THE ENDING OF THE PEACE.
"Seven leagues from London, if that wagoner gave me the distance
aright," said Richard to himself, "and this horse is sore wearied. Twain
have tired under me since my lance was splintered on the shield of that
felon knight."
Much and often had he wondered who might be the stranger man-at-arms,
but of one thing he felt assured: only some baron of high name had used
such speech and worn such armor. Now, at last, even his tough sinews
were giving out, for he had ridden hard and slept little. Food had been
easy to buy at wayside hostelries. He had ridden through towns and
villages with no longer pauses than had been needful that he might ask
the way or answer courteously the questions of persons of condition.
His fresh mounts had been freely furnished him on showing of the royal
order, for none might lightly disobey the king.
"Surely I now am safe," he thought, "but the night is falling. I will
even rest at an inn and go onward in the morning. I must sleep, lest I
fall from my horse."
It was a huge, rambling tavern at the right of the highway, and as he
drew rein before it a portly host came forth to welcome him.
"In the king's name," said Richard.
"And whence art thou?" asked the landlord.
"On the king's business," said Richard. "See thou to it that I have a
fresh steed ready to bear me to London town with the dawn, lest harm
come."
"We are all the king's men here," said the landlord heartily. "Canst
thou not give us the news of the day? What of the Scots? for thou art
from the north."
Richard was slowly, painfully dismounting, but at the same moment
another man, not in armor, was springing upon horseback to haste away.
"Yea," said Richard, "I will tell thee the news. I am Richard Neville of
Wartmont----"
"Ha! hold thou thy tongue, then, and come in!" sharply returned the host
of the inn, but he spoke in pure Saxon. "Do I not know that thou art
watched for? I am of Arden, and I knew thy father. By thy hand fell the
Club of Devon."
"Aye," said Richard, "but what peril is so near the gates of London?"
"Peril to thee that thou reach them not," replied his new friend.
"There be those who would know the king's secret counsel. Small would be
their care for thy throat. Eat well. Sleep well. Then ride thou on
before the light cometh."
In walked Richard, hardly able to stand, but a room was given him, and
here he took off his armor that he might bathe while a repast was
preparing. It refreshed him much, but when the landlord came in and
found him clad only in his doublet, he loudly exclaimed:
"On with thy mail, my Lord of Wartmont! Let thy bare sword lie by thee.
I think thy nag may die, but I have thee a better one ready. 'Tis my own
best mare, and she will stand saddled in the stall until thou comest for
her."
"I am overworn for fighting," said Richard. "I will even trust my bow
rather than my sword or axe."
"As thou wilt," replied his host, but a serving man placed food upon the
table, and Richard began to do it full justice.
None other was admitted to the room, and Richard dealt fairly, telling
all news that he might tell.
"One thing know I," said the landlord. "The king's levies come in but
slowly, and he is sore displeased. Not this year will he cross to
France. If I hear truly, some of the great lords would rather march
against him than against Philip, and they look for side help from the
Scots."
So many true tales creep in at a hostel from the lips of those who tarry
there, and the young messenger felt not only weary but half dispirited.
The landlord had now gone forth, and for a few moments Richard was
alone. The door was not fastened, however, and it opened without a sound
to let in a man whose footsteps were unheard until he had passed to the
table side.
"My son, peace be with thee! Thou art on the message of the king?"
Richard was startled, but he turned to look, and before him stood a
black friar in his long serge robe, with sandals only on his feet. A
thought came like a flash:
"I have heard that these holy men are with Philip of France rather than
with Edward of England. I must beware of him, for they are cunning men."
Nevertheless he reverently greeted the friar and bade him be seated.
"Tell me, my son, what tidings bringest thou from the north, and from
the saintly Archbishop of York?"
With all seeming freedom did Richard respond, but he mentioned not the
Knight of Liddesdale, nor the temper of the Scottish king. Cunning
indeed was the questioning, but of the letters, either way, naught was
said. Rather was there much loose chat of the things by the way, and
Richard declared:
"Little know I. I am but a youth."
"And well worn?" said the monk. "Now I will counsel thee, for thou well
mayest trust such as I am. Rest thou here in peace, and I will convey to
the king any matters from my old and dear friend and father in God, the
archbishop. High, indeed, is my reverence for that holy man. Deep is my
fealty to our good lord the king. Even give me thy message and I will
depart."
"Thanks to thee, reverend father," said Richard. "But there is no haste.
It were not well for thee to travel by night. Come thou in the morning,
for now I can talk no more. Thou mayest ride my own horse, if thou shalt
find him rested."
So the friar smiled, and gave Richard his blessing and departed, not
having given any name. That was what came to Richard's mind quickly, but
he said to himself:
"Who knoweth what name he would have given--his own, or another? I like
him not, but if the host be right, he will not ride far upon that nag.
Nor will he be overweighted with the king's errand. But I told him no
untruth. Never before was I cunning, but I must care for my head."
So said the landlord, shortly, when he came and heard, but he added:
"Not in the house shalt thou sleep. Come thou with me, my lord. I will
show thee a safer resting."
The darkness had fallen, and not even a lanthorn did they take with them
as they made their way out of the inn to the barns. None met them, and
they paused not until they were among hayricks in the rear.
"Yonder," said the landlord, pointing at a stable, "in the first stall
on the right is thy good steed. Ride hard, but kill her not, and send
her back to me. I would serve the king and beat his enemies. If thou
sleepest too long, I will arouse thee."
Down sank Richard upon a heap of hay, but his bow and arrows were with
him as well as his pennoned lance.
How long he slumbered he knew not, but he was feverish, restive, and his
ears were not so dull in sleep that they did not catch a faint clang of
steel. He woke, but he stirred not, and he lay listening.
"Put thou thy dagger deeply in below the lad's ear!" he heard one say.
"He must die without speech. Curse on that hostel keeper! I fear me he
hath betrayed us. We found not the king's messenger in the house. I
think he is somewhere here away. Search well, but be silent."
Only dim was the lanthorn they carried, but Richard could see three
men, and one of them wore mail, without a headpiece. He it was that
spoke, and his sword was in his hand. The other twain were in buff
coats, and of one of these his long, two-edged, dagger knife was already
drawn. They saw not yet the young bowman in the hay, but he was fitting
an arrow to the string.
"Ten yards! I must not miss. I will even smite him through the face,"
thought Richard.
Loudly twanged the bow, and out of the belt came a second arrow to the
string.
[Illustration: Loudly twanged the bow.]
"Through his buff coat," said Richard aloud, and he sent the shaft
strongly, but he at the moment turned toward the stable, looking not
behind him. He heard a cry and a gasp, however, and hoarse groaning, and
a voice that exclaimed:
"God 'a' mercy, my Lord Bellamont is slain! So is the seneschal! Woe is
me! I will summon the two warders."
Uncertainly he lingered a brief space to examine well the fallen men,
and Richard made what haste he could.
"I can not run," he thought. "I hardly may climb to the saddle."
Nevertheless he did so, after leading out the goodly beast he was to
ride. Nothing was lacking in her appointments, and she knew the way to
the road-gate. Out spurred Richard, as loud shouts began to arise behind
him. He gained the highway, and he could discern beyond him only one
man on foot, in full armor.
"Halt, thou!" he shouted. "Stand, on thy life! I would have speech with
thee!"
"In the king's name," shouted back Richard, "out of my way!"
"That will I not!" roared the knight. "Thou cub of Wartmont, draw rein!"
"Take that!" said Richard, spurring hard and striking with his lance.
'Twas a knight of skill in fence, however, and his target was over his
visor to receive the thrust, so that he did but measure his length upon
the road.
"Traitor!" shouted Richard. "Thou shalt answer for this to the king!"
"St. Andrew!" gasped the fallen man. "Has the boy escaped? John
Beauchamp knew whom to send. But I will pay him bitterly for this."
"My lord duke," exclaimed one who came running to him, "De Bellamont is
slain by the messenger!"
"Woe worth the day!" groaned the knight, arising slowly. "Back to the
castle! I must get me to Flanders in haste. All is lost! We will but say
that Bellamont was murdered by thieves at the inn."
On galloped Richard, glad to find how buoyant and free was the stride of
the landlord's favorite; but his perils were not ended. A full half
mile he rode, and he was thinking, "I will race no more lest I tire her
needlessly, and the road to London town is yet long," when far beyond he
dimly discerned the forms of mounted men and men on foot.
"'Tis but a lane here to the right," he said. "I care not whither it may
lead me, so I fall not in with yonder troop. They are too many."
Then came to him something of his woodcraft, and he did but go out of
the road before he turned to see what they might do. And he did wisely,
for with one accord the horsemen and the footmen vanished.
"They were at a crossroad," thought Richard. "They deem I have taken the
lane, and they have gone to cut me off at its ending. Now I will ride
past them."
'Twas a shrewd planning, for when he reached the crossroads only one man
could he discern, a man in the serge gown of a black friar, who stood
and waited.
"Halt, thou, my son!" commanded the friar. "Greater men than thou art
bid thee stand."
"In the king's name, I will not," said Richard, "but if thou needest a
nag, thou wilt find one at the inn, as I promised thee. A good beast,
truly, save that he is dead. So are some of the traitors who were there,
enemies of the king, as thou art. Fare thee not well!"
He struck spurs as he finished, and the friar was left to wait for whom
he might.
The gray dawn was showing in the east, and now it would seem that all
danger had been left behind.
"Little know I," thought Richard. "Had I not been forewarned, I had
trusted any great baron that he would forward the king's business. Now I
will trust not one, till I reach London gate."
The noon sun of that day was shining through high, stained windows into
the audience chamber of the king, in the Tower of London. It was not a
day for him to linger in any palace, and his brows were but black with
gloom as he listened to his counselors and to the affairs that were
brought before him. These were many and weighty, and few were they who
might dare to interrupt him; but he suddenly raised his head, and the
dark frown vanished from his face.
Back among the lords and gentlemen in waiting stood the Black Prince
himself, and a sign had passed from him to his royal sire. Still for a
few moments longer King Edward sat and listened and responded to those
around him, nor could they have gathered whether he were ill at ease or
not. Iron was he to all circumstances, and naught could seem to move him
much, save his ire, if that should be stirred.
And now he arose, and his dismissal of the assembly was but as if he
sent them to their noontide refections, but he himself refused other
attendance, and passed out by a private door with his son.
"Neville of Wartmont, from the archbishop?" sternly replied the king to
the first words of the prince. "Why tarried he on the road?"
"That he did not," said the prince. "He hath ridden four horses. One
wearied out, twain were ridden to death, and the last bore him to our
gate. He hath been sore beset on the way. He hath slain De Bellamont and
another, and he hath much to tell concerning treason. I bade him wait in
the southerly corridor and to have speech with none."
"It shall be well with him!" exclaimed the king. "Glad am I of the
Nevilles and the Beauchamps in a day when so few may be trusted. Bring
him to me in my retiring room."
Unhelmeted, but otherwise clad as he had ridden, Richard Neville was
quietly conducted to the apartment which so few were ever allowed to
enter, and he was brought face to face with the king.
"Nay, Richard, sit thee down," commanded Edward, for the wornout
messenger hardly could rise from his bended knees. "I would hear thee
slowly and long. Begin with thy going, and see that thou miss no place
nor any man, gentle or simple."
Richard began his tale, and there was no interruption until he came to
the message sent by the Earl of Arundel.
"I will remember him for that," he said. "A wise man and true. Speak
on."
There was no other stopping until the story reached the York gate.
"Sir Robert," said the king, "then I may trust the Johnstones. It is
well. Come now to the archbishop. Nay, hold thy letters until thy words
are done."
There were questions concerning his Grace and some others, but most
careful were the king's inquiries relating to the Knight of Liddesdale.
"Now, thy ride hitherward," said the king, and Richard told it all. He
saw the eyes of the prince flash admiringly at the passage of arms, but
the king chafed sorely that he could not guess by whom Richard had been
assailed.
"Thou didst well not to slay him," he decided, after a moment's
thinking. "If thou ever meetest him again, to know him by his voice or
otherwise, tell me."
When all the rest was said, to the London gate, the letters were
delivered, but the king as yet opened them not.
"Richard of Wartmont," he said, rising, "the Earl of Warwick waiteth for
thee without. Go thou to him. God send me alway as good a messenger!
Thou wilt win thy spurs in good season. When thou returnest from
Warwick, thou art of the king's household. I promise thee that thou
shalt be captain of thine own bowmen when we sail for France."
A proud youth was Richard, but so lame he walked not easily when the
prince led him to the door.
"I envy thee, I envy thee!" exclaimed the latter. "A joust of arms by
moonlight! A fray i' the night! And thou hast seen the Liddesdale! I
would give much to meet him."
Something of romance and of knight errantry, therefore, was in the hot
young head of the heir of the throne of England, and they twain parted
right friendly, as became such youths, who were to be companions in
arms.
In one moment more, upon Richard's shoulders were the strong hands of
the Earl of Warwick.
"Thou art as my son!" he exclaimed. "Thou art strengthening thy house.
These be times when a man should stand by his own."
Few were the words of their further greeting till they were by
themselves in the Warwick palace at London. Nor then was much converse,
until Richard had slept long and well. Afterward he was talked with by
his uncle as if he had been a grown man and a belted knight, but that
was on the morrow.
"Moreover," said the earl, at the end of all, "I have thy freedom from
the king. Thou mayest pause in Warwick to see thy mother. Then go thou
to Wartmont. Spend what time thou mayest among thy men, but be sure that
thy levy shall be full. So shalt thou keep the favor of the king. Then
thou wilt return to London town."
One day only was required, and beyond that was the homeward road. Oh,
but it was a bright even, full of happiness, when the young warrior--for
such he now was--once more was folded in the arms of the Lady Maud! Her
long, white hair fell over his shoulders like a veil, and she sobbed
most peacefully.
"Alas, my son," she said, "that I can not keep thee with me! Thou art
mine all! But obey thou the mandates of the king and of the earl."
"I must speed me to Wartmont, mother," said Richard. "I will return to
thee, but it will please me much to see the old tower again, and my
merry men."
There were two sunsets after that before he left the castle, and proud
was she at the manner of his treatment by the great men who were coming
and going. Any were ready to speak graciously to a youth who was known
to have won royal favor.
Only the third sun was going down thereafter, when Richard, in full
armor but alone, save a serving man with a pack beast heavily laden,
drew rein before the portal of his own castle. But all behind him the
village had risen as he rode through. Farmer men were also coming in,
while every cottage poured forth old and young.
The warders raised the portcullis and swung open the gate, while in the
tower the bell swung heels over head. So in the village church the
ringers were busy, to show their young lord their gladness at his safe
return. For there had been rumors of his going to the north, even unto
Scotland. He had slain men. He had served the king. He had done wondrous
well, and all his own were joyful.
Hardly could he dismount from his good steed, so close was the press
around him, but he bade the castle keepers make ready a goodly feast for
all comers.
"Guy the Bow!" he shouted suddenly, "art thou here?"
Not quite had he arrived, but up the street a galloway was coming at his
swiftest, and on his bare back rode the best archer of Arden. Down
sprang Richard now, and so did Guy, but there was no handshaking, for
Richard's arms were around the forester.
"Come thou within!" he shouted. "I have much to tell thee. Much to tell
the men. How goeth it with them all?"
"Right well, my Lord Richard," said Guy, greatly delighted. "I tell
thee, they came back loyal men. A fortnight's gay drilling with the
king's troops. Good fare. Wages as if in war. A new suit each. Then
marched they home, avowing they would bring each his man to double the
levy."
"I trust they may," said Richard. "I will have speech with them."
"But seest thou not," said Guy, "what the earl's masons are doing for
thy castle? I wonder at it, for the time hath been but brief. They work
fast, and the walls are nobly mended."
"I will see to that," said Richard eagerly, and they pushed on into the
keep, but not till he had spoken many good words to the villagers. Truly
the workmen had plied their tools with industry, but they had done more
than mend. Some well-skilled engineer of the earl had planned
enlargements and outer walls on the farther side. There were to be
bastions and stronger battlements and better storage within for the
provenders that might withstand a siege. It was a good fort, had said
the engineer, and in some dark day it might be worth the holding.
That evening was a feast of welcome and of news-telling, but with the
dawn both Guy and Richard rode away. Nor did any at the castle know
whither they had gone nor what they did while they were away. All the
while the masons and their helpers toiled on, and the stonework grew
apace. It was four days before the young lord of Wartmont returned to
see what they had done. A score of men on galloways came with him to the
edge of the forest, but there they drew rein, and it was Ben of Coventry
who spoke for them.
"Fare thee well, Lord Richard of Wartmont!" he said merrily. "We will
come at the king's summons, hear it when we may. Only this, that thou do
not get thyself slain too soon, for many of us will follow the Neville,
and not another."
If he had won them, so had they won him, and well did he love his
bowmen, as one loveth kith and kin.
Not long might be his further lingering at the castle nor on the road to
Warwick. There, indeed, he found not only his mother, but a message from
the earl, bidding him to London speedily. It was a grief, and yet she
was willing to have him go, for in it was his future good fortune, and
she kissed him farewell after a long talk about Wartmont, and the grange
in the forest, and the troop he was to command, although so young.
Two mounted spearmen went with him on the road to London, but none who
met him questioned him for harm. It was as if the roads were as safe and
peaceful as was their seeming; but Richard knew better than that. Even
at the London gate he found himself turning quickly in his saddle to
gaze after one who passed him.
"'Twas a scowling face," he thought. "Where have I met that knight? He
carrieth his bridle arm in a sling, as if he were wounded there. Did I
not smite a left arm with mine axe on the road? I will watch for that
man."
So he told the prince when they came together, but there was wisdom of
kingcraft in the answer given.
"O true and loyal heart, good comrade," spoke the prince, "if thou
thinkest thou knowest him, be sure that thou know him not. If he meet
thee, greet him well, as if he were thy kinsman. 'Tis ever well for a
man to know his foemen. 'Tis ever ill to let his foemen know that he
knoweth them. Safety is in secrecy until the sword is out of the
sheath."
"I will obey," said Richard, "but my blade will be out quickly if any
seem to threaten thee or my royal master."
The prince inquired with care concerning the archery levy, and he seemed
well pleased, but he had somewhat more of counsel for his companion in
arms.
"Wert thou ever on shipboard?" he asked. "Hast thou been ever at sea?"
"Never saw I the salt water," responded Richard. "I have but looked upon
the masts in the Thames, but I can row a boat."
"A wherry?" said the prince. "There will be no wherry fighting. Even
now we are sweeping the French pirate craft from the Channel. Do thou
this: at every hour of thy liberties haunt thou the riverside. Read thou
each craft thou seest, great and small. I will get thee an order to
board any in the king's errand. Talk with seafaring men, and learn the
points of shipping and of the manner of all fights at sea. Go not out of
the harbor, however, for thou mayest not at any day be beyond recall if
thou art needed as a messenger. Thou art of the king's pages. The earl
will see to thy equipment, for thou mayest often serve at court and at
royal banquets."
Gladly did he hear of that appointment. None of lower rank than his own
might carry a dish or hand a napkin at the royal table, or stand behind
any of the king's guests in the banquet hall. But hardly less than an
earl might deliver the king's own cup or carve or hand for him.
Much teaching of these matters did Richard receive thereafter from the
Earl of Warwick, and likewise one of his near friends and tutors was the
good Earl of Arundel, brave knight and skillful captain, fitted to lead
an army. Noble ladies also smiled upon him, for he was well favored and
of goodly stature, and he knew somewhat of music. Even the queen herself
spoke graciously to him before long. Nevertheless did he walk always
cautiously, knowing more and more of the bitter jealousies and
heartburnings which ever beset a court, and of the feuds of houses, and
of the plots and cunnings, and of the endless rivalries for place and
power and the favor of the king.
Long hours were to be spent each day in the hall of arms of the Warwick
palace. There were duties of drill and exercise among the soldiery, that
he might know how to work maneuverings on a field or placings on a
march, or the choosing and the putting in order of a camp. He learned
also of forts and of defenses, and of attacks and of artful dealings
with foemen by night or day.
"I will make thee fitted to command thy men," said Earl Warwick. "Thou
shalt not go into battle untrained. We learn that Philip of France is
taking no such pains with his musterings. He will trust to his counts
and barons and to his allies. He will bring against us a multitude, and
then he will see what Edward of England will do with his motley array."
Greater and greater grew Richard's confidence, like that of other men,
in the war wisdom of his king, but he marveled much from time to time at
the words and the deep thinking of his friend the prince. He could speak
several tongues, and prudently, and he was notable for his feats of
skill and strength in the royal hall of arms.
It was not at first that Richard had leisure to learn much of the sea,
save in listening to the talk of knights and captains who had served on
shipboard. But he forgot not the counsel of the prince, and in due
season he was busy with his new learning.
"Hard work," he said at the beginning. "Even the ropes have names, and
every rope hath a place of its own. So have the spars and the sails.
'Tis another tongue to win, and the sailors are not like our inland men.
They believe, too, that a man who liveth not on the sea is of small
account. They have more respect for a good sailor than for a lord, if so
be his lordship knoweth not how to win a sea fight. But they believe
that our king is an admiral. What pirates they are in their talk! I have
met no sailor yet who thinketh it ill to capture and plunder any foreign
craft that he may encounter out of sight of land."
That was the fashion of those times, for all the open seas were as
disputed territory, and the best sailors of those waters adjacent to the
coasts of the British isles were but as the grandsons of the vikings.
Not at all as yet had they abandoned the wild traditions of their roving
ancestors.
Ever and anon came tidings from the north counties, but such as came to
the public ear were favorable to a continued peace with Scotland; only
that all men knew that a Scottish peace was only a war asleep, and was
to be kept with the English sword halfway out of the scabbard.
From the Continent of Europe came no peace at all, but from every
quarter was heard the clash of arms or the sound of military
preparation. Embassies came and went continually, and Richard saw many
men whose names were of note in the lands beyond the sea. He studied
them well, and he inquired as he might of their deeds in camp and field
and council, but none did he see who seemed to him the equals of his own
great captains.
Slowly wore on the winter, and the spring went by. His mother came to
court with the Countess of Warwick, and Richard was proud to see her in
the throne room, unsurpassed by any dame therein for her stately beauty
of form and face, and for the sweet graciousness with which she greeted
all.
'Twas a fine, fair morn in June when Richard at last was summoned in
haste by the Earl of Warwick.
"Grand news, my young kinsman!" shouted the stout earl. "The die is
cast! The war with France hath come! Be thou ready!"
"Ready am I," said Richard gladly. "But I must bring my bowmen with me."
"Go thou not, then," said the earl. "Send but thy token by thy own
messengers. Bid all the archers of Arden to speed them to Portsmouth in
the king's name. The ships are even now gathering rapidly. Thousands of
men are in perfect training, and the new levies are in hand to learn
the way and the will of the king. Thither wilt thou go thyself. Bid thy
mother a long farewell, and haste thee. I trust that when thou seest her
again thou wilt wear golden spurs."
"Please God," said Richard, "I will strive to earn the good will of the
king. I would not be knighted by any lesser hand than his. Canst thou
tell me where is my noble friend Sir Walter de Maunay?"
"Somewhere in Guienne," said the earl, "and the king's enemies there may
roundly will that he were somewhere else. Now up and out, Richard
Neville! Thou wilt get thy orders further from Geoffrey Harcourt, at the
port. I go to Warwick first, and then I come. The days of this mock
peace are ended, and may God give his blessing to the armies of England
and to our good lord the king! Amen."