free passage to a mounted man, he heard, as he passed the entrance to a
narrow court, a sudden burst of piercing screams. Turning his steed and
clattering into the court, Edgar surprised a group of rough-looking men
crowding round a lad or young man who was being most cruelly beaten by
one of their number. The lad was thin and frail and half-starved
looking, and his assailant was a burly ruffian of the most brutal type.
The lad's screams so worked upon Edgar that, without a moment's
hesitation, he urged his horse right amongst the group of men, and, by
causing it to kick and plunge violently, scattered them in all
directions. The lad's tormentor he treated to a heavy blow with the
flat of his sword, just as he was disappearing, scowling horribly,
through an open doorway close by.
Dismounting, Edgar hastily assisted the lad to rise, and then for the
first time saw that he was a cripple. One of his legs was apparently
somewhat shorter than the other, and the limb itself was partially
withered.
"Come, lad, let me take thee to thy home," said Edgar gently. "These
brutes shall molest thee no more."
"Thank you, sir," gasped the boy gratefully, as he tried to struggle to
his feet. "But I have no home save this court. I fear, too, that I
cannot stand."
"Tell me which is thy house. I will carry thee and lay thee on thy
bed."
"This is where I live when he will let me," said the lad, indicating the
house into which his assailant had disappeared. "But do not tarry here,
sir, or thou wilt be attacked. Quick, I hear them calling to one
another, and if thou wouldst escape alive, thou must go at once."
"Nay, lad, I cannot leave thee thus. After the rough shaking I have
given them I fear the ruffians will illtreat thee worse than before.
Come, I will mount and carry thee out of this den before me."
Springing into the saddle, Edgar stooped and lifted the lad, placing him
in the saddle before him. Then, sword in hand, he rode down the court
straight to the entrance, where he could see men gathering armed with
knives, clubs, and stones. A volley of missiles sang through the air as
he approached, and, bending before the storm, Edgar charged full into
the enemy. The men scattered as he bore down upon them, some dodging
into doorways and others throwing themselves down flat against the
walls. But as he passed, knives darted out from this side and that, and
it was only with the greatest difficulty that Edgar could avoid them.
Emerging into the alley he found it thick with men hurrying to the
scene. The whole district seemed to have been aroused, and the instant
he appeared a howl of execration went up, followed almost instantly by
another and heavier volley of stones.
Setting spurs to his horse, Edgar again darted full at the crowd. The
men were now too numerous to avoid him, and a dozen were flung headlong
to the ground, whilst several more fell back with heads ringing from
blows given sharply with the flat of the sword. Though bleeding from
several cuts inflicted by the stones, Edgar had almost won through to
safety when suddenly, just as he was striking at a man who had tried to
hamstring his horse on his right, a ruffian on his left, more determined
than his fellows, sprang close up and buried a dagger in the animal's
side. The poor beast gave a convulsive spring and then sank to the
ground where it lay writhing in agony. As the horse fell beneath him,
Edgar took the cripple lad in his arms. It needed but a glance to tell
him that his horse was doomed, and his ears told him as surely that his
own life was in equal peril did he not make good his escape without an
instant's loss of time.
A closed door was by him, and he kicked it open with one foot.
Springing in, he closed it after him. The sound of the shrieking horde
outside was momentarily deadened, but, as he rushed along the passage to
the back of the house, the door flew violently open again, and a wave of
sound with a note so fierce and cruel swept in that most men, even in
those martial days, would have been completely unnerved.
A door led from the passage into a yard at the back of the house, and
through this Edgar sped with his burden as rapidly as he could. The
yard was separated from the next by a low wall, and over this he
pressed, making for the door at the back of the house opposite to him.
This door, however, was fast, and was too strongly made to be readily
battered down; so without a moment's hesitation Edgar sprang at the
single-shuttered window on the ground floor. Placing the cripple lad
down for a moment, he seized a corner of the shutter with both hands,
and, exerting all his strength, tore it bodily away. Flinging it to the
ground with a clatter, he again lifted the cripple lad, placed him on
the sill, and leaped up after him. Not until then did he pause to glance
inside the room, but now he saw that it contained four men, who had
evidently been drinking and playing at cards when disturbed by the
sudden wrenching of the shutter from off its hinges.
They were rough-looking men, and stared fiercely, albeit with some
alarm, at the two figures perched upon the window sill.
"Who are ye?" challenged one in a rough and threatening tone.
"Speak--what want ye?"
Edgar would have retreated had there been time, but already some of his
pursuers were dropping over the low wall behind, shouting in fierce
exultation as they saw their prey almost within their grasp. In another
moment or two he would have to defend himself in the rear, whilst his
front was threatened by these four men, who looked as ripe for mischief
as any of the ruffians closing in behind. Desperate measures alone could
save him.
Whispering to the cripple to cling to his back and so free both arms,
Edgar flung his legs over the sill, sprang into the room, and dashed for
the door. Two of the men drew their knives and made as though to stop
him, but Edgar, who still carried his sword naked in his hand, instantly
attacked them. Two rapid thrusts from his practised hand and the men
fell back, shrieking and snarling, leaving him free to pass unmolested
through the door and down a passage into another alley on the farther
side.
Edgar's exertions in running and climbing, burdened by the cripple lad,
had been so great that he felt he must at once find a refuge, even if
only a temporary one, or resign himself to selling his life as dearly as
he could. Eagerly he glanced up and down the alley. At one end was a
blank wall, and at the other were a number of men, who raised a shout
the instant they caught sight of him. In front were what appeared to be
the backs of a number of solidly-built warehouses, and these, Edgar
felt, could and must provide his only refuge.
The lowest windows were too high to be reached, and the doors were
unusually strong, doubtless owing to the poverty of the neighbourhood.
There was, however, no choice open, so Edgar again put the lad down and
turned to the nearest door.
Throughout the flight the cripple lad had not spoken once, but now,
noticing perhaps how his rescuer panted, and how their escape seemed as
far off as ever, he found his tongue.
"Leave me behind, sir. Thou canst not escape burdened with me. Seek
thine own safety. What need for both to perish?"
"I cannot leave thee, lad, once I have taken the task upon me. Fear
not; while I still possess a sword I will never lose hope."
As he spoke Edgar drove the blade of his sword through the top panel of
the door, tore it out, and again and again drove it back. Then with the
hilt he hammered the splintered woodwork inwards with quick sharp blows
until a hole gaped the full length and breadth of the panel.
"Now, lad, thine escape at least is assured. Come; I am going to pass
thee through this hole." Lifting the lad, Edgar thrust him through the
cavity and lowered him gently down. And not one whit too soon, for the
advance guard of the men from the end of the alley and those who had
followed him through the houses was now upon the scene. Making a sudden
rush at the nearest of them, Edgar wounded two and momentarily drove the
rest headlong back. Then retreating as suddenly as he had advanced, he
sprang to the broken door and swung himself quickly through the gap.
Inside he found himself in a dark passage, between stacks of goods piled
to the ceiling. Followed by the cripple, who had awaited his coming,
and who could now limp slowly along, he traversed the passage and
mounted some steps to what appeared to be the inhabited part of the
building. In a minute or two he came to the door of a room, inside
which he could hear the sound of laughter and the clink of cups and
platters. Here at least seemed hope of succour.
It was indeed high time, for the noise of axes and hammers pounding at
the outer door and the yells of the savage mob outside reverberated
threateningly along the passage. In a minute or two the remnants of the
door must give way and allow them free ingress. Already some of the
cut-throats might have ventured singly through the gap and be stealing
along in the darkness.
Opening the door without ceremony, Edgar pressed eagerly in, followed by
the lad. The sight which met them, fresh from the hurly-burly, seemed
strange in its dissimilarity, and almost made them momentarily doubt the
reality of what they had gone through. The room was comfortably
furnished and brightly lit, and at a large table in its centre sat a
merchant, his wife, and several daughters at supper. All rose to their
feet, as with a single impulse, as Edgar, panting and blood-streaked,
and with a naked and reddened sword in his hand, strode impetuously in.
"Sirrah, what is this?" cried the merchant hastily. "What dost thou in
my dwelling?"
"To seek aid. We are fugitives," panted Edgar.
"From the law? Come not to me for succour, but begone!"
"Nay, we flee from bands of thieves and cut-throats. Even now they are
doubtless pressing in at thy broken door. Summon aid, for our need is
sore."
"What--what is it thou art saying? Bands of cut-throats entering my
house! Thou hast led them upon us, and we are ruined. What defence
have I against such ruffians?"
Edgar leaned upon his sword and panted. His exertions had been
tremendous, but a few moments' breathing space would, he knew, do much
to restore him.
"They are stealing along the passage, sir. I hear them," whispered the
cripple. "They are fierce and stubborn when once they are roused, and
fear the Justice and his men but little. I know them well."
"Come, sir," said Edgar, lifting himself upright. "The cut-throats are
even now stealing along yon passage, and----"
Shrill cries of alarm from the merchant's wife and daughters interrupted
him, and turning hastily round, Edgar saw that two or three
savage-looking figures were even now actually at the door. The merchant
snatched a knife from the table, and, though pale and trembling, moved
towards the door, as though prepared to defend his womenfolk to the
last.
With a sickening shock Edgar realized his responsibility in drawing the
ruffians in pursuit of him into the home of a peaceful and innocent
merchant. Though he was the one they sought, it was not to be supposed
for a moment that the merchant's family would, even though he gave
himself up, remain unmolested. Furious with himself, and desperate to
defend the innocent from the consequences of his thoughtlessness, Edgar
sprang through the doorway upon the ruffians who were gathering there.
His sword rose and fell with the rapidity and unerring precision he had
learned in so many hard-fought encounters at Gaspard's school, and in
the space of a few seconds three lay wounded upon the ground and the
others were in full flight. More men were stealing up behind, but at
the screeching of the wounded and the headlong flight of the remainder
they too turned and hastily retreated. For some distance Edgar followed
them up, and, by sundry thrusts at the hindmost, sent them racing down
the stairs to the passage through the warehouse. Here he stopped, for
the way was dark, and he could not know but that many might be lurking
among the bales, ready to spring out as he passed by, and, by stabbing
him in the back, render themselves masters of the merchant's dwelling.
Returning to the door of the room, Edgar beckoned to the merchant, who
was engaged in calming the fears of his wife and daughters, to come
outside for a moment.
"Canst not fetch aid?"
"How dare I leave my wife and daughters, young sir? At any moment thou
mayst be overcome, leaving them at the mercy of these ruffians."
"Nay, if thou wilt give me a lighted lantern fixed upon a short pole, I
will, I promise thee, rid thy house of these cut-throats until such time
as thou canst bring help. But I cannot fight to advantage in the dark."
"Thou shalt have the lanthorn. See thou keep'st thy promise."
The lantern was brought, and bearing it high up with his left hand, and
holding his sword in his right, Edgar returned along the way he had
come, searching for any trace of lurking foes. He encountered none
until he had nearly reached the broken door, but here he found them
gathered in force, and had to make another attack. His determined front
and darting sword, however, quickly cowed the men, and after a very
short struggle they gave back, and, rushing for the door, fought their
way out in absolute panic.
Edgar did not trouble to follow up his advantage, but contented himself
with placing his lantern where its light would shine upon the broken
door, sitting down himself in a shadow and resting, while he watched and
listened.
Half an hour passed away without any change. He could tell his pursuers
still lurked outside, but not once did they dare to return to the
attack. Then he heard cries of alarm and the sound of rapid footsteps.
A moment or two later a face appeared at the broken door, and he
recognized the merchant.
"Is all well within?" he called breathlessly.
"All is well," cried Edgar, coming forward.
"God be praised!" cried the merchant in a voice of deep relief. "I have
brought an officer and ten men, and at the sight of us the vagabonds
made off."
"'Tis well. We are safe from attack now."
"Did the ruffians molest thee?"
"Nay. And now, sir, I must make the best of my way back to my home at
Castle Wolsingham without loss of time. But before I go I pray thee
forgive me for the alarm I have caused thee and the ladies of thy
household. Thou know'st 'twas all done in the heat and extremity of the
moment, and wilt excuse my thoughtlessness."
"I cannot regret aught that has gained me the acquaintance of one so
gallant," cried the merchant warmly. "Come with me, for I am sure the
ladies will desire an opportunity to thank thee for themselves."
The gratitude of the merchant and his wife and daughters, now that their
alarm had subsided, was very great, and they united in praising Edgar
for what they termed his bravery. But Edgar laughed at them, and would
have no such term applied to what he called an afternoon's useful
practice with the sword. One destined to the trade of arms, he
disclaimed banteringly, must regard such a brush as of no more moment
than the merchant's assistants did the measuring of a bale of cloth.
But the merchant's daughters would not be denied, and showed their
admiration of the young esquire by pressing food and dainties upon him,
and by washing and tending the cripple lad, the unhappy cause of all the
disturbance.
An offer of the loan of a horse gave Edgar an excuse to be gone and to
escape from irksome thanks and embarrassingly bright eyes. So as soon
as they had finished tending the cripple lad, whose name they soon found
out to be Peter, he bade them all goodbye, and, mounting the steed and
taking Peter up behind him, set off for Wolsingham once more.
His strange and exciting adventure had ended in the loss of a horse and
the winning of a lad. How the latter was to be provided for, Edgar knew
no more than he knew, when he set out in the morning, that he would
return saddled with such a dependent. It was all very strange, but his
mind was fully made up that he could not readily part with a lad for
whom he had risked and ventured so much.
*CHAPTER V*
*The Fracas*
It was late when Edgar reached the vicinity of Wolsingham, and,
preferring to obtain Geoffrey Fletcher's permission before he brought
Peter into the castle, he left him for the night at the farmhouse of one
of the tenants on the Wolsingham lands. He then rode on to the castle,
and, learning that Geoffrey was still up, made his way to him, and
related in detail all that had befallen that eventful afternoon.
Geoffrey was concerned at the loss of the horse, but made little of the
difficulty of the cripple lad. He could, he said, easily find
employment for him among the tenantry if he found it impossible to take
him into service within the castle. The latter would depend upon his
inspection of the lad on the morrow. He congratulated Edgar warmly upon
coming out of so serious a fracas with a whole skin, and strongly
advised him, if he were still bent upon continuing his lessons with
Gaspard, to choose a more public route until such time as the affair was
likely to have been forgotten.
During the homeward journey, Edgar had learned from Peter all that he
could tell him of his life and parents. As he had expected, the lad's
parents were both dead--his mother but a few months since--and he had
only been allowed shelter in the house where his parents had lived by
the kindness of one of the women of the place. Her husband, however,
was of another mind, and, finding that the boy could give nothing in
payment, had turned him out of the house.
Again and again he had stolen back, however, and the man's wrath had
increased beyond measure as he found him there time after time, until it
ended in the more than usually brutal beating which Edgar was
fortunately just in time to prevent becoming something worse. Of
relations, Peter had none--that he knew of; and without help, sympathy,
or hope he would in all probability, if he had survived and had remained
in those evil surroundings, have drifted imperceptibly into evil and
vicious courses.
From this Edgar's intervention had saved him, and though as yet he did
not realize all that it meant, he was deeply grateful for the timely
succour.
On the morrow Edgar took Peter in to Geoffrey, and then and there he was
placed in charge of the armourer, who had for some time been wanting a
boy to work his bellows. With healthy surroundings, good food, and fair
treatment, he soon lost much of his frail and ill-nourished appearance,
and but for his infirmity would in time have passed muster with other
youths of his rank and station. Indeed, even his infirmity gradually
lessened, until at last his limp, though still noticeable, marred his
appearance rather than his usefulness.
The recollection of the stirring scenes they had been through together
always remained a bond of union between Edgar and Peter the armourer's
lad, and the desire to aid and the desire to serve remained with them
even after months and years had passed by. If Edgar wanted someone to
go on an errand, it was Peter who was only too delighted to go; and if
Peter had ever any desire beyond his work, it was always to Edgar that
he came for advice or permission. If anything, the bond between them
increased with the lapse of time, and it became a recognized thing in
the castle that Peter was the special protege and retainer of Edgar
Wintour.
Three or four years passed without any change of note taking place in
the affairs of the castle. Then its lord, Sir John Chartris, returned
from the wars, and an alteration was made that had a considerable
influence in the lives of more than one of its inmates. Sir John had
previously paid several visits to his home but had soon departed, for he
was constantly campaigning in Flanders, the south of France, or
elsewhere. On this occasion he returned alone, for his esquire had
recently been knighted, and had left him to take service under another
banner.
As soon as the news that the office of personal esquire to Sir John was
vacant became known, the excitement and rivalry between Aymery
Montacute, Roland Mortimer, Robert Duplessis, Philip Soames, and Edgar
became intense. That such a contingency was likely soon to arise had
been known for some time, and each of them had nursed within himself the
secret hope that he might be the fortunate one and follow his master to
the wars. Rivalry had always existed between them, but naturally this
increased tenfold at the thought that a selection must soon be made, for
Sir John had so far steadily refused to take with him more than one
esquire.
In prowess with weapons, both on foot and on horseback, Aymery, Roland,
and Edgar were generally considered to be about equal. But this
estimate was based on their performances in the castle courtyard and
gymnasium, and little account, if any, was taken of the fact that Edgar
always wore full armour, and, more even than this, wore his vizor down
in those encounters. His comrades, however, had become so used to
meeting him in this fashion, and made so little of it beyond a few half
good-humoured gibes at his supposed dislike for cuts and bruises, that
they overlooked the heavy handicap under which he laboured. Edgar,
however, had not forgotten it, and resolved that when a trial was made
to qualify one of their number for the coveted position, he would fight
unencumbered, in the hopes of being able easily to overcome all his
opponents.
The lessons he had learned at Gaspard's, too, would then very largely
come into play for the first time. Several of the best strokes he had
there learnt and practised he never used at Wolsingham, partly because
he did not wish to accentuate the rivalry that already existed by easily
worsting his comrades, and partly because he had had from the first a
vague idea that a knowledge of new modes of attack or defence, about
which they knew nothing, might prove useful to him in the days to come.
Several times the rivalry between him and one or two of his comrades had
led perilously near to an open quarrel; but Edgar so far had, by the
exercise of tact and a certain amount of forbearance, generally managed
to keep the peace. Twice, however, he had had high words with Aymery
and Roland over the rough manner in which they had treated Peter when
sending him on their errands. Even this had blown over, though it
remained an understood thing that if anyone wanted to annoy Edgar it was
a safe and sure plan to bully the cripple lad.
A few weeks after Sir John's return home, it leaked out that it was
likely that he would take part in an expedition which was being
dispatched to Guienne under the leadership of the Earl of Derby. Much
was hoped for from this expedition, and it seemed certain that those
fortunate ones who took part in it would be in a fair way towards
winning much renown. It happened also that the greater part of the
lands to which Sir John's ward, Beatrice d'Alencon, was heiress, lay not
far from the probable scene of the expedition, and presently the further
news transpired that Sir John contemplated taking her with him,
accompanied by his elder daughter, Gertrude, with the object of seizing
an early opportunity of looking into the condition of her estates.
As has already been explained, both Aymery and Roland had for years past
proudly worn the gage of Beatrice, with or without her permission, and
not unnaturally this news sent them nearly wild with the desire to
follow Sir John as his esquire. To take part in a famous campaign
beneath her very eyes would, they felt certain, be a sure means towards
gaining her admiration.
From the moment this news leaked out their rivalry was fanned to
boiling-point, and the quarrels between them became constant. Only
Edgar's tact and self-control kept him from embroilment also; for though
they knew he was no rival so far as Beatrice was concerned, for he
openly scoffed at all such notions, they both feared his swordsmanship,
which might defeat their ambitions to follow Sir John to the wars. All
indeed that was needed to drag him within the circle of their strife was
something which would rouse his antagonism to the pitch at which theirs
normally stood. An explosion would then be inevitable. Unfortunately
this spark was presently supplied, and the unhappy cause of the mishap
was Peter, the armourer's lad.