLOGUE

PAGE

John Amend-all 7

BOOK I.--THE TWO LADS

CHAPTER

I. AT THE SIGN OF THE "SUN" IN KETTLEY 25

II. IN THE FEN 34

III. THE FEN FERRY 40

IV. A GREENWOOD COMPANY 48

V. "BLOODY AS THE HUNTER" 56

VI. TO THE DAY'S END 65

VII. THE HOODED FACE 72

BOOK II.--THE MOAT HOUSE

I. DICK ASKS QUESTIONS 83

II. THE TWO OATHS 92

III. THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL 100

IV. THE PASSAGE 107

V. HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES 112

BOOK III.--MY LORD FOXHAM

I. THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE 123

II. A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK 131

III. ST. BRIDE'S CROSS 138

IV. THE "GOOD HOPE" 142

V. THE "GOOD HOPE" (_continued_) 151

VI. THE "GOOD HOPE" (_concluded_) 157

BOOK IV.--THE DISGUISE

I. THE DEN 165

II. "IN MINE ENEMIES' HOUSE" 173

III. THE DEAD SPY 183

IV. IN THE ABBEY CHURCH 191

V. EARL RISINGHAM 200

VI. ARBLASTER AGAIN 204

BOOK V.--CROOKBACK

I. THE SHRILL TRUMPET 217

II. THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY 224

III. THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY (_concluded_) 231

IV. THE SACK OF SHOREBY 236

V. NIGHT IN THE WOODS: ALICIA RISINGHAM 246

VI. NIGHT IN THE WOODS (_concluded_): DICK AND JOAN 254

VII. DICK'S REVENGE 264

VIII. CONCLUSION 268

MARKHEIM 273

THE BLACK ARROW

A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES

_CRITIC ON THE HEARTH_

_No one but myself knows what I have suffered, nor what my books have

gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable pertinacity. And

now here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks your_

imprimatur: _a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason of it

stranger still! I have watched with interest, with pain, and at length

with amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse "The Black Arrow";

and I think I should lack humour indeed, if I let the occasion slip and

did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that

you have never read--and never will read._

_That others may display more constancy is still my hope. The tale was

written years ago for a particular audience and (I may say) in rivalry

with a particular author; I think I should do well to name him--Mr.

Alfred R. Phillips. It was not without its reward at the time. I could

not, indeed, displace Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in

the eyes of readers who thought less than nothing of "Treasure Island,"

"The Black Arrow" was supposed to mark a clear advance. Those who read

volumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. The

verdict on "Treasure Island" was reversed in the other court: I wonder,

will it be the same with its successor?_

_R. L. S._

_Saranac Lake,

April 8, 1888._

PROLOGUE

JOHN AMEND-ALL

THE BLACK ARROW

A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES

PROLOGUE

JOHN AMEND-ALL

On a certain afternoon, in the late spring-time, the bell upon Tunstall

Moat House was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. Far and near, in

the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert

their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a

group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons.

Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old King Henry VI., wore

much the same appearance as it wears to-day. A score or so of houses,

heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley

ascending from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and

mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest

on its way to the Moat House, and further forth to Holywood Abbey.

Half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. On every side the

slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening

oak-trees of the forest.

Hard by the bridge there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the

group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet

smock--discussing what the bell betided. An express had gone through the

hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not

daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant

himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir

Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, who kept the Moat House

in the master's absence.

But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the

wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Richard

Shelton, Sir Daniel's ward. He, at the least, would know, and they

hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle willingly enough--a

young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of

deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head,

and a steel crossbow at his back. The express, it appeared, had brought

great news. A battle was impending. Sir Daniel had sent for every man

that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to Kettley, under

pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of

where the battle was expected, Dick knew nothing. Sir Oliver would come

shortly himself, and Bennet Hatch was arming at that moment, for he it

was who should lead the party.

"It is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said. "If the barons live at

war, ploughfolk must eat roots."

"Nay," said Dick; "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and

archers twelve."

"If they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if

they die, my master?"

"They cannot better die than for their natural lord," said Dick.

"No natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock. "I followed the

Walsinghams; so we all did down Brierly way, till two years ago come

Candlemas. And now I must side with Brackley! It was the law that did

it; call ye that natural? But now, what with Sir Daniel and what with

Sir Oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--I have no natural lord

but poor King Harry the Sixt, God bless him!--the poor innocent that

cannot tell his right hand from his left."

"Ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered Dick, "to miscall your

good master and my lord the king in the same libel. But King

Harry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and

will have all things peaceably ordained. And as for Sir Daniel, y' are

very brave behind his back. But I will be no tale-bearer; and let that

suffice."

"I say no harm of you, Master Richard," returned the peasant. "Y' are a

lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty

pocket. I say no more: the saints help Sir Daniel's neighbours, and the

Blessed Maid protect his wards!"

"Clipsby," said Richard, "you speak what I cannot hear with honour. Sir

Daniel is my good master, and my guardian."

"Come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned Clipsby. "On whose side

is Sir Daniel?"

"I know not," said Dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had

changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every

change had brought him some increase of fortune.

"Ay," returned Clipsby, "you, nor no man. For indeed, he is one that

goes to bed Lancaster and gets up York."

Just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned

and saw Bennet Hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow,

heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel

salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. He was a great man in

these parts; Sir Daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time,

by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred.

"Clipsby," he shouted, "off to the Moat House, and send all other

laggards the same gate. Bowyer will give you jack and salet. We must

ride before curfew. Look to it: him that is last at the lych-gate Sir

Daniel shall reward. Look to it right well! I know you for a man of

naught.--Nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old Appleyard up

town?"

"I'll warrant you," replied the woman. "In his field, for sure."

So the group dispersed, and while Clipsby walked leisurely over the

bridge, Bennet and young Shelton rode up the road together, through the

village and past the church.

"You will see the old shrew," said Bennet. "He will waste more time

grumbling and prating of Harry the Fift than would serve a man to shoe a

horse. And all because he has been to the French wars!"

The house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing

alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow

rising towards the borders of the wood.

Hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the

field, Dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was

digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked

voice, singing a snatch of song. He was all dressed in leather, only his

hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face

was like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey

eye was still clear enough, and his sight unabated. Perhaps he was deaf;

perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of Agincourt to pay any

heed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the

alarm-bell, nor the near approach of Bennet and the lad, appeared at all

to move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very

thin and shaky:

"Now, dear lady, if thy will be,

I pray you that you will rue on me."

"Nick Appleyard," said Hatch, "Sir Oliver commends him to you, and bids

that ye shall come within this hour to the Moat House, there to take

command."

The old fellow looked up.

"Save you, my master!" he said, grinning. "And where goeth Master

Hatch?"

"Master Hatch is off to Kettley, with every man that we can horse,"

returned Bennet. "There is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a

reinforcement."

"Ay, verily," returned Appleyard. "And what will ye leave me to garrison

withal?"

"I leave you six good men, and Sir Oliver to boot," answered Hatch.

"It'll not hold the place," said Appleyard; "the number sufficeth not.

It would take two score to make it good."

"Why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other. "Who

else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a

garrison?"

"Ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned Nick.

"There is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for

archery--St. Michael! if old Harry the Fift were back again, he would

stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthing a shoot!"

"Nay, Nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said Bennet.

"Draw a good bow!" cried Appleyard. "Yes! But who'll shoot me a good

shoot? It's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders.

Now, what might you call a long shoot, Bennet Hatch?"

"Well," said Bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from

here into the forest."

"Ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look

over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood

staring.

"Why, what are you looking at?" asked Bennet, with a chuckle. "Do you

see Harry the Fift?"

The veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. The sun shone

broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing;

all was still but the distant jangle of the bell.

"What is it, Appleyard?" asked Dick.

"Why, the birds," said Appleyard.

And, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a

tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms,

about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of

birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder.

"What of the birds?" said Bennet.

"Ay!" returned Appleyard, "y' are a wise man to go to war, Master

Bennet. Birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line

of battle. Look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers

skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the

wiser!"

"Why, old shrew," said Hatch, "there be no men nearer us than Sir

Daniel's, at Kettley; y' are as safe as in London Tower; and ye raise

scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!"

"Hear him!" grinned Appleyard. "How many a rogue would give his two crop

ears to have a shoot at either of us! St. Michael, man! they hate us

like two pole-cats!"

"Well, sooth it is, they hate Sir Daniel," answered Hatch, a little

sobered.

"Ay, they hate Sir Daniel, and they hate every man that serves with

him," said Appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate

Bennet Hatch and old Nicholas the bowman. See ye here: if there was a

stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and I stood fair for

him--as, by St. George, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?"

"You, for a good wager," answered Hatch.

"My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer.

"Ye burned Grimstone, Bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master.

And as for me, I'll soon be in a good place, God grant, and out of

bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices. I am an old man,

and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. But for you, Bennet,

y' are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my

years unhanged, the old true-blue English spirit will be dead."

"Y' are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall Forest," returned Hatch,

visibly ruffled by these threats. "Get ye to your arms before Sir Oliver

come, and leave prating for one good while. An ye had talked so much

with Harry the Fift, his ears would ha' been richer than his pocket."

An arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old Appleyard

between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell

forward on his face among the cabbages. Hatch, with a broken cry, leapt

into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house.

And in the meanwhile Dick Shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had

his crossbow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest.

Not a leaf stirred. The sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had

settled. But there lay the old man, with a clothyard arrow standing in

his back; and there were Hatch holding to the gable, and Dick crouching

and ready behind the lilac bush.

"D'ye see aught?" cried Hatch.

"Not a twig stirs," said Dick.

"I think shame to leave him lying," said Bennet, coming forward once

more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance. "Keep a good eye

on the wood, Master Shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood. The saints

assoil us! here was a good shoot!"

Bennet raised the old archer on his knee. He was not yet dead; his face

worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most

horrible, ugly look of one in pain.

"Can ye hear, old Nick?" asked Hatch. "Have ye a last wish before ye

wend, old brother?"

"Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' Mary's name!" gasped

Appleyard, "I be done with Old England. Pluck it out!"

"Master Dick," said Bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon

the arrow. He would fain pass, the poor sinner."

Dick laid down his crossbow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it

forth. A gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his

feet, called once upon the name of God, and then fell dead. Hatch, upon

his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the

passing spirit. But even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was

still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from

which the shot had come. When he had done, he got to his feet again,

drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was

all wet with terror.

"Ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next."

"Who hath done this, Bennet?" Richard asked, still holding the arrow in

his hand.

"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch. "Here are a good two score Christian

souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and I. He has

paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere I pay mine.

Sir Daniel driveth over-hard."

"This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his

hand.

"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet. "Black, and black-feathered. Here is an

ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial. And

here be words written. Wipe the blood away. What read ye?"

"'_Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All_,'" read Shelton. "What should this

betoken?"

"Nay, I like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head. "John

Amend-All! Here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world! But

why stand we here to make a mark? Take him by the knees, good Master

Shelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his

house. This will be a rare shog to poor Sir Oliver; he will turn

paper-colour; he will pray like a windmill."

They took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his

house, where he had dwelt alone. And there they laid him on the floor,

out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to

straighten and compose his limbs.

Appleyard's house was clean and bare. There was a bed, with a blue

cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table

in the chimney-corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury

of bows and defensive armour. Hatch began to look about him curiously.

"Nick had money," he said. "He may have had three score pounds put by. I

would I could light upon't! When ye lose an old friend, Master Richard,

the best consolation is to heir him. See, now, this chest. I would go a

mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein. He had a strong hand to

get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had Appleyard the archer. Now may

God rest his spirit! Near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever

getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more

lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier,

methinks, in heaven."

"Come, Hatch," said Dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes. Would ye rob

the man before his body? Nay, he would walk!"

Hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural

complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any

purpose. It would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate

sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a

tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and

black robe.

"Appleyard," the newcomer was saying, as he entered, but he stopped

dead. "Ave Maria!" he cried. "Saints be our shield! What cheer is this?"

"Cold cheer with Appleyard, sir parson," answered Hatch, with perfect

cheerfulness. "Shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory

gates. Ay! there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor

candle."

Sir Oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick

and white.

"This is a judgment! O, a great stroke!" he sobbed, and rattled off a

leash of prayers.

Hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down.

"Ay, Bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this

be? What enemy hath done this?"

"Here, Sir Oliver, is the arrow. See, it is written upon with words,"

said Dick.

"Nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing! John Amend-All! A

right Lollardy word. And black of hue, as for an omen! Sirs, this knave

arrow likes me not. But it importeth rather to take counsel. Who should

this be? Bethink you, Bennet. Of so many black ill-willers, which should

he be that doth so hardily outface us? Simnel? I do much question it.

The Walsinghams? Nay, they are not yet so broken; they still think to

have the law over us, when times change. There was Simon Malmesbury,

too. How think ye, Bennet?"

"What think ye, sir," returned Hatch, "of Ellis Duckworth?"

"Nay, Bennet, never. Nay, not he," said the priest. "There cometh never

any rising, Bennet, from below--so all judicious chroniclers concord in

their opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and

when Dick, Tom, and Harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly

to see what lord is profited thereby. Now, Sir Daniel, having once more

joined him to the Queen's party, is in ill odour with the Yorkist lords.

Thence, Bennet, comes the blow--by what procuring, I yet seek; but

therein lies the nerve of this discomfiture."

"An't please you, Sir Oliver," said Bennet, "the axles are so hot in

this country that I have long been smelling fire. So did this poor

sinner, Appleyard. And, by your leave, men's spirits are so foully

inclined to all of us, that it needs neither York nor Lancaster to spur

them on. Hear my plain thoughts: You, that are a clerk, and Sir Daniel,

that sails on any wind, ye have taken many men's goods, and beaten and

hanged not a few. Y' are called to count for this; in the end, I wot not

how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched. But

give me leave, Sir Oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten

is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up

with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards."

"Nay, Bennet, y' are in the wrong. Bennet, ye should be glad to be

corrected," said Sir Oliver. "Y' are a prater, Bennet, a talker, a

babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears. Mend it, Bennet, mend

it."

"Nay, I say no more. Have it as ye list," said the retainer.

The priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung

about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. With

these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with Sir Daniel's arms,

Hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded,

somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse.

"'Tis time we were on the road, Sir Oliver," said Hatch, as he held the

priest's stirrup while he mounted.

"Ay; but, Bennet, things are changed," returned the parson. "There is

now no Appleyard--rest his soul!--to keep the garrison. I shall keep

you, Bennet. I must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black

arrows. 'The arrow that flieth by day,' saith the evangel; I have no

mind of the context; nay, I am a sluggard priest, I am too deep in men's

affairs. Well, let us ride forth, Master Hatch. The jackmen should be at

the church by now."

So they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing

the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds

began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. They had passed three of

the scattered houses that make up Tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a

turn, they saw the church before them. Ten or a dozen houses clustered

immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the

meadows. At the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in

the saddle, some standing by their horses' heads. They were variously

armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows,

and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the

furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better

men and the fair equipments were already with Sir Daniel in the field.

"We have not done amiss, praised be the cross of Holywood! Sir Daniel

will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the

troop.

"Who goes? Stand! if ye be true!" shouted Bennet.

A man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at

the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took

to his heels for the forest. The men at the gate, who had been hitherto

unaware of the stranger's presence, woke and scattered. Those who had

dismounted began scrambling into the saddle: the rest rode in pursuit;

but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was

plain their quarry would escape them. Hatch, roaring an oath, put his

horse at the hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his

rider sprawling in the dust. And though he was up again in a moment, and

had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained

too great a lead for any hope of capture.

The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead of starting in a vain

pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a

quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned

to Bennet, and asked if he should shoot.

"Shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.

"Cover him, Master Dick," said Bennet. "Bring me him down like a ripe

apple."

The fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last

part of the meadow ran very steeply uphill, and the man ran slower in

proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven

movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as Dick levelled his

bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. The

quarrel sped.

The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and the

pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the harvest. The man

fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a

bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood.

"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet. "He has thieves' heels: he

can run, by St. Banbury! But you touched him, Master Shelton; he has

stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!"

"Nay, but what made he by the church?" asked Sir Oliver. "I am shrewdly

afeared there has been mischief here.--Clipsby, good fellow, get ye down

from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews."

Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned, carrying a paper.

"This writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the

parson. "I found-naught else, sir parson."

"Now, by the power of Mother Church," cried Sir Oliver, "but this runs

hard on sacrilege! For the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the

manor--well! But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should

fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard;

and men have burned for matters of less weight! But what have we here?

The light fails apace. Good Master Richard, y' have young eyes. Read me,

I pray, this libel."

Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. It contained

some lines of a very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a

gross character, and most uncouthly spelt. With the spelling somewhat

bettered, this is how they ran:--

"I had four blak arrows under my belt,

Four for the greefs that I have felt,

Four for the nomber of ill menne

That have oppressid me now and then.

One is gone; one is wele sped;

Old Apulyaird is ded.

One is for Maister Bennet Hatch,

That burned Grimstone, walls and thatch.

One for Sir Oliver Oates,

That cut Sir Harry Shelton's throat.

Sir Daniel, ye shull have the fourt;

We shall think it fair sport.

Ye shull each have your own part,

A blak arrow in each blak heart.

Get ye to your knees for to pray:

Ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay!

"JON AMEND-ALL

of the Green Wood,

And his jolly fellaweship.

"Item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your

following."

"Now, well-a-day for charity and the Christian graces!" cried Sir Oliver

lamentably. "Sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. I will

swear upon the cross of Holywood I am as innocent of that good knight's

hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened. Neither was

his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live

credible witnesses to show."

"It boots not, sir parson," said Bennet. "Here is unseasonable talk."

"Nay, Master Bennet, not so. Keep ye in your due place, good Bennet,"

answered the priest. "I shall make mine innocence appear. I will upon no

consideration lose my poor life in error. I take all men to witness that

I am clear of this matter. I was not even in the Moat House. I was sent

of an errand before nine upon the clock----"

"Sir Oliver," said Hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop

this sermon, I will take other means.--Goffe, sound to horse."

And while the tucket was sounding, Bennet moved close to the bewildered

parson, and whispered violently in his ear.

Dick Shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in a

startled glance. He had some cause for thought; for this Sir Harry

Shelton was his own natural father. But he said never a word, and kept

his countenance unmoved.

Hatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for a while their altered

situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not

only to garrison the Moat House, but to escort the priest across the

wood. In the meantime, as Bennet was to remain behind, the command of

the reinforcement was given to Master Shelton. Indeed, there was no

choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while

Dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age.

Although his youth had been spent in these rough country places, the lad

had been well taught in letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had

shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command.

Bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are

cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly

faithful and well-willing to their friends; and now, while Sir Oliver

entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a

memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, Sir Daniel Brackley,

Bennet came up to his pupil to wish him God-speed upon his enterprise.

"Ye must go the long way about, Master Shelton," he said; "round by the

bridge, for your life! Keep a sure man, fifty paces afore you, to draw

shots; and go softly till y' are past the wood. If the rogues fall upon

you, ride for 't; ye will do naught by standing. And keep ever forward,

Master Shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is

no help in Tunstall, mind ye that. And now, since ye go to the great

wars about the king, and I continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of

my life, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below,

I give you my last counsels now at your riding. Keep an eye on Sir

Daniel; he is unsure. Put not your trust in the jack-priest; he

intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for

Sir Daniel! Get you good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends;

look to it. And think ever a paternoster-while on Bennet Hatch. There

are worse rogues afoot than Bennet. So, God-speed!"

"And Heaven be with you, Bennet!" returned Dick. "Ye were a good friend

to me-ward, and so I shall say ever."

"And look ye, master," added Hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if

this Amend-All should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a

gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff

with me in purgatory."

"Ye shall have your will of it, Bennet," answered Dick. "But, what

cheer, man! we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale

than masses."

"The saints so grant it, Master Dick!" returned the other. "But here

comes Sir Oliver. An he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen,

he would be a brave man-at-arms."

Sir Oliver gave Dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "To my

ryght worchypful master, Sir Daniel Brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered

in haste."

And Dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set

forth westward up the village.

BOOK I

THE TWO LADS

CHAPTER I

AT THE SIGN OF THE "SUN" IN KETTLEY

Sir Daniel and his men lay in and about Kettley that night, warmly

quartered and well patrolled. But the Knight of Tunstall was one who

never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink

of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after

midnight to squeeze poor neighbours. He was one who trafficked greatly

in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely

claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the

king, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too

round-about, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on

his influence and Sir Oliver's cunning in the law to hold what he had

snatched. Kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his

clutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to

overawe discontent that he had led his troops that way.

By two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn room, close by the

fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of Kettley. By his

elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. He had taken off his visored

headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin dark visage resting on

one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. At the lower end

of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay

asleep on benches; and, somewhat nearer hand, a young lad apparently of

twelve or thirteen was stretched in a mantle on the floor. The host of

the "Sun" stood before the great man.

"Now, mark me, mine host," Sir Daniel said, "follow but mine orders,

and I shall be your good lord ever. I must have good men for head

boroughs, and I will have Adam-a-More high constable; see to it

narrowly. If other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it

shall be found to your sore cost. For those that have paid rent to

Walsingham I shall take good measure--you among the rest, mine host."

"Good knight," said the host, "I will swear upon the cross of Holywood I

did but pay to Walsingham upon compulsion. Nay, bully knight, I love not

the rogue Walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. Give

me a great lord like you. Nay; ask me among the neighbours, I am stout

for Brackley."

"It may be," said Sir Daniel drily. "Ye shall then pay twice."

The innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck

that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was

perhaps glad to make his peace so easily.

"Bring up yon fellow, Selden!" cried the knight.

And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a

candle, and all shaking with the fen fever.

"Sirrah," said Sir Daniel, "your name?"

"An't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is

Condall--Condall of Shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure."

"I have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight. "Ye deal in

treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y' are heavily

suspicioned of the death of severals. How, fellow, are ye so bold? But I

will bring you down."

"Right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some

hodge-podge, saving your good presence. I am but a poor private man, and

have hurt none."

"The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight.

"'Seize me,' saith he, 'that Tyndal of Shoreby.'"

"Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate.

"Condall or Tyndal, it is all one," replied Sir Daniel coolly. "For, by

my sooth, y' are here, and I do mightily suspect your honesty. If you

would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound."

"For twenty pound, my good lord!" cried Condall. "Here is midsummer

madness! My whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings."

"Condall or Tyndal," returned Sir Daniel, grinning, "I will run my peril

of that loss. Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may,

I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest."

"Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write," said

Condall.

"Well-a-day!" returned the knight. "Here, then, is no remedy. Yet I

would fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered.--Selden,

take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him

tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding. Fare ye well,

good Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal; y' are post-haste for Paradise;

fare ye then well!"

"Nay, my right pleasant lord," replied Condall, forcing an obsequious

smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, I will

even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding."

"Friend," quoth Sir Daniel, "ye will now write two score. Go to! y' are

too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings. Selden, see him write

me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed."

And Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in England,

took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.

Meanwhile the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and

looked about him with a scare.

"Hither," said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came

slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. "By the rood!"

he cried, "a sturdy boy!"

The lad flashed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his

dark eyes. Now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make

certain of his age. His face looked somewhat older in expression, but it

was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was unusually

slender, and somewhat awkward of gait.

"Ye have called me, Sir Daniel," he said. "Was it to laugh at my poor

plight?"

"Nay, now, let laugh," said the knight. "Good shrew, let laugh, I pray

you. An ye could see yourself, I warrant ye would laugh the first."

"Well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer

for the other. Laugh while yet ye may!"

"Nay, now, good cousin," replied Sir Daniel, with some earnestness,

"think not that I mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and

singular friends. I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go

to! and cherish you exceedingly. I took you, indeed, roughly, as the

time demanded; but from henceforth I shall ungrudgingly maintain and

cheerfully serve you. Ye shall be Mrs. Shelton--Lady Shelton, by my

troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not shy for honest

laughter; it purgeth melancholy. They are no rogues who laugh, good

cousin.--Good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master

John.--Sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat."

"Nay," said Master John, "I will break no bread. Since ye force me to

this sin, I will fast for my soul's interest.--But, good mine host, I

pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much

beholden to your courtesy indeed."

"Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight. "Shalt be well

shriven, by my faith! Content you, then, and eat."

But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping

himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding.

In an hour or two there rose a stir in the village of sentries

challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up

by the inn-door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, presented

himself upon the threshold.

"Save you, Sir Daniel," he said.

"How! Dickie Shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of Dick's

name the other lad looked curiously across. "What maketh Bennet Hatch?"

"Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from Sir

Oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered Richard,

presenting the priest's letter. "And please you farther, ye were best

make all speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one

riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham

was sore bestead, and lacked exceedingly your presence."

"How say you? Sore bestead?" returned the knight. "Nay, then, we will

make speed sitting down, good Richard. As the world goes in this poor

realm of England, he that rides softliest rides surest. Delay, they say,

begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men;

mark it, Dick. But let me see, first, what cattle ye have

brought.--Selden, a link here at the door!"

And Sir Daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red

glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. He was an unpopular neighbour

and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well beloved by

those who rode behind his pennant. His dash, his proved courage, his

forethought for the soldiers' comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to

the taste of the bold blades in jack and salet.

"Nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these? Here be some as

crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. Friends, ye shall ride in

the front of the battle; I can spare you, friends. Mark me this old

villain on the piebald! A two-year mutton riding on a hog would look

more soldierly! Ha! Clipsby, are ye there, old rat? Y' are a man I could

lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull's-eye

painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye

shall show me the way."

"I will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to change sides,"

returned Clipsby sturdily.

Sir Daniel laughed a guffaw.

"Why, well said!" he cried. "Hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! I

will forgive you for that merry word.--Selden, see them fed, both man

and brute."

The knight re-entered the inn.

"Now, friend Dick," he said, "fall to. Here is good ale and bacon. Eat

while that I read."

Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened. When he

had done he sat a little, musing. Then he looked sharply at his ward.

"Dick," said he, "y' have seen this penny rhyme?"

The lad replied in the affirmative.

"It bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew

of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him."

"He did most eagerly deny it," answered Dick.

"He did?" cried the knight, very sharply. "Heed him not. He has a loose

tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow. Some day, when I may find the

leisure, Dick, I will myself more fully inform you of these matters.

There was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were

troubled, and there was no justice to be got."

"It befell at the Moat House?" Dick ventured, with a beating at his

heart.

"It befell between the Moat House and Holywood," replied Sir Daniel

calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at Dick's

face. "And now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall

return to Tunstall with a line from me."

Dick's face fell sorely.

"Prithee, Sir Daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains! I beseech

you let me to the battle. I can strike a stroke, I promise you."

"I misdoubt it not," replied Sir Daniel, sitting down to write. "But

here, Dick, is no honour to be won. I lie in Kettley till I have sure

tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror. Cry not

on cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm so tosseth

with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that

no man may be certain of the morrow. Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in,

but my Lord Good-Counsel sits o' one side, waiting."

With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and quite at the

farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth

on one side, for this business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his

throat.

Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily enough with his

breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice

whispering in his ear.

"Make not a sign, I do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your

charity teach me the straight way to Holywood. Beseech you, now, good

boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so

far forth upon the way to my repose."

"Take the path by the windmill," answered Dick, in the same tone; "it

will bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again."

And without turning his head, he fell again to eating. But with the tail

of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called Master John

stealthily creeping from the room.

"Why," thought Dick, "he is as young as I. 'Good boy' doth he call me?

An I had known, I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had told him.

Well, if he goes through the fen, I may come up with him and pull his

ears."

Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter and bade him speed

to the Moat House. And again, some half an hour after Dick's departure,

a messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord of Risingham.

"Sir Daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth!

The fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten

their van and scattered their right wing. Only the main battle standeth

fast. An we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the

river. What, sir knight! Will ye be the last? It stands not with your

good credit."

"Nay," cried the knight, "I was but now upon the march.--Selden, sound

me the tucket.--Sir, I am with you on the instant. It is not two hours

since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. What would ye

have? Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger.--Bustle,

boys!"

By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from

all sides Sir Daniel's men poured into the main street and formed before

the inn. They had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in

ten minutes five score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and

briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. The chief part were in Sir

Daniel's livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their

array. The best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of

the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before. Sir Daniel

looked with pride along the line.

"Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said.

"They are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger. "It but augments

my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier."

"Well," said the knight, "what would ye? The beginning of a feast and

the end of a fray, sir messenger"; and he mounted into his saddle. "Why!

how now!" he cried. "John! Joanna! Nay, by the sacred rood! where is

she?--Host, where is that girl?"

"Girl, Sir Daniel?" cried the landlord. "Nay, sir, I saw no girl."

"Boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight. "Could ye not see it was a wench?

She in the murrey-coloured mantle--she that broke her fast with water,

rogue--where is she?"

"Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye called him," said the host.

"Well, I thought none evil. He is gone. I saw him--her--I saw her in the

stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey horse."

"Now, by the rood!" cried Sir Daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred

pound to me and more."

"Sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye

are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England is

elsewhere being lost and won."

"It is well said," replied Sir Daniel.--"Selden, fall me out with six

crossbowmen; hunt me her down. I care not what it cost; but, at my

returning, let me find her at the Moat House. Be it upon your head.--And

now, sir messenger, we march."

And the troops broke into a good trot, and Selden and his six men were

left behind upon the street of Kettley, with the staring villagers.

CHAPTER II

IN THE FEN

It was near six in the May morning when Dick began to ride down into the

fen upon his homeward way. The sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew

loud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over

all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. He had been all

night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he

rode right merrily.

The path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all

the neighbouring landmarks, but Kettley windmill on the knoll behind

him, and the extreme top of Tunstall Forest far before. On either hand

there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water

shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt

and to betray the traveller. The path lay almost straight through the

morass. It was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by

Roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here

and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant

waters of the fen.

About a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such break in the plain line

of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little

islands and confused the eye. The gap, besides, was more than usually

long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief;

and Dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he

had so imperfectly directed. As for himself, one look backward to where

the windmill-sails were turning black against the blue of heaven--one

look forward to the high ground of Tunstall Forest, and he was

sufficiently directed, and held straight on, the water washing to his

horse's knees, as safe as on a highway.

Half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high

and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his

right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still

spasmodically struggling. Instantly, as though it had divined the

neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly. It

rolled, meanwhile, a bloodshot eye, insane with terror; and as it

sprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and

buzzed about it in the air.

"Alack!" thought Dick, "can the poor lad have perished? There is his

horse, for certain--a brave grey! Nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so

piteously, I will do all man can to help thee. Shalt not lie there to

drown by inches!"

And he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature's

head.

Dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit,

and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor

in the way.

"I would I had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for I fear he

has miscarried in the slough."

And just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the

causeway side, and looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad's face

peering from a clump of reeds.

"Are ye there?" he said, reining in. "Ye lay so close among the reeds

that I had passed you by. I saw your horse bemired, and put him from his

agony! which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had

done yourself. But come forth out of your hiding. Here be none to

trouble you."

"Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to use them if I had," replied

the other, stepping forth upon the pathway.

"Why call me 'boy'?" cried Dick. "Y' are not, I trow, the elder of us

twain."

"Good Master Shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me. I have none

the least intention to offend. Rather I would in every way beseech your

gentleness and favour, for I am now worse bestead than ever, having lost

my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. To have a riding-rod and spurs, and

never a horse to sit upon! And before all," he added, looking ruefully

upon his clothes--"before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!"

"Tut!" cried Dick. "Would ye mind a ducking? Blood of wound or dust of

travel--that's a man's adornment."

"Nay, then, I like him better plain," observed the lad. "But, prithee,

how shall I do? Prithee, good Master Richard, help me with your good

counsel. If I come not safe to Holywood, I am undone."

"Nay," said Dick, dismounting, "I will give more than counsel. Take my

horse, and I will run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change again,

that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier."

So the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst

on the uneven causeway, Dick with his hand upon the other's knee.

"How call ye your name?" asked Dick.

"Call me John Matcham," replied the lad.

"And what make ye to Holywood?" Dick continued.

"I seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer.

"The good Abbot of Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak."

"And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Matcham?" pursued Dick.

"Nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force! He hath taken me by

violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me

till my heart was sick; gibed me till I could 'a' wept; and when certain

of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear

to stand their shot! I was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but

lamely. Nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!"

"Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said Dick. "'Tis a valiant

knight, and hath a hand of iron. An he guessed I had made or meddled

with your flight, it would go sore with me."

"Ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y' are his ward, I know it. By the

same token, so am I, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my

marriage--I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me

by."

"Boy again!" said Dick.

"Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?" asked Matcham.

"Never a girl for me," returned Dick. "I do abjure the crew of them!"

"Ye speak boyishly," said the other. "Ye think more of them than ye

pretend."

"Not I," said Dick stoutly. "They come not in my mind. A plague of them,

say I! Give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly

foresters. I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save

one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of

men's clothes in spite of nature."

Master Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray.

"What make ye?" Dick inquired.

"I pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled

voice.

"For a witch's spirit?" Dick cried. "But pray for her and ye list; she

was the best wench in Europe, was this Joan of Arc. Old Appleyard the

archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun. Nay, she was a

brave wench."

"Well, but, good Master Richard," resumed Matcham, "an ye like maids so

little, y' are no true natural man; for God made them twain by

intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and

woman's comfort."

"Faugh!" said Dick. "Y' are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women. An

ye think I be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists,

backsword, or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your body."

"Nay, I am no fighter," replied Matcham eagerly. "I mean no tittle of

offence. I meant but pleasantry. And if I talk of women, it is because I

heard ye were to marry."

"I to marry!" Dick exclaimed. "Well, it is the first I hear of it. And

with whom was I to marry?"

"One Joan Sedley," replied Matcham, colouring. "It was Sir Daniel's

doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard

the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. It seems she is

of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom."

"Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said Dick, with

resignation. "And she bemoaned herself? I pray ye now, see there how

shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had

seen me! Do I bemoan myself? Not I. An I be to marry, I will marry

dry-eyed! But if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or

foul? And is she shrewish or pleasant?"

"Nay, what matters it?" said Matcham. "An y' are to marry, ye can but

marry. What matters foul or fair? These be but toys. Y' are no milksop,

Master Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes anyhow."

"It is well said," replied Shelton. "Little I reck."

"Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said Matcham.

"She shall have the lord Heaven made for her," returned Dick. "I trow

there be worse as well as better."

"Ah, the poor wench!" cried the other.

"And why so poor?" asked Dick.

"To wed a man of wood," replied his companion. "O me, for a wooden

husband!"

"I think I be a man of wood, indeed," said Dick, "to trudge afoot the

while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, I trow."

"Good Dick, forgive me," cried the other. "Nay, y' are the best heart in

England; I but laughed. Forgive me now, sweet Dick."

"Nay, no fool words," returned Dick, a little embarrassed by his

companion's warmth. "No harm is done. I am not touchy, praise the

saints."

And at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as

they went, brought them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel's trumpeter.

"Hark!" said Dick, "the tucket soundeth."

"Ay," said Matcham, "they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!"

and he became pale as death.

"Nay, what cheer!" returned Dick. "Y' have a long start, and we are near

the ferry. And it is I, methinks, that am unhorsed."

"Alack, I shall be taken!" cried the fugitive. "Dick, kind Dick, beseech

ye help me but a little!"

"Why, now, what aileth thee?" said Dick. "Methinks I help you very

patently. But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see ye

here, John Matcham--sith John Matcham is your name--I, Richard Shelton,

tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holywood. The

saints so do to me again if I default you. Come, pick me up a good

heart, Sir White-face. The way betters here; spur me the horse. Go

faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer."

So, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick running easily alongside,

they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of

the river by the ferryman's hut.

CHAPTER III

THE FEN FERRY

The river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens,

and in this part of its course it strained among some score of

willow-covered, marshy islets.

It was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything

was become beautiful. The wind and the martens broke it up into

innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over

all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue.

A creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman's

hut lay snugly. It was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon

the roof.

Dick went to the door and opened it. Within, upon a foul old russet

cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man,

but lean and shaken by the country fever.

"Hey, Master Shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry? Ill times, ill

times! Look to yourself. There is a fellowship abroad. Ye were better

turn round on your two heels and try the bridge."

"Nay; time's in the saddle," answered Dick. "Time will ride, Hugh

Ferryman. I am hot in haste."

"A wilful man!" returned the ferryman, rising. "An ye win safe to the

Moat House, y' have done lucky; but I say no more." And then catching

sight of Matcham, "Who be this?" he asked, as he paused, blinking, on

the threshold of his cabin.

"It is my kinsman, Master Matcham," answered Dick.

"Give ye good day, good ferryman," said Matcham, who had dismounted,

and now came forward, leading the horse. "Launch me your boat, I

prithee; we are sore in haste."

The gaunt ferryman continued staring.

"By the mass!" he cried at length, and laughed with open throat.

Matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and Dick, with an angry

countenance, put his hand on the lout's shoulder.

"How now, churl!" he cried. "Fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy

betters."

Hugh Ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth

into the deep water. Then Dick led in the horse, and Matcham followed.

"Ye be mortal small made, master," said Hugh, with a wide grin;

"something o' the wrong model, belike.--Nay, Master Shelton, I am for

you," he added, getting to his oars. "A cat may look at a king. I did

but take a shot of the eye at Master Matcham."

"Sirrah, no more words," said Dick. "Bend me your back."

They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up

and down the river. Everywhere it was enclosed with islands. Clay banks

were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and

piping. There was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters.

"My master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "I

have a shrewd guess that John-a-Fenne is on the island. He bears me a

black grudge to all Sir Daniel's. How if I turned me up stream and

landed you an arrow-flight, above the path? Ye were best not meddle with

John Fenne."

"How, then? is he of this company?" asked Dick.

"Nay, mum is the word," said Hugh. "But I would go up water, Dick. How

if Master Matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again.

"Be it so, Hugh," answered Dick.

"Look ye, then," pursued Hugh. "Sith it shall so be, unsling me your

crossbow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel. Ay, keep it

so, and look upon me grimly."

"What meaneth this?" asked Dick.

"Why, my master, if I steal you across, it must be under force or fear,"

replied the ferryman; "for else, if John Fenne got wind of it, he were

like to prove my most distressful neighbour."

"Do these churls ride so roughly?" Dick inquired. "Do they command Sir

Daniel's own ferry?"

"Nay," whispered the ferryman, winking. "Mark me! Sir Daniel shall down.

His time is out. He shall down. Mum!" And he bent over his oars.

They pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and

came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank. Then Hugh held

water in midstream.

"I must land you here among the willows," he said.

"Here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered Dick.

"Master Shelton," replied Hugh, "I dare not take ye nearer down, for

your own sake now. He watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow. All that

go by and owe Sir Daniel goodwill he shooteth down like rabbits. I heard

him swear it by the rood. An I had not known you of old days--ay, and

from so high upward--I would 'a' let you go on; but for old days'

remembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that's not fit for

wounds or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole.

Content you; I can no more, on my salvation!"

Hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great

shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a

strong man breasting roughly through the wood.

"A murrain!" cried Hugh. "He was on the upper island all the while!" He

pulled straight for shore. "Threat me with your bow, good Dick; threat

me with it plain," he added. "I have tried to save your skins, save you

mine!"

The boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. Matcham,

pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from Dick ran along the thwarts

and leaped ashore; Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to

follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of

the thicket, both stuck fast. The horse neighed and trampled; and the

boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with

violence.

"It may not be, Hugh; here is no landing," cried Dick; but he still

struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal.

A tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a longbow in his hand.

Dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow

with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry.

"Who goes?" he shouted. "Hugh, who goes?"

"'Tis Master Shelton, John," replied the ferryman.

"Stand, Dick Shelton!" bawled the man upon the island. "Ye shall have no

hurt, upon the rood! Stand!--Back out, Hugh Ferryman."

Dick cried a taunting answer.

"Nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an

arrow.

The horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat

capsized, and next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the

river.

When Dick came up he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes

were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that

instantly began to drag him forward. It was the riding-rod, that

Matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely

thrust into his grasp.

"By the mass!" cried Dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life I

owe you. I swim like a cannon-ball." And he turned instantly towards the

island.

Midway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while

John-a-Fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to

hurry.

"Come, Jack," said Shelton, "run for it! Ere Hugh can hale his barge

across, or the pair of 'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry."

And adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the

willows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock. He had no

time to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back

upon the river, and put all his heart to running.

Presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was

still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of

solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows.

But here Matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself

fairly down.

"Leave me, Dick!" he cried pantingly; "I can no more."

Dick turned, and came back to where his companion lay.

"Nay, Jack, leave thee!" he cried. "That were a knave's trick, to be

sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to

save my life. Drowning, in sooth; for why I did not pull you in along

with me, the saints alone can tell!"

"Nay," said Matcham, "I would 'a' saved us both, good Dick, for I can

swim."

"Can ye so?" cried Dick, with open eyes. It was the one manly

accomplishment of which he was himself incapable. In the order of the

things that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight,

came swimming. "Well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man. I

promised to care for you as far as Holywood, and, by the rood, Jack, y'

are more capable to care for me."

"Well, Dick, we're friends now," said Matcham.

"Nay, I never was unfriends," answered Dick. "Y' are a brave lad in

your way, albeit something of a milksop too. I never met your like

before this day. But, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on.

Here is no place for chatter."

"My foot hurts shrewdly," said Matcham.

"Nay, I had forgot your foot," returned Dick. "Well, we must go the

gentlier. I would I knew rightly where we were. I have clean lost the

path; yet that may be for the better, too. An they watch the ferry, they

watch the path, belike, as well. I would Sir Daniel were back with two

score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves.

Come, Jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. Nay, y' are not tall

enough. What age are ye, for a wager?--twelve?"

"Nay, I am sixteen," said Matcham.

"Y' are poorly grown to height, then," answered Dick. "But take my hand.

We shall go softly, never fear. I owe you a life; I am a good repayer,

Jack, of good or evil."

They began to go forward up the slope.

"We must hit the road, early or late," continued Dick; "and then for a

fresh start. By the mass! but y' have a rickety hand, Jack. If I had a

hand like that I would think shame. I tell you," he went on, with a

sudden chuckle, "I swear by the mass I believe Hugh Ferryman took you

for a maid."

"Nay, never!" cried the other, colouring high.

"'A did, though, for a wager!" Dick exclaimed. "Small blame to him. Ye

look liker maid than man: and I tell you more--y' are a strange-looking

rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, Jack, ye would be right fair--ye

would. Ye would be well-favoured for a wench."

"Well," said Matcham, "ye know right well that I am none."

"Nay, I know that; I do but jest," said Dick. "Ye'll be a man before

your mother, Jack. What cheer, my bully? Ye shall strike shrewd strokes.

Now, which, I marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, Jack? for

knighted I shall be, or die for 't. 'Sir Richard Shelton, Knight': it

soundeth bravely. But 'Sir John Matcham' soundeth not amiss."

"Prithee, Dick, stop till I drink," said the other, pausing where a

little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no

bigger than a pocket. "And O, Dick, if I might come by anything to

eat!--my very heart aches with hunger."

"Why, fool, did ye not eat at Kettley?" asked Dick.

"I had made a vow--it was a sin I had been led into," stammered Matcham;

"but now, if it were but dry bread, I would eat it greedily."

"Sit ye, then, and eat," said Dick, "while that I scout a little forward

for the road." And he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread

and pieces of dry bacon, and, while Matcham fell heartily to, struck

farther forth among the trees.

A little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked

among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown

and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and

elm. The continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves

sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was

for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that Dick

went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking

sharply about him as he went. Suddenly a doe passed like a shadow

through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the

chance. This part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that

the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent

before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he

turned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb.

Luck had served him well. The oak on which he had mounted was one of the

tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its

neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when Dick had clambered into the

topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he

saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as Kettley, and the Till

wandering among woody islets, and in front of him the white line of

high-road winding through the forest. The boat had been righted--it was

even now midway on the ferry. Beyond that there was no sign of man, nor

aught moving but the wind. He was about to descend, when, taking a last

view, his eye lit upon a string of moving points about the middle of the

fen. Plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a

good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down

the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion.

CHAPTER IV

A GREENWOOD COMPANY

Matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what

Dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the

road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of Tunstall

Forest. The trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in

between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. The ground became more

and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. And with every step of the

ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the

gusts like fishing-rods.

They had just entered one of the clearings, when Dick suddenly clapped

down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly

backward towards the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in great

bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated

his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour

of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain.

For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger.

At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring

wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky. For

about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like

a column. At that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the

fork, like a mast-headed seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard,

spying far and wide. The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he

shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from

side to side, with the regularity of a machine.

The lads exchanged glances.

"Let us try to the left," said Dick. "We had near fallen foully, Jack."

Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path.

"Here is a piece of forest that I know not," Dick remarked. "Where goeth

me this track?"

"Let us even try," said Matcham.

A few yards farther, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go

down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. At the foot, out of a thick wood

of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by

fire, and a single tall chimney, marked the ruins of a house.

"What may this be?" whispered Matcham.

"Nay, by the mass, I know not," answered Dick. "I am all at sea. Let us

go warily."

With beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. Here and

there they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit-trees and pot-herbs

ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it

seemed they were treading what once had been a garden. Yet a little

farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house.

It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. A dry ditch was dug deep

about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen

rafter. The two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their

empty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now

lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire. Already in the interior

a few plants were springing green among the chinks.

"Now I bethink me," whispered Dick, "this must be Grimstone. It was a

hold of one Simon Malmesbury; Sir Daniel was his bane! 'Twas Bennet

Hatch that burned it, now five years agone. In sooth, 'twas pity, for it

was a fair house."

Down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and

Matcham, laying one hand upon Dick's arm, held up a warning finger.

"Hist!" he said.

Then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. It was twice repeated

ere they recognised its nature. It was the sound of a big man clearing

his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into

singing:--

"Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws:

'What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?'

And Gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown:

'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!'"

The singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence.

The two lads stood looking at each other. Whoever he might be, their

invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin. And suddenly the colour

came into Matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen

rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that

filled the interior of the roofless house. Dick would have withheld him,

had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow.

Right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and

protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. Into this the

lads silently lowered themselves. There they were perfectly concealed,

and through an arrow loophole commanded a view upon the farther side.

Peering through this they were struck stiff with terror at their

predicament. To retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe.

Upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they

crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and

close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some

sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced,

battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a

horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. Plainly this was the singer;

plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step

among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. A little farther off another

man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering

above his face. All this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at

the extreme verge a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's

carcass, hung upon a flowering hawthorn.

Presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the

spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to

stirring and singing.

"'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,'"

he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it.

"'O, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do,

But if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into.'"

Still as he sang, he took from time to time another spoonful of the

broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced

cook. At length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready, for taking

the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls.

The other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and

looked about him.

"How now, brother?" he said. "Dinner?"

"Ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner too, with

neither ale nor bread. But there is little pleasure in the greenwood

now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot,

set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart's desire both

of ale and wine. But now are men's spirits dead; and this John

Amend-All, save us and guard us! but a stuffed booby to scare crows

withal."

"Nay," returned the other, "y' are too set on meat and drinking,

Lawless. Bide ye a bit; the good time cometh."

"Look ye," returned the cook, "I have even waited for this good time

sith that I was so high. I have been a grey friar; I have been a king's

archer; I have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and I have been

in greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot the king's deer. What

cometh of it? Naught! I were better to have bided in the cloister. John

Abbot availeth more than John Amend-All.--By'r Lady! here they come."

One after another, tall likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn.

Each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the

caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. They were very variously

equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife

and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in Lincoln

green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts,

a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides. They came

in the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell

instantly to meat.

There were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of

suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately

after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debouched upon the lawn.

A tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham,

walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a

bright boar-spear in his hand.

"Lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y' have

sung this while on a dry whistle, and lived at little ease. But what

said I ever? Abide Fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. And

lo! here is her little firstling--even that good creature, ale!"

There was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and

displayed a goodly cask.

"And now haste ye, boys," the man continued. "There is work toward. A

handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is

their wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste arrows--no man of

them shall struggle through this wood. For, lads, we are here some fifty

strong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost

lands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed--all

oppressed! Who, then, hath done this evil? Sir Daniel, by the rood!

Shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our

fields? shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? I trow not. He getteth

him strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall

not gain--I have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall

conquer him."

Lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale. He

raised it, as if to pledge the speaker.

"Master Ellis," he said, "y' are for vengeance--well it becometh

you!--but your poor brother o' the greenwood that had never lands to

lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to

the profit of the thing. He had liefer a gold noble and a pottle of

canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory."

"Lawless," replied the other, "to reach the Moat House, Sir Daniel must

pass the forest. We shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any

battle. Then, when he has got to earth with such ragged handful as

escapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to

give him aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be

the fall of him. 'Tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all."

"Ay," returned Lawless, "I have eaten many of these dinners beforehand;

but the cooking of them is hot work, good Master Ellis. And meanwhile

what do we? We make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair

cold water, that discomfortable drink."

"Y' are untrue, Will Lawless. Ye still smell of the Grey Friars'

buttery; greed is your undoing," answered Ellis. "We took twenty pounds

from Appleyard. We took seven marks from the messenger last night. A day

ago we had fifty from the merchant."

"And to-day," said one of the men, "I stopped a fat pardoner riding

apace for Holywood. Here is his purse."

Ellis counted the contents.

"Five score shillings!" he grumbled. "Fool, he had more in his sandal,

or stitched into his tippet. Y' are but a child, Tom Cuckow; ye have

lost the fish."

But, for all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. He stood

leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. They, in

various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally

washed it down with ale. This was a good day; they were in luck; but

business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. The first-comers

had by this time even despatched their dinner. Some lay down upon the

grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked

together, or overhauled their weapons; and one, whose humour was

particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing:

"Here is no law in good green shaw,

Here is no lack of meat;

'Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet,

In summer, when all is sweet.

Come winter again, with wind and rain--

Come winter, with snow and sleet,

Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces,

And sit by the fire and eat."

All this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only Richard

had unslung his crossbow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or

grappling-iron that he used to bend it. Otherwise they had not dared to

stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a

scene upon a theatre. But now there came a strange interruption. The

tall chimney which overtopped the remainder of the ruins rose right

above their hiding-place. There came a whistle in the air, and then a

sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their

ears. Some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very

sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the

chimney-top.

Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and

even Dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his

fingers. But to the fellows on the lawn this shaft was an expected

signal. They were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing

their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. Ellis held

up his hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the

white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face.

"Lads," he said, "ye know your places. Let not one man's soul escape

you. Appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. I have

three men whom I will bitterly avenge--Harry Shelton, Simon Malmesbury,

and"--striking his broad bosom--"and Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!"

Another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns.

"'Tis not Sir Daniel!" he panted. "They are but seven. Is the arrow

gone?"

"It struck but now," replied Ellis.

"A murrain!" cried the messenger. "Methought I heard it whistle. And I

go dinnerless!"

In the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according

as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the Black

Arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house;

and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead

deer's carcass on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been

there.

CHAPTER V

"BLOODY AS THE HUNTER"

The lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. Then

they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint,

clambered through the ruins and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter.

Matcham had picked up the windac and went first, Dick following stiffly,

with his crossbow on his arm.

"And now," said Matcham, "forth to Holywood."

"To Holywood!" cried Dick, "when good fellows stand shot? Not I! I would

see you hanged first, Jack!"

"Ye would leave me, would ye?" Matcham asked.

"Ay, by my sooth!" returned Dick. "An I be not in time to warn these

lads, I will go die with them. What! would ye have me leave my own men

that I have lived among? I trow not! Give me my windac."

But there was nothing further from Matcham's mind.

"Dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe

to Holywood. Would ye be forsworn? Would you desert me--a perjurer?"

"Nay, I swear for the best," returned Dick. "I meant it too; but now!

But look ye, Jack, turn again with me. Let me but warn these men, and,

if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and I will

on again to Holywood and purge mine oath."

"Ye but deride me," answered Matcham. "These men ye go to succour are

the same that hunt me to my ruin."

Dick scratched his head.

"I cannot help it, Jack," he said. "Here is no remedy. What would ye? Ye

run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death. Death!" he

added. "Think of it! What a murrain do ye keep me here for? Give me the

windac. St. George! shall they all die?"

"Richard Shelton," said Matcham, looking him squarely in the face,

"would ye, then, join party with Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears? Heard ye

not this Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly

blood and the father that men slew? 'Harry Shelton,' he said; and Sir

Harry Shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven."

"What would ye?" Dick cried again. "Would ye have me credit thieves?"

"Nay, I have heard it before now," returned Matcham. "The fame goeth

currently, it was Sir Daniel slew him. He slew him under oath; in his

own house he shed the innocent blood. Heaven wearies for the avenging

on't; and you--the man's son--ye go about to comfort and defend the

murderer!"

"Jack," cried the lad, "I know not. It may be; what know I? But see

here: This man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men I have

hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril--O,

man, if I did that, I were stark dead to honour! Nay, Jack, ye would not

ask it; ye would not wish me to be base."

"But your father, Dick!" said Matcham, somewhat wavering. "Your father?

and your oath to me? Ye took the saints to witness."

"My father?" cried Shelton. "Nay, he would have me go! If Sir Daniel

slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay Sir Daniel; but

neither him nor his will I desert in peril. And for mine oath, good

Jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. For the lives' sake of many men

that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free."

"I, Dick? Never!" returned Matcham. "An ye leave me, y' are forsworn,

and so I shall declare it!"

"My blood heats," said Dick. "Give me the windac! Give it me!"

"I'll not," said Matcham. "I'll save you in your teeth."

"Not?" cried Dick, "I'll make you!"

"Try it," said the other.

They stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring. Then

Dick leaped; and though Matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds

he was overtaken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown

roughly to the ground, and Dick stood across him, flushed and menacing,

with doubled fist. Matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the

grass, not thinking of resistance.

Dick bent his bow.

"I'll teach you!" he cried fiercely. "Oath or no oath, ye may go hang

for me!"

And he turned and began to run. Matcham was on his feet at once, and

began running after him.

"What d'ye want?" cried Dick, stopping. "What make ye after me? Stand

off!"

"I will follow an I please," said Matcham. "This wood is free to me."

"Stand back, by'r Lady!" returned Dick, raising his bow.

"Ah, y' are a brave boy!" retorted Matcham. "Shoot!"

Dick lowered his weapon in some confusion.

"See here," he said. "Y' have done me ill enough. Go, then. Go your way

in fair wise; or, whether I will or not, I must even drive you to it."

"Well," said Matcham doggedly, "y' are the stronger. Do your worst. I

shall not leave to follow thee, Dick, unless thou makest me," he added.

Dick was almost beside himself. It went against his heart to beat a

creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way

to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps

untrue companion.

"Y' are mad, I think," he cried. "Fool-fellow, I am hasting to your

foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go I thither."

"I care not, Dick," replied the lad. "If y' are bound to die, Dick,

I'll die too. I would liefer go with you to prison than to go free

without you."

"Well," returned the other, "I may stand no longer prating. Follow me,

if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you,

mark ye that. Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy."

So saying, Dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of

the thicket, and looking briskly about him as he went. At a good pace he

rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of

the wood. To the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden

gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs.

"I shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy

clearing.

He had gone but a few yards, when Matcham touched him on the arm, and

pointed. To the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were,

a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the

ground was rusty, like an unsecured buckler, and dotted sparingly with

yews; and there, one following another, Dick saw half a score green

jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by

his boar-spear, Ellis Duckworth in person. One after another gained the

top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the

farther side, until the last was gone.

Dick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye.

"So y' are to be true to me, Jack?" he asked. "I thought ye were of the

other party."

Matcham began to sob.

"What cheer!" cried Dick. "Now the saints behold us! would ye snivel'

for a word?"

"Ye hurt me," sobbed Matcham. "Ye hurt me when ye threw me down. Y' are

a coward to abuse your strength."

"Nay, that is fool's talk," said Dick roughly. "Y' had no title to my

windac, Master John. I would 'a' done right to have well basted you. If

ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come."

Matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that Dick

continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence, and not so much as

looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to

run in turn. But the ground was very difficult and steep; Dick had

already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he

had long since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and

ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before Matcham, panting like

a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side.

Below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from

Tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry. It was well beaten, and

the eye followed it easily from point to point. Here it was bordered by

open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran

beside an ambush. Far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel

salets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, Selden and his men

could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon Sir Daniel's mission. The

wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and,

perhaps, had Appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from

the troubled conduct of the birds.

"Now, mark," Dick whispered. "They be already well advanced into the

wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward. But see ye where

this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these

two score trees make like an island? There were their safety. An they

but come sound as far as that, I will make shift to warn them. But my

heart misgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but

carry crossbows. The long-bow, Jack, will have the uppermost ever."

Meanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their

danger, and momently drew nearer hand. Once, indeed, they paused, drew

into a group, and seemed to point and listen. But it was something from

far away across the plain that had arrested their attention--a hollow

growl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told

of the great battle. It was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the

voice of the big guns were thus become audible in Tunstall Forest, the

fight must have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone

sore against Sir Daniel and the lords of the dark rose.

But presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came

next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single

tongue of forest ran down to join the road. They were but just abreast

of this, when an arrow shone flying. One of the men threw up his arms,

his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass. Even

from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men's voices

crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently,

as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow

beginning to dismount. A second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced

in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. The man who was dismounting

lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him

by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by

the fleeing hoofs. The four who still kept the saddle instantly broke

and scattered; one wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the

other three, with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the

road from Tunstall. From every clump they passed an arrow sped. Soon a

horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his

comrades till a second shot despatched him. Another man fell; then

another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and

he on foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of

three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance.

All this time not one of the assailants had for a moment showed himself.

Here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his

agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain.

The solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen

charger. He had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of

timber, pointed out by Dick. He was not, perhaps, five hundred yards

from where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking

to and fro in deadly expectation. But nothing came; and the man began to

pluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. At the same

time, by something in his action, Dick recognised Selden.

At this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the

woods there went up the sound of laughter. A score of men, at least--for

this was the very thickest of the ambush--joined in this cruel and

untimely mirth. Then an arrow glanced over Selden's shoulder; and he

leaped and ran a little back. Another dart struck quivering at his heel.

He made for the cover. A third shaft leaped out right in his face, and

fell short in front of him. And then the laughter was repeated loudly,

rising and re-echoing from different thickets.

It was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those

days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse.

The skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was

already calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of

their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor

fellow-sinner in his torture.

Selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his

crossbow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood. Chance favoured

him, for a slight cry responded. Then, throwing down his weapon, Selden

began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for

Dick and Matcham.

The companions of the Black Arrow now began to shoot in earnest. But

they were properly served; their chance had passed; most of them had now

to shoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded from side to

side to baffle and deceive their aim. Best of all, by turning up the

glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted

higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the

confusion of the foresters' counsels soon became apparent. A whistle

sounded thrice, and then again twice. It was repeated from another

quarter. The woods on either side became full of the sound of people

bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the

open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then

plunged again into the thicket.

Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but

still would miss. It began to appear as if he might escape. Dick had his

bow armed, ready to support him; even Matcham, forgetful of his

interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads

glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts.

He was within fifty yards of them when an arrow struck him, and he fell.

He was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering,

and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction.

Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him.

"Here!" he cried. "This way! here is help! Nay, run, fellow--run!"

But just then a second arrow struck Selden in the shoulder, between the

plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him,

like a stone, to earth.

"O the poor heart!" cried Matcham, with clasped hands.

And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery.

Ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious

with themselves, and taken unawares by Dick's appearance in the rear of

their position--but instantly out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly

near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of Ellis

Duckworth.

"Hold!" it roared. "Shoot not! Take him alive! It is young

Shelton--Harry's son."

And immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was

again taken up and repeated farther off. The whistle, it appeared, was

John Amend-All's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions.

"Ah, foul fortune!" cried Dick. "We are undone. Swiftly, Jack, come

swiftly!"

And the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that

covered the summit of the hill.

CHAPTER VI

TO THE DAY'S END

It was, indeed, high time for them to run. On every side the company of

the Black Arrow was making for the hill. Some, being better runners, or

having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were

already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to

right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side.

Dick plunged into the nearest cover. It was a tall grove of oaks, firm

under foot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down hill, they made

good speed. There followed next a piece of open, which Dick avoided,

holding to his left. Two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising,

the lads followed the same course. Thus it followed that, while the

lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the

high-road and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before,

the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and

running towards Tunstall.

The lads paused to breathe. There was no sound of pursuit. Dick put his

ear to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be

sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make

certain.

"On again!" said Dick; and, tired as they were, and Matcham limping with

his injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted

down the hill.

Three minutes later they were breasting through a low thicket of

evergreen. High overhead the tall trees made a continuous roof of

foliage. It was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for

the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly

swarded.

On the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they

blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove.

"Stand!" cried a voice.

And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they

beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly

drew an arrow to the head and covered them. Matcham stopped with a cry;

but Dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his

dagger as he went. The other, whether he was startled by the daring of

the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot:

he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, Dick

bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf. The

arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. The

disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and

descended twice. Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to his

feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart.

"On!" said Dick; and he once more pelted forward, Matcham trailing in

the rear. To say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring

dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. Matcham

had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for Dick, his knees were

like lead. But they kept up the form of running with undiminished

courage.

Presently they came to the end of the grove. It stopped abruptly; and

there, a few yards before them, was the high-road from Risingham to

Shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest.

At the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became

aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder. It was at first

like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but it soon became more

definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in

a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner,

swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. They rode

as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded;

riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles. They were

plainly fugitives from the great battle.

The noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards Shoreby,

before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter

clattered down the road; this time a single rider, and, by his splendid

armour, a man of high degree. Close after him there followed several

baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at

the horses as if for life. These must have run early in the day; but

their cowardice was not to save them. For just before they came abreast

of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly

beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon

of a sword began to cut the drivers down. Some leaped from their places

and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing

them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human.

All this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the

rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great,

confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the

rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road.

Dick stood sombre. He had meant to follow the highway till the turn for

Holywood, and now he had to change his plan. But above all, he had

recognised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the battle

had gone finally against the rose of Lancaster. Had Sir Daniel joined,

and was he now a fugitive, and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of

York, and was he forfeit to honour? It was an ugly choice.

"Come," he said sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk

forward through the grove, with Matcham limping in his rear.

For some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. It was now

growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the

tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow

darker and the chill of the night to fall.

"If there was anything to eat!" cried Dick suddenly, pausing as he

spoke.

Matcham sat down and began to weep.

"Ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives

your heart was hard enough," said Dick contemptuously. "Y' have seven

deaths upon your conscience, Master John; I'll ne'er forgive you that."

"Conscience!" cried Matcham, looking fiercely up. "Mine! And ye have the

man's red blood upon your dagger! And wherefore did ye slay him, the

poor soul? He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his

hand, and spared you! 'Tis as brave to kill a kitten as a man that not

defends himself."

Dick was struck dumb.

"I slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow," he cried.

"It was a coward blow," returned Matcham. "Y' are but a lout and bully,

Master Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will

see you truckle at his boot! Ye care not for vengeance, neither--for

your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth

for justice. But if there come but a poor creature in your hands that

lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!"

Dick was too furious to observe that "she."

"Marry!" he cried, "and here is news! Of any two the one will still be

stronger. The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well

served. Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill-guidance and

unthankfulness to me-ward; and what ye deserve ye shall have."

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the

appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.

"Here shall be your supper," he said grimly.

Matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he

looked Dick steadily in the face, and never moved. Dick took a step,

swinging the belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the

thin, weary face of his companion. His courage began to subside.

"Say ye were in the wrong, then," he said lamely.

"Nay," said Matcham, "I was in the right. Come, cruel! I be lame; I be

weary; I resist not; I ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me, coward!"

Dick raised the belt at this last provocation; but Matcham winced and

drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart

failed him yet again. The strap fell by his side, and he stood

irresolute, feeling like a fool.

"A plague upon thee, shrew!" he said. "An ye be so feeble of hand ye

should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. But I'll be hanged before

I beat you!" and he put on his belt again. "Beat you I will not," he

continued; "but forgive you?--never. I knew ye not; ye were my master's

enemy; I lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y' have called me a

man o' wood, a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the mass! the measure is

filled and runneth over. 'Tis a great thing to be weak, I trow: ye can

do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons

in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y' are

weak, forsooth! Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance,

and crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through! Tut!

fool words!"

"And yet ye beat me not," returned Matcham.

"Let be," said Dick--"let be. I will instruct you. Y' have been

ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and,

beyond all question, saved me from the river. Nay, I had forgotten it; I

am as thankless as thyself. But, come, let us on. An we be for Holywood

this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily."

But though Dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour,

Matcham had forgiven him nothing. His violence, the recollection of the

forester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt,

were things not easily to be forgotten.

"I will thank you, for the form's sake," said Matcham. "But, in sooth,

good Master Shelton, I had liefer find my way alone. Here is a wide

wood; prithee, let each choose his path; I owe you a dinner and a

lesson. Fare ye well!"

"Nay," cried Dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with

you!"

Each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought

of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. But Dick had not gone

ten paces ere his name was called, and Matcham came running after.

"Dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly. Here is my hand,

and my heart with it. For all that wherein you have so excellently

served and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, I thank you.

Fare ye right well."

"Well, lad," returned Dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good

speed to you, if speed you may. But I misdoubt it shrewdly. Y' are too

disputatious."

So then they separated for the second time; and presently it was Dick

who was running after Matcham.

"Here," he said, "take my crossbow; shalt not go unarmed."

"A crossbow!" said Matcham. "Nay, boy, I have neither the strength to

bend nor yet the skill to aim with it. It were no help to me, good boy.

But yet I thank you."

The night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read

each other's face.

"I will go some little way with you," said Dick. "The night is dark. I

would fain leave you on a path, at least. My mind misgiveth me, y' are

likely to be lost."

Without any more words he began to walk forward, and the other once more

followed him. The blackness grew thicker and thicker; only here and

there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. In the

distance, the noise of the rout of the Lancastrian army still continued

to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the

rear.

At the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a

broad patch of heathy open. It glimmered in the light of the stars,

shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew. And here they paused

and looked upon each other.

"Y' are weary?" Dick said.

"Nay, I am so weary," answered Matcham, "that methinks I could lie down

and die."

"I hear the chiding of a river," returned Dick. "Let us go so far forth,

for I am sore athirst."

The ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they

found a little murmuring river, running among willows. Here they threw

themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the

level of a starry pool, they drank their fill.

"Dick," said Matcham, "it may not be. I can no more."

"I saw a pit as we came down," said Dick. "Let us lie down therein and

sleep."

"Nay, but with all my heart!" cried Matcham.

The pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one edge, and

made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close

together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. And soon

sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they

rested peacefully.

CHAPTER VII

THE HOODED FACE

They awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full

song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet

up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours. Half-starved and

over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful

lassitude. And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon

their ears.

"A bell!" said Dick, sitting up. "Can we be, then, so near to Holywood?"

A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer

hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it

continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning.

"Nay, what should this betoken?" said Dick, who was now broad awake.

"It is some one walking," returned Matcham, "and the bell tolleth ever

as he moves."

"I see that well," said Dick. "But wherefore? What maketh he in Tunstall

Woods? Jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but I like not the

hollow sound of it."

"Nay," said Matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note. And the day

were not come----"

But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and

hurried, and then it gave a signal hammering jangle, and was silent for

a space.

"It is as though the bearer had run for a paternoster-while, and then

leaped the river," Dick observed.

"And now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added Matcham.

"Nay," returned Dick--"nay, not so soberly, Jack. 'Tis a man that

walketh you right speedily. 'Tis a man in some fear of his life, or

about some hurried business. See ye not how swift the beating draweth

near?"

"It is now close by," said Matcham.

They were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a

certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of

the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in.

The daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of

white footpath wandering among the gorse. It passed some hundred yards

from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west.

By the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less

directly to the Moat House.

Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white

figure now appeared. It paused a little, and seemed to look about; and

then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near

across the heath. At every step the bell clanked. Face it had none; a

white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the

creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick.

Fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death.

"A leper!" said Dick hoarsely.

"His touch is death," said Matcham. "Let us run."

"Not so," returned Dick. "See ye not?--he is stone-blind. He guideth him

with a staff. Let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and

he will go by and hurt us not. Alas, poor soul, and we should rather

pity him!"

"I will pity him when he is by," replied Matcham.

The blind leper was now about half-way towards them, and just then the

sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. He had been a tall man

before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked

with a vigorous step. The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of

the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge

that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for

ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with

dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and

strength seemed to desert them.

As he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full

upon the lads.

"Mary be my shield! He sees us!" said Matcham faintly.

"Hush!" whispered Dick. "He doth but hearken. He is blind, fool!"

The leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some

seconds. Then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more,

and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. Even Dick became

dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become

infected. But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any further

hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and

disappeared into the covert of the woods.

"He saw us," said Matcham. "I could swear it!"

"Tut!" returned Dick, recovering some sparks of courage. "He but heard

us. He was in fear, poor soul! An ye were blind, and walked in a

perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a

bird cried 'Peep.'"

"Dick, good Dick, he saw us," repeated Matcham. "When a man hearkeneth,

he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick. This was seeing; it

was not hearing. He means foully. Hark, else, if his bell be not

stopped!"

Such was the case. The bell rang no longer.

"Nay," said Dick, "I like not that. Nay," he cried again, "I like that

little. What may this betoken? Let us go, by the mass!"

"He hath gone east," added Matcham. "Good Dick, let us go westward

straight. I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that

leper."

"Jack, y' are too cowardly," replied Dick. "We shall go fair for

Holywood, or as fair, at least, as I can guide you, and that will be due

north."

They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones,

and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the

margin of the wood. The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and

hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to

choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. They were weary, besides,

with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but

heavily and dragged their feet among the sand.

Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper,

some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by

a hollow. His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground,

and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who

sees. Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket.

The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse;

there they lay, horror-struck.

"Certain, he pursueth us," said Dick--"certain. He held the clapper of

his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound. Now may the

saints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence!"

"What maketh he?" cried Matcham. "What doth he want? Who ever heard the

like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? Hath

he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him? Dick, there

is below this something deeper."

"Nay, I care not," moaned Dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs

are like water. The saints be mine assistance!"

"Would ye lie there idle?" cried Matcham. "Let us back into the open. We

have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares."

"Not I," said Dick. "My time is come; and peradventure he may pass us

by."

"Bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other. "What! will ye be a man?"

Dick crossed himself. "Would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried.

"The hand would fail me. Nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be. With

sound men I will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. Which this is, I

wot not. One or other, Heaven be our protection!"

"Now," said Matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is

man! But sith ye will do naught, let us lie close."

Then came a single, broken jangle on the bell.

"He hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered Matcham. "Saints!

how near he is!"

But Dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering.

Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the

leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed

narrowly to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. To

their stretched senses the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and

the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart.

Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran

straight upon the lads. They, shrieking aloud, separated and began to

run different ways. But their horrible enemy fastened upon Matcham, ran

him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. The lad gave

one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of

struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his

captor's arms.

Dick heard the cry and turned. He saw Matcham fall; and on the instant

his spirit and his strength revived. With a cry of pity and anger, he

unslung and bent his arblast. But ere he had time to shoot, the leper

held up his hand.

"Hold your shot, Dickon!" cried a familiar voice. "Hold your shot, mad

wag! Know ye not a friend?"

And then, laying down Matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off

his face, and disclosed the features of Sir Daniel Brackley.

"Sir Daniel!" cried Dick.

"Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel!" returned the knight. "Would ye shoot upon

your guardian, rogue? But here is this----" And there he broke off and

pointing to Matcham, asked--"How call ye him, Dick?"

"Nay," said Dick, "I call him Master Matcham. Know ye him not? He said

ye knew him!"

"Ay," replied Sir Daniel, "I know the lad"; and he chuckled. "But he has

fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for. Hey,

Dick? Did I put the fear of death upon you?"

"Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did that," said Dick, and sighed again at the

mere recollection. "Nay, sir, saving your respect, I had as lief 'a' met

the devil in person; and to speak truth, I am yet all a-quake. But what

made ye, sir, in such a guise?"

Sir Daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger.

"What made I?" he said. "Ye do well to mind me of it! What? I skulked

for my poor life in my own wood of Tunstall, Dick. We were ill sped at

the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. Where be all my

good men-at-arms? Dick, by the mass, I know not! We were swept down; the

shot fell thick among us; I have not seen one man in my own colours

since I saw three fall. For myself, I came sound to Shoreby, and being

mindful of the Black Arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly

by the path for the Moat House. There is no disguise to be compared with

it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the

forest; they would all turn pale to hear it. At length I came by you and

Matcham. I could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure

of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the

finding you together. Moreover, in the open, where I had to go slowly

and tap with my staff, I feared to disclose myself.--But see," he added,

"this poor shrew begins a little to revive. A little good canary will

comfort the heart of it."

The knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and

began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned

gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to

another.

"What cheer, Jack?" said Dick. "It was no leper after all; it was Sir

Daniel! See!"

"Swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight. "This will give

you manhood. Thereafter I will give you both a meal, and we shall all

three on to Tunstall. For, Dick," he continued, laying forth bread and

meat upon the grass, "I will avow to you, in all good conscience, it

irks me sorely to be safe between four walls. Not since I backed a horse

have I been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and

livelihood, and, to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me

down. But I be not yet shent. Some of my lads will pick me their way

home. Hatch hath ten fellows; Selden, he had six. Nay, we shall soon be

strong again; and if I can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and

undeserving Lord of York, why, Dick, we'll be a man again, and go

a-horseback!"

And so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged

his ward in dumb show.

"Selden," Dick faltered--"Selden----" And he paused again.

Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted.

"How!" he cried, in a changed voice. "Selden? Speak! What of Selden?"

Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre.

The knight heard in silence; but, as he listened, his countenance became

convulsed with rage and grief.

"Now here," he cried, "on my right hand, I swear to avenge it! If that I

fail, if that I spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither

from my body! I broke this Duckworth like a rush; I beggared him to his

door; I burned the thatch above his head; I drove him from this

country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? Nay, but, Duckworth, this

time it shall go bitter hard!"

He was silent for some time, his face working.

"Eat!" he cried suddenly.--"And you here," he added to Matcham, "swear

me an oath to follow straight to the Moat House."

"I will pledge mine honour," replied Matcham.

"What make I with your honour?" cried the knight. "Swear me upon your

mother's welfare!"

Matcham gave the required oath; and Sir Daniel readjusted the hood over

his face, and prepared his bell and staff. To see him once more in that

appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions.

But the knight was soon upon his feet.

"Eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house."

And with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the

bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their

untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up-hill into the distance.

"And so ye go to Tunstall?" Dick inquired.

"Yea, verily," said Matcham, "when needs must! I am braver behind Sir

Daniel's back than to his face."

They ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper

levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns,

and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs. Two hours later

they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the

tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall House.

"Here," said Matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend

Jack, whom y' are to see no more. Come, Dick, forgive him what he did

amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you."

"And wherefore so?" asked Dick. "An we both go to Tunstall, I shall see

you yet again, I trow, and that right often."

"Ye'll never again see poor Jack Matcham," replied the other, "that was

so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll

not see him more, Dick, by mine honour!" He held his arms open, and the

lads embraced and kissed. "And, Dick," continued Matcham, "my spirit

bodeth ill. Y' are now to see a new Sir Daniel; for heretofore hath all

prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now,

methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of

his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. He may be brave

in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, Dick,

and fear is as cruel as the wolf! We go down into that house, St. Mary

guide us forth again!"

And so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last

before Sir Daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady,

flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the

lilied waters of the moat. Even as they appeared, the doors were opened,

the bridge lowered, and Sir Daniel himself, with Hatch and the parson at

his side, stood ready to receive them.

BOOK II

THE MOAT HOUSE

CHAPTER I

DICK ASKS QUESTIONS

The Moat House stood not far from the rough forest road. Externally it

was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round

tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top. Within, it

enclosed a narrow court. The moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed

by a single drawbridge. It was supplied with water by a trench, leading

to a forest pool, and commanded, through its whole length, from the

battlements of the two southern towers. Except that one or two tall and

thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the

walls, the house was in a good posture for defence.

In the court Dick found a part of the garrison busy with preparations

for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege. Some were

making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but,

even as they worked, they shook their heads.

Twelve of Sir Daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet

through the wood, and come alive to the Moat House. But out of this

dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at Risingham in the disorder

of the rout, one by John Amend-All's marksmen as he crossed the forest.

This raised the force of the garrison, counting Hatch, Sir Daniel, and

young Shelton, to twenty-two effective men. And more might be

continually expected to arrive. The danger lay not, therefore, in the

lack of men.

It was the terror of the Black Arrow that oppressed the spirits of the

garrison. For their open foes of the party of York, in these most

changing times, they felt but a far-away concern. "The world," as

people said in those days, "might change again" before harm came. But

for their neighbours in the wood they trembled. It was not Sir Daniel

alone who was a mark for hatred. His men, conscious of impunity, had

carried themselves cruelly through all the country. Harsh commands had

been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in

the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of

oppression or barbarity. And now, by the fortune of war, Sir Daniel had

become powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some

hours of battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had

all become punishable traitors to the State, outside the buckler of the

law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and

exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. Nor had

there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect.

At different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven

riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate. Two were from

Selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir Daniel to

the field. Lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering

to the moat-side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in,

his spirit had departed; but, by the words that he uttered in his agony,

he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men.

Hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallor of anxiety; and

when he had taken Dick aside and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on

a stone bench and fairly wept. The others, from where they sat on stools

or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder

and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion.

"Nay, Master Shelton," said Hatch at last--"nay, but what said I? We

shall all go. Selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to

me. Well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow! For what said

their knave rhyme?--'A black arrow in each black heart.' Was it not so

it went? Appleyard, Selden, Smith, old Humphrey gone; and there lieth

poor John Carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest."

Dick gave ear. Out of a low window, hard by where they were talking,

groans and murmurs came to his ear.

"Lieth he there?" he asked.

"Ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered Hatch. "We could not bear

him farther, soul and body were so bitterly at odds. At every step we

lifted him he thought to wend. But now, methinks, it is the soul that

suffereth. Ever for the priest he crieth, and Sir Oliver, I wot not why,

still cometh not. 'Twill be a long shrift; but poor Appleyard and poor

Selden, they had none."

Dick stooped to the window and looked in. The little cell was low and

dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his

pallet.

"Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked.

"Master Shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear

light of heaven, bring the priest. Alack, I am sped: I am brought very

low down; my hurt is to the death. Ye may do me no more service; this

shall be the last. Now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal

gentleman, bestir you; for I have that matter on my conscience that

shall drag me deep."

He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or

terror.

Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. He had a

letter in one hand.

"Lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore,

then, deny it? Rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. This

old Harry the Sixt has had the undermost. Wash we, then, our hands of

him. I have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the Lord of

Wensleydale. Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good

lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable

surety for the future. Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. A

prayer without gifts is like a song without music: I surfeit him with

promises, boys--I spare not to promise. What, then, is lacking? Nay, a

great thing--wherefore should I deceive you?--a great thing and a

difficult: a messenger to bear it. The woods--y' are not ignorant of

that--lie thick with our ill-willers. Haste is most needful; but without

sleight and caution all is naught. Which, then, of this company will

take me this letter, bear it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and bring me the

answer back?"

One man instantly arose.

"I will, an't like you," said he. "I will even risk my carcass."

"Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so," returned the knight. "It likes me not. Y'

are sly indeed, but not speedy. Ye were a laggard ever."

"An't be so, Sir Daniel, here am I," cried another.

"The saints forfend!" said the knight. "Y' are speedy, but not sly. Ye

would blunder me headforemost into John Amend-All's camp. I thank you

both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be."

Then Hatch offered himself, and he also was refused.

"I want you here, good Bennet; y' are my right hand, indeed," returned

the knight; and then, several coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at

length selected one and gave him the letter.

"Now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all

depend. Bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks I will have

purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. But mark

it well, Throgmorton: the matter is not easy. Ye must steal forth under

night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross Till I know not,

neither by the bridge nor ferry."

"I can swim," returned Throgmorton. "I will come soundly, fear not."

"Well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied Sir Daniel. "Ye shall

swim first of all in nut-brown ale." And with that he turned back into

the hall.

"Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue," said Hatch aside to Dick. "See, now,

where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out

plainly to his company. Here is a danger, 'a saith, and here difficulty;

and jesteth in the very saying. Nay, by St. Barbary, he is a born

captain! Not a man but he is some deal heartened up! See how they fall

again to work."

This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad's head.

"Bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?"

"Ask me not that," replied Hatch. "I had no hand nor knowledge in it;

furthermore, I will even be silent, Master Dick. For look you, in a

man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of

common talk, not so. Ask me Sir Oliver--ay, or Carter, if ye will; not

me."

And Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving Dick in a muse.

"Wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad. "And wherefore named

he Carter? Carter--nay, then Carter had a hand in it, perchance."

He entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and

vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay

groaning. At his entrance, Carter started eagerly.

"Have ye brought the priest?" he cried.

"Not yet awhile," returned Dick. "Y' have a word to tell me first. How

came my father, Harry Shelton, by his death?"

The man's face altered instantly.

"I know not," he replied doggedly.

"Nay, ye know well," returned Dick. "Seek not to put me by."

"I tell you I know not," repeated Carter.

"Then," said Dick, "ye shall die unshriven. Here am I, and here shall

stay. There shall no priest come near you, rest assured. For of what

avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a

hand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery."

"Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick," said Carter composedly. "It is

ill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little. And

for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less. Stay an ye

please. Ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing! There is my

last word to you." And the wounded man turned upon the other side.

Now Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his

threat. But he made one more effort.

"Carter," he said, "mistake me not. I know ye were but an instrument in

the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; I would not bear

heavily on such an one. But I begin to learn upon many sides that this

great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father.

Prithee, then, good Carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and

in pure good-will and honest penitence, give me a word of help."

The wounded man lay silent; nor, say what Dick pleased, could he extract

another word from him.

"Well," said Dick, "I will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for

howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, I would not be willingly in

fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change."

Again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his

groans he had suppressed; and as Dick turned and left the room, he was

filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude.

"And yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit? Had his

hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the

secret louder than words. Nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me. Sir

Daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing."

Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart. At that hour, in

the ebb of Sir Daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers

of the Black Arrow, and proscribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick,

also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had

severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth?

The necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel.

"Pray Heaven he be innocent!" he said.

And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir Oliver came gravely

towards the lad.

"One seeketh you earnestly," said Dick.

"I am upon the way, good Richard," said the priest. "It is this poor

Carter. Alack, he is beyond cure."

"And yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered Dick.

"Have ye seen him?" asked Sir Oliver, with a manifest start.

"I do but come from him," replied Dick.

"What said he--what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary

eagerness.

"He but cried for you the more piteously, Sir Oliver. It were well done

to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad.

"I am straight for him," was the reply. "Well, we have all our sins. We

must all come to our latter day, good Richard."

"Ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered Dick.

The priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried

on.

"He too!" thought Dick--"he, that taught me in piety! Nay, then, what a

world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's

death! Vengeance! Alas! what a sore fate is mine, if I must be avenged

upon my friends!"

The thought put Matcham in his head. He smiled at the remembrance of his

strange companion, and then wondered where he was. Ever since they had

come together to the doors of the Moat House the younger lad had

disappeared, and Dick began to weary for a word with him.

About an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by Sir

Oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner. It was a long, low

apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a

design of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung

spears and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there

were arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table,

fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the diners. Neither Sir Daniel nor

his lady made their appearance. Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here

again there was no word of Matcham. Dick began to grow alarmed, to

recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself

if any foul play had befallen him in that house.

After dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was hurrying to my lady Brackley.

"Goody," he said, "where is Master Matcham, I prithee? I saw ye go in

with him when we arrived."

The old woman laughed aloud.

"Ah, Master Dick," she said, "y' have a famous bright eye in your head,

to be sure!" and laughed again.

"Nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted Dick.

"Ye will never see him more," she returned; "never. It is sure."

"An I do not," returned the lad, "I will know the reason why. He came

not hither of his full free will; such as I am, I am his best protector,

and I will see him justly used. There be too many mysteries; I do begin

to weary of the game!"

But, as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. It was

Bennet Hatch that had come unperceived behind him. With a jerk of his

thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife.

"Friend Dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moonstruck

natural? An ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the

salt sea than here in Tunstall Moat House. Y' have questioned me; y'

have baited Carter; y' have frighted the jack-priest with hints. Bear

ye more wisely, fool; and even now, when Sir Daniel calleth you, show me

a smooth face, for the love of wisdom. Y' are to be sharply questioned.

Look to your answers."

"Hatch," returned Dick, "in all this I smell a guilty conscience."

"An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied Bennet. "I

do but warn you. And here cometh one to call you."

And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to

summon Dick into the presence of Sir Daniel.

CHAPTER II

THE TWO OATHS

Sir Daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire,

awaiting Dick's arrival. None was by except Sir Oliver, and he sat

discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary.

"Y' have sent for me, Sir Daniel?" said young Shelton.

"I have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight. "For what cometh to

mine ears? Have I been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to

credit ill of me? Or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted,

do ye think to quit my party? By the mass, your father was not so! Those

he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. But you, Dick, y'

are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of

your allegiance."

"An't please you, Sir Daniel, not so," returned Dick firmly. "I am

grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due. And before

more is said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y' have great claims

upon me, both--none can have more; I were a hound if I forgot them."

"It is well," said Sir Daniel; and then, rising into anger: "Gratitude

and faith are words, Dick Shelton," he continued; "but I look to deeds.

In this hour of my peril when my name is attainted, when my lands are

forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my

destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith? I have but a little

company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts

with your insidious whisperings? Save me from such gratitude! But come,

now, what is it ye wish? Speak; we are here to answer. If ye have aught

against me, stand forth and say it."

"Sir," replied Dick, "my father fell when I was yet a child. It hath

come to mine ears that he was foully done by. It hath come to mine

ears--for I will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing. And

in all verity,--I shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear

to help you, till I have certain resolution of these doubts."

Sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He took his chin in his hand and

looked at Dick fixedly.

"And ye think I would be guardian to the man's son that I had murdered?"

he asked.

"Nay," said Dick, "pardon me if I answer churlishly; but indeed ye know

right well a wardship is most profitable. All these years have ye not

enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? Have ye not still my marriage? I

wot not what it may be worth--it is worth something. Pardon me again;

but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were,

perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness."

"When I was a lad of your years," returned Sir Daniel sternly, "my mind

had not so turned upon suspicions. And Sir Oliver here," he added, "why

should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?"

"Nay, Sir Daniel," said Dick, "but where the master biddeth there will

the dog go. It is well known this priest is but your instrument. I speak

very freely; the time is not for courtesies. Even as I speak, so would I

be answered. And answer get I none! Ye but put more questions. I rede ye

beware, Sir Daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy

my doubts."

"I will answer you fairly, Master Richard," said the knight. "Were I to

pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man. But I will

be just even in anger. Come to me with these words when y' are grown and

come to man's estate, and I am no longer your guardian, and so helpless

to resent them. Come to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit,

with a buffet in the mouth. Till then ye have two courses: either

swallow me down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the

meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the

door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies--go."

The spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which

they were accompanied, staggered Dick; and yet he could not but observe

that he had got no answer.

"I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than to believe you," he

replied. "Assure me ye are free from this."

"Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?" inquired the knight.

"That would I," answered the lad.

"I give it you," returned Sir Daniel. "Upon my word of honour, upon the

eternal welfare of my spirit, and as I shall answer for my deeds

hereafter, I had no hand nor portion in your father's death."

He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly. Neither of them observed

the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had

half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse.

"Ah," cried Dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon

me! I was a churl indeed to doubt of you. But ye have my hand upon it; I

will doubt no more."

"Nay, Dick," replied Sir Daniel, "y' are forgiven. Ye know not the world

and its calumnious nature."

"I was the more to blame," added Dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not

directly at yourself, but at Sir Oliver."

As he spoke he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of

the last word. This tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had

fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were

relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when Dick's eyes were

fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and

buried his face in his hands.

Sir Daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the

shoulder. At the same moment Dick's suspicions re-awakened.

"Nay," he said, "Sir Oliver may swear also. 'Twas him they accused."

"He shall swear," said the knight.

Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms.

"Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried Sir Daniel, beside himself

with fury. "Here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking

up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground. "What! Ye make me doubt

you! Swear, I say; swear!"

But the priest was still incapable of speech. His terror of Sir Daniel,

his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him.

And just then, through the high stained-glass window of the hall, a

black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering in the midst of the

long table.

Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the

knight, followed by Dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest

corkscrew stair to the battlements. The sentries were all on the alert.

The sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the

wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view. There was no sign of

a besieger.

"Whence came that shot?" asked the knight.

"From yonder clump, Sir Daniel," returned a sentinel.

The knight stood a little, musing. Then he turned to Dick. "Dick," he

said, "keep me an eye upon these men; I leave you in charge here. As for

the priest, he shall clear himself, or I will know the reason why. I do

almost begin to share in your suspicions. He shall swear, trust me, or

we shall prove him guilty."

Dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing

glance, hurriedly returned to the hall. His first glance was for the

arrow. It was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned

it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear. Again

there was some writing: one word--"Earthed."

"Ay," he broke out, "they know I am home, then. Earthed! Ay, but there

is not a dog among them fit to dig me out."

Sir Oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet.

"Alack, Sir Daniel!" he moaned, "y' have sworn a dread oath; y' are

doomed to the end of time."

"Ay," returned the knight, "I have sworn an oath, indeed, thou

chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater. It shall be on the

blessed cross of Holywood. Look to it; get the words ready. It shall be

sworn to-night."

"Now, may Heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may Heaven incline

your heart from this iniquity!"

"Look you, my good father," said Sir Daniel, "if y' are for piety, I say

no more; ye begin late, that is all. But if y' are in any sense bent

upon wisdom, hear me. This lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. I have a

need for him, for I would sell his marriage. But I tell you, in all

plainness, if that he continue to weary me he shall go join his father.

I give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel. If that

ye can swear your innocency with a good solid oath and an assured

countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and I will

spare him. If that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the

swearing, he will not believe you; and, by the mass, he shall die. There

is for your thinking on."

"The chamber above the chapel!" gasped the priest.

"That same," replied the knight. "So if ye desire to save him, save him;

and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! For an I

had been a hasty man I would already have put my sword through you, for

your intolerable cowardice and folly. Have ye chosen? Say!"

"I have chosen," said the priest. "Heaven pardon me, I will do evil for

good. I will swear for the lad's sake."

"So it is best!" said Sir Daniel. "Send for him, then, speedily. Ye

shall see him alone. Yet I shall have an eye on you. I shall be here in

the panel room."

The knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him. There was

the sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod

stairs.

Sir Oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the

arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror

and contrition.

"Nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my

soul's cost, I must save him."

Three minutes later, Dick, who had been summoned by another messenger,

found Sir Oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale.

"Richard Shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me. I might

complain, I might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the

past, and I will even content you as ye choose. By the true cross of

Holywood, I did not slay your father."

"Sir Oliver," returned Dick, "when first we read John Amend-All's paper

I was convinced of so much. But suffer me to put two questions. Ye did

not slay him; granted. But had ye no hand in it?"

"None," said Sir Oliver. And at the same time he began to contort his

face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to

convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound.

Dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at

the empty hall.

"What make ye?" he inquired.

"Why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance.

"I make naught; I do but suffer; I am sick. I--I--prithee, Dick, I must

begone. On the true cross of Holywood, I am clean innocent alike of

violence or treachery. Content ye, good lad. Farewell!"

And he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity.

Dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his

face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion,

and amusement. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the

upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. He raised his

head, and, as he did so, violently started. High upon the wall there was

the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. With one hand he

held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. His

face was dark, for he was meant to represent an African.

Now, here was what had startled Richard Shelton. The sun had moved away

from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high

on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and

hangings. In this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him

with a white eyelid.

He continued staring at the eye. The light shone upon it like a gem; it

was liquid, it was alive. Again the white eyelid closed upon it for a

fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone.

There could be no mistake. The live eye that had been watching him

through a hole in the tapestry was gone. The firelight no longer shone

on a reflecting surface.

And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his position. Hatch's

warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him

from the wall, ran together in his mind. He saw he had been put upon his

trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of

some miracle, he was lost.

"If I cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "I am a dead

man! And this poor Matcham, too--to what a cockatrice's nest have I not

led him!"

He was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help

in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new

chamber.

"A new chamber?" he repeated. "Wherefore so? What chamber?"

"'Tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger.

"It hath stood long empty," said Dick, musing. "What manner of room is

it?"

"Nay, a brave room," returned the man. "But yet"--lowering his

voice--"they call it haunted."

"Haunted?" repeated Dick, with a chill. "I have not heard of it. Nay,

then, and by whom?"

The messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "By the

sacrist of St. John's," he said. "They had him there to sleep one night,

and in the morning--whew!--he was gone. The devil had taken him, they

said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before."

Dick followed the man with black forebodings.

CHAPTER III

THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL

From the battlements nothing further was observed. The sun journeyed

westward, and at last went down; but to the eyes of all these eager

sentinels no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of Tunstall

House.

When the night was at length fairly come, Throgmorton was led to a room

overlooking an angle of the moat. Thence he was lowered with every

precaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period;

then a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and

crawl away among the grass. For some half-hour Sir Daniel and Hatch

stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. The messenger had got

away in safety.

Sir Daniel's brow grew clearer. He turned to Hatch.

"Bennet," said he, "this John Amend-All is no more than a man ye see. He

sleepeth. We will make a good end of him, go to!"

All the afternoon and evening Dick had been ordered hither and thither,

one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number

and the hurry of commissions. All that time he had seen no more of Sir

Oliver, and nothing of Matcham; and yet both the priest and the young

lad ran continually in his mind. It was now his chief purpose to escape

from Tunstall Moat House as speedily as might be; and yet before he

went, he desired a word with both of these.

At length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment. It

was large, low, and somewhat dark. The window looked upon the moat, and

although it was so high up, it was heavily barred. The bed was

luxurious, with one pillow of down, and one of lavender, and a red

coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. All about the walls were

cupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of

dark-coloured arras. Dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding

the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards. He assured himself

that the door was strong, and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp

upon a bracket, and once more looked all around.

For what reason had he been given this chamber? It was larger and finer

than his own. Could it conceal a snare? Was there a secret entrance? Was

it indeed haunted? His blood ran a little chilly in his veins.

Immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads. Below,

he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was

the hall. Certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that

had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that. Was it not more

than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so, that

it had an opening in his room?

To sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. He made his

weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the

door. If ill was intended, he would sell his life dear.

The sound of many feet, the challenge, and the pass-word sounded

overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed.

And just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it

grew a little louder; then a whisper:

"Dick, Dick, it is I!"

Dick ran to the door, drew the bolt and admitted Matcham. He was very

pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other.

"Shut me the door," he whispered. "Swift, Dick! This house is full of

spies; I hear their feet follow me in the corridors; I hear them breathe

behind the arras."

"Well, content you," returned Dick, "it is closed. We are safe for this

while, if there be safety anywhere within these walls. But my heart is

glad to see you. By the mass, lad, I thought ye were sped. Where hid

ye?"

"It matters not," returned Matcham. "Since we be met, it matters not.

But, Dick, are your eyes open? Have they told you of to-morrow's

doings?"

"Not they," replied Dick. "What make they to-morrow?"

"To-morrow, or to-night, I know not," said the other; "but one time or

other, Dick, they do intend upon your life. I had the proof of it: I

have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me."

"Ay," returned Dick, "is it so? I had thought as much."

And he told him the day's occurrences at length.

When it was done, Matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the

apartment.

"No," he said, "there is no entrance visible. Yet 'tis a pure certainty

there is one. Dick, I will stay by you. An y' are to die, I will die

with you. And I can help--look! I have stolen a dagger--I will do my

best! And meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could

get opened, or any window that we might descend by, I will most joyfully

face any jeopardy to flee with you."

"Jack," said Dick, "by the mass, Jack, y' are the best soul, and the

truest, and the bravest in all England. Give me your hand, Jack."

And he grasped the other's hand in silence.

"I will tell you," he resumed. "There is a window out of which the

messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber. 'Tis a

hope."

"Hist!" said Matcham.

Both gave ear. There was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and

then began again.

"Some one walketh in the room below," whispered Matcham.

"Nay," returned Dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel.

It is my murderer in the secret passage. Well, let him come: it shall go

hard with him!" And he ground his teeth.

"Blow me the lights out," said the other. "Perchance he will betray

himself."

They blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. The footfalls

underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. Several times

they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a

lock, followed by a considerable silence.

Presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of

light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. It widened;

a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. They could see

the strong hand pushing it up; and Dick raised his crossbow, waiting for

the head to follow.

But now there came an interruption. From a distant corner of the Moat

House shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several,

crying aloud upon a name. This noise had plainly disconcerted the

murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the

steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and

died away in the distance.

Here was a moment's respite. Dick breathed deep, and then, and not till

then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack,

and which was now rather increasing than diminishing. All about the Moat

House feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the

voice of Sir Daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for

"Joanna."

"Joanna!" repeated Dick. "Why, who the murrain should this be? Here is

no Joanna, nor ever hath been. What meaneth it?"

Matcham was silent. He seemed to have drawn farther away. But only a

little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the

apartment where the pair were, the darkness was complete.

"Jack," said Dick, "I wot not where ye were all day. Saw ye this

Joanna?"

"Nay," returned Matcham, "I saw her not."

"Nor heard tell of her?" he pursued.

The steps drew nearer. Sir Daniel was still roaring the name of Joanna

from the courtyard.

"Did ye hear of her?" repeated Dick.

"I heard of her," said Matcham.

"How your voice twitters! What aileth you?" said Dick. "'Tis a most

excellent good fortune, this Joanna; it will take their minds from us."

"Dick," cried Matcham, "I am lost; we are both lost! Let us flee if

there be yet time. They will not rest till they have found me. Or, see!

let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee. Let me forth,

Dick; good Dick, let me away!"

She was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last comprehended.

"By the mass!" he cried, "y' are no Jack; y' are Joanna Sedley; y' are

the maid that would not marry me!"

The girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. Dick, too, was silent

for a little; then he spoke again.

"Joanna," he said, "y' have saved my life, and I have saved yours; and

we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies--ay, and I took my

belt to thrash you; and all that time I thought ye were a boy. But now

death has me, and my time's out, and before I die I must say this: Y'

are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only I could

live, I would marry you blithely; and, live or die, I love you."

She answered nothing.

"Come," he said, "speak up, Jack. Come, be a good maid, and say ye love

me!"

"Why, Dick," she cried, "would I be here?"

"Well, see ye here," continued Dick, "an we but escape whole, we'll

marry; and an we're to die, we die, and there's an end on't. But now

that I think, how found ye my chamber?"

"I asked it of Dame Hatch," she answered.

"Well, the dame's staunch," he answered; "she'll not tell upon you. We

have time before us."

And just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the

corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door.

"Here!" cried a voice. "Open, Master Dick; open!"

Dick neither moved nor answered.

"It is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about Dick's neck.

One after another, men came trooping to the door. Then Sir Daniel

arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise.

"Dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass. The Seven Sleepers had been

awake ere now. We know she is within there. Open, then, the door, man."

Dick was again silent.

"Down with it," said Sir Daniel. And immediately his followers fell

savagely upon the door with foot and fist. Solid as it was, and strongly

bolted, it would soon have given way, but once more fortune interfered.

Over the thunder-storm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard: it was

followed by another: shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered

out of the wood. In the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the

foresters were carrying the Moat House by assault. And Sir Daniel and

his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon Dick's chamber,

hurried to defend the walls.

"Now," cried Dick, "we are saved."

He seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in

vain to move it.

"Help me, Jack. For your life's sake, help me stoutly!" he cried.

Between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak

across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door.

"Ye do but make things worse," said Joanna sadly. "He will then enter by

the trap."

"Not so," replied Dick. "He durst not tell his secret to so many. It is

by the trap that we shall flee. Hark! The attack is over. Nay, it was

none!"

It had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of

stragglers from the defeat of Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel.

They had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been

admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and

jingle of accoutrements and arms they were dismounting in the court.

"He will return anon," said Dick. "To the trap!"

He lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room.

The open chink through which some light still glittered was easily

discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, Dick

thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. The

trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. Seizing it

with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. It disclosed a few

steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer

had left it, a burning lamp.

"Now," said Dick, "go first and take the lamp. I will follow to close

the trap."

So they descended one after the other, and as Dick lowered the trap the

blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door.

CHAPTER IV

THE PASSAGE

The passage in which Dick and Joanna now found themselves was narrow,

dirty, and short. At the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the

same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking. Heavy

cobwebs hung from the roof, and the paved flooring echoed hollow under

the lightest tread.

Beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles. Dick chose one

of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along

the hollow of the chapel roof. The top of the arched ceiling rose like a

whale's back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. Here and there were

spy-holes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice;

and looking down through one of these, Dick saw the paved floor of the

chapel--the altar, with its burning tapers--and, stretched before it on

the steps, the figure of Sir Oliver praying with uplifted hands.

At the other end they descended a few steps. The passage grew narrower;

the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and

a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and

presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man's eye, and

Dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some

half a dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep

and demolishing a venison pie. These were certainly some of the late

arrivals.

"Here is no help," said Dick. "Let us try back."

"Nay," said Joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther."

And she pushed on. But a few yards farther the passage ended at the top

of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the

soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side.

They retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to

explore the other branch. It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough

for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little

break-neck stairs, until even Dick had lost all notion of his

whereabouts.

At length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to

descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch;

and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the

rats.

"We must be in the dungeons," Dick remarked.

"And still there is no outlet," added Joanna.

"Nay, but an outlet there must be!" Dick answered.

Presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage

ended in a flight of steps. On the top of that there was a solid flag of

stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. It was

immovable.

"Some one holdeth it," suggested Joanna.

"Not so," said Dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield

a little. But this resisteth like dead rock. There is a weight upon the

trap. Here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good Jack, we are here as

fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle-bones. Sit ye

then down, and let us talk. After a while we shall return, when

perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who

knoweth? we may break out and stand a chance. But, in my poor opinion,

we are as good as shent."

"Dick," she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me! For

like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is I have led you hither."

"What cheer!" returned Dick. "It was all written, and that which is

written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. But tell me a little what

manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into Sir Daniel's hands; that

will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine."

"I am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said Joanna; "and

for my great misfortune, Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich

marriage. My Lord Foxham had me to ward; yet it appears Sir Daniel

bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid

for it. So here was I, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting

which should marry me, and I still at nurse! Well, then, the world

changed, and there was a new chancellor, and Sir Daniel bought the

warding of me over the Lord Foxham's head. And then the world changed

again, and Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel's; and from

then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them. But still Lord

Foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. And at last I

was to be married--or sold, if ye like it better. Five hundred pounds

Lord Foxham was to get for me. Hamley was the groom's name, and

to-morrow, Dick, of all days in the year, was I to be betrothed. Had it

not come to Sir Daniel, I had been wedded, sure--and never seen thee,

Dick, dear Dick!"

And here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and

Dick drew her hand to him and did the like.

"Well," she went on, "Sir Daniel took me unawares in the garden, and

made me dress in these men's clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman;

and, besides, they fit me not. He rode with me to Kettley, as ye saw,

telling me I was to marry you; but I, in my heart, made sure I would

marry Hamley in his teeth."

"Ay!" cried Dick, "and so ye loved this Hamley!"

"Nay," replied Joanna, "not I. I did but hate Sir Daniel. And then,

Dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart

turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way

compass it, I would marry you with right goodwill. And if, by cruel

destiny, it may not be, still ye'll be dear to me. While my heart beats,

it'll be true to you."

"And I," said Dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman

until now, I took to you when I thought ye were a boy. I had a pity to

you, and knew not why. When I would have belted you, the hand failed me.

But when ye owned ye were a maid, Jack--for still I will call you

Jack--I made sure ye were the maid for me. Hark!" he said, breaking

off--"one cometh."

And indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the

rats again fled in armies.

Dick reconnoitred his position. The sudden turn gave him a post of

vantage. He could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall. But

it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward,

he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to

watch.

Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet hove in sight. He

seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which

made him the better mark.

"Stand, Bennet!" cried Dick. "Another step and y' are dead."

"So here ye are," returned Hatch, peering forward into the darkness. "I

see you not. Aha! y' have done wisely, Dick; y' have put your lamp

before you. By my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave

body, I do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons! And now, what make

ye? what seek ye here? Why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? And

have ye the young gentlewoman there?"

"Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you answer," replied Dick.

"Why am I in this jeopardy of my life? Why do men come privily to slay

me in my bed? Why am I now fleeing in mine own guardian's strong house,

and from the friends that I have lived among and never injured?"

"Master Dick, Master Dick," said Bennet, "what told I you? Y' are brave,

but the most uncrafty lad that I can think upon!"

"Well," returned Dick, "I see you know all, and that I am doomed indeed.

It is well. Here, where I am, I stay. Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be

able!"

Hatch was silent for a space.

"Hark ye," he began, "I return to Sir Daniel, to tell him where ye are,

and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me. But you,

if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere I return."

"Be gone!" repeated Dick. "I would be gone already an I wist how. I

cannot move the trap."

"Put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied

Bennet. "Throgmorton's rope is still in the brown chamber. Fare ye

well."

And Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of

the passage.

Dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the

hint. At one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall.

Pushing his arm into the aperture, Dick found an iron bar, which he

thrust vigorously upwards. There followed a snapping noise, and the slab

of stone instantly started in its bed.

They were free of the passage. A little exercise of strength easily

raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on

one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were

rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. A torch or two, each stuck

in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene.

CHAPTER V

HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES

Dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way

upstairs and along the corridor. In the brown chamber the rope had been

made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed. It had not

been detached, and Dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower

it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. Joan stood by;

but as the rope lengthened, and still Dick continued to pay it out,

extreme fear began to conquer her resolution.

"Dick," she said, "is it so deep? I may not essay it. I should

infallibly fall, good Dick."

It was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke.

Dick started: the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the

end fell with a splash into the moat. Instantly, from the battlement

above, the voice of a sentinel cried, "Who goes?"

"A murrain!" cried Dick. "We are paid now! Down with you--take the

rope."

"I cannot," she cried, recoiling.

"An ye cannot, no more can I," said Shelton. "How can I swim the moat

without you? Do ye desert me, then?"

"Dick," she gasped, "I cannot. The strength is gone from me."

"By the mass, then, we are all shent!" he shouted, stamping with his

foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to

close it.

Before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon

him from the other side. He struggled for a second; then, feeling

himself overpowered, ran back to the window. The girl had fallen against

the wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half

insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was

limp and unresponsive.

At the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold

upon him. The first he poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back

for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the

window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip.

The cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so

furious was Dick's hurry, and so small his experience of such

gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon

a gibbet, and now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the

rugged stonework of the wall. The air roared in his ears; he saw the

stars overhead, and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling

like dead leaves before the tempest. And then he lost hold and fell, and

soused head over ears into the icy water.

When he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly

lightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro. There was a red

glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches

and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces.

He saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he

was too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain.

And now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he

began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the

moat, still keeping his head above water. In this way he got much more

than half-way over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the

rope began to draw him back by its own weight. Taking his courage in

both hands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow

that had already, that same evening, helped Sir Daniel's messenger to

land. He went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand

caught a branch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself

into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and

still half uncertain of his escape.

But all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which

had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements.

Arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, like driving

hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down--flared through the air in

its swift passage--stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank, where it

burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire--and then,

in a good hour for Dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was

instantly extinguished.

It had served its purpose. The marksmen had had time to see the willow,

and Dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang

higher up the bank and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to

escape a shot. An arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his

head.

The pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the

level than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark,

without a thought for the direction of his flight.

For a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when

at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way

from the Moat House, though he could still see the torches moving to and

fro along its battlements.

He leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised,

wounded, and alone. For all that, he had saved his life for that bout;

and though Joanna remained behind in the power of Sir Daniel, he neither

blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his power to

prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself.

Sir Daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young

gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to

account. It was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some

friend of his own.

"Well," thought Dick, "between then and now I will find me the means to

bring that traitor under; for I think, by the mass, that I be now

absolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there

is a fair chance for all."

In the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight.

For some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but

what with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the

extreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally

unable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close

undergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back

against a tree.

When he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the

morning had begun to take the place of night. A little chilly breeze was

bustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only

half awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro

among the branches, some hundred yards in front of him. The progressive

brightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled

him to recognise the object. It was a man hanging from the bough of a

tall oak. His head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every

stronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and

arms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything.

Dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the

tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object.

The bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow

had been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear

above Dick's reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was

impossible to recognise the man.

Dick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the

other end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little

hawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the

oak. With his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young

Shelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse

fell in a heap upon the ground.

Dick raised the hood; it was Throgmorton, Sir Daniel's messenger. He had

not gone far upon his errand. A paper, which had apparently escaped the

notice of the men of the Black Arrow, stuck from the bosom of his

doublet, and Dick, pulling it forth, found it was Sir Daniel's letter to

Lord Wensleydale.

"Come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, I may have here the

wherewithal to shame Sir Daniel--nay, and perchance to bring him to the

block."

And he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man,

and set forth again through the woods.

His fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered,

his mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of

blood. Doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last

he came out upon the high-road, not very far from Tunstall hamlet.

A rough voice bid him stand.

"Stand?" repeated Dick. "By the mass, but I am nearer falling."

And he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the

road.

Two men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each

with long-bow and quiver and short sword.

"Why, Lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young Shelton."

"Ay, this will be as good as bread to John Amend-All," returned the

other. "Though, faith, he hath been to the wars. Here is a tear in his

scalp that must 'a' cost him many a good ounce of blood."

"And here," added Greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have

pricked him well. Who hath done this, think ye? If it be one of ours, he

may all to prayer; Ellis will give him a short shrift and a long rope."

"Up with the cub," said Lawless. "Clap him on my back."

And then, when Dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken

the lad's arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-Grey

Friar added--

"Keep ye the post, brother Greensheve. I will on with him by myself."

So Greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and Lawless trudged

down the hill, whistling as he went, with Dick, still in a dead faint,

comfortably settled on his shoulders.

The sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw Tunstall

hamlet straggling up the opposite hill. All seemed quiet, but a strong

post of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either

side of the road, and, as soon as they perceived Lawless with his

burden, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant

sentries.

"Who goes?" cried the man in command.

"Will Lawless, by the rood--ye know me as well as your own hand,"

returned the outlaw contemptuously.

"Give the word, Lawless," returned the other.

"Now, Heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied Lawless. "Did I not

tell it thee myself? But ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers.

When I am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this

tide is, 'A fig for all mock soldiery!'"

"Lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester,"

said the commander of the post.

"And if I had forgotten it?" asked the other.

"An ye had forgotten it--as I know y' have not--by the mass, I would

clap an arrow into your big body," returned the first.

"Nay, an y' are so ill a jester," said Lawless, "ye shall have your word

for me. 'Duckworth and Shelton' is the word; and here, to the

illustration, is Shelton on my shoulders, and to Duckworth do I carry

him."

"Pass, Lawless," said the sentry.

"And where is John?" asked the Grey Friar.

"He holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner

born!" cried another of the company.

So it proved. When Lawless got as far up the village as the little inn,

he found Ellis Duckworth surrounded by Sir Daniel's tenants, and, by the

right of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving

written receipts in return for them. By the faces of the tenants, it was

plain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very

rightly that they would simply have to pay them twice.

As soon as he knew what had brought Lawless, Ellis dismissed the

remainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and

apprehension, conducted Dick into an inner chamber of the inn. There the

lad's hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to

consciousness.

"Dear lad," said Ellis, pressing his hand, "y' are in a friend's hands

that loved your father, and loves you for his sake. Rest ye a little

quietly, for ye are somewhat out of case. Then shall ye tell me your

story, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all."

A little later in the day, and after Dick had awakened from a

comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind

and easier in body, Ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside,

begged him, in the name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his

escape from Tunstall Moat House. There was something in the strength of

Duckworth's frame, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness

and shrewdness of his eyes, that moved Dick to obey him; and from first

to last the lad told him the story of his two days' adventures.

"Well," said Ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have

done for you, Dick Shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous

and deadly perils, but to bring you into my hands, that have no dearer

wish than to assist your father's son. Be but true to me--and I see y'

are true--and betwixt you and me we shall bring that false-heart traitor

to the death."

"Will ye assault the house?" asked Dick.

"I were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned Ellis. "He hath too much

power; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night,

and by the mass came in so handily for you--those have made him safe.

Nay, Dick, to the contrary, thou and I and my brave bowmen, we must all

slip from this forest speedily, and leave Sir Daniel free."

"My mind misgiveth me for Jack," said the lad.

"For Jack!" repeated Duckworth. "O, I see, for the wench! Nay, Dick! I

promise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once;

till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like

shadows at morning; Sir Daniel shall look east and west, and see none

enemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed a while, and

hath now awakened in his bed. But our four eyes, Dick, shall follow him

right close, and our four hands--so help us all the army of the

saints!--shall bring that traitor low!"

<tb>

Two days later Sir Daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength that

he ventured on a sally, and at the head of some two score horsemen

pushed without opposition as far as Tunstall hamlet. Not an arrow flew,

not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but

stood open to all comers; and as Sir Daniel crossed it, he saw the

villagers looking timidly from their doors.

Presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the

lowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight.

His face darkened as he read the contents. It ran thus:

"_To the most untrue and cruel gentylman, Sir Daniel Brackley,

Knyght--These:_

"I fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. Ye have my father's

blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe. Some day ye shall

perish by my procurement, so much I let you to wytte; and I let you to

wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the gentyl-woman,

Mistresse Joan Sedley, whom that I am bound upon a great oath to wed

myself, the blow will be very swift. The first step therinne will be

thy first step to the grave.

"RIC. SHELTON."

BOOK III

MY LORD FOXHAM

CHAPTER I

THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE

Months had passed away since Richard Shelton made his escape from the

hands of his guardian. These months had been eventful for England. The

party of Lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had

once more raised its head. The Yorkists defeated and dispersed, their

leader butchered on the field, it seemed, for a very brief season in the

winter following upon the events already recorded, as if the House of

Lancaster had finally triumphed over its foes.

The small town of Shoreby-on-the-Till was full of the Lancastrian nobles

of the neighbourhood. Earl Risingham was there, with three hundred

men-at-arms; Lord Shoreby, with two hundred; Sir Daniel himself, high in

favour, and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of

his own, on the main street, with three score men. The world had changed

indeed.

It was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of January, with a

hard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the

morning.

In an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four

men sat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs. They were all

likely, lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and

though they wore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken

soldier might have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such

company.

A little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy,

dressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his

looks that he was better born, and might have worn a sword had the time

suited.

"Nay," said one of the men at the table, "I like it not. Ill will come

of it. This is no place for jolly fellows. A jolly fellow loveth open

country, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town,

girt about with enemies; and, for the bull's-eye of misfortune, see if

it snow not ere the morning."

"'Tis for Master Shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards

the lad before the fire.

"I will do much for Master Shelton," returned the first; "but to come to

the gallows for any man--nay, brothers, not that!"

The door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and

approached the youth before the fire.

"Master Shelton," he said, "Sir Daniel goeth forth with a pair of links

and four archers."

Dick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly to his feet.

"Lawless," he said, "ye will take John Capper's watch.--Greensheve,

follow with me.--Capper, lead forward. We will follow him this time, an

he go to York."

The next moment they were outside in the dark street, and Capper, the

man who had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind

at a little distance.

The town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and

there was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation.

The two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long

cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the

four archers, each with his bow upon his arm. They moved at a brisk

walk, threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore.

"He hath gone each night in this direction?" asked Dick, in a whisper.

"This is the third night running, Master Shelton," returned Capper, "and

still at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his

end were secret."

Sir Daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the

country. Shoreby was an open town, and though the Lancastrian lords who

lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible

to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the

open country.

The lane which Sir Daniel had been following came to an abrupt end.

Before him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the

sea-surf was audible upon one hand. There were no guards in the

neighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town.

Dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their

chase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses, and

could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another

torch drawing near from another direction.

"Hey," said Dick, "I smell treason."

Meanwhile Sir Daniel had come to a full halt. The torches were stuck

into the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the

other party.

This drew near at a good rate. It consisted of four men only--a pair of

archers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their

midst.

"Is it you, my lord?" cried Sir Daniel.

"It is I, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof I am that man,"

replied the leader of the second troop; "for who would rather not face

giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?"

"My lord," returned Sir Daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden,

misdoubt it not. But shall we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my

merchandise, the sooner shall we both get home."

"But why keep ye her here, good knight?" inquired the other. "An she be

so young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth

among her mates? Ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to

freeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such

untimely seasons in the dark."

"I have told you, my lord," replied Sir Daniel, "the reason thereof

concerneth me only. Neither do I purpose to explain it further. Suffice

it, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, Daniel Brackley, publish it

abroad that y' are to wed Joanna Sedley, and I give you my word ye will

be quit of him right soon. Ye will find him with an arrow in his back."

Meantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down;

the three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and

scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up

by the six archers.

Close upon the heels of these Dick followed. He had, of course, heard no

word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the

speakers old Lord Shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom

even Sir Daniel affected, in public, to condemn.

Presently they came close down upon the beach. The air smelt salt; the

noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there

stood a small house of two stories, with stables and other offices.

The foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and, after the

whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on

the other side.

Dick and his men were thus excluded from any further following, unless

they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap.

They sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. The red glow of the torches

moved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the

link-bearers steadily patrolled the garden.

Twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon

the down; and Sir Daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation,

separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of

men and lights.

As soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, Dick

got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching

with the cold.

"Capper, ye will give me a back up," he said.

They advanced, all three, to the wall; Capper stooped, and Dick, getting

upon his shoulders, clambered on to the copestone.

"Now, Greensheve," whispered Dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon

your face, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a

hand if I fall foully on the other side."

And so saying, he dropped into the garden.

It was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house. The wind

whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach;

there was no other sound. Cautiously Dick footed it forth, stumbling

among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise

of gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley.

Here he paused, and taking his crossbow from where he kept it concealed

under his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went

forward once more with greater resolution and assurance. The path led

him straight to the group of buildings.

All seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were

secured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no

hay in the hayloft, no corn in the corn-box. Any one would have supposed

the place to be deserted; but Dick had good reason to think otherwise.

He continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all the

windows. At length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and

there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper

windows.

He stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement

of a shadow on the wall of the apartment. Then he remembered that in

the stable his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he

returned with all despatch to bring it. The ladder was very short, but

yet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high

as the iron bars of the window; and, seizing these, he raised his body

by main force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room.

Two persons were within: the first he readily knew to be Dame Hatch; the

second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long,

embroidered dress--could that be Joanna Sedley? his old wood companion,

Jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt?

He dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of

amazement. He had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a

being, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. But he

had little opportunity for thought. A low "Hist!" sounded from close by,

and he hastened to descend the ladder.

"Who goes?" he whispered.

"Greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded.

"What want ye?" asked Dick.

"The house is watched, Master Shelton," returned the outlaw. "We are not

alone to watch it; for even as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men

prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other."

"By my sooth," said Dick, "but this is passing strange! Were they not

men of Sir Daniel's?"

"Nay, sir, that they were not," returned Greensheve; "for if I have eyes

in my head, every man-Jack of them weareth me a white badge in his

bonnet, something chequered with dark."

"White, chequered with dark?" repeated Dick. "Faith, 'tis a badge I know

not. It is none of this country's badges.--Well, an that be so, let us

slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an

evil posture for defence. Beyond all question there are men of Sir

Daniel's in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a

beggarman's position. Take me this ladder; I must leave it where I

found it."

They returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the

place where they had entered.

Capper had taken Greensheve's position on the cope, and now he leaned

down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up.

Cautiously and silently they dropped again upon the other side; nor did

they dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the

gorse.

"Now, John Capper," said Dick, "back with you to Shoreby, even as for

your life. Bring me instantly what men ye can collect. Here shall be the

rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand

before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the

entering in of the town. Greensheve and I lie here to watch. Speed ye,

John Capper, and the saints aid you to despatch!--And now, Greensheve,"

he continued, as soon as Capper had departed, "let thou and I go round

about the garden in a wide circuit. I would fain see whether thine eyes

betrayed thee."

Keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and

hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing. On the third

side the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the

distance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon

the sands. Although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so

high, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth

and water came careering over the expanse, and Dick and Greensheve made

this part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep

as to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the German Ocean.

Suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the

figure of a man was seen, like a faint Chinese shadow, violently

signalling with both arms. As he dropped again to the earth, another

arose a little farther on and repeated the same performance. And so,

like a silent watch-word, these gesticulations made the round of the

beleaguered garden.

"They keep good watch," Dick whispered.

"Let us back to land, good master," answered Greensheve. "We stand here

too open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there

behind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam."

"Ye speak sooth," returned Dick. "Ashore with us, right speedily."

CHAPTER II

A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK

Thoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their

position in the gorse.

"I pray Heaven that Capper make good speed!" said Dick. "I vow a candle

to St. Mary of Shoreby if he come before the hour!"

"Y' are in a hurry, Master Dick?" asked Greensheve.

"Ay, good fellow," answered Dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom

I love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night?

Unfriends for sure!"

"Well," returned Greensheve, "an John come speedily, we shall give a

good account of them. They are not two score at the outside--I judge so

by the spacing of their sentries--and, taken where they are, lying so

widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows. And yet, Master

Dick, an she be in Sir Daniel's power already, it will little hurt that

she should change into another's. Who should these be?"

"I do suspect the Lord of Shoreby," Dick replied. "When came they?"

"They began to come, Master Dick," said Greensheve, "about the time ye

crossed the wall. I had not lain there the space of a minute ere I

marked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner."

The last light had been already extinguished in the little house when

they were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to

predict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make

their onslaught. Of two evils, Dick preferred the least. He preferred

that Joanna should remain under the guardianship of Sir Daniel rather

than pass into the clutches of Lord Shoreby; and his mind was made up,

if the house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the

besieged.

But the time passed, and still there was no movement. From quarter of an

hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall,

as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his

scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of

the little house lay undisturbed.

Presently Dick's reinforcements began to arrive. The night was not yet

old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse.

Separating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller

himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of Greensheve.

"Now, Kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of

the garden wall upon the beach. Post them strongly, and wait till that

ye hear me falling on upon the other side. It is those upon the sea

front that I would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader.

The rest will run; even let them. And now, lads, let no man draw an

arrow; ye will but hurt friends. Take to the steel, and keep to the

steel; and if we have the uppermost, I promise every man of you a gold

noble when I come to mine estate."

Out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined

peasantry, whom Duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of

his revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had

volunteered to follow Richard Shelton. The service of watching Sir

Daniel's movements in the town of Shoreby had from the first been

irksome to their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly

and threaten to disperse. The prospect of a sharp encounter and possible

spoils restored them to good humour, and they joyfully prepared for

battle.

Their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green

jerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore

bonnets strengthened by iron plates; and for offensive armour, swords,

daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them

in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops. The bows, quivers,

and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set

resolutely forward.

Dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six

men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took

position himself a few paces in front. Then they all shouted with one

voice, and closed upon the enemy.

These, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares,

sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided. Before they had time

to get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number

and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in

their ears from the far side of the enclosure. Thereupon they gave

themselves up for lost, and ran.

In this way the two small troops of the men of the Black Arrow closed

upon the sea front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers,

as it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for

their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the

darkness.

For all that, the fight was but beginning. Dick's outlaws, although they

had the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered

by the men they had surrounded. The tide had flowed in the meanwhile;

the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field between the

surf and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful,

furious, and deadly contest.

The strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their

assailants; and the affray became a series of single combats. Dick, who

had come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut

down at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him hotly he was

fain to give ground before their onset. One of these two was a huge

fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword,

which he brandished like a switch. Against this opponent, with his reach

of arm and the length and weight of his weapon, Dick and his bill were

quite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the

attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. This second man, however,

less in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer

about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle.

The giant still pursued his advantage, and still Dick fled before him,

spying for his chance. Then the huge blade flashed and descended, and

the lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and

upwards with his bill. A roar of agony responded, and before the wounded

man could raise his formidable weapon, Dick, twice repeating his blow,

had brought him to the ground.

The next moment he was engaged upon more equal terms with his second

pursuer. Here there was no great difference in size, and though the man,

fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick

of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, Dick more than made it up

by his greater agility on foot. Neither at first gained any obvious

advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the

ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently Dick

found that they had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now

fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. Here

his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or

less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back

turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary

was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away.

Dick ground his teeth. He determined to decide the combat instantly; and

when the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed

in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his

opponent. The man went down backwards, with Dick still upon the top of

him; and the next wave, speedily succeeding the last, buried him below

a rush of water.

While he was still submerged, Dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and

rose to his feet victorious.

"Yield ye!" he said. "I give you life."

"I yield me," said the other, getting to his knees. "Ye fight, like a

young man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints,

ye fight bravely!"

Dick turned to the beach. The combat was still raging doubtfully in the

night; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel,

and cries of pain and the shout of battle resounded.

"Lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight. "It is fit

this butchery should cease."

"Sir," replied Dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the

poor gentleman who here addresses you is he."

"Call off your dogs, then, and I will bid my villains hold," returned

the other.

There was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late

opponent, and Dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery.

"Lay down your arms, men!" cried the stranger knight. "I have yielded

me, upon promise of life."

The tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost

instantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased.

"Lawless," cried Dick, "are ye safe?"

"Ay," cried Lawless, "safe and hearty."

"Light me the lantern," cried Dick.

"Is not Sir Daniel here?" inquired the knight.

"Sir Daniel?" echoed Dick. "Now, by the rood, I pray not. It would go

ill with me if he were."

"Ill with _you_, fair sir?" inquired the other. "Nay, then, if ye be not

of Sir Daniel's party, I profess I comprehend no longer. Wherefore,

then, fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery

friend? to what earthly purpose? and to make a clear end of

questioning, to what good gentleman have I surrendered?"

But before Dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close

by. Dick could see the speaker's black and white badge, and the

respectful salute which he addressed to his superior.

"My lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to Sir Daniel, it

is a pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were

tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here. The watchers

in the house--unless they be all dead or deaf--have heard our hammering

this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town;

and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken,

both of us, by a fresh foe."

"Hawksley is in the right," added the lord. "How please ye, sir? Whither

shall we march?"

"Nay, my lord," said Dick, "go where you will for me. I do begin to

suspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, I began our

acquaintance somewhat ruggedly, I would not churlishly continue. Let us

then, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the

hour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree."

"Y' are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is

not misplaced. I will meet you at the point of day at St. Bride's

Cross.--Come, lads, follow!"

The strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed

suspicious; and, while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling

the dead bodies, Dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to

examine the front of the house. In a little upper loophole of the roof

he beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from

the back windows of Sir Daniel's mansion, he doubted not that this was

the signal feared by Hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the

Knight of Tunstall would arrive upon the scene.

He put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a

jarring and hollow noise from townward. Back to the beach he went

hurrying. But the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and

stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to

commit it to the mercies of the deep.

A few minutes later, when there debouched out of the nearest lanes of

Shoreby some two score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the

gallop of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea

was entirely silent and deserted.

Meanwhile Dick and his men had returned to the alehouse of the "Goat

and Bagpipes" to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst.

CHAPTER III

ST. BRIDE'S CROSS

St. Bride's Cross stood a little way back from Shoreby, on the skirts of

Tunstall Forest. Two roads met: one, from Holywood across the forest;

one, that road from Risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a

Lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. Here the two joined issue, and

went on together down the hill to Shoreby; and a little back from the

point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the

ancient and weather-beaten cross.

Here, then, about seven in the morning, Dick arrived. It was as cold as

ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoar-frost, and the day

began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange.

Dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself

well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides. He had not

long to wait. Down the road from Holywood a gentleman in very rich and

bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came

pacing on a splendid charger. Twenty yards behind him followed a clump

of lancers; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the

trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to

advance alone.

His visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and

dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms. And it was

with some confusion of manner that Dick arose from the cross and stepped

down the bank to meet his prisoner.

"I thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low.

"Will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?"

"Are ye here alone, young man?" inquired the other.

"I was not so simple," answered Dick; "and, to be plain with your

lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine

honest fellows lying on their weapons."

"Y' have done wisely," said the lord. "It pleaseth me the rather, since

last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage Saracen

lunatic than any Christian warrior. But it becomes not me to complain,

that had the undermost."

"Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned Dick;

"but had the waves not holpen me, it was I that should have had the

worst. Ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger-marks, which

I still carry. And in fine, my lord, methinks I had all the danger, as

well as all the profit, of that little blind-man's medley on the beach."

"Y' are shrewd enough to make light of it, I see," returned the

stranger.

"Nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied Dick, "in that I shoot at no

advantage to myself. But when, by the light of this new day, I see how

stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and

the darkness, and the surf--and how easily the battle had gone

otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself--think it not

strange, my lord, if I feel confounded with my victory."

"Ye speak well," said the stranger. "Your name?"

"My name, an't like you, is Shelton," answered Dick.

"Men call me the Lord Foxham," added the other.

"Then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the

sweetest maid in England," replied Dick; "and for your ransom, and the

ransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no

uncertainty of terms. I pray you, my lord, of your good-will and

charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, Joan Sedley; and take ye,

upon the other part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers,

and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till I die."

"But are ye not ward to Sir Daniel? Methought, if y' are Harry Shelton's

son, that I had heard it so reported," said Lord Foxham.

"Will it please you, my lord, to alight? I would fain tell you fully who

I am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands. Beseech you, my lord,

take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with

allowance."

And so saying, Dick lent a hand to Lord Foxham to dismount; led him up

the knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself

been sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner,

related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening

before.

Lord Foxham listened gravely, and when Dick had done, "Master Shelton,"

he said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what

fortune y' have had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye

have noways deserved. Be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who

is devoid neither of power nor favour. For yourself, although it fits

not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, I must own ye are

both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in

peace, a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing. For your

estates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so

long as Lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall Sir Daniel enjoy

them for his own. For my ward, it is another matter; I had promised her

before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one Hamley; the promise is

old----"

"Ay, my lord, and now Sir Daniel hath promised her to my Lord Shoreby,"

interrupted Dick. "And his promise, for all it is but young, is still

the likelier to be made good."

"Tis the plain truth," returned his lordship. "And considering,

moreover, that I am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my

bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in

other hands, I will so far consent. Aid me with your good fellows----"

"My lord," cried Dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for

consorting with."

"Let them be what they will, they can fight," returned Lord Foxham.

"Help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly

honour, she shall marry you!"

Dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from

the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son.

"Come," he said, "an y' are to marry Joan, we must be early friends."

CHAPTER IV

THE "GOOD HOPE"

An hour thereafter, Dick was back at the "Goat and Bagpipes," breaking

his fast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries.

Duckworth was still absent from Shoreby; and this was frequently the

case, for he played many parts in the world, shared many different

interests, and conducted many various affairs. He had founded that

fellowship of the Black Arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and

money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the

agent and emissary of the great King-maker of England, Richard, Earl of

Warwick.

In his absence, at any rate, it fell upon Richard Shelton to command

affairs in Shoreby; and as he sat at meat his mind was full of care, and

his face heavy with consideration. It had been determined, between him

and the Lord Foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute

force, to set Joanna free. The obstacles, however, were many; and as one

after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more

discomfortable news.

Sir Daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before. He had

increased the garrison of the house in the garden; but, not content with

that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that

he might have instant word of any movement. Meanwhile, in the court of

his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point,

awaited but the signal to ride.

The adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of

execution, till suddenly Dick's countenance lightened.

"Lawless!" he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?"

"Master Dick," replied Lawless, "if ye would back me, I would agree to

steal York Minster."

Presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour. It

was a considerable basin, lying among sandhills, and surrounded with

patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the

town. Many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor,

or had been drawn up on the beach. A long duration of bad weather had

driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the

great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one

another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind,

promised no improvement, but rather threatened a more serious storm in

the immediate future.

The seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part

slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns.

Many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the

day wore on, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the

number was continually being augmented. It was to these deserted ships,

and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that Lawless directed

his attention; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded

in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices

of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a

neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns

in the agreeable recollection of Lord Foxham's promise.

He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. It was Lawless, pointing

to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of

the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the

entering swell. A pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on

the vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and

in this momentary glitter Dick could see a couple of men hauling the

skiff alongside.

"There, sir," said Lawless, "mark ye it well! There is the ship for

to-night."

Presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men,

keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. Lawless

turned to a loiterer.

"How call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel.

"They call her the _Good Hope_, of Dartmouth," replied the loiterer.

"Her captain, Arblaster by name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff."

This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly thanking the man, he moved

round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was

heading. There he took up his position, and as soon as they were within

earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the _Good Hope_.

"What! Gossip Arblaster!" he cried. "Why, ye be well met; nay, gossip,

ye be right well met, upon the rood! And is that the _Good Hope_? Ay, I

would know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat! But

marry, come up, my gossip, will ye drink? I have come into mine estate,

which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. I am now rich; I have left

to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale.

Come, fellow; thy hand upon 't! Come, drink with an old ship-fellow!"

Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a

knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world

like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious

amazement and distrust. But the name of an estate, and a certain air of

tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which Lawless very well

affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance

relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the

outlaw in a formidable grasp.

"Nay," he said, "I cannot mind you. But what o' that? I would drink with

any man, gossip, and so would my man Tom.--Man Tom," he added,

addressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name I cannot mind,

but no doubt a very good seaman. Let's go drink with him and his shore

friend."

Lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as

it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less

crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port. It was but a shed

of timber, much like a block-house in the backwoods of to-day, and was

coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and

boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables. In the middle, and

besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed

and vomited thick smoke.

"Ay, now," said Lawless, "here is a shipman's joy--a good fire and a

good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale

a-snoring in the roof! Here's to the _Good Hope_! May she ride easy!"

"Ay," said Skipper Arblaster, "'tis good weather to be ashore in, that

is sooth--Man Tom, how say ye to that?--Gossip, ye speak well, though I

can never think upon your name; but ye speak very well. May the _Good

Hope_ ride easy! Amen!"

"Friend Dickon," resumed Lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have

certain matters on hand, unless I err? Well, prithee be about them

incontinently. For here I be with the choice of all good company, two

tough old shipmen; and till that ye return I will go warrant these brave

fellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup. We are not like

shore-men, we old tough tarry-Johns!"

"It is well meant," returned the skipper. "Ye can go, boy; for I will

keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew--ay, and by

St. Mary, till the sun get up again! For, look ye, when a man hath been

long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones;

and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched."

Thus encouraged upon all hands, Dick rose, saluted his company, and

going forth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he

might to the "Goat and Bagpipes." Thence he sent word to my Lord Foxham

that, so soon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat

to keep the sea in. And then leading along with him a couple of outlaws

who had some experience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour

and the little sandy creek.

The skiff of the _Good Hope_ lay among many others, from which it was

easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility. Indeed,

when Dick and his two men had taken their places, and began to put forth

out of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into

the swell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the

point of sinking.

The _Good Hope_, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell

was heaviest. No other vessel lay nearer than several cables' length;

those that were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as

the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of

the weather further concealed the movements of the outlaws from all

possible espial. In a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and

the skiff was dancing at the stern. The _Good Hope_ was captured.

She was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amidships, but open in

the stern. She carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a

lugger. It would seem that Skipper Arblaster had made an excellent

venture, for the hold was full of pieces of French wine; and in the

little cabin, besides the Virgin Mary in the bulkhead which proved the

captain's piety, there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which

showed him to be rich and careful.

A dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked, and

bit the heels of the boarders, but he was soon kicked into the cabin,

and the door shut upon his just resentment. A lamp was lit and fixed in

the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine

pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent Gascony emptied

to the adventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws

began to get ready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship

against all comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got overboard,

where he held on, waiting for Dick.

"Well, Jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing

to follow his subordinate. "Ye will do right well."

"Why," returned Jack, "I shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we

lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the

harbour----. See, there she trembles! Nay, the poor shrew heard the

words, and the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. But look, Master

Dick! how black the weather gathers!"

The darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. Great billows heaved up out

of the blackness, one after another; and one after another the _Good

Hope_ buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the farther side. A

thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered

the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging.

"In sooth, it looketh evilly," said Dick. "But what cheer! 'Tis but a

squall, and presently it will blow over." But, in spite of his words, he

was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the

wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the

_Good Hope_ and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed

of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to Heaven the

lives of all who should adventure on the sea.

At the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the

outlaws. To these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark

without delay.

A little farther up the beach Dick found Lord Foxham hurrying in quest

of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour

covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance.

"Young Shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?"

"My lord," replied Richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it

may not be reached from the land side without alarum; and Sir Daniel

once advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end

than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind. Now, in going

round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much

outweigheth all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off

the maid."

"Well," returned Lord Foxham, "lead on. I will, in some sort, follow you

for shame's sake; but I own I would I were in bed."

"Here, then," said Dick. "Hither we go to fetch our pilot."

And he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to

a portion of his men. Some of these he found lingering round the door

outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near

as possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about

Lawless and the two shipmen. These, to judge by the distempered

countenance and cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of

moderation; and as Richard entered, closely followed by Lord Foxham,

they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus

of the wailing of the gale.

The young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed. The fire had just

been replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was

difficult to see clearly in the farther corners. It was plain, however,

that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests.

Satisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of

his plan, Dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the

bench.

"Hey?" cried the skipper tipsily, "who are ye, hey?"

"I want a word with you without, Master Arblaster," returned Dick; "and

here is what we shall talk of." And he showed him a gold noble in the

glimmer of the firelight.

The shipman's eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our

hero.

"Ay, boy," he said, "I am with you.--Gossip, I will be back anon. Drink

fair, gossip"; and, taking Dick's arm to steady his uneven steps, he

walked to the door of the alehouse.

As soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and

bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to

another, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop

into a neighbouring hay-barn. Presently, his man Tom, similarly secured,

was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth

reflections for the night.

And now, as the time for concealment had gone by, Lord Foxham's

followers were summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly

taking possession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in

a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship. Long before the

last man had climbed to the deck of the _Good Hope_, the sound of

furious shouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the

seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs.

But it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge. Out of some

forty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to

sea, and could play the part of mariners. With the aid of these, a slice

of sail was got upon her. The cable was cut. Lawless, vacillating on his

feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller

in his hands: and the _Good Hope_ began to flit forward into the

darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour

bar.

Richard took his place beside the weather rigging. Except for the ship's

own lantern, and for some lights in Shoreby town, that were already

fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. Only

from time to time, as the _Good Hope_ swooped dizzily down into the

valley of the rollers, a crest would break--a great cataract of snowy

foam would leap in one instant into being--and, in an instant more,

would stream into the wake and vanish.

Many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick,

and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. And

what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken

bravado of Lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest

heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result.

But Lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the

breakers, struck the lee of a great sandbank, where they sailed for a

while in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude

stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and

grinding in the dark.

CHAPTER V

THE "GOOD HOPE" (_continued_)

The pier was not far distant from the house in which Joanna lay; it now

only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a

strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive. They might

then regard themselves as done with the _Good Hope_; it had placed them

on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should

succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater

measure of hope in the direction of the forest and my Lord Foxham's

reserve.

To get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick,

all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had

shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of

the night had cowed their spirits. They made a rush upon the pier; my

lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in

front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a

certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case.

When some degree of order had been restored, Dick, with a few chosen

men, set forth in advance. The darkness on shore, by contrast with the

flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the

howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise.

He had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a

lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow

footing of horses and the clash of arms. Checking his immediate

followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon

the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and

horses moving. A strong discouragement assailed him. If their enemies

were really on the watch, if they had beleagured the shoreward end of

the pier, he and Lord Foxham were taken in a posture of very poor

defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow

causeway. He gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon.

It proved to be a signal for more than he desired. Instantly there fell,

through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so

close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and

the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. In this first

discharge, Lord Foxham was struck down; Hawksley had him carried on

board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the

skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. That was

perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow.

At the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, Dick held his own

with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed

steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the

twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship.

Some one cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to

lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. "On

board, lads, for your lives!" cried another. A third, with the true

instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats:

"We are betrayed!" And in a moment the whole mass of men went surging

and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on

their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry.

One coward thrust off the ship's stern, while another still held her by

the bows. The fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or

fell back and perished in the sea. Some were cut down upon the pier by

the pursuers. Many were injured on the ship's deck in the blind haste

and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on

both. At last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the _Good

Hope_ were liberated; and the ever-ready Lawless, who had maintained his

place at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body

and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper

tack. The ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its

scuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and

struggling in the dark.

Thereupon Lawless sheathed his dagger, and, turning to his next

neighbour, "I have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping,

coward hounds."

Now, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men

had not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with

which Lawless had held his post in the confusion. But perhaps they had

already begun to understand somewhat more clearly, perhaps another ear

had overheard the helmsman's speech.

Panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced

themselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault,

will sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of

insubordination. So it was now; and the same men who had thrown away

their weapons and been hauled, feet foremost, into the _Good Hope_,

began to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that some one should be

punished.

This growing ill-feeling turned upon Lawless.

In order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the

_Good Hope_ to seaward.

"What!" bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!"

"'Tis sooth," cried another. "Nay, we are betrayed for sure."

And they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in

shrill tones and with abominable oaths bade Lawless go about-ship and

bring them speedily ashore.

Lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in silence to steer the true

course, guiding the _Good Hope_ among the formidable billows. To their

empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, between drink and

dignity he scorned to make reply. The malcontents drew together a little

abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, "crowing

for courage." Presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice

or ingratitude. Dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose;

but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got

beforehand.

"Lads," he began, "y' are right wooden heads, I think. For to get back,

by the mass, we must have an offing, must we not? And this old

Lawless--"

Some one struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire

springs among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the

feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. At this

the wrath of Lawless rose and broke.

"Steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the

result, he left the helm.

The _Good Hope_ was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell.

She subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side. A wave,

like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with

a staggering blow, she plunged head foremost through that liquid hill.

The green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a

man's knees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again

upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a

beast that has been deadly wounded.

Six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and

as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to

bellow to the saints and wail upon Lawless to come back and take the

tiller.

Nor did Lawless wait to be twice bidden. The terrible result of his

fling of just resentment sobered him completely. He knew, better than

any one on board, how nearly the _Good Hope_ had gone bodily down below

their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the

sea, that the peril was by no means over.

Dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose

wading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the

old helmsman's side.

"Lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y' are a brave, steady

man, indeed, and crafty in the management of ships; I shall put three

sure men to watch upon your safety."

"Bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward

through the dark. "We come every moment somewhat clearer of these

sandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and

for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs. For, my

master, 'tis a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man

that was a good shipman. None but the honest and the bold can endure me

this tossing of a ship."

"Nay, Lawless," said Dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman's byword,

and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind. But, prithee,

how go we? Do we lie well? Are we in good case?"

"Master Shelton," replied Lawless, "I have been a Grey Friar--I praise

fortune--an archer, a thief, and a shipman. Of all these coats, I had

the best fancy to die in the Grey Friars, as ye may readily conceive,

and the least fancy to die in John Shipman's tarry jacket; and that for

two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man

suddenly; and second, for the horror of that great salt smother and

welter under my foot here"--and Lawless stamped with his foot.

"Howbeit," he went on, "an I die not a sailor's death, and that this

night, I shall owe a tall candle to our Lady."

"Is it so?" asked Dick.

"It is right so," replied the outlaw. "Do ye not feel how heavy and dull

she moves upon the waves? Do ye not hear the water washing in her hold?

She will scarce mind the rudder even now. Bide till she has settled a

bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone

image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like

a twist of string."

"Ye speak with a good courage," returned Dick. "Ye are not then

appalled?"

"Why, master," answered Lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come

to port with, it is I--a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on't.

Well, ye may wonder, but I keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that I

be to drown, I will drown with a bright eye, Master Shelton, and a

steady hand."

Dick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond

of so resolute a temper, and, fearing some fresh violence or treachery,

set forth upon his quest for three sure men. The great bulk of the men

had now deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying

sprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind.

They had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the

butts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns.

Here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in

Arblaster's Gascony wine. But as the _Good Hope_ continued to tear

through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high

in air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions

diminished with every moment and with every lurch. Many sat apart,

tending their hurts, but the majority were already prostrated with

sickness, and lay moaning in the bilge.

Greensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of Lord Foxham's whom Dick had

already remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however,

both fit to understand and willing to obey. These Dick set as a

bodyguard about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look

at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin,

whither Lord Foxham had been carried by his servants.

CHAPTER VI

THE "GOOD HOPE" (_concluded_)

The moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship's

dog. The poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be

separated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril

in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above

the roar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men

heard, in these sounds, the knell of the _Good Hope_.

Lord Foxham had been laid in a berth, upon a fur cloak. A little lamp

burned dim before the Virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer Dick

could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man.

"I am sore hurt," said he. "Come near to my side, young Shelton; let

there be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived

nobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that I

should get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a

foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls."

"Nay, my lord," said Dick, "I pray rather to the saints that ye will

recover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore."

"How?" demanded his lordship. "Come sound ashore? There is, then, a

question of it?"

"The ship laboureth--the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad;

"and by what I can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do

well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land."

"Ha!" said the baron gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the

passage of my soul! Sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die

easy, than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and

tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes! Howbeit, I

have that upon my mind that must not be delayed. We have no priest

aboard?"

"None," replied Dick.

"Here, then, to my secular interests," resumed Lord Foxham: "ye must be

as good a friend to me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy when I was

living. I fall in an evil hour for me, for England, and for them that

trusted me. My men are being brought by Hamley--he that was your rival;

they will rendezvous in the long room at Holywood; this ring from off my

finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and I shall write,

besides, two words upon this paper, bidding Hamley yield to you the

damsel. Will ye obey? I know not."

"But, my lord, what orders?" inquired Dick.

"Ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders"; and he looked upon Dick with

hesitation. "Are ye Lancaster or York?" he asked at length.

"I shame to say it," answered Dick, "I can scarce clearly answer. But so

much I think is certain: since I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve the

House of York. Well, if that be so, I declare for York."

"It is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well. For, truly, had

ye said Lancaster, I wot not for the world what I had done. But sith ye

are for York, follow me. I came hither but to watch these lords at

Shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, Richard of Gloucester,[1]

prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. I have made

me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and

these I was to deliver to my young lord on Sunday, an hour before noon,

at St. Bride's Cross beside the forest. This tryst I am not like to

keep, but I pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that

not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from

the hour and place, for the welfare of England lieth upon this cast."

"I do soberly take this upon me," said Dick. "In so far as in me lieth,

your purpose shall be done."

"It is good," said the wounded man. "My lord duke shall order you

further, and if ye obey him with spirit and goodwill, then is your

fortune made. Give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that I

write these words for you."

He wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, Sir John Hamley"; and then a

second, which he left without external superscription.

"This is for the duke," he said. "The word is 'England and Edward,' and

the counter, 'England and York.'"

"And Joanna, my lord?" asked Dick.

"Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can," replied the baron. "I have named

you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for

yourself, boy. I have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my

life. More could no man do."

By this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and Dick, putting

the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left

him to repose.

The day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of

snow. Close under the lee of the _Good Hope_, the coast lay in alternate

rocky headlands and sandy bays; and farther inland the wooded hill-tops

of Tunstall showed along the sky. Both the wind and the sea had gone

down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves.

Lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the

men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the

inhospitable coast.

"Are we going ashore?" asked Dick.

"Ay," said Lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom."

And just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water

weltered so loudly in her hold, that Dick involuntarily seized the

steersman by the arm.

"By the mass!" cried Dick, as the bows of the _Good Hope_ re-appeared

above the foam, "I thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my

throat."

In the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the better men of both companies

were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these Dick joined

himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament. But,

even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of

her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him

with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death.

Presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in

below a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which

the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above

that again, a house appeared, crowning a down.

Inside the bay the seas ran gaily, raised the _Good Hope_ upon their

foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman,

and in a moment dropped her with a great concussion on the sand, and

began to break over her, half-mast high, and roll her to and fro.

Another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet

farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the

more dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank.

"Now, boys," cried Lawless, "the saints have had a care of us indeed.

The tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before

half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge."

A barrel was broached, and sitting in what shelter they could find from

the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup

around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits.

Dick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, who lay in great perplexity

and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the

lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the

violence of the blow.

"My lord," said young Shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly

for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide

hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet."

It was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the

ebbing sea, and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly

before them through a veil of driving snow.

Upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled

together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals.

"They might draw near and offer us some comfort," Dick remarked.

"Well, an they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said

Hawksley. "The sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed, the better

for my poor lord."

But they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock before the

men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight

of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company.

"Back! back!" cried his lordship. "Beware, in Heaven's name, that ye

reply not!"

"Nay," cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack. "We are

in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary,

and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old England, what aileth

them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?"

"They take us to be French pirates," answered Lord Foxham. "In these

most troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of

England; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do

now range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning. It is the

pity and reproach of this poor land."

The men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed

upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sandhills; for a

mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign,

to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was

only when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, Dick began to call

his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the

coast of England silently disappeared among the snow. They had done what

they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own

families and cattle; and, their private interest being thus secured, it

mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the

Frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm

of England.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have been

created Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader's

leave, he shall so be called.

BOOK IV

THE DISGUISE

CHAPTER I

THE DEN

The place where Dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from

Holywood, and within nine or ten miles of Shoreby-on-the-Till; and here,

after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies

separated. Lord Foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded

master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and Dick, as

he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling

snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder

of his troop of volunteers.

Some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and

long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more,

they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. Dick emptied his

purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage

they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his

heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened

the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their

way, either severally or in pairs, to Shoreby and the "Goat and

Bagpipes."

For his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the _Good

Hope_, he chose Lawless to be his companion on the walk. The snow was

falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the

wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was

blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation. There was

great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and

Lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his

head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of

every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship

among dangers.

About a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways

met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks. Even in the narrow

horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be

recognised; and Lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight.

"Now, Master Richard," said he, "an y' are not too proud to be the guest

of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good

Christian, I can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the

marrow in your frozen bones."

"Lead on, Will," answered Dick. "A cup of wine and a good fire! Nay, I

would go a far way round to see them."

Lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking

resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that

had now drifted a quarter full of snow. On the verge a great beech-tree

hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some

bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth.

The beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up

a considerable stretch of turf; and it was under this that old Lawless

had dug out his forest hiding-place. The roots served him for rafters,

the turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the

earth. Rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and

the presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron,

showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a

digging beast.

Though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of

this earth-cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when

Lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze

and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of

comfort and of home.

With a sigh of great contentment Lawless spread his broad hands before

the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke.

"Here, then," he said, "is this old Lawless's rabbit-hole; pray Heaven

there come no terrier! Far I have rolled hither and thither, and here

and about, since that I was fourteen years of mine age, and first ran

away from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that

I sold for four marks. I have been in England and France and Burgundy,

and in Spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea,

which is no man's country. But here is my place, Master Shelton. This is

my native land, this burrow in the earth. Come rain or wind--an whether

it's April, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed,

or whether it's winter, and I sit alone with my good gossip the fire,

and robin-redbreast twitters in the woods--here is my church and market,

my wife and child. It's here I come back to, and it's here, so please

the saints, that I would like to die."

"'Tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied Dick, "and a pleasant, and a

well-hid."

"It had need to be," returned Lawless, "for an they found it, Master

Shelton, it would break my heart. But here," he added, burrowing with

his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine-cellar, and ye

shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo."

Sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern

bottle of about a gallon, nearly three parts full of a very heady and

sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the

fire had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full

length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm.

"Master Shelton," observed the outlaw, "y' have had two mischances this

last while, and y' are like to lose the maid--do I take it aright?"

"Aright!" returned Dick, nodding his head.

"Well, now," continued Lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been

nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all! Ye go too much on other

people's errands, Master Dick. Ye go on Ellis's; but he desireth rather

the death of Sir Daniel. Ye go on Lord Foxham's; well--the saints

preserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well. But go ye upon your own, good

Dick. Come right to the maid's side. Court her, lest that she forget

you. Be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the

saddle-bow."

"Ay, but, Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in Sir Daniel's own mansion,"

answered Dick.

"Thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw.

Dick stared at him.

"Nay, I mean it," nodded Lawless. "And if y' are of so little faith, and

stumble at a word, see here!"

And the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest,

and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a

friar's robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood,

heavy enough to be counted as a weapon.

"Here," he said, "is for you. On with them!"

And then, when Dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise,

Lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the

greatest cunning, to disguise his face. The eyebrows he thickened and

produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a

like service; while, by a few lines around his eye, he changed the

expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk.

"Now," he resumed, "when I have done the like, we shall make as bonny a

pair of friars as the eye could wish. Boldly to Sir Daniel's we shall

go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of Mother Church."

"And how, dear Lawless," cried the lad, "shall I repay you?"

"Tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "I do naught but for my pleasure.

Mind not for me. I am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself. When

that I lack, I have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--I

do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, I do most usually take."

The old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although Dick was displeased

to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet

unable to restrain his mirth.

With that Lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly

disguised; but below his gown Dick wondered to observe him conceal a

sheaf of black arrows.

"Wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad. "Wherefore arrows, when ye take

no bow?"

"Nay," replied Lawless lightly, "'tis like there will be heads

broke--not to say backs--ere you and I win sound from where we're going

to; and if any fall, I would our fellowship should come by the credit

on't. A black arrow, Master Dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth

you who writ the bill."

"An ye prepare so carefully," said Dick. "I have here some papers that,

for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were

better left behind than found upon my body. Where shall I conceal them,

Will?"

"Nay," replied Lawless, "I will go forth into the wood and whistle me

three verses of a song; meanwhile do you bury them where ye please, and

smooth the sand upon the place."

"Never!" cried Richard. "I trust you, man. I were base indeed if I not

trusted you."

"Brother, y' are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and

turning his face upon Dick from the threshold of the den. "I am a kind

old Christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own

in a friend's jeopardy. But, fool child, I am a thief by trade and birth

and habit. If my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, I would rob you,

dear child, as sure as I love, honour, and admire your parts and person!

Can it be clearer spoken? No."

And he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers.

Dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the

inconsistencies of his companion's character, hastily produced,

reviewed, and buried his papers. One only he reserved to carry along

with him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, and yet might

serve him, in a pinch, against Sir Daniel. That was the knight's own

letter to Lord Wensleydale, sent by Throgmorton, on the morrow of the

defeat at Risingham, and found next day by Dick upon the body of the

messenger.

Then, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick left the den, and

rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks,

and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. Each

looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was

the disguise.

"Yet I would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw,

"that I might see myself in the mirror of a pool. There be many of Sir

Daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might

be two words for you, my brother, but as for me, in a paternoster-while,

I should be kicking in a rope's-end."

Thus they set forth together along the road to Shoreby, which, in this

part of its course, kept near along the margin of the forest, coming

forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor

folks' houses and small farms.

Presently at sight of one of these Lawless pulled up.

"Brother Martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to

his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners.

_Pax vobiscum!_ Ay," he added, in his own voice, "'tis as I feared: I

have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good Master

Shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before

that I risk my fat neck by entering Sir Daniel's. But look ye a little,

what an excellent thing it is to be a Jack-of-all-trades! An I had not

been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the _Good Hope_; an I had

not been a thief, I could not have painted me your face; and but that I

had been a Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at

the board, I could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs

would have spied us out and barked at us for shams."

He was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his

tip-toes and peeped in.

"Nay," he cried, "better and better. We shall here try our false faces

with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on Brother Capper to boot."

And so saying he opened the door and led the way into the house.

Three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating. Their

daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing

looks which they continued to shower upon the people of the house,

proved that they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour.

On the two monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the

kitchen of the farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment;

and one--it was John Capper in person--who seemed to play the leading

part, instantly and rudely ordered them away.

"We want no beggars here!" he cried.

But another--although he was as far from recognising Dick and

Lawless--inclined to more moderate counsels.

"Not so," he cried. "We be strong men, and take: these be weak, and

crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we

below.--Mind him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me

a benediction."

"Y' are men of a light mind, carnal and accursed," said the monk. "Now,

may the saints forbid that ever I should drink with such companions! But

here, for the pity I bear to sinners, here I do' leave you a blessed

relic, the which, for your soul's interest, I bid you kiss and cherish."

So far Lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with

these words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the

board in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same

instant, and, taking Dick along with him, was out of the room and out of

sight among the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or

move a finger.

"So," he said, "we have proved our false faces, Master Shelton. I will

now adventure my poor carcass where ye please."

"Good!" returned Richard. "It irks me to be doing. Set we on for

Shoreby!"

CHAPTER II

"IN MINE ENEMIES' HOUSE"

Sir Daniel's residence in Shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered

mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of

thatch. To the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees,

alleys, and thick arbours, and over-looked from the far end by the tower

of the abbey church.

The house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person

than Sir Daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub. The court rang

with arms and horse-shoe iron; the kitchen roared with cookery like a

bees'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of

tumblers, sounded from the hall. Sir Daniel, in his profusion, in the

gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with Lord Shoreby

and eclipsed Lord Risingham.

All guests were made welcome. Minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the

sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes and enchantments, and along with

these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the

lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare

boards of the long dining-hall.

On the afternoon following the wreck of the _Good Hope_, the buttery,

the kitchens, the stables, the covered cart-shed that surrounded two

sides of the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to

Sir Daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and

blue, partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and

received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of

the time.

The snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of

the air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter.

Wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the

straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal. To

the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the

eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at

a festive season.

Two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming

themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed. A mixed crowd

surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers: and with these the

elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged

so many loud guffaws and country witticisms that the group momentarily

increased in number.

The younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised Dick

Shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew

himself away. He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth;

and by the grave expression of his countenance he made but little

account of his companion's pleasantries.

At last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a

guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession

entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique

direction. Two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were

followed by a pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms. The next

moment they had disappeared within the house; and Dick, slipping through

the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit.

"The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley," he thought; "and where

Lady Brackley is, Joan will not be far."

At the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and

the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no

better escort than that of the two waiting-women. Dick followed close

behind. It was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the

darkness of the night had almost come. On the stair-landings torches

flared in iron holders; down the long tapestried corridors a lamp burned

by every door. And where the door stood open, Dick could look in upon

arras-covered walls, and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light

of the wood-fires.

Two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of

the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk. He, keeping his eyes

lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had

but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention.

And now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady

continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids,

descending the corridor to the right.

Dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth

his head and followed the three women with his eyes. Without turning or

looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor.

"It is right well," thought Dick. "Let me but know my Lady Brackley's

chamber, and it will go hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an errand."

And just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a

choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant.

He was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly

seized, the short young lady in the furs. She, on her part, was shocked

and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp.

"Madam," said Dick, releasing her, "I cry you a thousand pardons; but I

have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid."

The girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be

succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion. Dick, who could read

these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that

hostile house.

"Fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand,

in token ye forgive my roughness, and I will even go."

"Y' are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him

both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first

astonishment hath somewhat passed away, I can spy the layman in each

word you utter. What do ye here? Why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked

out? Come ye in peace or war? And why spy ye after Lady Brackley like a

thief?"

"Madam," quoth Dick, "of one thing I pray you to be very sure: I am no

thief. And even if I come here in war, as in some degree I do, I make no

war upon fair maids, and I hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to

leave me be. For, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your

pleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor

gentleman before you is merely a dead man. I cannot think ye would be

cruel," added Dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he

looked at her with courteous admiration.

"Are ye then a spy--a Yorkist?" asked the maid.

"Madam," he replied, "I am indeed a Yorkist, and in some sort, a spy.

But that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for

me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of York nor

Lancaster. I will wholly put my life in your discretion. I am a lover,

and my name--"

But here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon Dick's mouth,

looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast

clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence,

upstairs.

"Hush!" she said, "and come. 'Shalt talk hereafter."

Somewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to be pulled upstairs,

bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like

so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth.

"Now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there

and attend my sovereign good-pleasure. I have life and death over you,

and I will not scruple to abuse my power. Look to yourself; y' have

cruelly mauled my arm. He knew not I was a maid, quoth he! Had he known

I was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!"

And with these words she whipped out of the room, and left Dick gaping

with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake.

"Ta'en my belt to her!" he repeated. "Ta'en my belt to her!" and the

recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind,

and he once more saw Matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes.

And then he was recalled to the dangers of the present. In the next room

he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which

sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet

once more began. As he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the

wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided,

and, lamp in hand, Joanna Sedley entered the apartment.

She was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit

the winter and the snow. Upon her head, her hair had been gathered

together and became her as a crown. And she, who had seemed so little

and so awkward in the attire of Matcham, was now tall like a young

willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of

walking.

Without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the

young monk.

"What make ye here, good brother?" she inquired. "Ye are doubtless

ill-directed. Whom do ye require?" And she set her lamp upon the

bracket.

"Joanna," said Dick; and then his voice failed him. "Joanna," he began

again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool I, but I believed it!"

"Dick!" she cried. "Dick!"

And then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady

made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him

a hundred kisses all in one.

"O the fool fellow!" she cried. "O dear Dick! O, if ye could see

yourself! Alack!" she added, pausing, "I have spoilt you, Dick! I have

knocked some of the paint off. But that can be mended. What cannot be

mended, Dick--or I much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with Lord

Shoreby."

"Is it decided then?" asked the lad.

"To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "John

Matcham and Joanna Sedley both shall come to a right miserable end.

There is no help in tears, or I could weep mine eyes out. I have not

spared myself to pray, but Heaven frowns on my petition. And, dear

Dick--good Dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the

morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye."

"Nay," said Dick, "not I; I will never say that word. 'Tis like despair;

but while there's life, Joanna, there is hope. Yet will I hope. Ay, by

the mass, and triumph! Look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did

I not follow--did I not rouse good men--did I not stake my life upon the

quarrel? And now that I have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid

and stateliest of England--think ye I would turn?--if the deep sea were

there, I would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, I

would scatter them like mice."

"Ay," she said dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!"

"Nay, Joan," protested Dick, "'tis not alone the robe. But, lass, ye

were disguised. Here am I disguised; and, to the proof, do I not cut a

figure of fun--a right fool's figure?"

"Ay, Dick, an' that ye do!" she answered, smiling.

"Well, then!" he returned, triumphant. "So was it with you, poor

Matcham, in the forest. In sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. But now!"

So they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and

lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have

continued all night long. But presently there was a noise behind them;

and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her

lips.

"Saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep! Can ye not speak in

compass?--And now, Joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give

your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?"

Joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily.

"And you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?"

"Madam," said Dick, "I would fain offer to pay you in the same money."

"Come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you."

But Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand.

"What ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the

very ground; and then, when Dick had at length and most tepidly embraced

her, "Joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your

eyes; but I warrant you, when first we met, he was more ready. I am all

black and blue, wench; trust me never, if I be not black and blue! And

now," she continued, "have ye said your sayings? for I must speedily

dismiss the paladin."

But at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the

night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so

early.

"And supper?" asked the young lady. "Must we not go down to supper?"

"Nay, to be sure!" cried Joan. "I had forgotten."

"Hide me, then," said Dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a

chest, or what ye will, so that I may be here on your return. Indeed,

fair lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bestead, and

may never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we

die."

At this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell

summoned Sir Daniel's household to the board, Dick was planted very

stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry

permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room.

He had not been long in this position when he was somewhat strangely

disturbed. The silence in that upper story of the house was only broken

by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in the

chimney; but presently, to Dick's strained hearing, there came the sound

of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the door

opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in Lord Shoreby's

colours, pushed first his head and then his crooked body into the

chamber. His mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes,

which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. He

went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the

hangings; but Dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice. Then he looked

below the furniture, and examined the lamp; and at last, with an air of

cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had

come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from

among the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of

delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt.

Dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own

girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a

malign delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to

his master, the baron. He was half-tempted to throw aside the arras,

fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the

tell-tale token. And while he was still hesitating, a new cause of

concern was added. A voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be

audible from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and

heavy footsteps sounded without along the passage.

"What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the

voice. "What make ye here? Hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added, with

a rattle of drunken laughter; and then once more breaking into song:

"If ye should drink the clary wine,

Fat Friar John, ye friend o' mine--

If I should eat, and ye should drink,

Who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?"

Lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a

corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations. Dick inwardly

raged. The spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he

had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of

cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from Richard's

eyes.

What was to be done? If he lost touch of Lawless for the night he was

left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth Joanna's rescue. If, on

the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might

still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue.

It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick decided. Slipping

from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber,

with a warning hand upraised. Lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes

injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer. At last

he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick's

imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name.

Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.

"Beast!" he hissed--"beast, and no man! It is worse than treachery to be

so witless. We may all be shent for thy sotting."

But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young Shelton

on the back.

And just then Dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras. He

leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the

wall-hanging had been torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling

together in its folds. Over and over they rolled, grappling for each

other's throat, and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in

their deadly fury. But Dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy

lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long

poniard, ceased to breathe.

CHAPTER III

THE DEAD SPY

Throughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless had looked on

helplessly, and even when all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to

his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the

distant bustle in the lower stories of the house, the old outlaw was

still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still

stupidly staring on the face of the dead man.

"It is well," said Dick at length; "they have not heard us, praise the

saints! But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy? At least, I will

take my tassel from his wallet."

So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of

money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and

sealed with my Lord Shoreby's seal. The name awoke Dick's recollection;

and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. It

was short, but, to Dick's delight, it gave evident proof that Lord

Shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the House of York.

The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him,

and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able

to write these words upon a corner of the paper:

"My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is

ded? But let me rede you, marry not.

"JON AMEND-ALL."

He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless, who

had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering

returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his

robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. The sight of this

disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of

horror from young Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed.

"Nay, I will have the credit for mine order," he hiccuped. "My jolly

boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother"; and then, shutting

his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to

thunder, in a formidable voice:

"If ye should drink the clary wine--"

"Peace, sot!" cried Dick, and thrust him hard against the wall. "In two

words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine

than wit in him--in two words, and a-Mary's name, begone out of this

house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself,

but me also! Faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may

forget that I am in some sort your captain, and in some your debtor!

Go!"

The sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his

intelligence; and the ring in Dick's voice, and the glitter in Dick's

eye, stamped home the meaning of his words.

"By the mass," cried Lawless, "an I be not wanted, I can go"; and he

turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder downstairs,

lurching against the wall.

So soon as he was out of sight, Dick returned to his hiding-place,

resolutely fixed to see the matter out. Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be

gone; but love and curiosity were stronger.

Time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras. The

fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to

smoke. And still there was no word of the return of any one to these

upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the

supper-party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of

the snow, Shoreby town lay silent upon every side.

At length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair;

and presently after several of Sir Daniel's guests arrived upon the

landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the

body of the spy.

Some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud.

At the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and,

in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from

every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult.

Soon a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came forth in person, followed by

the bridegroom of the morrow, my Lord Shoreby.

"My lord," said Sir Daniel, "have I not told you of this knave Black

Arrow? To the proof, behold it! There it stands, and, by the rood, my

gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!"

"In good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied Lord Shoreby, hanging

back. "I would I had more such. He was as keen as a beagle and secret as

a mole."

"Ay, gossip, truly?" asked Sir Daniel keenly. "An what came he smelling

up so many stairs in my poor mansion? But he will smell no more."

"An't please you, Sir Daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon

with some matter, pinned upon his breast."

"Give it me, arrow and all," said the knight. And when he had taken into

his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a

sullen musing. "Ay," he said, addressing Lord Shoreby, "here is a hate

that followeth hard and close upon my heels. This black stick, or its

just likeness, shall yet bring me down. And, gossip, suffer a plain

knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! 'Tis

like a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs. But let us

see what they have written. It is as I thought, my lord; y' are marked

like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the

axe. But what wrote ye in a letter?"

Lord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it

between his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto

withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the

body and eagerly groped in the wallet.

He rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance.

"Gossip," he said, "I have indeed lost a letter here that much imported;

and could I lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should

incontinently grace a halter. But let us, first of all, secure the

issues of the house. Here is enough harm already, by St. George!"

Sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on

every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and

yet another about the bonfire in the shed. Sir Daniel's followers were

supplemented by Lord Shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons

to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be

there.

Meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow

and deposited in the abbey church.

It was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned

to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew Richard Shelton from his

place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed.

He, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous

discovery, and speedy end.

Joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall.

"It will avail but little," she said. "I shall be wed to-morrow in the

morning, after all!"

"What!" cried her friend. "And here is our paladin that driveth lions

like mice. Ye have little faith, of a surety.--But come, friend

lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold

counsels."

Dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words;

but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly.

"Truly," said he, "we are in straits. Yet, could I but win out of this

house for half an hour, I do honestly tell myself that all might still

go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented."

"And for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven."

"I crave your excuse," said Dick. "I speak not now in any boasting

humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if I get

not forth of this house through these sentinels, I can do less than

naught. Take me, I pray you, rightly."

"Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?" the girl inquired. "I warrant he hath

a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure.

What would ye more?"

"Nay," sighed Joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend

Dick, 'tis sure enough. When I beheld him, he was rough indeed. But it

matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and I must still be

Lady Shoreby!"

"Nay, then," said Dick, "I will even make the adventure. A friar is not

much regarded; and if I found a good fairy to lead me up, I may find

another belike to carry me down. How call they the name of this spy?"

"Rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him

by. But how mean ye, lion-driver? What is in your mind to do?"

"To offer boldly to go forth," returned Dick; "and if any stop me, to

keep an unchanged countenance, and say I go to pray for Rutter. They

will be praying over his poor clay even now."

"The device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold."

"Nay," said young Shelton, "it's no device, but mere boldness, which

serveth often better in great straits."

"Ye say true," she said. "Well, go, a-Mary's name, and may Heaven speed

you! Ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that

is most heartily your friend. Be wary, for their sakes, and make not

shipwreck of your safety."

"Ay," added Joanna, "go, Dick. Ye run no more peril, whether ye go or

stay. Go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!"

Dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the

fellow merely fidgeted and stared; but at the second landing the man

carried his spear across and bade him name his business.

"_Pax vobiscum_," answered Dick. "I go to pray over the body of this

poor Rutter."

"Like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted

you." He leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. "One

cometh!" he cried; and then motioned Dick to pass.

At the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his

arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of

the post ordered four men to accompany him to the church.

"Let him not slip, my lads," he said. "Bring him to Sir Oliver, on your

lives!"

The door was then opened; one of the men took Dick by either arm,

another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the

arrow on the string, brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded

through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the

scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the

abbey church.

At the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter

they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered

with the snow; and it was not until Dick's conductors had exchanged a

word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the

nave of the sacred edifice.

The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar,

and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private

chapels of illustrious families. In the midst of the choir the dead spy

lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier.

A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures

knelt in the stalls of the choir; and on the steps of the high altar a

priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass.

Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming

down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the

nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him

to the church. Out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke

in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge empty building caught up

their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles.

"A monk!" returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the

report of the archer. "My brother, I looked not for your coming," he

added, turning to young Shelton. "In all civility, who are ye? and at

whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?"

Dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to Sir Oliver to move a

pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done

so, "I cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said. "My life is in your

hands."

Sir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a

space he was silent.

"Richard," he said, "what brings you here, I know not; but I much

misdoubt it to be evil. Nevertheless, for the kindness that was, I would

not willingly deliver you to harm. Ye shall sit all night beside me in

the stalls: ye shall sit there till my Lord of Shoreby be married, and

the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no

evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will. But if your purpose be

bloody, it shall return upon your head. Amen!"

And the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the

altar.

With that he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking Dick by

the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside

his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and

appear to be busy with his devotions.

His mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. Three of the

soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them

quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt

that they had done so by Sir Oliver's command. Here, then, he was

trapped. Here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow

of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in

the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before

his eyes.

But, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built

himself up in patience to await the issue.

CHAPTER IV

IN THE ABBEY CHURCH

In Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were kept up all night without

cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon

the bell.

Rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. There he lay, meanwhile, as they had

arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes

staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain

him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning.

Once only, in the course of the hours, Sir Oliver leaned across to his

captive.

"Richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, I will certify, on

my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. Sinful in the eye of

Heaven I do declare myself, but sinful as against you I am not, neither

have been ever."

"My father," returned Dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, I

design nothing; but as for your innocence, I may not forget that ye

cleared yourself but lamely."

"A man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest. "He may be set

blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope. So it was with

me. I did decoy your father to his death; but as Heaven sees us in this

sacred place, I knew not what I did."

"It may be," returned Dick. "But see what a strange web ye have woven,

that I should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge;

that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. Methinks,

if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would

neither thus fear nor thus detest me. And now to your prayers. I do

obey you, since needs must; but I will not be burthened with your

company."

The priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad

into some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a

man borne down below a weight of care. He joined no longer in the

psalms; but Dick could hear the beads rattle through his fingers and the

prayers a-pattering between his teeth.

Yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the

painted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the

tapers. The light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through

the south-eastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the

walls. The storm was over; the great clouds had disburdened their snow

and fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter

landscape sheathed in white.

A bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the

dead-house, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles,

that no such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of Lord

Shoreby. At the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so

dismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour

to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow. And further to

announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble

and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at

the confessionals.

Favoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to

avoid the vigilance of Sir Daniel's sentries at the door; and presently

Dick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than

Will Lawless, still in his monk's habit.

The outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily

signed to him with hand and eye.

Now, Dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely

drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament;

and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to be gone.

Lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a

pillar, and Dick breathed again.

What, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to

find the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to

all appearance, plunged in his devotions!

Instantly Sir Oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the

stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle. If the priest's suspicions

had been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and Lawless a

prisoner in the church.

"Move not," whispered Dick. "We are in the plaguiest pass, thanks,

before all things, to thy swinishness of yester-even. When ye saw me

here, so strangely seated, where I have neither right nor interest, what

a murrain! could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?"

"Nay," returned Lawless, "I thought ye had heard from Ellis, and were

here on duty."

"Ellis!" echoed Dick. "Is Ellis then returned?"

"For sure," replied the outlaw. "He came last night, and belted me sore

for being in wine--so there ye are avenged, my master. A furious man is

Ellis Duckworth! He hath ridden me hot-spur from Craven to prevent this

marriage; and, Master Dick, ye know the way of him--do so he will!"

"Nay, then," returned Dick, with composure, "you and I, my poor brother,

are dead men; for I sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was

to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. I had a fair

choice, by the rood! to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! Well,

the cast is thrown--it is to be my life."

"By the mass," cried Lawless, half arising, "I am gone!"

But Dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder.

"Friend Lawless, sit ye still," he said. "An ye have eyes, look yonder

at the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion

of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you? Yield

ye, friend. Ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a

sea-death; be bold again, now that y' are to die presently upon the

gallows."

"Master Dick," gasped Lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of

the suddenest. But give me a moment till I fetch my breath again; and,

by the mass, I will be as stout-hearted as yourself."

"Here is my bold fellow!" returned Dick. "And yet, Lawless, it goes hard

against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing,

wherefore whine?"

"Nay, that indeed!" chimed Lawless. "And a fig for death, at worst! It

has to be done, my master, soon or late. And hanging in a good quarrel

is an easy death, they say, though I could never hear of any that came

back to say so."

And so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his

arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and

unconcern.

"And for the matter of that," Dick added, "it is yet our best chance to

keep quiet. We wot not yet what Duckworth purposes; and when all is

said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it."

Now that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin

strain of mirthful music which steadily grew nearer, louder and merrier.

The bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a

greater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church,

shuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in

their hands. The western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of

sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of

the morning; and in short, it became plain by every sign, that Lord

Shoreby desired to be married very early in the day, and that the

wedding-train was drawing near.

Some of Lord Shoreby's men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle,

forcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the

portal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the

frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty

blowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager. These

as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either

side, and marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in

the snow. As they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble

bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety

and gaiety of their attire, such the display of silks and velvet, fur

and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon

the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wall.

First came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to Sir

Daniel's arm, and attended, as bridesmaid, by the short young lady who

had befriended Dick the night before. Close behind, in the most radiant

toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot, and as he

passed the threshold of the sacred building, and doffed his hat, his

bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion.

And now came the hour of Ellis Duckworth.

Dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in

front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward,

and eyes and arms uplifted. Following these signs, he beheld three or

four men with bent bows, leaning from the clerestory gallery. At the

same instant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and

cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear,

they had flitted from their perch and disappeared.

The nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the

ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased,

and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon

the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even

to the chamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they

also desisted from their merry labours.

Right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by

two black arrows. The bride had fainted. Sir Daniel stood, towering

above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft quivering

in his left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had

grazed his brow.

Long before any search could be made for them, the authors of this

tragic interruption had clattered down a turnpike stair and decamped by

a postern door.

But Dick and Lawless still remained in pawn; they had indeed arisen on

the first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the

narrowness of the stalls, and the crowding of terrified priests and

choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed

their places.

And now, pale with horror, Sir Oliver rose to his feet and called upon

Sir Daniel, pointing with one hand to Dick.

"Here," he cried, "is Richard Shelton--alas the hour!--blood guilty!

Seize him!--bid him be seized! For all our lives' sakes, take him and

bind him surely! He hath sworn our fall."

Sir Daniel was blinded by anger--blinded by the hot blood that still

streamed across his face.

"Where?" he bellowed. "Hale him forth! By the cross of Holywood, but he

shall rue this hour."

The crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid

rough hands on Dick, dragged him headforemost from the stall, and thrust

him by the shoulders down the chancel steps. Lawless, on his part, sat

as still as a mouse.

Sir Daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon

his captive.

"Ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, I have thee fast; and by all

potent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes I

will wring a groan out of thy carcass. Away with him!" he added. "Here

is no place! Off with him to my house.--I will number every joint of thy

body with a torture."

But Dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice.

"Sanctuary!" he shouted. "Sanctuary! Ho, there, my fathers! They would

drag me from the church!"

"From the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man,

magnificently dressed.

"On what probation?" cried Dick. "They do accuse me, indeed, of some

complicity, but have not proved one tittle. I was, in truth, a suitor

for this damsel's hand; and she, I will be bold to say it, repaid my

suit with favour. But what then? To love a maid is no offence, I

trow--nay, nor to gain her love. In all else I stand here free from

guiltiness."

There was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly Dick

declared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose

upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in Sir

Daniel's house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of

the babel, Sir Oliver indicated Lawless, both by voice and gesture, as

accomplice to the fact. He, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and

set beside his leader. The feelings of the crowd rose high on either

side, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their

escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists. Dick's ears rang

and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a

furious river.

But the tall man, who had already answered Dick, by a prodigious

exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob.

"Search them," he said, "for arms. We may so judge of their intentions."

Upon Dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his

favour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it

still uncleansed of the blood of Rutter. At this there was a great shout

among Sir Daniel's followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture

and an imperious glance. But when it came to the turn of Lawless, there

was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had

been shot.

"How say ye now?" asked the tall man, frowningly, of Dick.

"Sir," replied Dick, "I am here in sanctuary, is it not so? Well, sir, I

see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and I read in your

countenance the marks of piety and justice. To you, then, I will yield

me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy

place. But rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that

man--whom I do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my

natural father and the unjust detainer of my lands and revenues--rather

than that, I would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand,

to despatch me on the spot. Your own ears have heard him, how before

that I was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments. It standeth

not with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old

oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that I be

guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully."

"My lord," cried Sir Daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf? His

bloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face."

"Nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own

vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself."

And here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past, and

looked wildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her,

and fell upon her knees before the last speaker.

"My Lord of Risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice. I am here in

this man's custody by mere force, reft from mine own people. Since that

day I had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man--but

from him only--Richard Shelton--whom they now accuse and labour to undo.

My lord, if he was yesternight in Sir Daniel's mansion, it was I that

brought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt.

While yet Sir Daniel was a good lord to him he fought with them of the

Black Arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by

practices, and he fled by night, for his soul's sake, out of that bloody

house, whither was he to turn--he, helpless and penniless? Or if he be

fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame--the lad that was

unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?"

And then the short young lady fell on her knees by Joanna's side.

"And I, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "I can bear

testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this

maiden saith is true. It was I, unworthy, that did lead the young man

in."

Earl Risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased he still

stood silent for a space. Then he gave Joanna his hand to arise, though

it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who

had called herself his niece.

"Sir Daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which,

with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust. Content

ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you;

and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts

attended. The air is shrewd, and I would not ye took cold upon these

scratches."

He made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious

servants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture. Instantly, without

the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers

and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge

of Lord Risingham, began to file into the church, took Dick and Lawless

from those who still detained them, and, closing their files about the

prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared.

As they were passing Joanna held both her hands to Dick and cried him

her farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle's

evident displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a "Keep your heart up,

lion-driver!" that for the first time since the accident called up a

smile to the faces of the crowd.

CHAPTER V

EARL RISINGHAM

Earl Risingham, although by far the most important person then in

Shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the

extreme outskirts of the town. Nothing but the armed men at the doors,

and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced

the temporary residence of a great lord.

Thus it was that, from lack of space, Dick and Lawless were clapped into

the same apartment.

"Well spoken, Master Richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well

spoken, and, for my part, I thank you cordially. Here we are in good

hands; we shall be justly tried, and some time this evening decently

hanged on the same tree."

"Indeed, my poor friend, I do believe it," answered Dick.

"Yet have we a string to our bow," returned Lawless. "Ellis Duckworth is

a man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for

your own and for your father's sake; and, knowing you guiltless of this

fact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear."

"It may not be," said Dick. "What can he do? He hath but a handful.

Alack, if it were but to-morrow--could I but keep a certain tryst an

hour before noon to-morrow--all were, I think, otherwise. But now there

is no help."

"Well," concluded Lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, I

will stand to it for yours, and that stoutly. It shall naught avail us;

but an I be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing."

And then, while Dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue

curled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his

face, and composed himself to sleep. Soon he was loudly snoring, so

utterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of

apprehension.

It was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door

was opened and Dick taken forth and led upstairs to where, in a warm

cabinet, Earl Risingham sat musing over the fire.

On his captive's entrance he looked up.

"Sir," he said, "I knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this

inclineth me to be the more lenient; but I may not hide from you that

heavy charges lie against your character. Ye do consort with murderers

and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the

king's peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship;

ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy's

house; a man is slain that very evening----"

"An it like you, my lord," Dick interposed, "I will at once avow my

guilt, such as it is. I slew this fellow Rutter; and to the

proof"--searching in his bosom--"here is a letter from his wallet."

Lord Risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice.

"Ye have read this?" he inquired.

"I have read it," answered Dick.

"Are you for York or Lancaster?" the earl demanded.

"My lord, it was but a little while back that I was asked that question,

and knew not how to answer it," said Dick; "but, having answered once, I

will not vary. My lord, I am for York."

The earl nodded approvingly.

"Honestly replied," he said. "But wherefore, then, deliver me this

letter?"

"Nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?" cried

Dick.

"I would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and I do at

least approve your saying. There is more youth than guile in you, I do

perceive; and were not Sir Daniel a mighty man upon our side, I were

half tempted to espouse your quarrel. For I have inquired, and it

appears that you have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse. But

look ye, sir, I am, before all else, a leader in the queen's interest;

and though by nature a just man, as I believe, and leaning even to the

excess of mercy, yet must I order my goings for my party's interest,

and, to keep Sir Daniel, I would go far about."

"My lord," returned Dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you:

but do ye count upon Sir Daniel's faith? Methought he had changed sides

intolerably often."

"Nay, it is the way of England. What would ye have?" the earl demanded.

"But ye are unjust to the knight of Tunstall; and as faith goes, in this

unfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of

Lancaster. Even in our last reverses he stood firm."

"An it please you, then," said Dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter,

ye might somewhat change your thought of him," and he handed to the earl

Sir Daniel's letter to Lord Wensleydale.

The effect upon the earl's countenance was instant; he lowered like an

angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his

dagger.

"Ye have read this also?" he asked.

"Even so," said Dick. "It is your lordship's own estate he offers to

Lord Wensleydale."

"It is my own estate, even as ye say!" returned the earl. "I am your

bedesman for this letter. It hath shown me a fox's hole. Command me,

Master Shelton; I will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with,

York or Lancaster, true man or thief, I do now set you at freedom. Go,

a-Mary's name! But judge it right that I retain and hang your fellow

Lawless. The crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some

open punishment should follow."

"My lord, I make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded

Dick.

"It is an old condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, Master Shelton,"

said the earl. "He hath been gallows-ripe this score of years. And,

whether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after,

where is the great choice?"

"Yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered

Dick, "and I were churlish and thankless to desert him."

"Master Shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl severely. "It is

an evil way to prosper in this world. Howbeit, and to be quit of your

importunity, I will once more humour you. Go then, together; but go

warily, and get swiftly out of Shoreby town. For this Sir Daniel (whom

may the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood."

"My lord, I do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some

brief date to pay you some of it in service," replied Dick, as he turned

from the apartment.

CHAPTER VI

ARBLASTER AGAIN

When Dick and Lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the

house where Lord Risingham held his garrison, the evening had already

come.

They paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best

course. The danger was extreme. If one of Sir Daniel's men caught sight

of them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered

instantly. And not only was the town of Shoreby a mere net of peril for

their lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the

patrols.

A little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing;

and, hard by that, a very large granary with open doors.

"How if we lay there until the night fall?" Dick proposed.

And Lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight

push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door

among some straw. The daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon

was silvering the frozen snow. Now or never was their opportunity to

gain the "Goat and Bagpipes" unobserved and change their tell-tale

garments. Yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts,

and not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of

people, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain.

This course was a long one. It took them not far from the house by the

beach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the

margin of the harbour. Many of the ships, as they could see by the clear

moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky,

proceeded for more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses

along the beach (although, in defiance of the curfew law, they still

shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and

no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs.

Hastily, half-running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee,

they plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine

lumber; and they were already more than half-way round the harbour when,

as they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened

and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures.

Instantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest

conversation.

Three men, one after another, came out of the alehouse, and the last

closed the door behind him. All three were unsteady upon their feet, as

if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood

wavering in the moon-light, like men who knew not what they would be

after. The tallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice.

"Seven pieces of as good Gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was

saying, "the best ship out o' the port o' Dartmouth, a Virgin Mary

parcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money----"

"I have bad losses too," interrupted one of the others. "I have had

losses of mine own, gossip Arblaster. I was robbed at Martinmas of five

shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing."

Dick's heart smote him at what he heard. Until that moment he had not

perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the

loss of the _Good Hope_; so careless, in those days, were men who wore

arms of the goods and interests of their inferiors. But this sudden

encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending

of his enterprise; and both he and Lawless turned their heads the other

way, to avoid the chance of recognition.

The ship's dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found

his way back again to Shoreby. He was now at Arblaster's heels, and,

suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to

bark furiously at the two sham friars.

His master unsteadily followed him.

"Hey, shipmates!" he cried. "Have ye ever a penny piece for a poor old

shipman, clean destroyed by pirates? I am a man that would have paid for

you both o' Thursday morning; and now here I be o' Saturday night,

begging for a flagon of ale! Ask my man Tom, if ye misdoubt me. Seven

pieces of good Gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my

father's before me, a Blessed Mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt,

and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. Hey! what say ye? A man that

fought the French too; for I have fought the French; I have cut more

French throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of

Dartmouth. Come, a penny piece."

Neither Dick nor Lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should

recognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship

ashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope.

"Are ye dumb, boy?" inquired the skipper.--"Mates," he added, with a

hiccup, "they be dumb. I like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a

man be dumb, so be as he's courteous, he will still speak when he was

spoken to, methinks."

By this time the sailor, Tom, who was a man of great personal strength,

seemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures;

and, being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took

Lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed

him that he held his tongue. To this the outlaw, thinking all was over,

made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand,

and, calling upon Dick to follow him, took to his heels among the

lumber.

The affair passed in a second. Before Dick could run at all, Arblaster

had him in his arms; Tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one

foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head.

It was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance that now

bowed down the spirits of young Shelton; it was the profound humiliation

to have escaped Sir Daniel, convinced Lord Risingham, and now fall

helpless into the hands of this old drunken sailor; and not merely

helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late,

actually guilty--actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he

had stolen and lost.

"Bring me him back into the alehouse, till I see his face," said

Arblaster.

"Nay, nay," returned Tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the

other lads cry share."

But though he was searched from head to foot not a penny was found upon

him; nothing but Lord Foxham's signet, which they plucked savagely from

his finger.

"Turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking Dick by the

chin, he cruelly jerked his head into the air. "Blessed Virgin!" he

cried, "it is the pirate."

"Hey!" cried Tom.

"By the Virgin of Bordeaux, it is the man himself!" repeated

Arblaster.--"What, sea-thief, do I hold you?" he cried. "Where is my

ship? Where is my wine? Hey! have I you in my hands?--Tom, give me one

end of a cord here; I will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot

together, like a basting turkey--marry, I will so bind him up--and

thereafter I will so beat--so beat him!"

And so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about Dick's limbs with the

dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it

with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull.

When he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands--as helpless

as the dead. The skipper held him at arm's-length, and laughed aloud.

Then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him

about, and furiously kicked and kicked him. Anger rose up in Dick's

bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died;

but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his

length upon the sand and turned to consult with his companions, he

instantly regained command of his temper. Here was a momentary respite;

ere they began again to torture him, he might have found some method to

escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure.

Presently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what

to do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice,

addressed them.

"My masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish? Here hath Heaven put

into your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman

had--such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find

again--and, by the mass! what do ye? Beat me?--nay; so would an angry

child! But for long-headed tarry-Johns, that fear not fire nor water,

and that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise."

"Ay," said Tom, "now y' are trussed ye would cozen us."

"Cozen you!" repeated Dick. "Nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy. But

if ye be shrewd fellows, as I trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your

interest lies. When I took your ship from you, we were many, we were

well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that

array? One incontestably that hath made much gold. And if he, being

already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of

storms--bethink you once more--shall there not be a treasure somewhere

hidden?"

"What meaneth he?" asked one of the men.

"Why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine,"

continued Dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather

buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make

or mar you for ever. But take me up from where I lie, and let us go

somewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for I am sore and

frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow."

"He seeks but to cozen us," said Tom contemptuously.

"Cozen! cozen!" cried the third man. "I would I could see the man that

could cozen me! He were a cozener indeed! Nay, I was not born yesterday.

I can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my part, gossip

Arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man. Shall we go

hear him, indeed? Say, shall we go hear him?"

"I would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good Master Pirret,"

returned Arblaster.--"How say ye, Tom? But then the wallet is empty."

"I will pay," said the other--"I will pay. I would fain see this matter

out; I do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it."

"Nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!" cried Tom.

"Gossip Arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty,"

returned Master Pirret. "Would ye be led by a hired man? Fy, fy!"

"Peace, fellow!" said Arblaster, addressing Tom. "Will ye put your oar

in? Truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!"

"Well, then, go your way," said Tom; "I wash my hands of you."

"Set him, then, upon his feet," said Master Pirret. "I know a privy

place where we may drink and discourse."

"If I am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said

Dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post.

"He saith true," laughed Pirret. "Truly, he could not walk accoutred as

he is. Give it a slit--out with your knife and slit it, gossip."

Even Arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued

to insist, and Dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference

of expression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the

skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner's

feet and legs. Not only did this enable Dick to walk; but, the whole

network of his bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm

behind his back begin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and

trouble, to entirely disengage it. So much he owed already to the owlish

silliness and greed of Master Pirret.

That worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same

rude alehouse where Lawless had taken Arblaster on the day of the gale.

It was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating

the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the

landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both Pirret and

Arblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men

bent upon a pleasant hour.

The table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse,

consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each

of the four curiously assorted cronies sat at one side of the square,

Pirret facing Arblaster, and Dick opposite to the common sailor.

"And now, young man," said Pirret, "to your tale. It doth appear,

indeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip Arblaster; but what

then? Make it up to him--show him but this chance to become wealthy--and

I will go pledge he will forgive you."

So far Dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary,

under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous

story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the

all-important signet. To squander time was the first necessity. The

longer his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer

should he be when he attempted his escape.

Well, Dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much

the tale of Ali Baba, with Shoreby and Tunstall Forest substituted for

the East, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than

diminished. As the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has

but one drawback--that it is not true; and so, as these three simple

shipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their

faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger's.

Pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while

Dick was still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the

second.

Here was the position of the parties towards the end:

Arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his

stool. Even Tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance

had abated in proportion. Meanwhile Dick had gradually wormed his right

arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all.

"And so," said Pirret, "y' are one of these?"

"I was made so," replied Dick, "against my will; but an I could but get

a sack or two of gold coin to my share, I should be a fool indeed to

continue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a

soldier. Here be we four; good! Let us, then, go forth into the forest

to-morrow ere the sun be up. Could we come honestly by a donkey, it were

better; but an we cannot, we have our four strong backs, and I warrant

me we shall come home staggering."

Pirret licked his lips.

"And this magic," he said--"this password, whereby the cave is

opened--how call ye it, friend?"

"Nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned Dick; "but here

is your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, I should be the

bearer of a spell to open it. It is a thing not trusted twice a year

beyond the captain's wallet."

"A spell!" said Arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon Dick with

one eye. "Aroint thee! no spells! I be a good Christian. Ask my man,

Tom, else."

"Nay, but this is white magic," said Dick. "It doth naught with the

devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets."

"Ay, ay," said Pirret; "'tis but white magic, gossip. There is no sin

therein, I do assure you. But proceed, good youth. This spell--in what

should it consist?"

"Nay, that I will incontinently show you," answered Dick. "Have ye

there the ring ye took from my finger? Good! Now hold it forth before

you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's length, and over against

the shining of these embers. 'Tis so exactly. Thus, then, is the spell."

With a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast was clear between him and the

door. He put up an internal prayer. Then, whipping forth his arm, he

made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up

the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman Tom. He, poor soul,

went down bawling under the ruins; and before Arblaster understood that

anything was wrong, or Pirret could collect his dazzled wits, Dick had

run to the door and escaped into the moonlit night.

The moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness

of the snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and

young Shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a

conspicuous figure from afar.

Tom and Pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they

were joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole

fleet of sailors was in full pursuit. But Jack ashore was a bad runner,

even in the fifteenth century, and Dick, besides, had a start, which he

rapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane,

he even paused and looked laughingly behind him.

Upon the white floor of snow all the shipmen of Shoreby came clustering

in an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps. Every man

was shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in

air; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when

one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him.

The confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon

was partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were

hunting. In itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the

port could run him down. But the mere volume of noise, in so far as it

must awake all the sleepers in Shoreby, and bring all the skulking

sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the

front. So, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into

it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and

gesticulating, and all red with hurry, and white with tumbles in the

snow.

It was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by

the harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored.

For long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting

through the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town.

Quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of

the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than

one dead body remained behind upon the snow.

When, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the

harbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if

he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was

absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. By next morning there were

many strange stories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the

devil's nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of

Shoreby.

But the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young

Shelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway.

For some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special

parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or

other of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken.

The night was already well spent before Dick ventured from his

hiding-place, and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and

bruises, to the door of the "Goat and Bagpipes." As the law required,

there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way

into a corner of the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he

hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper,

was soon lost in slumber.

BOOK V

CROOKBACK

CHAPTER I

THE SHRILL TRUMPET

Very early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, Dick

arose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman,

and set forth for Lawless's den in the forest. There, it will be

remembered, he had left Lord Foxham's papers; and to get these and be

back in time for the tryst with the young Duke of Gloucester could only

be managed by an early start, and the most vigorous walking.

The frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and

stinging to the nostril. The moon had gone down, but the stars were

still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear

and cheerful. There was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that

still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay.

Dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between Shoreby and

the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred

yards below the Cross of St. Bride, when, through the stillness of the

black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear,

and piercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for

audibility. It was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and

then the clash of steel succeeded.

At this young Shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran

forward up the hill.

Presently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce

encounter raging on the road before it. There were seven or eight

assailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and

dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his

opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before

Dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the

whole in check.

Still, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any

moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life

would be a forfeit.

"Hold ye well, sir! Here is help!" cried Richard; and forgetting that he

was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "To the Arrow! to

the Arrow!" he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants.

These were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this

surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon Dick.

Four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the

sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell--in the stir of

the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the

head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow

beat him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill-sail.

Meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the

conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown

again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced

trumpet that began the alarm. Next moment, indeed, his foes were on him,

and he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping

to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand,

with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed.

But that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last. There was a

muffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for Dick, who saw the

sword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of

the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms,

each cased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in

rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a

passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after

another from their perches, and had presently doubled the array.

The original assailants, seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded,

threw down their arms without a word.

"Seize me these fellows!" said the hero of the trumpet; and when his

order had been obeyed, he drew near to Dick and looked him in the face.

Dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had

displayed such strength, skill, and energy, a lad no older than

himself--slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and

of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.[2] The eyes, however,

were very clear and bold.

"Sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early."

"My lord," returned Dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence

of a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman

that I believe ye had managed them single-handed. Howbeit, it was

certainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did."

"How knew ye who I was?" demanded the stranger.

"Even now, my lord," Dick answered, "I am ignorant of whom I speak

with."

"Is it so?" asked the other. "And yet ye threw yourself head first into

this unequal battle."

"I saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied Dick, "and I

had thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid."

A singular sneer played about the young nobleman's mouth as he made

answer:

"These are very brave words. But to the more essential--are ye Lancaster

or York?"

"My lord, I make no secret; I am clear for York," Dick answered.

"By the mass!" replied the other, "it is well for you."

And so saying, he turned towards one of his followers.

"Let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones--"let

me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. Truss me them up."

There were but five survivors of the attacking party. Archers seized

them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each

placed below a tree of suitable dimensions; the rope was adjusted; an

archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead, and before a

minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five

men were swinging by the neck.

"And now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when I

summon you next, be readier to attend."

"My lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone. Keep

but a handful of lances at your hand."

"Fellow," said the duke, "I have forborne to chide you for your

slowness. Cross me not, therefore. I trust my hand and arm, for all that

I be crooked. Ye were backward when the trumpet sounded: and ye are now

too forward with your counsels. But it is ever so; last with the lance

and first with the tongue. Let it be reversed."

And with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he

waved them off.

The footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the

whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different

directions, under the cover of the forest.

The day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade. The

first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young

men, who now turned once more to face each other.

"Here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my

blade, both sharp and ready. But I would not have you, for all

Christendom, suppose me thankless. You that came to my aid with a good

sword and a better courage--unless that ye recoil from my

mis-shapeness--come to my heart."

And so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace.

In the bottom of his heart Dick already entertained a great terror and

some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so

worded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to

refuse or hesitate, and he hastened to comply.

"And now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do

I suppose aright? Are ye my Lord Duke of Gloucester?"

"I am Richard of Gloucester," returned the other. "And you--how call

they you?"

Dick told him his name, and presented Lord Foxham's signet, which the

duke immediately recognised.

"Ye come too soon," he said; "but why should I complain? Ye are like me,

that was here at watch two hours before the day. But this is the first

sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, Master Shelton, shall I make or

mar the quality of my renown. There lie mine enemies, under two old,

skilled captains, Risingham and Brackley, well posted for strength, I do

believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the

sea, the harbour, and the river. Methinks, Shelton, here were a great

blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly."

"I do think so, indeed," cried Dick, warming.

"Have ye my Lord Foxham's notes?" inquired the duke.

And then Dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment,

made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own

knowledge.

"And for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had men enough,

I would fall on even at this present. For, look ye, at the peep of day

the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch

nor ward--only scour the outskirts with horsemen. Now, then, when the

night-watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning

cup--now were the time to break them."

"How many do ye count?" asked Gloucester.

"They number not two thousand," Dick replied.

"I have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven

hundred follow from Kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and

farther, are four hundred more; and my Lord Foxham hath five hundred

half a day from here, at Holywood. Shall we attend their coming or fall

on?"

"My lord," said Dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did

decide the question. Churls although they were, in these uneasy times

they will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. Therefore,

my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not,

in my poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you."

"I do think so indeed," returned Crookback. "Well, before an hour ye

shall be in the thick on't, winning spurs. A swift man to Holywood,

carrying Lord Foxham's signet; another along the road to speed my

laggards! Nay, Shelton, by the rood, it may be done!"

Therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew.

This time he was not long kept waiting. In a moment the open space about

the cross was filled with horse and foot. Richard of Gloucester took his

place upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten

the concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the

immediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour

had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their

head, and began to move down the hill towards Shoreby.

His plan was simple. He was to seize a quarter of the town of Shoreby

lying on the right hand of the high-road, and make his position good

there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed.

If Lord Risingham chose to retreat, Richard would follow upon his rear,

and take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he

would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of

numbers.

There was but one danger, but that was imminent and great--Gloucester's

seven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first

encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of

their arrival as complete as possible.

The footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders,

and Dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind

Gloucester himself. For as far as there was any cover the troops moved

slowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the

highway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre.

The sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a

yellow halo, and right over against the luminary, Shoreby, a field of

snowy roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning

smoke.

Gloucester turned round to Dick.

"In that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast,

either you shall gain your spurs and I begin a life of mighty honour and

glory in the world's eye, or both of us, as I conceive it, shall fall

dead and be unheard of. Two Richards are we. Well then, Richard Shelton,

they shall be heard about, these two! Their swords shall not ring more

loudly on men's helmets than their names shall ring in people's ears."

Dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so

great vehemence of voice and language; and he answered very sensibly and

quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and

doubted not of victory if every one did the like.

By this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up

his sword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the

gallop and thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the

remainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still

divided them from Shoreby.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] Richard Crookback would have been really far younger at this date.