The Outlaws.
CHAPTER II.
A Rescue.
CHAPTER III.
The Capture of Wortham Hold.
CHAPTER IV.
The Crusades.
CHAPTER V.
Preparations.
CHAPTER VI.
The Lists.
CHAPTER VII.
Revenge.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Attack.
CHAPTER IX.
The Princess Berengaria.
CHAPTER X.
Pirates.
CHAPTER XI.
In the Holy Land.
CHAPTER XII.
The Accolade.
CHAPTER XIII.
In the Hands of the Saracens.
CHAPTER XIV.
An Effort for Freedom.
CHAPTER XV.
A Hermit's Tale.
CHAPTER XVI.
A Fight of Heroes.
CHAPTER XVII.
An Alpine Storm.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Sentenced to Death.
CHAPTER XIX.
Dresden.
CHAPTER XX.
Under the Greenwood.
CHAPTER XXI.
The Attempt on the Convent.
CHAPTER XXII.
A Dastardly Stratagem.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The False and Perjured Knight.
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Siege of Evesham Castle.
CHAPTER XXV.
In Search of the King.
CHAPTER XXVI.
King Richard's Return to England.
THE BOY KNIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
THE OUTLAWS.
It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some
fifteen years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party
of armed men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham. A casual
observer glancing at his curling hair and bright open face, as also at
the fashion of his dress, would at once have assigned to him a purely
Saxon origin; but a keener eye would have detected signs that Norman
blood ran also in his veins, for his figure was lither and lighter, his
features more straightly and shapely cut, than was common among Saxons.
His dress consisted of a tight-fitting jerkin, descending nearly to his
knees. The material was a light-blue cloth, while over his shoulder hung
a short cloak of a darker hue. His cap was of Saxon fashion, and he wore
on one side a little plume of a heron. In a somewhat costly belt hung a
light short sword, while across his knees lay a crossbow, in itself
almost a sure sign of its bearer being of other than Saxon blood. The
boy looked anxiously as party after party rode past toward the castle.
"I would give something," he said, "to know what wind blows these knaves
here. From every petty castle in the Earl's feu the retainers seem
hurrying here. Is he bent, I wonder, on settling once and for all his
quarrels with the Baron of Wortham? or can he be intending to make a
clear sweep of the woods? Ah! here comes my gossip Hubert; he may tell
me the meaning of this gathering."
Leaping to his feet, the speaker started at a brisk walk to meet a
jovial-looking personage coming down from the direction of the castle.
The newcomer was dressed in the attire of a falconer, and two dogs
followed at his heels.
"Ah, Master Cuthbert," he said, "what brings you so near to the castle?
It is not often that you favor us with your presence."
"I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way thither
but now, when I paused at the sight of all these troopers flocking in to
Evesham. What enterprise has Sir Walter on hand now, think you?"
"The earl keeps his own counsel," said the falconer, "but methinks a
shrewd guess might be made at the purport of the gathering. It was but
three days since that his foresters were beaten back by the landless
men, whom they caught in the very act of cutting up a fat buck. As thou
knowest, my lord though easy and well-disposed to all, and not fond of
harassing and driving the people as are many of his neighbors, is yet to
the full as fanatical anent his forest privileges as the worst of them.
They tell me that when the news came in of the poor figure that his
foresters cut with broken bows and draggled plumes--for the varlets had
soused them in a pond of not over savory water--he swore a great oath
that he would clear the forest of the bands. It may be, indeed, that
this gathering is for the purpose of falling in force upon that
evil-disposed and most treacherous baron, Sir John of Wortham, who has
already begun to harry some of the outlying lands, and has driven off, I
hear, many heads of cattle. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought
out sooner or later, and the sooner the better, say I. Although I am no
man of war, and love looking after my falcons or giving food to my dogs
far more than exchanging hard blows, yet would I gladly don the buff and
steel coat to aid in leveling the keep of that robber and tyrant, Sir
John of Wortham."
"Thanks, good Hubert," said the lad. "I must not stand gossiping here.
The news you have told me, as you know, touches me closely, for I would
not that harm should come to the forest men."
"Let it not out, I beseech thee, Cuthbert, that the news came from me,
for temperate as Sir Walter is at most times, he would, methinks, give
me short shift did he know that the wagging of my tongue might have
given warning through which the outlaws of the Chase should slip through
his fingers."
"Fear not, Hubert; I can be mum when the occasion needs. Can you tell
me further, when the bands now gathering are likely to set forth?"
"In brief breathing space," the falconer replied. "Those who first
arrived I left swilling beer, and devouring pies and other provisions
cooked for them last night, and from what I hear, they will set forth as
soon as the last comer has arrived. Whichever be their quarry, they will
try to fall upon it before the news of their arrival is bruited abroad."
With a wave of his hand to the falconer the boy started. Leaving the
road, and striking across the slightly undulated country dotted here and
there by groups of trees, the lad ran at a brisk trot, without stopping
to halt or breathe, until after half an hour's run he arrived at the
entrance of a building, whose aspect proclaimed it to be the abode of a
Saxon franklin of some importance. It would not be called a castle, but
was rather a fortified house, with a few windows looking without, and
surrounded by a moat crossed by a drawbridge, and capable of sustaining
anything short of a real attack. Erstwood had but lately passed into
Norman hands, and was indeed at present owned by a Saxon. Sir William de
Lance, the father of the lad who is now entering its portals, was a
friend and follower of the Earl of Evesham; and soon after his lord had
married Gweneth, the heiress of all these fair lands--given to him by
the will of the king, to whom by the death of her father she became a
ward--Sir William had married Editha, the daughter and heiress of the
franklin of Erstwood, a cousin and dear friend of the new Countess of
Evesham.
In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of
inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.
Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no doubt,
be considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and
civilization, yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of
those of the rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the Saxon
maids were doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers, yet the
female mind is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous address.
Thus, then, when bidden or forced to give their hands to the Norman
knights, they speedily accepted their lot, and for the most part grew
contented and happy enough. In their changed circumstances it was
pleasanter to ride by the side of their Norman husbands, surrounded by a
gay cavalcade, to hawk and to hunt, than to discharge the quiet duties
of mistress of a Saxon farmhouse. In many cases, of course, their lot
was rendered wretched by the violence and brutality of their lords; but
in the majority they were well satisfied with their lot, and these mixed
marriages did more to bring the peoples together and weld them in one
than all the laws and decrees of the Norman sovereigns.
This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir
William had been one of the greatest happiness. She had lost him three
years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the
innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly
involved. On entering the gates of Erstwood Cuthbert had rushed hastily
to the room where his mother was sitting, with three or four of her
maidens, engaged in work.
"I want to speak to you at once, mother," he said.
"What is it now, my son?" said his mother, who was still young and very
comely. Waving her hand to the girls they left her.
"Mother," he said, when they were alone, "I fear me that Sir Walter is
about to make a great raid upon the outlaws. Armed men have been coming
in all the morning from the castles round, and if it be not against the
Baron de Wortham that these preparations are intended, and methinks it
is not, it must needs be against the landless men."
"What would you do, Cuthbert?" his mother asked anxiously. "It will not
do for you to be found meddling in these matters. At present you stand
well in the favor of the earl, who loves you for the sake of his wife,
to whom you are kin, and of your father, who did him good liegeman's
service."
"But, mother, I have many friends in the wood. There is Cnut, their
chief, your own first cousin, and many others of our friends, all good
men and true, though forced by the cruel Norman laws to refuge in the
woods."
"What would you do?" again his mother asked.
"I would take Ronald my pony and ride to warn them of the danger that
threatens."
"You had best go on foot, my son. Doubtless men have been set to see
that none from the Saxon homesteads carry the warning to the woods. The
distance is not beyond your reach, for you have often wandered there,
and on foot you can evade the eye of the watchers; but one thing, my
son, you must promise, and that is, that in no case, should the earl and
his bands meet with the outlaws, will you take part in any fray or
struggle."
"That will I willingly, mother," he said. "I have no cause for offense
against the castle or the forest, and my blood and my kin are with both.
I would fain save shedding of blood in a quarrel like this. I hope that
the time may come when Saxon and Norman may fight side by side, and I
may be there to see."
A few minutes later, having changed his blue doublet for one of more
sober and less noticeable color, Cuthbert started for the great forest,
which then stretched to within a mile of Erstwood. In those days a large
part of the country was covered with forest, and the policy of the
Normans in preserving these woods for the chase tended to prevent the
increase of cultivation.
The farms and cultivated lands were all held by Saxons, who although
nominally handed over to the nobles to whom William and his successors
had given the fiefs, saw but little of their Norman masters. These
stood, indeed, much in the position in which landlords stand to their
tenants, payment being made, for the most part, in produce. At the edge
of the wood the trees grew comparatively far apart, but as Cuthbert
proceeded further into its recesses, the trees in the virgin forest
stood thick and close together. Here and there open glades ran across
each other, and in these his sharp eye, accustomed to the forest, could
often see the stags starting away at the sound of his footsteps.
It was a full hour's journey before Cuthbert reached the point for which
he was bound. Here, in an open space, probably cleared by a storm ages
before, and overshadowed by giant trees, was a group of men of all ages
and appearances. Some were occupied in stripping the skin off a buck
which hung from the bough of one of the trees. Others were roasting
portions of the carcass of another deer. A few sat apart, some talking,
others busy in making arrows, while a few lay asleep on the greensward.
As Cuthbert entered the clearing several of the party rose to their
feet.
"Ah, Cuthbert," shouted a man of almost gigantic stature, who appeared
to be one of the leaders of the party, "what brings you here, lad, so
early? You are not wont to visit us till even, when you can lay your
crossbow at a stag by moonlight."
"No, no, Cousin Cnut," Cuthbert said, "thou canst not say that I have
ever broken the forest laws, though I have looked on often and often,
while you have done so."
"The abettor is as bad as the thief," laughed Cnut, "and if the
foresters caught us in the act, I wot they would make but little
difference whether it was the shaft of my longbow or the quarrel from
thy crossbow which brought down the quarry. But again, lad, why comest
thou here? for I see by the sweat on your face and by the heaving of
your sides that you have run fast and far."
"I have, Cnut; I have not once stopped for breathing since I left
Erstwood. I have come to warn you of danger. The earl is preparing for a
raid."
Cnut laughed somewhat disdainfully.
"He has raided here before, and I trow has carried off no game. The
landless men of the forest can hold their own against a handful of
Norman knights and retainers in their own home."
"Ay," said Cuthbert, "but this will be no common raid. This morning
bands from all the holds within miles round are riding in, and at least
five hundred men-at-arms are likely to do chase to-day."
"Is it so?" said Cnut, while exclamations of surprise, but not of
apprehension, broke from those standing round. "If that be so, lad, you
have done us good service indeed. With fair warning we can slip through
the fingers of ten times five hundred men, but if they came upon us
unawares, and hemmed us in, it would fare but badly with us, though we
should, I doubt not, give a good account of them before their
battle-axes and maces ended the strife. Have you any idea by which road
they will enter the forest, or what are their intentions?"
"I know not," Cuthbert said; "all that I gathered was that the earl
intended to sweep the forest, and to put an end to the breaches of the
laws, not to say of the rough treatment that his foresters have met with
at your hands. You had best, methinks, be off before Sir Walter and his
heavily-armed men are here. The forest, large as it is, will scarce hold
you both, and methinks you had best shift your quarters to Langholm
Chase until the storm has passed."
"To Langholm be it, then," said Cnut, "though I love not the place. Sir
John of Wortham is a worse neighbor by far than the earl. Against the
latter we bear no malice, he is a good knight and a fair lord; and could
he free himself of the Norman notions that the birds of the air, and the
beasts of the field, and the fishes of the water, all belong to Normans,
and that we Saxons have no share in them, I should have no quarrel with
him. He grinds not his neighbors, he is content with a fair tithe of the
produce, and as between man and man is a fair judge without favor. The
baron is a fiend incarnate; did he not fear that he would lose by so
doing, he would gladly cut the throats, or burn, or drown, or hang every
Saxon within twenty miles of his hold. He is a disgrace to his order,
and some day, when our band gathers a little stronger, we will burn his
nest about his ears."
"It will be a hard nut to crack," Cuthbert said, laughing. "With such
arms as you have in the forest the enterprise would be something akin to
scaling the skies."
"Ladders and axes will go far, lad, and the Norman men-at-arms have
learned to dread our shafts. But enough of the baron; if we must be his
neighbors for a time, so be it."
"You have heard, my mates," he said, turning to his comrades gathered
around him, "what Cuthbert tells us. Are you of my opinion, that it is
better to move away till the storm is past than to fight against heavy
odds, without much chance of either booty or victory?"
A general chorus proclaimed that the outlaws approved of the proposal
for a move to Langholm Chase. The preparations were simple. Bows were
taken down from the boughs on which they were hanging, quivers slung
across the backs, short cloaks thrown over the shoulders. The deer was
hurriedly dismembered, and the joints fastened to a pole slung on the
shoulders of two of the men. The drinking-cups, some of which were of
silver, looking strangely out of place among the rough horn implements
and platters, were bundled together, carried a short distance and
dropped among some thick bushes for safety; and then the band started
for Wortham.
With a cordial farewell and many thanks to Cuthbert, who declined their
invitations to accompany them, the retreat to Langholm commenced.
Cuthbert, not knowing in which direction the bands were likely to
approach, remained for awhile motionless, intently listening.
In a quarter of an hour he heard the distant note of a bugle.
It was answered in three different directions, and Cuthbert, who knew
every path and glade of the forest, was able pretty accurately to
surmise those by which the various bands were commencing to enter the
wood.
Knowing that they were still a long way off, he advanced as rapidly as
he could in the direction in which they were coming. When by the sound
of distant voices and the breaking of branches he knew that one, at
least, of the parties was near at hand, he rapidly climbed a thick tree
and ensconced himself in the branches, and there watched, secure and
hidden from the sharpest eye, the passage of a body of men-at-arms fully
a hundred strong, led by Sir Walter himself, accompanied by some half
dozen of his knights.
When they had passed Cuthbert again slipped down the tree and made at
all speed for home. He reached it, so far as he knew, without having
been observed by a single passer-by.
After a brief talk with his mother he started for the castle, as his
appearance there would divert any suspicion that might arise; and it
would also appear natural that seeing the movements of so large a body
of men, he should go up to gossip with his acquaintances there.
When distant a mile from Evesham he came upon a small party.
On a white palfrey rode Margaret, the little daughter of the earl. She
was accompanied by her nurse and two retainers on foot.
Cuthbert--who was a great favorite with the earl's daughter, for whom he
frequently brought pets, such as nests of young owlets, falcons, and
other creatures--was about to join the party when from a clump of trees
near burst a body of ten mounted men.
Without a word they rode straight at the astonished group. The retainers
were cut to the ground before they had thought of drawing a sword in
defense.
The nurse was slain by a blow with a battle-ax, and Margaret, snatched
from her palfrey, was thrown across the saddlebow of one of the mounted
men, who then with his comrades dashed off at full speed.