Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
*[Illustration: "ROLAND WAS SAVAGELY ATTACKING HIM IN HIS TURN"
(missing from book)]*
*Edgar the Ready*
A Tale of the Third
Edward's Reign
BY
W. P. SHERVILL
_Illustrated by Charles M. Sheldon_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
1914
*Contents*
CHAP.
I. A Gallant Sacrifice
II. An Ordeal of the Night
III. The Castle of Wolsingham
IV. The Winning of Peter
V. The Fracas
VI. Sir John's Esquire
VII. To Guienne
VIII. The Lists of Bordeaux
IX. The Encounter with Sir Gervaise
X. News of Sir John
XI. In Pursuit
XII. Castle Ruthenes
XIII. Prisoners
XIV. A Desperate Venture
XV. Ill News at Bordeaux
XVI. A New Quest
XVII. The Opening of the Attack
XVIII. The Plight of Beatrice
XIX. The Assault
XX. The Last Hope
XXI. Through the Darkness
XXII. The Last of Ruthenes
XXIII. Sir John's Choice
*Illustrations*
"Roland was savagely attacking him in his turn" (missing from book) . .
. _Frontispiece_
"Sir Gervaise sprang towards his adversary, thirsting to retrieve his
fallen fortunes"
"A torch was thrust close to Edgar's face"
"The torch fell upon the bottom steps, revealing the three crouching
figures" (missing from book)
"'Bah! These walls laugh thee and thy rabble to scorn!'"
"'Come, Beatrice, I will strive yet to save thee'" (missing from book)
*EDGAR THE READY*
*CHAPTER I*
*A Gallant Sacrifice*
"Now, lad, I will tell thee how it cometh that Sir John Chartris hath
sent me down into Devon to seek thee and to bring thee back to his
castle of Wolsingham. The road seemeth less rough and wild, and I can
tell thee all that befell with the more comfort. I would, though, that
I could have brought a spare horse. To have thee riding behind my
saddle smacks of a farmer and his dame rather than of man-at-arms and
fledgeling warrior."
"No matter, Matthew," replied the soldier's companion, a lad of some
fourteen or fifteen summers, "our road will take us along the borders of
Exmoor, and I have hopes that we may be able to snare or capture one of
the ponies that run wild thereabouts."
"Perchance. Now, as thou hast already heard, 'twas at Sluys that thy
father met his death--and a right gallant one it was--but of the fashion
of it only rumours have reached thee.
"I must start at the beginning, and thou wilt then understand the more
thoroughly. Know, then, that the French fleet mustered two hundred sail
and more, many of their ships being of a size unheard of before, while
we could gather little more than half their number. Our ships were
scraped together from the Five Ports and anywhere along the coast where
a stray trader could be found. But I'll warrant thee the sailors of the
Five Ports were little loath to lend their ships for the venture, for
their rivalry with the mariners of the Norman coast is most exceeding
bitter. When all that could be collected had been mustered in array,
our good King Edward III filled them with his men-at-arms and archers,
and we set sail.
"Not a man of the whole company was more eager to get to grips with the
enemy than Edward; and when we spied, over an intervening neck of land,
a forest of masts clustering in the harbour of Sluys, he was overjoyed.
However, for all his eagerness, he decided to anchor at sea for the
night, and 'twas in the afternoon of the following day--the anniversary
of Bannockburn, mark ye--that we stood in to fight the foe.
"When they sighted us, the French sailed out a mile or so to meet us,
and then anchored in four great lines across the bay and lashed their
ships firmly together. We found it was a fourfold floating rampart that
we had to assault, but--bah!--little enough shipman or soldier recked of
that!
"Full speed we bore down on the foremost line of ships and ground into
them, our archers sending a storm of shafts in advance that raked them
through and through. Many of their big ships had platforms high up
filled with Genoese crossbowmen, and loaded with stones to fling down
upon us; but our archers poured in a fire so fierce and fast that those
who survived were glad to escape to deck as best they could. Then came
the turn of knights and men-at-arms, and like a mountain torrent we
poured upon the decks of the Frenchmen's ships. The fighting was hard
and fierce--the struggle of men who had long ached to spring at one
another's throats.
"But our martial King's gallant example, and the knightly zest of his
nobles, gave an eagerness to our men that soon forced the French, though
they fought right well, to give back, and presently we had mastered the
first line and began to burst through upon the next. 'Twas then
that---- Ah! What have we here?"
At the sudden exclamation, and the equally sudden reining in of the
steed, the boy, who had been entirely absorbed in his companion's
narrative, glanced quickly ahead to see the cause of the interruption.
Two men, followed more leisurely by three others, had sprung into the
roadway from behind a pile of rocks where they had been in hiding. They
were men of wild and savage appearance, and bore weapons, which added
not a little to their threatening looks. One man, whose head seemed a
sheer mass of bristling red hair and beard, out of which his eyes
gleamed like live coals, carried a heavy club studded with iron spikes,
and this he swung to and fro as he awaited the coming of the wayfarers.
"'Tis Red of Ordish!" whispered the lad. "He is known and dreaded for
leagues around. Fly for thy life, Matthew--delay not!"
The soldier glanced eagerly to right and left. His face fell: rocks
piled in rough confusion, half-hidden by bushes, lined every inch of the
way on either side. It was difficult country to traverse on foot, but
for horsemen it was quite impossible. There was still, however, the way
they had come, and half-turning his horse, the man-at-arms glanced back
along the road. Alas, for his hopes! Another group of men had emerged
into the roadway a few hundred yards behind, and were moving forward to
take the travellers as in a trap!
"Ha, ha, soldier," cried Red, with a hideous laugh, "thou seest thou art
outwitted! Fling down thy purse and we harm thee not. 'Tis the lord of
the manor, Red of Ordish to wit, who bids thee pay his toll."
"Give me thy purse, Matthew," cried the boy aloud. He then went on in
an urgent whisper: "Be quick, and I will jump down and hand it to the
robbers whilst thou dost ride slowly past them. They may seek more than
thy purse an they find little in it. I like not their looks or the
tales I have heard of them."
Slowly and unwillingly the soldier complied, and the lad flung his leg
over the saddle to dismount. As he did so, however, with a quick
movement he slid the contents of the purse into his hand. His movements
were half-hidden by the soldier's back, and that there should be no
chink of money to betray him, he held the purse closely while he secured
the contents. Then he transferred the coins to his wallet, dropped to
the ground, and advanced towards the red robber, purse in hand.
"We are poor wayfarers," he said in a pleading tone, as he fumbled in
the purse; "will ye not take toll of two silver pennies and let us hie
on our journey?"
"I will take four silver pennies, my young springald," cried Red of
Ordish, striding forward and reaching out his great hand for the purse.
The lad retreated as though frightened, and again fumbled as though
unable to find the coins he sought.
"Yield me the purse," cried the robber, snatching savagely at it.
"Yield it me, boy, or I will clash out thy brains with this club."
Springing lightly out of the angry ruffian's reach, the boy pretended to
be quite scared, dropping the purse and running after the soldier as
though in a sudden access of terror.
Ignoring the boy, the leader of the robbers and one or two of his men
made a mad rush for the purse. Red was first, and snatched it eagerly
up; tore it open--and saw that it was empty! With a snarl like a wild
beast, he sprang after the fugitive, shouting madly with inarticulate
rage.
Abandoning all disguise, the lad now ran with all his speed after the
soldier, who had profited by the preoccupation of the robbers and had
made his way safely past them.
"On, Matthew, on!" he cried breathlessly as he sprang into the saddle
behind him, and with a shout of angry defiance, Matthew put spurs to his
horse and galloped furiously away.
The convulsed face and savage cries of Red of Ordish, and the tumultuous
shouts of his men as they pursued madly after, flinging stones, knives,
and clubs in despairing endeavour to injure the youth who had so neatly
tricked them, receded gradually into the distance until a turn of the
road shut them altogether out of sight and hearing.
"Why did I listen to thee, lad?" cried Matthew presently in a tone of
resentment and vexation. "Why did I not ride at them and try to cut a
way through? Why didst press me to yield up my purse without a fight?
Hast so soon forgotten that thou art destined to become an esquire and
an aspirant to knighthood? 'Tis a bad start to a warrior's career to
counsel giving way without a fight to the first coward cut-throat we
meet. Coward that I was to listen----"
"Stay, Matthew," interposed the lad; "run not on so, but examine this
wallet. Perchance the fledgeling esquire is not quite so base as thou
thinkest."
"What?" cried Matthew, taking the wallet and thrusting in his hand.
"Did ye--why, yes, 'tis all here--truly thou art quick and bold. 'Twas
well done, and I none the wiser. Thou art indeed Sir Richard Wintour's
cub, and I can say nae better."
"There was little enough in it, Matthew," returned the lad. "I hope
that we may have many such adventures to while away the long journey to
my new home. They will keep our wits from getting rusty."
"They will indeed, lad, and I hope that Matthew the man-at-arms may show
to better advantage at our next encounter. Now I will continue the
story of our struggle at Sluys which the robbers interrupted in so ugly
a fashion. We English, then, had overcome all resistance in the first
line of the French ships and were attacking the next, when the adventure
befell that touches thee so closely. The ships commanded by Sir John
Chartris had again closed in and grappled, and once more we were hard at
work hacking and thrusting upon the enemy's decks. Sir John had gained
a footing upon the poop of the ship he had boarded, and was hewing away
with right good will when, of a sudden, a gigantic Genoese dropped down
upon his shoulders from the rigging. Sir John was borne to the deck,
and would have been rapidly dispatched there had not thy father, Sir
Richard Wintour, called upon one or two of us near by and hurried to his
rescue. Our attack diverted the attention of those surrounding Sir
John, and he was able to struggle to his feet.
"The Genoese still clung to his back, however, and Sir John was unable
to use his sword. To our horror, after a few moments' tottering upon
the edge, both men, still clinging desperately to one another, pitched
headlong over the side of the ship down into the sea in the space
betwixt the prows of the grinding ships. Seeing what was coming, and
knowing only too well that Sir John, clad in full armour, would sink
like a stone, thy father snatched at a rope, and without a moment's
hesitation sprang after him. So instant was he that he did not even
stay to see that the other end of the rope was secured, and he must have
left the ship before ever Sir John had touched the water. 'Twas a rash
act, a gallant act, and it all but failed, for the end of the rope was
free, and was just disappearing over the side when I pounced upon it.
"The strain upon it was so heavy that I almost followed. Thomelin the
archer, however, also seized hold of the rope, and we two pulled and
tugged. In a moment or two the strain eased somewhat, and we guessed
that the big Genoese had been compelled to leave go. Then we began to
draw in hand over hand until two heads appeared above the surface. They
belonged to Sir John and thy father.
"Now came the heartrending part of the whole affair. A slight swell was
gently heaving, and ever and anon the ships ground and clashed together.
Knowing this, and fearing that we might not draw up the knights before
one or other of the ships heaved inwards irresistibly, we pulled with
all our might and shouted aloud for others to come to our aid. But the
rush of fighting men had passed onwards, and the noise was so prodigious
that we were unheard or unheeded. So we bent to the work, and soon had
Sir John, who was uppermost, on a level with the decks. We had pulled
him safe aboard, and were about to draw up Sir Richard, when--lad, it
makes me sick to think of it--one of our own ships, falling on the
swell, moved inwards and caught him by the legs against the ship on
which we stood. He gave a gasp and let go his hold, but we seized him,
and, the swell passing onwards, drew him aboard.
"One glance was sufficient to tell us that his hours were numbered.
Notwithstanding his armour, his legs and the lower part of his body were
badly crushed. He was still conscious, however, and we laid him on the
deck of the enemy's ship, now all but won, and Sir John knelt over him.
"'Goodbye, Sir John!' he said faintly. 'I am gone. Leave me and renew
the fight.'
"'Nay, Richard, I cannot leave thee thus,' cried Sir John, weeping.
'Dear comrade, thou hast sacrificed thy life for mine. I will stay and
do what little I still may towards that debt. The battle is won without
another stroke from me.'
"'I rejoice that all goes well. If thou wilt do aught for me, look to
my boy Edgar. His mother died a year agone, and he is alone save for
me. Place him with thy esquires, if I ask not too much.'
"'Richard, it is done. Right gladly will I.'
"'He will be landless, like his father, as thou know'st, and he must
carve his way with his sword. Let him know this. Spoil him not. I
think he will do well, though his mother has had his upbringing and not
I.'
"'If he is half as gallant as his father he will need little help from
me,' responded Sir John. 'Is there naught else I can do? Here is water
Matthew hath brought.'
"Sir Richard revived a little when he had drunk, but very soon sank into
a stupor from which he never regained consciousness. He seemed quite
easy in his mind concerning thee, after Sir John had told him he would
send me down into Devon to fetch thee as soon as an opportunity offered.
He beckoned me to him and sent thee his dear love, and bade me conjure
thee to strive thy hardest to be a true knight, brave in battle and
chivalrous towards the weak and helpless. More he said, though his
voice grew so faint at last that I could not catch all his words; but he
meant thee to give all thy mind to the work of thy squirehood, to learn
right well how to bear thyself knightly, and how to live a godly life.
Thy father, lad, thou mayest well be proud of."
"I know, Matthew," said Edgar in a low voice. "And I know, too, that if
earnest striving of mine can compass it, his memory will not be
disgraced by me. It shall be my aim to live as nobly and to die as
gallantly."
"Ye say well, lad. I hope thou wilt be as good as thy word. Now I will
finish the story.
"Very soon we had broken through the second line of the French ships,
and as at that moment more ships arrived under Sir Robert Morley, a
great panic fell upon the third line, and many of their men threw
themselves into the sea and there perished miserably. The fourth line,
however, still remained unbroken, and fought us right gallantly until
nightfall, when those that were still able to set sail made good their
escape.
"Our losses were trifling; the losses of the French were tremendous. We
had only two ships destroyed, while out of all the mighty French fleet
but a few stragglers escaped. Their loss in men, too, they say, was no
less than thirty thousand slain. 'Twill be years and years, lad, I
warrant thee, before the French will again dare to oppose us on the
ocean. We are now masters of the sea, and our ships can come and go as
they please. Hurrah for our martial King Edward!"
"Hurrah, indeed!" cried Edgar, catching something of his enthusiasm.
"But how came our men to gain so great a victory over the French? Did
they not fight well?"
"Aye, they fought well enough, but they were outgeneralled. They had
two leaders while we had one. And more--though I am a man-at-arms, and
think most of my sort, yet can I give a meed of praise where 'tis
due--'twas our archers did much to win the day. Aye, our bowmen gave
the French a rude awakening--one, too, that will be repeated as roughly
yet many a day. Our men shot so hard and fast that the air was streaked
with shafts, and Frenchmen and Genoese fell dead on every hand. Even
the knights were hard put to it to face so pitiless a hail. I mind me
old Thomelin of Pontefract, one of the most famous of our marksmen, said
to me as we passed a ship in the first line, where the battle still
raged: 'See yon knight in golden armour, Matthew?'
"'Aye,' said I.
"'Watch him well.'
"He drew his bow to the feather and held it motionless for a moment or
two. The knight was opposing a party of English who were pouring along
the deck of his ship. He swung his axe back and up, and Thomelin's bow
twanged. The knight's nearest armpit sprouted feathers, his axe fell
with a clang, and he rattled down after it. 'Twas thus that our archers
taught even knights in full armour to fear them."
"But are not crossbowmen equally to be feared?" cried Edgar. "I have
heard that their heavy bolts can crash through the armour itself."
"Mayhap; but when they have English bowmen to fight against they have
little chance to show their powers. Ere ever they can loose a bolt a
cloth-yard shaft hath laid them low. Our archers laugh at
crossbowmen--and with good reason."
"What befell after the battle, Matthew?"
"We landed, and Edward led us to the city of Tournay. He drew his
allies to his standard, and it was with a hundred thousand men that he
commenced the siege. All goeth well so far, but Sir John sent me after
thee before we had long encamped before its walls. And here I am,
Master Edgar."
"Aye, good Matthew," replied Edgar, who appeared to be slightly ill at
ease, and had turned in his saddle two or three times during the latter
part of the soldier's narrative. "Now, wilt thou rein in thy steed for
a moment so that we may listen? Several times I have fancied I heard the
sound of horses' hoofs dully in the distance."
"What of that, lad? Red of Ordish and his band had nae horses."
"None that we could see. But in some of the tales I have heard both Red
and his band were mounted. Hearken now!"
Dim and distant, but unmistakable, sounded the thud of horses' hoofs.
"Quick, Matthew, we must leave the road and hide. Our horse, carrying a
double burden, must soon be overtaken. Dismount and lead thy steed in
amongst those rocks and bushes and, if thou canst, compel it to lie
down."
Without demur Matthew obeyed his young charge's orders, possibly because
he could think of no better line of action. In a minute or two horse
and riders were well hidden behind a tangle of rocks and bushes a dozen
yards from the edge of the roadway. The clatter of horses' hoofs was
now very close, and in a few moments a body of wild-looking horsemen
burst into view round a turn of the road.
"'Tis Red," muttered the lad at his first glimpse of the foremost man,
as he shrank back yet more closely under cover.
The horsemen clattered noisily by and vanished as quickly as they had
come. For the time, at any rate, the fugitives were safe.
"What now, lad?" grumbled Matthew, as he began to realize their sorry
plight. "We cannot take to the road again, I trow."
"Nay; we must, I fear, clamber on as best we can across these rocks.
See yon hill? The country there is clearer, so mayhap if we struggle on
a little we shall find it open out before us."
For an hour the soldier and his companion scrambled along among the
rocks, leading the horse between them. Then the way began to get easier
until, at the end of some hours, they found themselves in fairly open
country. The travelling had been very exhausting, and, well pleased to
be quit of it, they mounted again and cantered gaily off until they
reached cultivated land, and could see in the distance the lights of a
dwelling. On a closer inspection this proved to be a large and
straggling farmhouse.
"Darkness falls," quoth Matthew; "I think we will rest the night here if
the good man is not unwilling."
Edgar gladly consented, and in a minute or two they were knocking at the
farmhouse door. After a considerable delay and some parleying the door
was opened, and they were conducted into the farmer's kitchen. Here
they were served with plenty of rough but wholesome food, and were soon
doing full justice to the viands. Under the influence of the good
cheer, and more especially of the good man's home-brewed ale, Matthew
waxed communicative, and related to the farmer with great gusto the
incidents of their encounter with and escape from the redoubtable Red of
Ordish.
The recital seemed to disturb the farmer greatly. He grew pale and
nervous, and presently left the room, muttering that if robbers were
about it would be well for him to see that his barns and stables were
well secured. The action seemed so natural an one that neither Edgar
nor Matthew took any notice, although the man had not returned when, an
hour or two later, his wife hinted that it was time to retire for the
night. Readily enough they agreed, and the woman led them up a flight
of crazy stairs to a low room lighted by a single small curtain-screened
window which peeped out of the thickness of the thatch. The room
contained a rough bed and plenty of skin rugs, and in a very few minutes
the two wayfarers had flung themselves down and had fallen into a sound
sleep.
*CHAPTER II*
*An Ordeal of the Night*
It must have been well after midnight when Edgar awoke. What had
awakened him he knew not, but he felt somehow a sense of uneasiness for
which he vainly tried to account. All was as still as death within the
house, save only for the regular breathing of his companion, who lay
close by his side.
For some moments Edgar lay without a movement, listening intently and
wondering what it could be that made him feel so uneasy and even--he
could not disguise it from himself--even fearful. He could hear
absolutely nothing, but yet he felt a conviction steal over him that
Matthew and he were not alone in the room. Who would dare to enter
their room so stealthily at dead of night? And what might be their
purpose?
Softly Edgar pressed his companion in the side. He stirred ever so
slightly, and Edgar pressed again as meaningly as he could. He felt the
soldier start and stiffen himself as though on the alert.
Waiting for no more, Edgar, who was light of touch and supple as an eel,
stole softly from the bed and made for the corner of the room away from
the window. He dreaded unspeakably that he might come into contact with
something--he knew not what--on the way; but he reached his coign of
vantage without mishap. Then he waited motionless for events to
develop. Though he still heard no sound, he felt even more convinced
than before that the room was occupied by other than themselves--and, by
the strange feeling of fear that he could not thrust away from himself,
thoroughly as he despised it, occupied by something grim and terrible.
Presently he heard a slight rustling, as though Matthew were leaving his
bed, and a moment later the curtain was jerked back, admitting into the
room a stream of moonlight.
Simultaneously with the pulling of the curtain three figures became
visible to Edgar between him and the light. The upright figure nearest
to the window was Matthew, he had no doubt, but the two other figures
crouching low upon the floor he could not recognize, though the glint of
steel he caught from one showed that their presence boded ill indeed.
Silently, with a bound fierce as a tiger's, one of the men sprang upon
Matthew. With a movement as quick the man-at-arms avoided the blow
aimed at him and closed with his assailant. Simultaneously the other
man stood up and swung a club up into the air and down behind his back
as he prepared to strike down Matthew while he grappled with his foe.
With the speed of an arrow Edgar sprang forward. Seizing the club he
gave it a quick, wrenching pull and tore it from the man's grasp. Then
as quickly he swung it heavily down upon the assassin's head. With a
groan the man sank limply to the floor.
Turning to the other combatants, Edgar saw that Matthew was holding his
assailant's right hand with his left, and had wrenched his own hand free
and grasped his dagger. There was a flash as the moonlight gleamed upon
the bright steel, then the stroke fell heavily upon the ruffian's side.
But though the blade pierced his clothing it snapped off short against
his skin!
"_Bewitched! Bewitched!_" shrieked Matthew in superstitious terror, as
he let go his hold and fell upon his knees. Babbling incoherently and
crossing himself convulsively, he seemed oblivious of his fearful
danger. Fortunately the suddenness with which he had let go his hold
sent the ruffian staggering back into a corner, but like a wild cat he
was back again, and in another moment the knife must have been plunged
into Matthew's body had not Edgar screamed piercingly as he dashed
forward.
"_Shirt of mail_, Matthew, _shirt of mail!_"
Matthew heard and understood his meaning just in time. Plunging full
length upon the floor, he avoided the murderous stroke, and the man, in
the darkness, pitched over him into the wall. Ere he had recovered from
the shock Edgar had sprung clean upon his back.
Jabbing behind him with his knife the assassin tried to dislodge the
lad, but although he received two or three flesh wounds, Edgar clung on
tenaciously, and, by impeding the man's arm with one hand and gripping
him by the throat with the other, did his best to hinder him, while he
called repeatedly upon Matthew to renew the struggle.
It was some moments before Matthew could respond. He was still unnerved
by the grim midnight attack and what he had for the moment taken to be
the supernatural character of his assailant. Edgar's warning cry had
enabled him to shake off some of his paralysis, but precious moments had
slipped away before he was himself again. At last Edgar's cries aroused
him, and he rushed in and closed with the man, who was endeavouring with
the utmost desperation to rid himself of the burden upon his back.
Until then the man had fought in grim silence, but now he snarled and
champed like a wild beast. In one of his twists and turns he staggered
close to the little window, and for a moment the moonlight played upon
his head. Though Edgar, from his position, could not see his face, one
glimpse of the tangled mass of hair was sufficient. It was red.
The ruffian fought with extraordinary fierceness and power. Once
Matthew succeeded in possessing himself of his knife, but almost
immediately lost it, and it was not until the man was almost strangled
that his resistance was overcome.
"Get me something wherewith to secure him, Edgar," gasped Matthew.
"Strips of clothing--anything, lad."
Edgar sprang to the bed and fumbled among the rugs and skins for
something that he could tear into strips. As he did so his ear caught a
sound outside the door that could not be mistaken.
"Quick, Matthew--to the window--flee!" he cried, in an undertone that
thrilled with desperate urgency. "The stairs creak beneath the tread of
a dozen stealthy feet. 'Tis Red's band--away, away, or we are lost!"
At a single bound Matthew sprang halfway through the window. Another
moment and he had dropped to the ground.
In his fumbles at the bedclothes Edgar's hand had come into contact with
his own or Matthew's sword. The slight indefinable sound or feeling of
pressure upon the door attracted his attention, and, like a streak, he
drew the sword from its sheath. Then, with a single thrust, he drove it
several inches through the centre of the door.
There was a screech, and the pressure instantly ceased. Simultaneously
the silent approach changed into a loud and angry clamour, and a rush
was made at the door, and it was kicked violently open.
But Edgar was already halfway to the window. Flinging his naked sword
through in advance, he sprang lightly up and through, and dropped safely
down upon the ground beneath.
Matthew was awaiting him and had already snatched up the sword, and the
two, with a single thought, rushed madly round to the front of the
farmhouse. Their one aim was to get their horse from the stable before
the robbers were upon them.
As he rounded the side of the house, Edgar caught a glimpse of something
moving in the shadow of some trees a dozen paces away. He looked
again--they were horses!--and with a whoop he called to Matthew and fled
to them. The horses were half-wild, and at the sudden approach reared
and kicked furiously.
There was no time to sooth and pacify the beasts, for already the shouts
from behind showed that the pursuit had begun, so Edgar sprang
recklessly at the nearest horse, flung his leg over its back, and
grasped it by the mane. Then with his dagger he cut the rope that
secured it. The horse reared madly and backed in amongst its fellows,
but at every opportunity Edgar cut and slashed with his dagger at the
ropes that fastened the other horses to the trees. Matthew had also
succeeded in mounting, and seconded his efforts until all were freed.
Then with a yell that sent the frightened troop clattering away into the
darkness, Edgar and Matthew dug their heels into their horses' sides and
galloped headlong after them. In a confused clump, horsemen and
riderless horses careered over pasture and farmland until the farmhouse
and the shouting robbers had been left far behind.
Gradually Edgar gained some sort of control over his wild mount, which
had, until then, tasked all his energies to keep it from flinging him
from off its back. Then he guided it to Matthew's side.
"We have covered miles, Matthew, and are safe."
"Nay, let us ride on until our steeds are exhausted. Mine is still as
much master as I."
"Then let us ride together, and keep one of yon frightened animals in
sight. If I can, I am going to capture a spare steed. 'Twill do to
barter and replace the things we left behind in the robbers' hands."
For a couple of hours longer they rode onward. Then their horses of
themselves dropped into a walk and at last stopped altogether. Matthew
and Edgar had kept close to two of the riderless horses, and Edgar
promptly slipped from his seat and approached them. They were too
dead-beat to resist, and he was able to lead them into a thick covert
close at hand. Here, after some trouble, a light fencing of branches
hacked from the trees was built around them, and Matthew and Edgar could
begin to think of rest. They were almost as dead-beat as the horses,
and, without troubling to make themselves any sort of couch, flung
themselves down amongst the bushes and slept the sleep of utter
exhaustion.
*CHAPTER III*
*The Castle of Wolsingham*
Very soon after dawn Matthew and Edgar were astir again. Both felt the
strain of their exertions during the preceding day and night, but
neither felt that they were safe in remaining where they were. They had
left behind nearly all their belongings, but in their stead they had
four horses which, they hoped, would more than counterbalance the losses
they had sustained.
Tearing up part of his clothing into strips, and utilizing their belts,
Matthew made shift to secure the two spare horses, and, mounting again,
they rode on. For some time they purposely kept away from the high
roads, not knowing how far the power of Red and his band might extend.
But when they believed that they were too far from his haunts for there
to be anything more to fear, they took to the highway again, and made
more rapid progress. The spare horses were sold later in the day
without difficulty, and provided a goodly sum from which they were able
to purchase fresh cloaks and weapons, and enough being left to help them
on their way.
The journey was full of incidents, though none was so exciting as their
encounter with the dreaded Red and his band of outlaws. In due course
they arrived at Wolsingham, and Matthew resigned his charge into the
hands of Geoffrey Fletcher, the Lieutenant of the Castle, in the absence
of its master, Sir John Chartris. Geoffrey really ranked as an esquire,
but he was a man of middle age who had failed through lack of influence
and skill with the sword to obtain the honour of knighthood. He
possessed little ambition, however, and was well content with his
position in command of the retainers of the castle.
After a few enquiries concerning the journey thither, and a sympathetic
and kindly reference to his recent bereavement, Geoffrey suggested a
visit to Edgar's fellow esquires.
"They have heard that thou wert on the way to join us, and are ready
indeed to see thee. The story of thy father's gallant sacrifice has
disposed them and all of us greatly in thy favour. From the little
Matthew hath told me of the adventures of thy journey, it seemeth that
our expectations are not likely to be disappointed."
"Ye are all most kind to me," said Edgar gratefully. "I have already
promised in my heart to do all in my power to serve Sir John for the
memory of my father's name."
"Ye say well. Come now and I will make thee known to thy comrades.
They are four--Philip Soames, Robert Duplessis, Aymery Montacute, and
Roland Mortimer. They are all about thine age, for the eldest esquire
hath followed his master to the wars. Doubtless thou wilt find them
more to thy liking than they are to mine, for they are high-spirited
youths, and accustomed to be more than a little reckless in their
pranks. But such, I fear, is too often the wont of young men of noble
birth and wide estates."
Shaking his head with the air of a man who had suffered much at the
hands of the said esquires, Geoffrey Fletcher opened a door and ushered
Edgar into a room where the four esquires and some few pages were
practising feats of skill and strength, or hacking at one another with
blunted swords.
The scene was a really spirited one, and Edgar felt a thrill of
enthusiasm as he realized fully that he was now at last to begin in
earnest to learn the trade of arms and the usages of chivalry.
"Ha! Geoffrey, doubtless this young springald is our new comrade, Edgar
Wintour?" cried Aymery Montacute, a slim, active-looking youth a little
older than Edgar. "Come, we are right glad to see him, and right happy
to welcome him in our midst."
Edgar bowed his thanks.
"He looketh keen," went on Aymery, speaking more to Geoffrey than to
Edgar; "he looketh keen, and if I can cheer him on with a few friendly
strokes with sword and buckler, let him don some gear and we will set to
without more ado. At last, Geoffrey, I have succeeded in worsting
Roland, and I feel so elated I could fight the world."
"But nay, Aymery, scarcely would ye wish to show off thy prowess so soon
upon your new comrade? How much can he know of the sword?"
"Dissuade him not, Geoffrey," interposed Edgar hastily. "He meaneth not
to be unfriendly, I am sure, and I would gladly receive a lesson at his
hands. Come, comrade Aymery, teach me also how to beat friend Roland."
There was a general laugh at the hit at Roland Mortimer; and that
worthy, after a momentary frown, joined in the laugh, for Edgar's smile
and tone were so frank and pleasant that anger was impossible.
"Don these things and let us set to work," cried Aymery; and without the
loss of a moment, Edgar drew on the leather jerkin and steel headpiece
and snatched a sword and buckler from the wall. With a slight shrug of
his shoulders and a smile of some amusement, Geoffrey turned on his heel
and left the room. Though his charge was now left entirely to the
tender mercies of his new comrades, he knew that there was no need to be
anxious on his behalf, for their welcome, though rough, was not one whit
the less sincere.
The instant Edgar threw out his sword with a gesture of readiness,
Aymery attacked with a bound like a young deer's. So swift was his
attack that, before Edgar quite knew where he was, his head was singing
from a hearty blow which fell full upon his steel headpiece. Warming to
the work, he did his best to make a smart return, and to pay Aymery back
with something to spare. The teaching he had received, however, was in
no way equal to that given to the esquires at Wolsingham Castle, and in
a few moments Aymery had demonstrated this so clearly that the other's
body was smarting in a half-dozen places at once.
Good-naturedly Aymery soon proposed a halt, and explained to Edgar
wherein he had failed, and what were the chief faults of his style of
defence.
"Ye look quick and active, but make not enough use of your powers,
friend Wintour. See how I fought--never still, constantly advancing or
retreating. Ye should do the same."
"I see that would be best for a light-armed contest such as this,"
replied Edgar; "but seeing that knights fight in full armour in battle,
with little room or power to advance or retreat, would it not be best
for us to learn to stand more to our ground likewise?"
"There is some shrewdness in thy point," responded Aymery with a nod,
"but pitched battles are rare, whilst there are many occasions on which
a knight fights when not armed cap-a-pie. I am perhaps too prone to
rely upon my activity; mayhap it were better if I sometimes fought knee
to knee."
"Do you never practise in full armour?" asked Edgar. "I have never had
the opportunity, but again it seemeth to me that as we enter a battle or
the lists in full armour, we should make it our chiefest aim to become
quite accustomed to its weight and hindrance, and to watching our foes
through our vizor-slits. Why leave all that to the day of battle, as so
many seem to do?"
"Ah! I cannot agree with thee there. Full armour is so irksome that we
should never learn the finer strokes of fence. When thou hast felt the
weight of it thou wilt the better understand."
Edgar felt unconvinced, but did not care to go on with the discussion,
as his knowledge of the subject was so slight that he felt far from sure
of his ground. So he turned aside and watched the efforts of some of
his other comrades as they engaged in gymnastic exercises or practised
with various weapons. It was a sight of absorbing interest to him, and
the call to supper when it came found him still reluctant to quit the
scene.
"Come, Edgar, put off thy headpiece and jerkin and join us at the board.
I warrant thou wilt pronounce the cheer both good and plentiful, for Sir
John hath never stinted us of our victuals. Wilt accompany me?"
"Right willingly," cried Edgar, as he threw off his gear and followed
the speaker, a sturdy youth named Robert Duplessis, into the next room,
where a long table literally groaned beneath the weight of huge rounds
of beef and other fare and big jugs of home-brewed ale. Whilst the
supper was proceeding, Edgar took an early opportunity of inviting his
companion to tell him something of the castle and its inmates.
"Oh, as to the castle, thou art easily enlightened," cried Robert
readily enough. "'Twas built in John's reign and, as thou hast seen, is
strong enough for anything. It lieth not far from St. Albans and but
twenty miles from London town. Sometimes we esquires take horse and ride
into the city on pleasure bent, and a right good time we enjoy. Thou
shouldst make one of our party the next time we ride thither."
"The exercises I saw just now, and the encounters with sword and
axe--are they all the teaching ye get when Sir John is abroad?"
"Nay, nay, we should be sorry esquires were that so. No, twice a week
Sir Percy Standish cometh to Wolsingham to give us instruction in the
use of our weapons. He doth it out of friendship for Sir John, and
lucky indeed are we to have a teacher so able. It is said, however, by
some of the pertest of our pages that his visits are less on Sir John's
account than because of an attraction amongst his household, but I hold
that the report is baseless, seeing that Sir John's elder daughter is
but seventeen."
"I saw three ladies on the outer walls as I rode up to the gates of the
castle," said Edgar. "Doubtless two were Sir John's daughters? Who was
the third?"
"Oh, she is Sir John's ward, Beatrice d'Alencon. She is only fifteen,
but is heiress to wide lands in Kent and wider lands in Guienne. She
will be greatly in request among the needy nobles when she cometh of age
an the prophets mistake not. Even Aymery and Roland dispute one
another's claims to wear her gage, and that is why they are so zealous
to worst one another in fence. Asses!--when she careth naught for
either!"
Edgar smiled at the scorn with which Robert spoke. "At any rate," he
said, "neither you nor I are likely to dispute the damsel with the
twain. I hold such ideas to be rubbish, and far from befitting esquires
aspiring to the honour of knighthood. My aim at least is single, and no
maiden shall divide it."
"Ha! ha! Edgar," laughed Robert, "I should love to hear thee make that
declaration in the lady's hearing."
Edgar did not care to join in the laugh, and merely shrugged his
shoulders and turned the conversation into other channels. He was
interested beyond all else in learning the details of his squirehood and
how best he might find opportunity to advance himself in it. The other
matters that apparently so interested Aymery and Roland had no charms
for him.
So earnest to succeed, it did not take Edgar long to learn his duties
and to make rapid headway with his knowledge of martial accomplishments.
The period of the next year or two was to him a time of continuous
development. Applying himself with ardour to learn all that appertained
to knightly prowess, in six months he had passed several of his comrades
in skill and dexterity with arms, and could compel even Aymery Montacute
to put out all his strength to worst him.
It was then that he gave effect to a resolve half formed in his first
talk with Aymery. His opinion at that time was that a knight or esquire
should practise clothed in full armour if he desired to show himself at
his best on the day of trial. As time went on and his knowledge
increased, this opinion deepened into a firm conviction. His comrades,
however, as Aymery had done at the first, laughed at the idea, and one
or two suggested slyly that perhaps he was becoming tired of the hard
knocks he was getting, now that he had worked his way into the front
rank and none thought of sparing him. But Edgar cared as little for
their ridicule and somewhat ungenerous suggestions as he really did for
their hard knocks, and presently appeared at their practices clad in as
full a suit of gear as he possessed.
The natural result of the change was that his comrades easily worsted
him, and from being almost a match for Aymery he passed down the line to
Philip Soames, who stood last in order of prowess with the sword.
Undismayed, however, by the fall, Edgar set himself to climb back to the
position he had lost, and to become once more the equal of Aymery
notwithstanding the armour which clogged and weighted his every
movement.
The labour was heavy and the task most irksome. Edgar was quite
determined about it, however, and slowly, bit by bit, won his way
upward. One of the greatest difficulties before him was that of getting
used to wearing a helmet with vizor closed, and learning to watch his
man as keenly and surely through its narrow slits as with the vizor
open. Accomplish the task he did, however, and had the satisfaction of
knowing that the fierce shock of battle or the exciting moments of the
tourney would find him on as familiar ground as in the contests of the
gymnasium or the tilts in the castle courtyard. As a result of the
heavy and constant exercise and the good fare, his frame expanded and
his muscles thickened, and from a sturdy lad of fifteen he grew to be a
stalwart youth, strong as most grown men and as hardy as one of his
Viking forefathers.
After a couple of years of the teaching of Sir Percy Standish, their
instructor, Edgar began to long for higher instruction, and for other
opponents than his four companions and an occasional visitor from a
neighbouring castle. He feared that when the time came for him to be
cast into the wider circle of a camp of war, his skill, though it seemed
considerable among his comrades at Wolsingham, might be dwarfed into
insignificance by the higher skill of esquires from other parts of the
country.
Casting about for some means of obtaining other and more varied
instruction, he made enquiries during one of the visits he and his
comrades sometimes paid to the city of London. He then ascertained that
there existed two or three schools of arms for the training, chiefly, of
the sons of merchants, but oftentimes used by knights and esquires
within the city bounds. One of these was pointed out to him as of
especial excellence, as it was presided over by a Picard, named Gaspard
Verillac, who was much famed for his skill with weapons.
The very next day Edgar rode into London alone and called upon Verillac.
"I wish to gain some skill in arms," he said, opening the conversation
with his usual directness.
Gaspard gave his youthful visitor a keen glance. "Thou hast already some
skill in arms, if I mistake not," he remarked quietly.
"But a little, I fear. I desire to learn much more."
"Come into yon chamber. Take sword and engage with me for a few
moments. I shall then know the more surely how much or how little thou
dost know."
Edgar obeyed, and, entering the chamber, eagerly scanned the walls,
which were covered with what seemed to be the weapons of all nations.
He then selected a sword of nearly the same length and weight as the
sharpened weapon he bore strapped to his side. The two fenced together
for a minute, and Edgar realized at once how widely his style differed
from that of some at least of the world outside his own circle.
Gaspard's swordplay was more free and open than he had been used to, and
was perhaps rather more adapted for single combat than for pitched
encounters. The point was used almost as much as the edge of the blade.
"Thou art an esquire and no burgher's son," said Gaspard as he put up
his sword.
Edgar assented.
"Thy skill is already considerable and giveth promise of vastly more. I
can make thee a knight of rare skill and address if thou carest to
become my pupil."
"I will gladly do so," cried Edgar, who was greatly impressed by his new
instructor and by the careless ease and power with which he fenced.
"Thou wilt not only practise with me but with others of my pupils; and
as they are of all ranks and hie from many countries, thou wilt learn to
be at home with whomsoever the tide of war may bring thee into conflict.
Come now, and I will take thee into the School of Arms."
When, some two hours later, Edgar rode back to Wolsingham Castle, he
felt well satisfied with the step he had taken. The prospect of adding
to his prowess with the sword under the guidance of Gaspard Verillac
seemed bright indeed.
*CHAPTER IV*
*The Winning of Peter*
Regularly twice a week Edgar rode into London and waged strenuous
warfare with Gaspard's most promising pupils. So earnest was his
purpose and so able the tuition that he made rapid progress, and
presently, as he grew in strength and stature, Gaspard was hard put to
it to find pupils either ready or able to oppose him.
Indeed, Gaspard soon learned to turn the visits of the young esquire to
good account. Oftentimes knights, and even nobles, desirous of
obtaining a little private practice before setting out for the wars,
were attracted to the school by the reputation of its founder; and on
these occasions, instead of wielding the sword himself, Gaspard
preferred to call Edgar in and set his pupil to work, contenting himself
with administering instruction and reproof as the combat proceeded. To
being made use of in this manner Edgar raised not the smallest
objection. The heavier and the more desperate the encounter, the
greater, he felt, was his chance of onward progress.
It was some twelve months after his visit to Gaspard's school that an
adventure befell which influenced considerably Edgar's after career. It
had been his habit, when he had stayed unusually late, to take a short
cut to the open country through the poorer quarter at the eastward end
of the city. The denizens of its narrow alleys and filthy courts were
indeed a fierce and lawless crew, but Edgar, in the reliance born of his
hard-won prowess with the sword, cared not one straw whether or no his
way might lie through the haunts even of criminals and desperadoes.
Certain it is that they never ventured to molest him.