A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY.
He that sows in craft does reap in jealousy.
MIDDLETON.
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand;
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
SHAKESPEARE.
The scene of the pastime had been reached, and the preparations for
the hawking had already begun. The falconers brought up their birds,
the pages gave up their masters' jumping poles, and the dogs were
sniffing the air, eager for the chase to commence.
At last the jerkins were taken off, and the straps which had held the
hawks were unloosed; the dogs were sent to the front, and the real
work of the day began.
Sir George was in capital humour, and closely followed by Sir Benedict
à Woode and the others, he led off at a rare pace, with the ladies
following upon their steeds a little distance in the rear, and, behind
all, a number of admiring rustics, eager to see a little of the sport
in which it was not their lot to participate.
Sparrows were plentiful, but no other kind of bird was to be seen, and
Sir Benedict was just thinking that Sir George would have to humble
himself, when the dogs began to bark.
"Quails, as I'm alive! See!" shouted the baron, in high delight.
"And a whole bevy of them, too," added De la Zouch, turning round to
the ladies.
The excitement, which had simmered before, now suddenly became
intense, and away went lord and lady, knight and esquire, over wall
and ditch, in their eagerness to keep up with the hunt.
Dorothy had not flown her bird, for she had noticed that Master
Manners was without a hawk, and now she sent it forward to him by her
page, and waited with a beating heart to learn whether her offer had
been accepted.
Manners himself came back and thanked her.
"But marry, fair Mistress Vernon," said he, "I could no more rob you
of your bird than I could steal away your beauty or take possession of
your heart."
"Nay, now," replied Dorothy, not paying the proper amount of regard to
the truth, "I am already for-wearied of the hawking; and it were more
to my taste to follow on in a more leisurely fashion," she added,
seeing that he was about to refuse. "St. George is a good bird, and is
anxious to try a flight; and thou art a stranger, too; thou must take
it," and she placed the merlin on his wrist.
Manners had never felt more embarrassed in the course of his life,
and, ready-witted though he was, he found himself at a loss how to
reply. Before he had collected his scattered senses, Dorothy had
gone, and he, left alone, was a long way in the rear. The horns of the
hunters, which were continually sounding, proved a sufficient guide,
and being nimble of foot, he started off in great haste to rejoin the
party, which was now well out of sight.
All this had not escaped the jealous eyes of De la Zouch, for,
securely hidden within the friendly foliage of a patch of brushwood,
he had seen and heard all, and, with perceptions sharpened by the
jealous spirit which raged within his breast, he had at once divined
the secret which neither of the two, as yet, understood.
As Manners departed, he emerged from his hiding-place, gnashing his
teeth with rage. His anger was terrible to behold.
"So, so!" he exclaimed, as he watched the retreating figure, "it
has come to this, then, that I am to yield my share of the riches of
Haddon to this usurping churl. But no; it shall never, never be! John
Manners shall lie in six feet of solid earth ere I forego the prize!"
Had he been more careful, Sir Henry would have discovered that he was
not alone. Had he been less rash, whatever he might have thought, he
would have kept his opinions to himself; for hardly had he spoken,
when a rough voice at his elbow awakened him from the reverie into
which he had fallen.
"Such words, noble sir, are costly, and I ween thou hadst rather not
have them repeated to the King of the Peak."
De la Zouch turned sharply round and fiercely confronted the
well-known figure of the Derby packman.
"Thou art over bold for a knave," he exclaimed; "get thee gone."
"Not till I am the richer, or I will hie me to Sir George, and tell my
tale to him," was the cool reply.
"Villain!" hissed Sir Henry, "begone!" and obeying the impulse of the
moment, he dealt the pedlar a blow which felled him to the ground.
"There will be a few more nobles for that," groaned the man as he
slowly regained his feet.
De la Zouch glanced contemptuously at him and turned to depart, but he
was not to go so easily.
"Nay, forsooth," cried the pedlar, clapping his hands upon the
shoulders of the nobleman. "And thou wilt forget thy debts it behoves
me to insist."
With a curse the latter turned round again, but seeing the determined
aspect of the man, he pulled out three golden nobles and offered them
to him.
The packman laughed.
"What!" he exclaimed. "I must have more than that for my bruises
alone."
"Thou art insolent; that is all I shall give thee; take it or leave it
and get thee gone. Thy word would never weigh against mine."
"Well, master," returned the other, "it is a case of life or death,
and you value your life at three sorry nobles? I would take that
rather than the money, for Manners is a friend to the poor," and
grasping his thick stick with both his hands he struck at De la Zouch
with all his might.
The blow was parried by Sir Henry, who received it upon his jumping
pole, and with blood now thoroughly aroused and life on either side to
fight for, the conflict was furiously sustained.
The packman's attack was at no time equal to the defence of his
adversary, and as he rained down blow after blow they were coolly
caught upon the pole, which, used in skilful hands in much the same
fashion as the quarter-staff, made quite an admirable weapon both for
attack and defence.
Such an unequal contest could not long continue. Science must ever
triumph over mere brute force, and this occasion proved to be no
exception to the rule, and as the man tired, his blows perceptibly
weakened. Had Sir Henry by any piece of misfortune failed to protect
himself, the end might have been different. His skill, however, saved
him in the end, and as the fury of his opponent abated the knight
became more vigorous in his attack.
The end soon came, for, raising his stout ash pole high up in the
air, De la Zouch brought it down with, tremendous force, and easily
breaking through the pedlar's guard, it alighted heavily upon his
head. With a groan the unlucky man staggered back and fell upon the
turf. The blow had struck home, and the Derby packman was no more.
Whilst this scene was being enacted, Sir Henry's page, missing his
master from amongst the hawking party, had turned back in great
trepidation to seek him. Guided by the sound of the blows, the youth
had experienced little difficulty in attaining the object of his
search, and, standing at a respectable distance, he had been a silent
witness of the tragic conclusion of the encounter. Seeing that all was
over, he slowly advanced, in a very uncertain state of mind as to the
character of his reception.
De la Zouch was too busily engaged in a scrutiny of his late opponent
to notice the arrival of his page, and upon the latter devolved the
unpleasant duty of announcing himself.
"That was a featly stroke, my lord," he began.
Sir Henry turned round, and a sigh of relief escaped him as he found
it was not a fresh combatant with whom he would have to contend.
"Ha, Eustace," he said, "There are many who would like to learn the
trick of it; 'tis known to few besides myself, but I will teach it
thee some future time."
Eustace, too, gave a sigh of relief. His master was unusually
gracious.
When Sir Henry spoke again, his voice was changed.
"Hast thou seen all?" he asked.
"I saw the end of it."
"But the commencement?"
"No! I was--"
"Ah, well," interrupted the knight, "'twas not my fault; I would fain
have had thee witness its commencement, for, by my troth, the knave
brought his fate upon himself."
He rolled the corpse over and they turned to go, but ere they had
proceeded many yards they came to a halt. De la Zouch had an idea, and
they wheeled about and returned to the body once more.
"Empty the jerkin," said Sir Henry, as he pointed to the man's jacket.
Eustace shuddered, but the command was given in so peremptory a tone
that there was no option but to comply. He stooped down and emptied
the capacious pockets of the dead man's jerkin, wondering the
while-time whether or no his master had suddenly turned robber.
"There is little enough to take," said he.
"Tut, I want none of it," replied the knight, and picking up the
assortment, which consisted of a huge jack-knife, a pair of spectacles
with monstrously wide rims, some bootlaces, a broken comb, and a few
coins, he carefully scattered them about the scene where the struggle
had taken place. He was not yet satisfied, though, for espying the
hollow trunk of an old tree close by, he made the unwilling page help
him to deposit the body there.
Eustace wonderingly helped him. He would much preferred to have left
it alone, but he dared offer no resistance. He could only hope that
if the matter were heard of again, he might not be implicated in the
plot.
De la Zouch critically surveyed the scene, and after lightly covering
the body over with grass and twigs, he turned to depart.
They walked on in silence for some distance before either of them
spoke: the knight deeply wrapped in thought; the page eager and yet
fearful to learn the particulars, yet not daring to question his
master.
At last Sir Henry spoke.
"Mind you, Eustace," said he, "say naught of this affair. I would not
have my name mixed up with it, and if they ask thee, say thou knowest
naught."
Eustace felt mightily relieved, and readily gave the required promise.
He was used to these little deceptions which his master was wont to
use on pressing occasions.
"And see," continued the knight, after a pause, "I am hurt, for
although I have come off victor without a scratch, I have not come out
of the tussle without a bruise or two. I shall tell them I have had a
fall. You understand!"
The page acquiesced, the conversation ceased, and the two walked on in
silence to rejoin their companions.