"You have learned the Christian virtue of humility, at all events,"
said the priest, as they entered the hall, where the monks were already
seated around the long tables, awaiting the coming of the Abbot. Upon
his appearance they all arose and remained standing while the
Chancellor droned a Latin blessing. Then he took his carved chair at
the smaller table on the dais, with the Knight beside him, and the
repast began. During the meal, the Abbot made no effort to obtain his
guest's destination or mission, but discussed matters of general
import. He, himself, contrary to the usual habits of the monks of his
day, ate but little, and when De Lacy had finished he withdrew with him.
"You are anxious to be on your way," he said, "and I will not detain
you. These roads are scarce pleasant after night-fall."
In the courtyard the men-at-arms were drawn up awaiting the order to
mount.
"Verily, you ride well attended, my son. The roads need not bother
you," said the Abbot, as he ran his eyes over the array. . . "Methinks
I have seen your face before," looking hard at Raynor Royk.
"Like as not, your reverence," said the old retainer calmly; "I am no
stranger in Yorkshire."
At that moment Dauvrey led the Knight's horse forward, and Aymer turned
to the monk before he could address another question to Raynor.
"I am much beholden, my lord Abbot, for your kindly entertainment and I
hope some day I may requite it. Farewell."
"Farewell, my son," returned the monk. "May the peace of the Holy
Benedict rest upon you."
He watched them until the last horseman had clattered through the
gateway, then turned away.
"My mitre on it, they are Gloucester's men," he muttered.
When they had quit the Abbey, De Lacy again summoned Raynor Royk and
questioned him regarding the Abbot of Kirkstall. The old soldier, like
the majority of his fellows who made fighting a business, had a
contemptuous indifference to the clerical class. A blessing or a curse
was alike of little consequence to men who feared neither God, man, nor
Devil, and who would as readily strip a sleek priest as a good, fat
merchant. Raynor's words were blunt and to the point. He knew nothing
of the Abbot except through the gossip of the camp and guard-room, and
that made him a cadet of a noble family of the South of England, who
for some unknown reason had, in early manhood, suddenly laid aside his
sword and shield and assumed Holy Orders. He had been the Abbot of
Kirkstall for many years, and it was understood had great power and
influence in the Church; though he, himself, rarely went beyond the
limits of his own domain. He was, however, regarded as an intriguing,
political priest, of Lancastrian inclination, but shrewd enough to trim
successfully to whatever faction might be in power.
Two of the remaining leagues had been covered, and they were within a
mile or so of the Wharfe when, rounding a sharp turn, they came upon a
scene that brought every man's sword from its sheath. The narrow road,
at this point, was through a dense forest of oaks and beeches that
crowded to the very edge of the track and formed an arch over it. The
trees grew close together, and the branches were so interlocked that
the sunlight penetrated with difficulty; and though the day was still
far from spent, yet, here, the shadows had already begun to lengthen
into an early twilight. Some two hundred yards down this road was a
group of figures that swayed, now this way, now that, in the broil of
conflict, while from it came the clash of steel. In the road was the
dead body of a horse, and, upon either side of it, lay two men who
would never draw weapon again. The one had been split almost to the
nose by a single downright blow, and the other had been pierced through
the throat by a thrust of the point.
At a little distance, with his back against a tree and defending
himself vigorously from the assault of half a dozen men, stood a tall
and elderly Knight. He was not in armor, except for a light corselet
of steel, and already he had been more than once slightly wounded. His
bonnet had been lost in the melée, and his grey hair was smudged with
blood along the temple. Two more men were dead at his feet, and for
the moment the others hesitated to press in and end the fight. That
huge sword could make short work of at least another pair of them
before the hands that held it would relax, and the uncertainty as to
which would be the victims stayed their rush. Suddenly the Knight
leaped forward, cut down the one nearest him, and was back to the tree
before the others had recovered from their surprise. Then with a roar
of anger they flung themselves upon him, and the struggle began anew.
In their rage and impetuosity, however, they fought without method, and
the Knight was able for a short interval, by skilful play, to sweep
aside their points and to parry their blows. But it forced him to
fight wholly on the defensive, and his age and wounds left no doubt as
to the ultimate result. His arm grew tired, and the grip on his sword
hilt weakened. . . His enemies pressed him closer and closer. . . A
blow got past his guard and pierced his thigh. He had strength for
only one more stroke; and he gathered it for a final rush and balanced
himself for the opportunity. So fierce was the conflict that no one
noticed the approach of De Lacy until, with a shout of "_Au secours_!"
he rode down upon them. He had out-stripped all his escort, except his
squire, and even he was several lengths behind. Taken by surprise, the
assailants hesitated a moment, and so lost their only opportunity for
escape. With a sweep of his long sword he shore a head clean from its
shoulders, another man went down before his horse's rush; and then,
swinging in a demi-volte, he split a third through collar-bone and deep
into the breast. Meanwhile, the old Knight had slain one and Giles
Dauvrey had stopped the flight of another. But one escaped, and he, in
the confusion, had darted into the forest and was quickly lost amid its
shadows.
"By St. Luke, sir!" said the old Knight, as he leaned heavily on his
sword, "your coming was most opportune. My strength was almost spent."
"It was a gallant fight," said Aymer. "I feared every instant they
would close ere I could reach you. . . But you are wounded!"
"Nay, they are only scratches and will heal shortly--yet the leg grows
heavy and I would best rest it," and he seated himself on the turf at
the foot of the tree. "This comes of riding in silk instead of
steel--certes, I am old enough to know better."
De Lacy dismounted and aided him to examine his wounds. The only one
of any consequence was in the leg; it had been made by a sword thrust;
and the point having penetrated only the fleshy part of the thigh, no
material damage was inflicted.
"Were you alone when assaulted?" asked De Lacy, the while he was
binding a scarf around the injury.
"Yes--and another piece of childishness. I had despatched my squire on
a sudden errand, a short ways back, and had no notion of danger, when
these rogues suddenly set upon me. I made short work of two of them
and would have got through, without difficulty, but for the death of my
horse. They stabbed him, as you see. Then I got my back against the
tree and managed to keep them off for a period. The rest you know.
And to whom am I so heavily indebted?"
"My name is Aymer de Lacy."
"By St. Luke! John de Bury is glad that it is to a De Lacy he owes his
life."
"Are you Sir John de Bury of Craigston Castle?"
"The same--although, but for you I would be of the Kingdom of Spirits
instead."
"It would appear that my coming was very timely for us both," said De
Lacy, "for my mission in these parts is with you."
"With me?" Sir John de Bury exclaimed, struggling to his feet. "Then,
if you will let me have a horse, I will ride beside you to the
castle--it is less than half a league distant."
"One moment, Sir John," said Aymer. "Did you recognize any of your
assailants?"
"Not one, by St. Luke," said De Bury. "Some rascally robbers, I fancy;
there are enough of them in these parts."
De Lacy motioned to Raynor.
"Do you know this carrion?" he asked.
The veteran dismounted and examined the bodies; turning with his foot
those that had fallen face downward.
"They are strangers to me, my lord," he said. "I never saw hair of
them before. But, perchance, this fellow can give you some
information," and suddenly stooping, he seized one of the seeming dead
men by the neck and jerked him to his feet. "Answer the Knight,
rogue," he said. "Raynor Royk has seen too many dead bodies to be
fooled by one that has not a scratch upon it."
"By St, Denis!" said Do Lacy, "he is the one my good horse knocked
over. I clean forgot him. How now, fellow," he continued sternly,
"what mean you by assaulting a Knight upon the King's highway; and who
set you up to such work?"
The man, who had been simulating death, hoping so to escape, regarded
De Lacy with a frown and in sullen silence.
"Speak," said Raynor, giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle.
For answer he suddenly plucked a small dagger from a concealed sheath
and, twisting around, struck full and hard at the old soldier's face,
which was unprotected by the steel cap. Raynor sprang back and avoided
the blow, but in so doing he released his hold, and the rogue dashed
instantly for cover. No one was in his way and his escape seemed
certain, for the heavily armed men of De Lacy would have no chance in a
foot race with one lightly clad. With two bounds he had reached the
line of trees and was almost secure when, like a flash, Giles Dauvrey
drew his heavy dagger and hurled it after him. The point struck full
in the centre of the neck and sank deep into flesh and bone. With a
gurgling cry he plunged forward and lay still--dead before his body
touched the turf.
"By St. Peter! a neat throw, Sir Squire," said Raynor, as he jerked out
the weapon and handed it to Dauvrey. "I mind never to have seen a
better."
"Toss the other carrion by the roadside," said De Lacy; "we tarry here
no longer."