Three weeks later, toward evening, Sir Aymer de Lacy with a dozen weary
and travel-stained men-at-arms rode into Sheffield and drew up before
the Inn of the Red Lion. In fog and rain and sunshine, by day and by
night, they had kept to the search, and all in vain.
The morning after leaving Kirkstall Abbey, De Lacy and De Wilton had
separated. It was useless to hold so many men together when there was
no immediate prospect of a fight or even a hard stern chase; and there
would be much more profit in dividing them into small bodies and so
spreading over a wider stretch of country. De Wilton with half of the
force turned Northward to cover the section beyond the Wharfe, while De
Lacy with the others kept on toward Lancaster; and these he further
divided and subdivided until there was scarce a hamlet or bridle-path
in the West Riding that had not been visited.
As the days passed with no fortune for him, and no word from the King
of success elsewhere, he went from fierce anger to stern determination
and from headlong haste to dogged persistency. He had refused to
entertain for an instant the notion that the Countess of Clare was
dead, though he knew that such had become the prevailing view at Court,
and that even Richard himself was growing fearful lest murder had
followed the abduction.
To the hasty and obsequious greetings of the landlord De Lacy gave only
a short nod and ordered lodging for himself and men. Choosing a small
table in the farthest corner and in the shadow of the big chimney, he
slowly sipped his wine. There were eight others in the room, but
Flat-Nose was not of them. Three were merchants, traveling in company,
possibly for protection on the road, and en route doubtless to York and
its busy marts. They were gathered about an abundant meal spread at
one end of the large table and were talking loudly of their business.
At the other end of the board, their heads close together in subdued
and earnest converse, were two Benedictines in the black tunic and gown
of the Order. De Lacy had early learned on the Continent that a
traveling monk usually meant mischief afoot for some one; and as from
their manner of talk they evidently had not been journeying together,
but were just met, and possibly by prearrangement, it would be well he
thought to keep them under a temporary surveillance. Over near the
window in the rear of the room were two lusty-looking men-at-arms, each
with a big mug of ale at his elbow; and as they wore no badge of
service, they also would bear watching. The eighth and last was of De
Lacy's own rank, but older by at least ten years; and he stared across
with such persistence that Aymer grew annoyed and drew back into the
shadow.
Until the night when he had lost his betrothed, Aymer de Lacy had been
genial, frank and open-hearted; taking life as it came, meeting man
against man in the open, searching not into the dark. But the outrage
at the Hermit's Cell, and the days of distress which followed had
worked a change. He was growing cold and stern and distrustful;
cautious of speech; reserved and distant in manner; seeking always for
a clue behind even the most friendly face or cordial greeting; and
holding every stranger under the ban of suspicion.
At length having long since finished his wine, he was about to rap on
the table for the landlord when the front door opened and a young girl
glided into the room. She wore the fancy dress of the tymbestere, a
red bodice slashed and spangled, and a red skirt that came midway
between the knee and the ground, disclosing a pair of trim and shapely
ankles and small feet. But as if to compensate for this display, her
face was hidden by a black mask through which the eyes shone and
smiled, but which effectively concealed her other features.
Pausing an instant, until satisfied she was observed by all, she began
a slow and stately dance, timing her steps to the soft jingle of her
tambourine. The girl had a lithe gracefulness and stately bearing
unusual in those of her class--whose exhibitions were rather of the
fast and furious kind with a liberal display of their forms--and when
with a last low curtsy she ended, there was plenty of applause from all
save the two monks. They eyed her with a displeasure they took no
trouble to conceal; and when she tripped lightly over to them and
extended her tambourine for an offering they drew back sourly.
"Avaunt, foul baggage!" the elder exclaimed. "Have you no shame to ply
your lewd vocation before a priest of God? Verily, you do well to hide
your face behind a mask."
The girl drew back timidly, and with never a word in reply passed on to
the two men-at-arms. Here she got a different sort of greeting.
"Do not fret your pretty eyes over that pair of hypocrites in black,
yonder," one of them exclaimed loudly and speaking directly at the
Benedictines; "they are holy only in a crowd. If they met you when
none else were near, they would tear off each other's gowns to be the
first in your favors."
"Right, comrade mine, right!" laughed his companion, bringing his fist
down upon the table until the mugs rattled.
The two monks turned upon them.
"You godless men," said one sternly; "it is well you bear no badge of
maintenance, else would your lord have chance to work some wholesome
discipline upon you."
But the men-at-arms only laughed derisively and made no response.
Meanwhile the damsel had approached the strange Knight and sought a
gratuity. With ostentatious display he drew out a quarter noble and
dropped it on the tambourine. Then as she curtsied in acknowledgment
he leaned forward, and caught her arm.
"Come, little one, show me your face," he said.
With a startled cry the girl sprang back and struggled to get free.
But the Knight only smiled and drew her slowly to his knee, shifting
his arm to her waist.
"Pardieu! my dear, be not so timid," he scoffed. "Kiss me and I may
release you."
For answer she struck at him with the tambourine, cutting his chin with
one of the metal discs so that the blood oozed out.
"Little devil!" he muttered; and without more ado bent back her head,
whispering something the while.
With a last desperate effort to free herself, which was futile, and
with the dark face drawing with mocking slowness toward her own, she
realized her utter helplessness and cried appealingly for aid.
In a trice, she was seized and torn away; and between her and her
assailant, and facing him, stood Sir Aymer de Lacy, his arms folded and
a contemptuous smile upon his lips. The next instant, without a word,
the other plucked out his dagger and leaped upon him, aiming a thrust
at his neck. By a quick step to the side Aymer avoided the rush, and
as the other lurched by he struck him a swinging right arm blow behind
the ear that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor, while the
dagger rolled across to the farther wall.
[Illustration: He struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him
plunging among the rushes on the floor.]
"Bravo! Bravo!" cried the two men-at-arms. "Shall we throw him into
the street, my lord?"
He waved them back; and the Knight, who had been slightly dazed,
struggled to his feet and looked about him. Then seeing De Lacy, who
had resumed his calmly contemptuous attitude, he grasped the situation
and a wave of red anger crossed his face. But he was not of the
blustering sort, it seemed, and drawing out a handkerchief he proceeded
carefully to fleck the dirt and dust from his doublet and hose. When
he had removed the last speck, he bowed low.
"Shall we settle this matter with swords or daggers, my lord?" he said,
in French.
"I think too much of my good weapons to soil them on one who assuredly
has stolen the golden spurs he wears," De Lacy replied scornfully.
"My name is Sir Philebert de Shaunde and my escutcheon quite as ancient
as your own," with another bow.
"It is a pity, then, it has fallen upon one who needs more than his own
word to sustain the claim."
De Shaunde's face went red again and his voice trembled and was very
soft. "His Grace of Buckingham will be my voucher, though it will
misdemean him much as against one who has a tymbestere for mistress and
is a coward, as well."
De Lacy glanced quickly around the room:
"She is no longer here to feel your insults," he said, "but it is her
due that I refute them. I never saw the maid until I saved her from
your foul caress. As for my cowardice, good sir, I but protect my
knighthood against a caitiff whose very touch is dark pollution."
"I shall proclaim your refusal to accept my defiance before King and
Court and let them judge of the quarrel."
"So be it--you will find me known there," Aymer replied curtly; and
sauntering back to his table he called for another bottle of wine.
De Shaunde, however, stayed only long enough to give some order to the
landlord, who received it with rather scant courtesy; then with showy
indifference, slapping his gauntlets against his leg as he walked, he
left the room by the street door just as Giles Dauvrey entered. The
squire stood aside to let him pass, then crossed to his master.
"Did you recognize that fellow?" De Lacy queried.
"No, my lord."
"He styles himself 'Sir Philebert de Shaunde.'"