Thou tree of covert and of rest
For this young bird that was distrest.
--WORDSWORTH.
A baron--bound to be a good knight, and to avenge my father’s death!
What does it all mean?’ murmured Hal to himself as he lay on his back in
the morning sunshine, on the hill-side, the wood behind him, and before
him a distance of undulating ground, ending in the straight mysterious
blue-grey line that Hob Hogward had told him was the sea.
‘Baron! Lord Clifford, like my father! He was a man in steel armour; I
remember how it rang, and how his gorget--yes, that was the thing round
his throat--how it hurt me when he lifted me up to kiss me, and how they
blamed me for crying out. Ay, and he lived in a castle with dark, dull,
narrow chambers, all save the hall, where there was ever a tramping and
a clamouring, and smells of hot burning meat, and horses, and all sorts
of things, and they sat and sat over their meat and wine, and drank
health to King Harry and the Red Rose. I mind now how they shouted and
roared, and how I wanted to go and hide on the stairs, and my father
would have me shout with them, and drink confusion to York out of his
cup, and shook me and cuffed me when I cried. Oh! must one be like that
to be a knight? I had rather live on these free green hills with the
clear blue sky above me, and my good old ewe for my comrade’--and he
fell to caressing the face of an old sheep which had come up to him,
a white, mountain-bleached sheep with fine and delicate limbs. ‘Yes,
I love thee, good, gentle, little ewe, and thee, faithful Watch,’ as
a young collie pressed up to him, thrusting a long nose into his hand,
‘far better than those great baying hounds, or the fierce-eyed hawks
that only want to kill. If I be a baron, must it be in that sort?
Avenge! avenge! what does that mean? Is it, as in Goodwife Dolly’s
ballads, going forth to kill? Why should I? I had rather let them be!
Hark! Yea, Watch,’ as the dog pricked his ears and raised his graceful
head, then sprang up and uttered a deep-mouthed bark. The sheep darted
away to her companions, and Hal rose to his feet, as the dog began to
wave his tail, and Hob came forward accompanied by a tall, grave-looking
gentleman. ‘Here he be, sir. Hal, come thou and ask the blessing of thy
knightly stepfather.’
Hal obeyed the summons, and coming forward put a knee to the ground,
while Sir Lancelot Threlkeld uttered the conventional blessing,
adding, ‘Fair son, I am glad to see thee. Would that we might be better
acquainted, but I fear it is not safe for thee to come and be trained
for knighthood in my poor house. Thou art a well grown lad, I rejoice to
see, and strong and hearty I have no doubt.’
‘Ay, sir, he is strong enow, I wis; we have done our best for him,’
responded Hob, while Hal stood shy and shamefaced; but there was
something about his bearing that made Sir Lancelot observe, ‘Ay, ay, he
shows what he comes of more than his mother made me fear. Only thou must
not slouch, my fair son. Raise thy head more. Put thy shoulders back.
So! so! Nay.’
Poor Hal tried to obey, the colour mounting in his face, but he
only became more and more stiff when he tried to be upright, and his
expression was such that Sir Lancelot cried out, ‘Put not on the visage
of one of thine own sheep! Ah! how shalt thou be trained to be a worthy
knight? I cannot take thee to mine house, for I have men there who might
inform King Edward that thy mother harboured thee. And unless I could
first make interest with Montagu or Salisbury, that would be thy death,
if not mine.’
The boy had nothing to say to this, and stood shy by, while his
stepfather explained his designs to Hal. It was needful to remove the
young Baron as far as possible from the suspicion of the greater part
of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld’s household, and the present resting-place,
within a walk of his castle, was therefore unsafe; besides that,
freebooters might be another danger, so near the outskirts of the wood,
since the northern districts of moor and wood were by no means clear of
the remnants of the contending armies, people who were generally of the
party opposite to that which they intended to rob.
But on the banks of the Derwent, not far from its fall into the sea, Sir
Lancelot had granted a tenure to an old retainer of the De Vescis,
who had followed his mistress in her misfortunes; and on his lands Hob
Hogward might be established as a guardian of the herds with his family,
which would excite no suspicion. Moreover, he could train the young
Baron in martial exercises, the only other way of fitting him for his
station unless he could be sent to France or Burgundy like his brother;
but besides that the journey was a difficulty, it was always uncertain
whether there would be revengeful exiles of one or other side in the
service of their King, who might wreak the wrongs of their party on
Clifford’s eldest son. There was reported to be a hermit on the coast,
who, if he was a scholar, might teach the young gentleman. To Sir
Lancelot’s surprise, his stepson’s face lighted up more at this
suggestion than at that of being trained in arms.
Hob had done nothing in that way, not even begun to teach him the
quarterstaff, though he avouched that when there was cause the young
lord was no craven, no more than any Clifford ever was--witness when he
drove off the great hound, which some said was a wolf, when it fell upon
the flock, or when none could hold him from climbing down the Giant’s
Cliff after the lamb that had fallen. No fear but he had heart enough to
make his hand keep his own or other folks’ heads.
‘That is well,’ said Sir Lancelot, looking at the lad, who stood
twisting his hands in the speechless silence induced by being the
subject of discussion; ‘but it would be better, as my lady saith, if he
could only learn not to bear himself so like a clown.’
However, there was no more time, for Simon Bunce, the old man-at-arms
whom Sir Lancelot had appointed to meet him there, came in sight through
the trees, riding an old grey war-horse, much resembling himself in the
battered and yet strong and effective air of both. Springing down, the
old man bent very low before the young Baron, raising his cap as he gave
thanks to Heaven for permitting him to see his master’s son. Then, after
obeisance to his present master, he and Hob eagerly shook hands as old
comrades and fellow-soldiers who had thought never to meet again.
Then turning again to the young noble, he poured out his love, devotion
and gratitude for being able to serve his beloved lord’s noble son;
while poor Hal stood under the discomfort of being surrounded with
friends who knew exactly what to say and do to him, their superior,
while he himself was entirely at a loss how to show himself gracious or
grateful as he knew he ought to do. It was a relief when Sir Lancelot
said ‘Enough, good Simon! Forget his nobility for the present while he
goes with thee to Derwentside as herd boy to Halbert Halstead here; only
thou must forget both their names, and know them only as Hal and Hob.’
With a gesture of obedience, Simon listened to the further directions,
and how he was to explain that these south country folks had been sent
up in charge of an especial flock of my lady’s which she wished to have
on the comparatively sheltered valley of the Derwent. Perhaps further
directions as to the training of the young Baron were added later, but
Hal did not hear them. He was glad to be dismissed to find Piers and
gather the sheep together in preparation for the journey to their new
quarters. Yet he did not fail to hear the sigh with which his stepfather
noted that his parting salutation was far too much in the character of
the herd boy.