want to sleep," said Denis; and then quickly, "nor grooms nor hostlers
neither. Here, look at these two red-faced pigs."
He pointed on to the two men who had taken charge of and rubbed down
their chargers upon their arrival, and who were now lying in a heap of
straw, eyes shut, mouth open, and with their heavy faces looking swollen
and red, breathing stertorously.
"Why, the brutes are drunk," said Saint Simon. "If their mistress knew,
I fancy their stay here would be short, for she seems a thorough
business soul."
"Sim!" cried Denis excitedly, gripping him by the shoulder.
"What's the matter, lad? Can you see a ghost or a nightmare in the dark
corner there?"
"No, nor can I see our horses. They were haltered yonder. Where are
they now?"
"Ah!" yelled Saint Simon, and snatching out his sword he made as if to
prick the two sleeping grooms into wakefulness; but Denis flung his arm
across his chest and cried angrily:
"Never mind them! The horses, man, the horses--the horses! They may be
only in the field, led there to graze."
"You are mad!" cried Saint Simon angrily. "But yes; go on out through
that farther door."
Denis was already making for an opening at the far end of the long low
building, through which the afternoon sunshine streamed. Passing out,
they found themselves in an inner yard, and beyond that there was a long
open meadow, surrounded by a high hedge. But for the moment all was
blank, and a feeling of despair made the young men's hearts sink as they
mentally saw at a glance that their beautiful chargers had not excited
attention for nothing--that they had been followed, horse-thieves had
been at work, and that their noble steeds were gone.
"How shall we dare to face the King?" thought Denis, and the next
instant he grasped the fact that there must be a lane beyond the distant
hedge, for he just caught sight of the head of a man whose covering
seemed familiar gliding along above the fencing, now seen, now
disappearing, as if he were mounted on a walking-horse.
"Look! Not too late, Sim," he whispered. "They're over yonder. We
must make for that lane. I'll go this way to cut that fellow off; you
go to the left there, to meet him if I turn him back."
"Think the horses are there?" whispered Saint Simon hoarsely.
"Think!" cried Denis, in a low, harsh voice that he did not know as his
own. "No: I am sure."
No further words passed, for, separating at once, Denis dashed off to
the right to make for the far corner of the field, in the faint hope of
reaching it and getting through into the lane in time, while Saint Simon
ran swiftly to the left to get into the horse-track there and follow the
marauders up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
FIRST BLOOD.
Denis was in no trim for running, but he ran.
"This would wake anyone up," he muttered to himself. "The villain! The
dog! I see it all: he must have given those two fellows drink till they
were helpless, and then led the horses quietly away. Oh, if I had only
been ten minutes sooner, instead of sleeping like the untrusty cur I
was! I never dare face the King now! I'm running now as hard as ever I
can run, not to bring back the horses, but to go right away. I never
dare show my face before him again. Here," he thought, "am I to go on
whining like some foolish girl? I can--I will get there first, in time
to stop him. I never used my sword in earnest yet, but if I can only
get face to face with that insolent hound I'll make him bleed, or he
shall me. Too late! Too late!" he groaned, for the man's head had
disappeared beyond the hedge.
"There must be some turning yonder, and he has gone; and once out there
in the open country he, a man who rides with such horses as ours, it
will be folly ever to expect to see him again."
The boy ran on, not growing breathless, but nerved as it were to the
highest pitch of excitement, seeing nothing now, but reaching the hedge
at last close by a rough gate, over which he vaulted lightly, to find
himself in a winding green lane, but with nothing in sight to his left,
nothing to his right, and no turning visible, and stretching right away.
"There hasn't been time for him to get to here, for the horses were only
walking," he argued to himself, and then with sinking heart, "Oh!" he
ejaculated, half aloud. "Perhaps it was only my mistake. I jumped at
the conclusion that it was the man we saw."
There was nothing for it but to continue along the lane till he met
Saint Simon, and then he felt that they must go back to the inn and
rouse people to a pursuit.
He began running at a gentle trot now, to husband his strength for what
might come, when all at once his heart seemed to give a violent leap and
then stand still; for coming round a bend he caught sight of the black,
heavily maned head of the King's horse, and then of the soft, pointed
cap of the horse-dealer whom he had credited with the theft.
He was not looking forward, but bending over to his right, evidently
doing something to the rein of another horse he was leading--Denis's
own--while, in the middle of the three abreast, he was mounted on Saint
Simon's. The three horses were fully in sight some fifty yards away,
just as the man sat up again and began to urge them on from their walk,
when he suddenly caught sight of Denis in the act of drawing his sword
in the middle of the lane to bar his way.
The effect was to make him pull up short, and then with a cry to the
horses he swung them round and set off back at a canter, to disappear
round the bend directly after, with Denis running far in his rear.
"Now," panted the lad, "if Saint Simon has only done his work we have
him between us." And he tried to utter a prolonged whistle, which he
hoped might reach his charger's ear; but he had not breath to give more
than the faintest call.
"Oh, if I could only run ten times as fast!" he groaned. "I know what
he'll do. He will get them into a gallop, and ride my poor comrade
down. If I were only at his side! And I seem to crawl!"
But he was running pretty fast, though to his misery he heard the dull
_thud, thud_ of the cantering horses grow fainter and fainter till it
seemed to die right away.
"Sim's let them pass him," he groaned piteously. "_No_! No! No!" he
literally yelled. "They are coming back! Saint Simon's turned them,
and it will be my chance after all."
For still invisible, after the thudding of the hoofs had quite died out,
the sounds came again; then louder, louder, and louder still, coming
nearer and nearer, till all at once the noble animals swept into sight
again round the curving lane, galloping excited and snorting, Saint
Simon's horse right in the centre being urged forward by the rider,
while the other two hung away right and left to the full extent of their
reins. While perfectly unconscious of his peril, thinking of nothing
but checking the headlong gallop, the lad stood with extended blade
right in the middle of the lane.
It seemed an act of madness. Certainly he was a well-built youth,
accustomed to athletic exercises, but as a barrier to three fine
chargers urged by the rider of the centre one forward at a hand gallop,
and armed only with a long thin Andrea Ferrara blade, he seemed but a
fragile reed to stem the charge. But the unexpected happens more often
than the reverse, and it was so here. One minute the horses were
tearing along as far apart as the reins would allow; the next they
seemed to have passed over the brave youth, and went galloping down the
lane at increasing speed, leaving Denis flat upon his back in the middle
of the road and his sword-arm outstretched in a peculiar way above his
head, with the keen blade pointing in the direction taken by the steeds.
He lay perfectly motionless for some moments as if dead, while the
horses tore on with the rider bending forward over his mount's neck till
they had gone about a couple of hundred yards, when the man suddenly
began to sway in his saddle to right, then to left, recovered himself,
to sit upright for a few moments, and then with a sudden lurch went
headlong down, to fall with a thud in the grassy track, roll over once
or twice, and then begin to crawl to the hedge on his left, creep
painfully through a gap, and disappear; while the horse he had ridden
stopped short, like the well-trained beast he was, and turned to follow
his late rider towards the hedge, snuffling and snorting in alarm.
The others continued their gallop for some seventy or eighty yards
before, missing the guidance and companionship of their fellow, they too
stopped short, to utter a low whinnying neigh, which was answered from
behind and drew them trotting back to the halted beast.
By this time the marauder had disappeared, and the three chargers seemed
to hold a consultation, uttering low whinnying neighs, and then, as if
moved by one impulse, they trotted back slowly to where Denis lay with
his head towards them, apparently dead. As they stopped short the
youth's charger lowered its muzzle to begin to snuff at his face, when
all at once the lad made a sudden movement to jerk back his outstretched
arm into a more natural position, making his bright rapier describe an
arc in the air, giving forth a bright flash in the afternoon sunshine
and making a whistling sound like the lash of a whip. The consequence
was that all three chargers started violently, to move off for a short
distance; but as the lad was motionless again they stopped short and
began to return, led by their companion, which seemed drawn to its
fallen master. But before it could reach him there was the sound of
feet, and Saint Simon came panting up to the group.
"Hah!" he ejaculated breathlessly, as he dropped on one knee by Denis's
side. "Don't say you are hurt, lad! Not wounded, are you? Ah!
There's blood upon his sword! Denis, lad, where are you wounded? For
Heaven's sake speak! Oh, my poor brave lad! He's dead--he's dead!"
The drops that started to his eyes were a brave man's tears, blinding
him for the time being as they fell fast, while he eagerly felt Denis's
breast and neck, ending by unfastening his doublet and thrusting his
hand within to feel for the beatings of his heart.
Those hot blinding tears fell fast, several of them upon Denis's
upturned face, and at the fourth the nerves therein twitched; at the
fifth there was a quick motion; and when six and seven fell together the
lad's left hand came up suddenly to give an irritable rub where he felt
a tickling sensation; and he opened his eyes, stared hard and blankly
for some moments in the countenance so near his own, and exclaimed
angrily:
"What are you doing?"
"Ah!" ejaculated Saint Simon, with a cry of joy. "Then the horses were
worth winning back, after all."
"Horses? Winning?" faltered Denis wonderingly; and then as his
companion snatched a hand from his breast, he cried again impatiently,
"Here, what are you doing to my face?"
Saint Simon dashed his hand hastily across his own, his already ruddy
countenance glowing of a deeper red, as he stammered out confusedly:
"Drops--perspiration--I have been having such a run."
"Drops? Run? My head's all of a buzz. Who ran? What have you been
doing to my neck?" continued the lad, passing his left hand across his
throat. "Something seemed to jerk across me just here. Ah, how it
hurts!"
He made an effort then to raise his sword-arm, but it fell back upon the
grass.
"Here, my shoulder's bad too," he cried. "Just as if my arm was
wrenched out of the socket." Then as his wandering eyes fell upon his
horse, "Oh!" he cried, "I understand now. I have been thrown."
"Never mind now," cried Saint Simon, in a choking voice, as he mastered
the hysterical emotion that had seized upon him. "You're alive, boy,
and we have saved the horses, and our credit with the--with the--"
"Comte," said Denis faintly. "I am beginning to recollect now. Here,
where's that ruffian who was galloping away?"
"You've killed him, I suppose," cried Saint Simon, "for there's blood
upon your sword. How was it, boy?"
"I don't know," said Denis dreamily; and then in an excited voice, "Yes,
I do!" he cried. "I remember it all now. He came galloping along on
the centre horse, with the others on each side at the full extent of
their reins. I stood there to stop them, and he came right at me to
ride me down. But I started a little on one side and thrust at him,
when my horse's tight rein caught me right below the chin, and at the
same moment my right arm was jerked upwards, and--that's all. Where is
he now?"
"Gone," said Saint Simon, "and with your mark upon him too. Why, you
brave old fellow! You, a mere boy! I daren't have faced three
galloping horses like that. But you are not wounded?"
"My right arm seems to be gone. Is it broken, Sim?"
The young man began to feel it gently from shoulder to wrist, raised it,
and laid it down again, while the boy bore it for a time, flinching
involuntarily though again and again, till he could bear no more.
"Oh!" he groaned at last. "Don't! It's horrible! How you do hurt! I
suppose I shall have no arm. It's horrible, Sim. I wish he had killed
me out of hand."
"What! Why, my dear brave old fellow, it's only a horrible wrench, and
will soon come right."
"Not broken?" cried the boy wildly.
"Broken? No, or it wouldn't move like that. Why, Denis, lad, when you
gave point you must have run him through, and as he tore on your arm
must have been wrenched round while he dragged himself or was carried
away--of course, as the horses galloped on."
"But where is he?" cried Denis.
"I don't know. He wasn't here when I came up. He must have taken
flight--I mean, crawled away, for he must have been wounded badly."
"But the horses are all right?" said Denis faintly.
"Yes; the brave beasts were as you see them now, standing round you.
Ah! Stop a moment. What does this mean?"
He had been looking from side to side as he spoke, and caught sight of
the crushed-down herbage which grew densely at the foot of the hedge,
nettle and towering dock and hemlock looking as if something had crawled
through; and, rising quickly, he found somewhat of a gap through which a
person might have passed.
And he found ruddy traces which made him go on a few paces to where the
hedge seemed thinner, so that he could force his way through, to return
on the other side to the gap and see traces again in the grass where
some one had crawled. This track he followed for a few yards to a spot
where the long grass was a good deal trampled, and beyond that there
were regular footprints, as if some one had risen and walked light
across the field.
"Gone," said Saint Simon to himself; and he hurried back to the lane,
where Denis was lying very still with his eyes closed, and the three
horses ready to raise their heads from where they were calmly cropping
the thick herbage and ready to salute him with a friendly whinny before
resuming their meal.
"Well, Denis, boy," he cried, "how is it now?"
"Oh, a bit sick and faint, but I'm better. Have you found that brute?"
"No; he has gone right away. But we don't want him, unless he comes
back to take revenge on you, and then I should like to see you use your
sword again."
"Oh!" groaned Denis. "With an arm like this! I feel as if I should not
lift it again for months."
"Bah! Nonsense, man--boy, I mean," said Saint Simon, with a laugh.
"But I say, you must have given it to him somewhere. He was bleeding
like a pig. I followed his track to where he must have sat down on the
grass to bind up his wound. And there he stopped it, to rise and walk
off, making good strides for a dead man. You gave him his pay for
horse-stealing, and I'll be bound to say he feels more sore than you, my
hero. Now then, how do you feel about getting up?"
"I feel sick, and as if I want to lie."
"But the--ahem!--Comte? He must be awake by now."
"Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand--Thanks--Ah!--It hurts
horribly--my throat's better--but my arm feels as though it had been
screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can't."
"I ought to have done it before," said Saint Simon; "but I say, lad, let
go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip."
"Are they?" said the boy faintly. "I don't feel as if I had any.
Everything is hot and numb."
"Yes, you have had a nasty wrench. But that will soon be right. We
soldiers don't mind unless we are killed. That's better. Here, let's
wipe the blade," and he picked a bunch of grass. "I am not going to
soil my kerchief with the ruffian's blood. That's better," he
continued, as he returned the long thin blade to its sheath. "I'll give
it a polish for you when we get back to the inn. Now do you think you
could mount?"
"No, not yet," said the boy. "Give me a little time."
"Hours, lad; and here, let me arrange your scarf. Stand still. That's
the way. Over your right shoulder--tied in a knot--now opened out
widely here so that your arm can rest in it, like that. Those are
soldiers' knots for a wounded limb.--That feel easier?"
"Not much," said Denis. "Yes, that's better. It seems to take the
weight, and I'm beginning to feel that I've got one now."
"Oh, yes, it will soon come round," cried Saint Simon joyfully. "Now,
boys, it's time you left off sullying your bits with grass," he
continued, to the horses, as he unbuckled their reins, so that in
leading one he led all three; and offering his right arm to Denis, who
gladly took it and leant upon it heavily, he led the way back along the
lane to where they had parted, and from thence into the great
stable-yard and through the long stable to where the two hostlers were
still sleeping heavily, not in the slightest degree roused by the
trampling of the chargers upon the stone-paved floor.
"Now then," said Saint Simon, "shall we tie up the horses here again?"
"No," cried Denis sharply. "Look--through the door yonder. There's the
Comte!"
CHAPTER TWELVE.
A WELL-MEANT WARNING.
Saint Simon glanced in the direction indicated, to see across the yard
the King standing at the open doorway, talking, and evidently
questioning their hostess, who was pointing towards the stable where the
young men were.
"Now for a storm, Denis, boy, with plenty of royal thunder, and flashes
of lightning from his kingly eyes. Bah! How hard it is to forget his
rank! How are you now?"
"Oh, better. The sight of--the Comte seems to string me up."
"Come on, then, to make our excuses for the breach of duty, and take our
three witnesses to back our words."
The young men led the chargers out through the low doorway into the yard
and began crossing to where the King was drawing himself up with a stern
look upon his countenance, his right hand upon his hip, his left upon
his sword-hilt, which he kept on pressing down and elevating and
lowering the long thin blade behind him, the afternoon sun throwing it
out in a long dark streak from his shadow, giving him the effect of some
monster wagging its wiry tail.
The hostess was still there, drawing back a little into the shadow of
the comparatively dark doorway, a mingling of curiosity and sympathy
detaining her to hear how her offending guests would fare.
She had not long to wait, for as the young men came up with the horses'
hoofs clattering upon the paved way, "Now, gentlemen," was growled
forth, "why am I left like this? And by whose orders have you brought
forth those steeds?"
"What!" thundered the King fiercely, after hearing a brief narration of
his followers' adventure; and turning to their hostess, who heard every
word and stood loaning forward with agitated face and clasped hands,
"And so, madam, you call this the safety of your inn! This, then, is
the meaning of that warning paper which you have disavowed. Gentlemen,
we seem to have settled in a nest of thieves. Have your valises placed
at your saddles. I thank you for the way in which you have saved us
from disaster at the beginning of our journey. We will ride on at
once."
"Oh," ejaculated the hostess, "that it should come to this!" And
ceasing to wring her hands she ran out past them and crossed the yard to
the open stable-door, disappeared for just long enough to verify the
young men's words by a sight of the sleeping grooms, and then came
running back to where her guests were making preparations to continue
their journey.
"Oh, my lord," she cried, "it is a disgrace and shame to my house that
all this should have taken place. I pray your forgiveness."
"Indeed, madam!" said the King haughtily. "Tell my gentlemen there what
there is to pay, and spare your words."
"But, my lord--"
"Silence, madam! I have spoken. Gentlemen--"
"But, my lord," she interrupted, "I will have trusty strong men to watch
the stables and the house all night. This was the work of a stranger--
some horse-thief from afar. It cannot occur again."
The King waved his hand, and turned to his followers.
"Gentlemen, you will not leave those horses a moment. Finish the
preparations. Pay this woman, Saint Simon, and come and tell me when
all is ready for the start."
Then turning his back upon the hostess, he strode into the house, fuming
with rage and glowering fiercely at the group of servants whom he
passed.
"Oh, woe is me!" sobbed the landlady, wringing her hands. "That this
great misfortune should happen to such a noble lord as this! And this
gallant boy too, hurt as he is! No, no, sir," she cried pettishly to
Saint Simon, who approached her, purse in hand; "don't talk to me about
money. I am thinking of the honour of my house. There, there," she
cried, lowering her tone; and she caught Denis by the doublet and signed
to his friend to come closer. "Your lord is angry," she said, "and he
has just cause; but you two must speak to him and try to calm his wrath.
I have made all preparations for his staying here to-night, and believe
me, everything is safe. I will have trusty friends in, and not a soul
here but you shall close an eye. You must sleep here to-night."
"Must, madam?" said Denis, forgetting his own sufferings in something
like amusement at his hostess's pertinacity. "There is no must with our
lord."
"Don't say that, my child," cried the woman anxiously. "He must give
way to-night. I can see with a mother's eye that you are not fit to
mount your horse. You are hurt, and need rest. Go to him and persuade
him that he must stay."
"Madam, it is impossible," said Denis; "and leave me, please. You heard
our lord's commands. We have our preparations to make."
As he spoke Denis glanced at Saint Simon, who had waved back a man who
came to help, and was examining their horses' girths himself. Then,
turning his eyes towards the doorway, he caught sight of the King
returning, unnoticed by the landlady, who clutched at Denis's doublet
again, and continued in a low, excited voice:
"You do not know, my child. Before long it will be dark."
"There will be a moon nearly at the full, madam," said Denis.
"Oh yes, yes, sir; if it is not clouded over; but the road from here
towards London is through the forest and overhung with trees and--and,"
she added, in a whisper, "it is not safe."
"We have our swords, madam," said the youth; but he winced as he spoke,
for his right arm seemed to give him a sudden warning twinge of his
inability to use his weapon. "What do you mean about the road not being
safe?"
The woman drew herself closer to him, and her ruddy buxom face became
blotched with white.
"Bad men," she whispered. "Robbers and murderers have a stronghold in
the forest, from which they come out to lay wait for rich travellers."
"Are they mounted men?" said Denis, as the King slowly drew nearer.
"Yes," she said, "with the best of horses."
"And do they steal horses too?"
"Oh yes," she whispered, with a shudder.
"Then that man who watched us here was one of them, was he not?" cried
Denis excitedly.
The woman's jaw dropped, and the whiteness in her countenance increased.
"You saw that man, and you know!" cried Denis excitedly again.
The woman closed her lips and seemed to press them tightly together, as
she said in a strange voice:
"You will be advised by me, and stay here, where you will be safe. I
cannot--I will not--let you go."
"Indeed!" said the King fiercely, and the woman started as she realised
that her guest had heard her words.
"Back into your own place, madam," continued the King. "I allow no one
to tamper with my servants."
The woman shrank trembling back, for there was that in her guest's
manner which she felt she must obey; and with her hands clasped to her
breast as if to restrain her emotion, she went slowly into the house,
the King watching her, till she turned her head, started on encountering
his eyes, and then disappeared.
"There, it's plain enough, gentlemen. This woman is in league with a
band of the rogues."