armour, which he had carelessly left exposed to the rain after he had
been going over it and fondly trying it on on the walls of the keep.
Peter went to work willingly enough, but the havoc was so great that by
the time he should have returned to the armourer it was only half done.
Hastily completing it, in a rough-and-ready fashion, he put it back in
the esquires' chamber and went on his way to the forge, intending to
finish the work as soon as he was again free. Presently two or three of
the pages entered the chamber, and Aymery's armour spread out on the
table was the first object to attract their attention. Not knowing or
caring to whom it belonged, and ripe for any sort of mischief, they
proceeded to amuse themselves by kicking and throwing the pieces about
the room.
Tiring of the fun, the armour was left lying where it had fallen, and
remained there until Aymery and several of the esquires entered.
"He refuses, Aymery," Roland was saying as they entered. "He saith that
the responsibility of looking after one esquire is enough for him, and
that the others must seek other opportunity of winning their spurs--at
the tourney, I think he meant."
"Didst press thy claims to accompany him?" enquired Aymery sourly.
"They need no pressing," responded Roland haughtily. "And 'tis not
_thy_ claims I fear."
Aymery was about to make an angry retort when he noticed the pieces of
armour he so highly prized lying about the floor in all parts of the
room.
"Who hath flung my armour here?" he cried, with a sudden burst of wrath.
"I will trounce him finely--upon my sword, I swear it--whoever the
varlet may be. Was't any of ye?" he ended fiercely, as he glared at the
shamefaced pages.
The boys looked at one another uneasily, and then one more brazen than
the rest replied coolly:
"Why dost not look after thy property, Aymery? Where didst leave it?
Not with any of us, I'll warrant."
"Ah, I recollect! 'Twas with the armourer's boy I left it. Doubtless
he still thinketh 'tis only Edgar's bidding he must do. It seemeth I
must teach him another well-merited lesson. Bid him come to me at once,
Maurice--be off with thee!"
The page sped off upon his errand, and the others waited, eyeing Aymery
expectantly, for they felt that something more than the chastisement of
an unruly youth was in the wind. At any moment Edgar Wintour might come
in, for it was nigh upon his time, and none thought that he would see
Aymery flog Peter without interfering. The angry esquire spent the
minute or two which elapsed before the boy's arrival in examining the
pieces of armour strewn about the floor, and the inspection apparently
did nothing to improve his temper.
Peter had evidently been told what was afoot, for he went straight up to
Aymery immediately he entered.
"You want me, sir," he said quietly.
"Aye, varlet," cried Aymery, grasping him roughly by the collar, "dost
see my armour strewn about the floor? What dost mean by it? I will
break every bone in thy body, dog that thou art!" and he gave emphasis
to his savage words by shaking Peter with all his strength.
"I placed them not there," cried Peter, twisting himself free. "I know
nothing of it."
"Know nothing of it!" cried Aymery, still more incensed. "The work is
only half done--dost know nothing of that? Knave, get thee to work at
once and do it over again, or I will beat thee so thou canst not stand."
Peter hesitated a moment, for the armourer was busy, and was, he knew,
awaiting his return with some impatience. Misunderstanding his
reluctance to do his behest, Aymery's wrath boiled up and over, and,
seizing the boy by the shoulders, he flung him across the table.
"Come, Roland, aid me administer a sound thrashing to this obstinate
varlet. He thinketh 'tis only Wintour's bidding he must do, and hangeth
back when we command."
Roland was only too ready, and grasped and held Peter while Aymery
snatched up a couple of armour buckles and belaboured him with all his
strength. There could be no doubt that Aymery was almost beside himself
with rage, for the buckles tore away Peter's clothing until they reached
and began to score deeply into the bare flesh--and still he went on.
At first the lad bore the beating in silence, but as the buckles began
to cut into his back he commenced to scream with ever-increasing
intensity.
It was in the midst of this that Edgar suddenly entered. The screams
and the sight of Peter, face downwards on the table and covered with
blood, smote him as a blow, and his face blanched in a way that none had
ever seen before.
"Get thee gone, Wintour," cried Aymery recklessly. "This is well-merited
punishment, and interfere thou shalt not."
For answer, Edgar sprang at the speaker, seized him round the waist, and
flung him heavily against the wall. Then he turned fiercely upon
Roland; but that worthy shrank back before his pale face and flashing
eyes, and, letting go Peter, fled to the wall and tore down a sword.
Finding himself free, Peter crawled from the table and dragged himself
into the inner room, the door of which Edgar flung open while he faced
and kept watch upon his furious comrades. He, too, had snatched a sword
from the wall, and he now placed himself squarely in the doorway and
waited. The moment Aymery had recovered his balance, he felt at his side
and grasped the hilt of his sword. But Duplessis laid firm hand upon his
arm and whispered an urgent warning, and Aymery was not so mad but that
he was able to realize the dangerous folly of attacking Edgar with
sharpened and pointed weapon. Abandoning his first impulse, he followed
Roland's example, and, possessing himself of one of the blunted,
pointless weapons used in their practices, instantly attacked the figure
standing in the doorway of the room in which the cripple lad had taken
refuge, standing with ready poise as though prepared to dispute with all
present their right to pass unchallenged.
The encounter that ensued was so reckless and desperate that none
present had seen the like before. Aymery at first seemed too angry to
trouble about defending, and hacked at his adversary with a fierce
rapidity that gave Edgar little time for other than parrying. In a
minute or two, however, he managed to give Aymery so strong a thrust
with his pointless weapon against his unjerkined chest that he was
compelled to cease pressing in to close quarters and to pay some
attention to defence.
"Smite home, Aymery," cried Roland, thinking his friend was giving back.
"Smite home, or let me have my fling at the braggart!"
Stung into more reckless activity, Aymery sprang again to the attack,
leaving his head for the moment unguarded. Before his own blow had
fallen, the flat of Edgar's weapon caught him heavily upon the side of
the head, and he fell back against the table, sick and half-fainting.
Edgar had scarcely stepped back into position before Roland was savagely
attacking him in his turn, secure in the possession of headpiece and
jerkin, which he had cautiously donned whilst the fight with Aymery was
proceeding.
"Once thou didst gibe at me for fearing the weight of my comrades'
blows," laughed Edgar, as their blades ground together. "Why then this
jerkin? Why then this headpiece? Methinks 'tis another that most fears
the shock of blows upon skull and body."
"Bah!" cried Roland, "if thou thinkest I care for thy blows I will tear
them off."
"The result will be the same," retorted Edgar. "I care neither way.
Look to thy guard, or I vow thy headpiece will help thee little."
Though fighting keenly, Edgar kept an eye upon the room as well as upon
his adversary. Aymery, he could see, was recovering from the blow he
had received, and in a moment might be expected to renew the fight with
temper little improved by the sharpness of his punishment. Others of
his comrades were whispering together, and he fancied they meditated an
attack to overcome his resistance and put an end to the conflict.
Thinking it time to rid himself of Roland, for Aymery had given himself
a shake and grasped his sword anew, Edgar put into effect a trick he had
learned of Gaspard some years before. As their swords grated together
he locked his blade in the hilt of his opponent's sword, and, with a
sharp wrench, tore the weapon from his grasp. With a shout of pain, for
his wrist had been severely twisted, Roland jumped swiftly back out of
reach; then, recovering from his surprise, he seized another weapon from
the wall and sprang to the attack once more. Aymery was now also
attacking, and the two made such an onslaught that Edgar was compelled
to fence as he had never fenced before.
Suddenly the door opened and Geoffrey Fletcher entered, followed by a
couple of men-at-arms.
"Hold!" he cried. "Hold! Cease this brawling, or ye shall cool your
heels in the guardroom."
But neither Aymery nor Roland paid any heed to his words; they were too
intent upon beating down Edgar's resistance. Roland had already
inflicted a severe blow upon his unprotected head, and, dizzy from the
effects, Edgar had retired a pace or two into the doorway, where the two
blades could play upon him less easily.
"Men-at-arms, arrest these brawlers!" cried Geoffrey sternly, and
striding forward, followed by the two men, he seized Roland roughly by
the shoulder and struck down his sword with his own weapon. One of the
men-at-arms seized Aymery, and the other approached Edgar, who
immediately flung his sword upon the floor, and, folding his arms,
looked the man in the face.
"There, Matthew!" he said, as quietly as his heaving chest would allow,
"take it--it has done its work so far. Then come with me and help me to
take poor Peter to his bed. He is the innocent cause of all this
unhappy mischief."
Matthew picked up the weapon and went and looked at Peter, who was
supporting himself, half-fainting, against the wall. Then, recalled by
the stern voice of Geoffrey, he whispered: "I will return and see to
him, or send someone in my place."
"Men-at-arms, march the prisoners to the guard-room, and keep them close
till Sir John's pleasure is known," commanded Geoffrey; and the
esquires, sobered by the recollection of their folly now that the heat
of the conflict was evaporating, marched unresistingly out of the
chamber down the stairs to the guardroom adjoining the castle gates.
*CHAPTER VI*
*Sir John's Esquire*
The three esquires were kept closely confined the rest of the day and
all night in a cell leading out of the guardroom, watched over by a
man-at-arms, to see that there was no renewal of hostilities. The
interval gave them time for quiet reflection, and doubtless the first
conclusion they came to was that such a fracas was hardly likely to
commend any one of them to Sir John Chartris as being a suitable
candidate for the position of his personal esquire, especially at a time
when he was about to start for Guienne and Gascony accompanied by a
portion of his household. It was obvious that he would wish for an
esquire who possessed prudence as well as fighting capacity, when at any
time it might be necessary to leave him in sole charge of his affairs.
To Edgar, at any rate, the thought was torture. Though he could scarcely
see how he could have acted otherwise--for the rescue of Peter he never
for a moment regretted--he yet felt angry with himself that he had not
somehow avoided a collision at a time so critical in his career.
However his comrades may have got on, he himself scarcely slept a wink
all night.
It was nearly midday when a summons came to the prisoners that they were
to prepare themselves for an interview with Sir John. Half an hour
later Geoffrey appeared, again accompanied by a guard of men-at-arms,
and the three esquires were marched across the courtyard to the council
chamber of Sir John, high up in the walls of the keep. Curious eyes
watched them pass by, for the news that there had been a serious fracas
in the esquires' quarters had spread like wildfire through the castle.
Some commiseration was expressed at their ill luck in the affair
happening whilst Sir John was at the castle, and, consequently, in their
having to appear before him, for he was known to be something of a
martinet.
As they approached the door of Sir John's chamber it opened, and a youth
stepped out. It was Peter, the armourer's assistant. Aymery and Roland
looked at one another gloomily. His presence hardly augured well for
them.
The first thing the three young men noticed as they were ushered into
the room was that Sir Percy Standish as well as Sir John Chartris was
present. Both knights were seated at a table fronting the doorway, and
Geoffrey ranged the three esquires facing them, with a man-at-arms on
either flank. He then took a seat at Sir Percy's side.
"What am I to think of my esquires," began Sir John in a stern,
upbraiding voice, as he fixed his steel-grey eyes upon each of the young
men in turn, "what am I to think of the example they set to my
men-at-arms and retainers when they brawl thus amongst themselves? How
can I entrust to them the command of soldiers when they have no command
over themselves and less knowledge of discipline?"
"But, Sir John----" began Aymery hotly.
"Cease, boy!--I will hear no excuses. There can be no excuse for the
men I command to fight amongst themselves. Had this breach of
discipline occurred in face of the enemy I would surely have sent ye
back to your homes--disgraced esquires. Now ye shall spend the rest of
the day and night in the guard chamber, to meditate upon my words and
your own folly; and for two weeks more the sentinel at the gate will
have orders to refuse you exit. Dost understand?"
The three esquires murmured assent.
"Then, Geoffrey, remove the prisoners, and see that my commands are
obeyed."
The three esquires were marched back to their cell, gloomy and cast
down. Sir John's words and the sentence had sounded the death knell of
all their hopes of becoming Sir John's esquire and accompanying him to
the wars, and Aymery and Roland, at least, felt with bitter certainty
that it was their own cruelty and overbearing conduct they had to thank
for it. In their distress of mind a truce was patched up between the
three esquires, and though Edgar could not yet forget the others'
cruelty to poor Peter, and they could not so soon forget their heavy
defeat, they tacitly agreed to let the matter rest and to be as friendly
as they could.
At the end of the fortnight of confinement within the precincts of the
castle Sir John sent for Edgar. Wondering what the summons might mean,
coming so close upon his disgrace, Edgar made speed to obey.
"This quarrel of thine," began Sir John abruptly, though in a not
unkindly tone; "I have made enquiries, and I am not disposed to make too
much of thy mischance. Perhaps, even, I may think that thou didst not
altogether ill to break my rules and to defend the lad. Geoffrey hath
told me how it came about that thou didst save the lad at peril of thine
own life, and doubtless 'twould be too hard to expect thee to hold thy
peace when thy comrades were mishandling him."
Sir John paused for a moment and looked at him thoughtfully, and Edgar,
thinking something required of him, murmured: "Thank you, Sir John."
"But how didst come to learn that trick with the sword that hath set thy
comrades wondering?" went on the knight in a brisker tone. "I mean that
catch of thy weapon that tore Roland's from his grasp?"
"'Twas learned at Gaspard's, Sir John."
"Gaspard's? And who is Gaspard?"
"He is the founder of a school of arms in London town to which I have
been going twice in every week. I thought perhaps Geoffrey had told
thee that it was on the return from one of my visits to Gaspard's that I
rescued Peter."
"Ha, yes! He did mention it, but I paid no heed. Didst not then feel
satisfied with Sir Percy's teaching?"
"Yes, sir; but after a time I thought that I might learn more, and might
obtain a knowledge of more varied forms of attack and defence, did I
seek other practices."
"Thou wert right. 'Tis well not to move in too narrow a circle. I
found that out, overlate, in my first battle, and for the lack I paid
heavily in blood and pain. However, I learned my lessons in time. But
how dost fare at Gaspard's? Art put quite in the shade?"
"He tells me," replied Edgar slowly, and flushing slightly, "that I am
his most promising pupil. Oftentimes he asks me to have a bout with
visitors who have heard of his school and who would try how far his
instruction extends."
"Ha! That sounds vastly to thy credit. And dost win these bouts or
dost lose?"
"I lose sometimes," replied Edgar evasively, wishing the knight would
not press the point so far.
"I must see this Gaspard," said Sir John reflectively. "My sword hath
been idle of late, and 'twould not come amiss to practise on his pupils
ere I join our forces in Guienne; but, ha! at any rate I can practise on
his most promising pupil. Get thy sword, Edgar, and I will test thy
prowess for myself."
"Nay, sir, I beg thou wilt not; 'twere scarce seemly for esquire----"
"Ho! ho! Thou fearest to beat me?--or dost fear to be put to the test?
Nay, 'tis not the latter; I wrong thee there, I am sure. Well, never
mind, lad, I have other matters to think of for the moment. I purpose
to make thee my esquire. What dost think of it?"
Edgar gave a start for sheer joy.
"Think of it, Sir John? It is all I could desire in all the world. I
will serve thee--I do not say well, but as well as it is in my power to
do."
"There are other things than fighting and riding to be done, Edgar.
Thou mayst have to stay behind when I go campaigning, to look after the
ladies and to see to my interests. For this I need a cool head and a
devoted heart. Canst fulfil these conditions?"
"I will try so to do, Sir John."
"Very well. I appoint thee my esquire. Every morning thou wilt come to
me for thy instructions. In three weeks, if the weather favours our
projects, we set sail for Guienne, and in those three weeks we must have
furbished up our arms, selected the men-at-arms and archers who are to
accompany us, and hied us to the coast."
Edgar's joy was so great that he could scarcely collect his thoughts,
but at last he managed to stammer out his thanks.
"Say no more, Edgar. Now go, and see thou keep'st the peace with thy
comrades. They will be sorely disappointed, but thou hast earned thy
reward and they have not. I am glad 'tis thee, Edgar Wintour, who wilt
accompany me, for thy father's sake as well as for thine own. Thou
know'st what he did for me? Well, he desired that thou shouldst make
thy way by thine own efforts, without help from me, and so far thou hast
done so indeed. Now go, and bear thyself generously towards thy less
fortunate comrades."
The next two weeks were weeks of delight to Edgar. In all that
appertained to the expedition to Guienne he became Sir John's
lieutenant; and when, some three days before the time came to march for
the coast, Sir John was called away to London to consult with the Earl
of Derby, Edgar was left in sole charge of the contingent of twenty men
and the ladies of the household who were to accompany them.
On the day on which it had been arranged for the march to the coast to
commence Sir John had not returned. Word soon arrived, however, that he
had been detained, and would make the journey direct in the train of the
Earl of Derby. Edgar was to set out at once with the Wolsingham
men-at-arms and ladies, and was to meet him at Dover.
Gaily the company mustered. The men-at-arms were all picked men, well
armed, and in the best of spirits at the prospect of the stirring times
before them. The ladies were wild with delight at the change from the
dull round of their life, spent mainly behind the walls of the castle.
The glitter of weapons and the gleam of armour, the bright dresses of
the ladies and the glossy coats of the horses, made a pretty picture
against the sombre, massive walls of the castle, and Edgar, as he slowly
convinced himself that he really was, for the time at any rate, to
command this little force, was dazzled at his wonderful good fortune.
Looking as unconcerned as he could, however, he bade his comrades and
Geoffrey a most cordial farewell, and then gave the word to march. With
deafening fanfare of trumpets the cavalcade wound round the courtyard,
under the frowning portcullis, and across the drawbridge to the sunny
countryside. All seemed to smile in happiness to Edgar as he rode in
the rear, his heart bounding with gladness and hope. Could he have
looked forward a few months and become aware of the strange vicissitudes
and heart-shaking adventures he would have to face in the sunny south of
France, it may be that he would have been less glad and a little more
thoughtful.
*CHAPTER VII*
*To Guienne*
"What wouldst do, Sir Edgar?" enquired Beatrice d'Alencon in a tone of
formality, but with a lurking air of mock respect, as Edgar, in riding
towards the front of the column, passed by the steeds of the two ladies.
"What wouldst do an we were to disobey thy commands? Oh, I know thou
art said to be wonderful with thy sword, but though that may impress the
men-at-arms, it is naught to us."
Edgar smiled and made as though to pass on without speaking.
"Answer me, sir, for I have a mind to go my own way now that we are free
from Sir John and that odious Geoffrey."
"Thou wilt not disobey," replied Edgar quietly.
"Oho!--that is soon decided. Dost see yon hill, Edgar Wintour? I am
tired of trotting along this dusty lane, and have made up my mind to a
gallop across these fields to its summit. The view is doubtless
charming. Come, Gertrude--let us see who will reach it first."
"Maiden, do no such thing," cried Edgar, quickly grasping the young
girl's bridle as she turned her steed.
Quick as lightning Beatrice gave his horse a sharp cut with her whip,
and the animal plunged so violently that Edgar involuntarily let go his
hold.
With a ringing laugh of triumph, Beatrice urged on her steed, bounded
across the low bushes which bordered the roadway, and made straight for
the hill.
Stung to anger at being tricked, and still more so at sundry sly
chuckles from one or two of the men-at-arms, Edgar gave instant chase
and galloped furiously after. But though he did not spare his steed,
the fugitive was not overtaken until she had reached the summit of the
hill and had drawn rein to admire the prospect.
"'Tis fine, is it not, Edgar?" enquired the young girl, flushed and
sparkling with the sharp gallop, as she pretended to admire the prospect
while glancing furtively at the young esquire.
"I will not have it, Beatrice," cried Edgar, as he grasped her bridle
with a grip that he did not mean to be shaken off. "What catastrophe
may I not have to report to Sir John if thou goest on so wilfully?"
"Release my bridle," commanded Beatrice indignantly. "Thou wilt make me
wish that Aymery or Roland were Sir John's esquire instead of thee,
Edgar Wintour."
"'Twould be strange if thou didst not do so a'ready," replied Edgar
calmly. "I have no claims to their flattering tongues or courtly ways.
But if ever a time of stress cometh mayhap thou wilt then be the less
discontented."
"Art going to lead me back to our party with hand on my bridle?" cried
Beatrice haughtily, albeit with a hint of pleading in her voice.
"Nay, I will not so humiliate thee. But remember, Beatrice, ours is an
expedition of war, and not a pleasure excursion. Obedience must needs
be given."
"Surely thou art taking thy first command over-seriously," replied
Beatrice scoffingly. "What need is there to exact obedience from
Gertrude and me? We are not men-at-arms."
"This reason, Beatrice. At our last stop I was informed that the
district was infested with robbers and brigands, who had become much
emboldened since interest had been so centred in the war. What then if
ye had become lost and had fallen into their hands?"
"I would that the robbers would capture thee, Edgar Wintour," cried
Beatrice quickly, as she galloped back to Gertrude's side.
Edgar laughed, though somewhat ruefully, and followed her example.