SPEARS OF DESTINY
A STORY OF THE FIRST CAPTURE
OF CONSTANTINOPLE
BY
ARTHUR D. HOWDEN SMITH
AUTHOR OF "THE AUDACIOUS ADVENTURES
OF MILES McCONAUGHY," ETC.
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
_Copyright, 1919,
By George H. Doran Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
TO
ARTHUR SULLIVANT HOFFMAN
IN A SPIRIT SOMEWHAT
MALICIOUS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I In Crowden Wood
II Strangers at Blancherive
III The Knife in the Twilight
IV The Jongleur and the Greenwood Men
V Hugh Gains a Friend
VI The Swart Shipman
VII The Sea-Wolves
VIII Spears of Destiny
IX The Comrades Take the Cross
X How Hugh Was Tested
XI The Green Gondola
XII The Isle of Rabbits
XIII In The Power of the Doge
XIV The Bargain of the Host
XV Hugh's Enemies Strike Again
XVI The Imperial City
XVII How Hugh Won Knighthood
XVIII The Storming of the Walls
XIX How the False Alexius Fled
XX Treachery
XXI How Hugh's Quest Was Ended
XXII The Treasure of the Bucoleon
XXIII How Bartolommeo Trusted a Strange Jailer
XXIV How the Comrades Rode to Blachernae
XXV Vengeance
XXVI Lords of the World
Epilogue
SPEARS OF DESTINY
CHAPTER I
IN CROWDEN WOOD
"Harrow! On, hounds! On, hounds! Take him, dogs! Out, harrow!"
The aisles of Crowden Wood rang to the clamour of voices and the
belling of shaggy hounds. Through the budding foliage of beech and
oak and ash the spring sunlight streamed upon the leaf-brown mould
that floored a winding ride. Around one end of this leafy tunnel
scampered a fox, nose close to the ground, brush held high. His pink
tongue dripped over slavering jaws and his little eyes were very
bright, but his stride was tireless. One look he cast over his
shoulder as he turned the corner--and as he saw the leading hounds
leap into view, he stretched his pace until he seemed a red shadow
flickering through the golden-greens of sunshine and foliage.
"Harrow! Harrow!"
Two mounted figures swept into the ride on the heels of the galloping
hounds. Side by side they rode--a girl in a green doublet and soft
deerskin breeches, astride a gallant black mare, and a tall youth,
also in forest-green, upon a great grey stallion. Behind them
followed a third horseman, a gigantic figure of a man, young,
red-faced, intensely serious, above whose shoulder rose the end of a
six-foot bow stave.
"The scent is fresh," cried the youth. "Hear them give tongue,
Edith."
The girl nodded merrily. She was a slim, lissome creature, who might
have seemed a boy had it not been for the exquisite fineness of her
features and her crown of sun-pierced yellow hair, scarce covered by
a jaunty little hunting-cap. She was Saxon, beyond a doubt. The
youth beside her, a lean-flanked stripling of twenty, was as plainly
Norman. His face was dark and narrow and his nose aquiline. His
black hair already was clipped close for the helmet. He held his
stallion as easily as the girl controlled her mare.
"We are fair on him now," she answered. "But look you, Hugh, he
makes toward the London road, and if he wins across we may lose him
in the wilds beyond."
"He'll not go far, except the Saints speed him, with this handicap,"
retorted the young man confidently. He turned in his saddle. "How
far hence is the London Road, Ralph?" he called back.
The giant with the long-bow pressed his steed closer and peered ahead.
"'Tis closer than I like to think of, Messer Hugh," he said. "There
is another long ride, and then----"
They spoke in that peculiar dialect of Norman French which was the
language of the ruling class in England and of its retainers.
The girl interrupted with an exclamation, pointing her hunting-spear
toward the far distance where the ride ended in an arched opening
that showed dusty-white. Midway of it trembled the red brush of Dan
Russell, and hard after him raced the hounds. Hugh stood up in his
short stirrups.
"On, Pelleas! On, Hector!" he cried. "Bravely, hounds! Harrow!
Out, harrow!"
He touched his heels ever so lightly to the grey stallion's flanks,
and the big horse flew over the leaf-strewn ground like an arrow from
a long-bow. The black mare closed up to the stallion's flank, and
hung there, graceful as a swallow in flight. With a despairing yell,
Ralph was left far behind. His lumbering war-horse, good only for
joust or battle-charge, was hopelessly out-classed.
That was a brave race. Dan Russell forgot to flick his tail, and put
every ounce of his plucky heart into out-distancing the hounds.
Across the white highroad, he knew, there was a wilderness untracked
by winding rides, virgin forest that rolled away across several
shires, peopled by the red deer, charcoal-burners, the forest's wild
things and out-laws. Foot by foot, yard by yard, the hounds
overhauled him, but Dan Russell kept his lead. He might have kept
his freedom and his life, too, but when he burst from the ride onto
the highroad, scrambling up the embankment the Romans had raised when
they built it, he found himself in a confused huddle of horsemen, who
shouted and reined back and spurred ahead and blocked his escape
effectually.
Into this turmoil leaped the hounds, their fangs flashing. There was
one yelp, a flurry of bloody fur, and Dan Russell's last race was
run. The youth and the girl pounded out of the ride in the midst of
the confusion, and reined in their horses barely in time to avoid
riding down a couple of pack-mules and a frightened servant who
cowered in the dust.
"By the Bodyless Ones, but you ride hard, gentles!" drawled a voice
in Norman French with a sibilant lisp.
Hugh pulled his stallion around on its haunches. The speaker was a
man of his own height, dark with a Latin darkness quite unlike Hugh's
Northern tincture, clothed richly in stuffs that even Hugh's
untutored eye identified as the fabrics of Eastern looms. He might
have been anywhere from thirty to forty years in age, and he had an
assurance of manner that indicated wide experience. Involuntarily,
Hugh hated the man, hated him coldly, but implacably, for his cruel
thin-lipped mouth and inscrutable eyes that hinted at grim secrets
within and greedily fastened on Edith's flushed face.
But Hugh was an English gentleman, this man was a stranger, and the
courtesies of the day were just beginning to elaborate into the
full-flowered perfection of the age of chivalry. Off came Hugh's
cap, and he bowed to his saddle-bow.
"I crave your pardon, sir, if my hounds disturbed your servants," he
apologised. "We are not wont to kill in the highroad. 'Twas a
mischance."
"Say no more," replied the stranger, forced to withdraw his eyes from
the girl's face. "You ran your quarry well, young sir. In sooth,
you took us by surprise. One moment, and we plodded calmly along,
dull as pilgrims. The next, and I feared me some robber baron was
worrying my train."
He spoke with a tentative lilt of humour, his eyes again fastened on
the girl's face, as if to force her into the conversation. But Hugh
refused to be drawn.
"Give you god-den, Messer," he said curtly. "Come, hounds! Good
dogs!"
A lift of his eyebrows, and Edith reined around and backed her mare
into the shadows of the ride. Hugh was about to follow, when the
stranger interposed.
"May I crave your indulgence further?" he asked, pressing his horse
forward. "I seek Blancherive, a castle of Sir Godwin Halcroft. Can
you direct me towards it?"
"Blancherive!"
Hugh's jaw dropped.
"Yes. Do you know it?"
"'Tis on the first road beyond the wood, turning off the highroad,"
answered Hugh, ignoring the last question, and without giving the
stranger opportunity to speak again he wheeled his stallion and
dashed up the ride, the hounds a silent pack at his heels, the girl
beside him all curiosity.
"He asked for Blancherive," she exclaimed. "Why, Hugh, who can he
be? No friend of Uncle Godwin's that I wot of."
"No, the man is new to me," Hugh agreed. "You heard him ask his way.
A stranger. No Frenchman by his talk, either. It may be he is from
Italy."
"From Italy? But who would come seeking Uncle Godwin from Italy?"
"Would that I knew, Edith. Well, shall we head back to the Castle
and find out?"
She considered, her face of a sudden very grave.
"No, I have a feeling bids me not, Hugh," she decided. "Let us make
the most of this day while we have it. What next?"
"First pick up Ralph. Then--what say you to flushing Prior Thomas?
I am starved, and there is always good food at the Priory."
"Excellent," she applauded. "'Tis better far than the Castle hall
and company manners, if strangers be there. Yonder is Ralph. I'll
race you to him."
"Done!"
Away galloped the two steeds, neck and neck, and Ralph, seeing them
coming, drew aside. They thundered up to him and reined to a halt.
"Who won?" demanded Edith.
"Nay, mistress, I did not see," stammered the giant. "There was not
a whisker between the noses of the two. But this long time past I
have thought ye dead or broken."
"We have had an adventure, Ralph," Hugh told him. "We have met
strangers for Blancherive on the highroad."
"Not the King's heralds from London?"
"Nay, fool! King John is too concerned with his own affairs to waste
heralds on us. They were strangers--from Outremer, mayhap."
Ralph's eyes grew big.
"From Outremer? Belike they have seen the heathen lands, where the
Paynims and the man-eaters live."
"Well, of that we shall learn more anon," returned Hugh, by no means
sceptical. "For this present, Ralph, we seek the Prior and food.
Canst lead us thither the shortest way?"
"Ay, and that readily."
It was a half-hour's canter to Crowden Priory on the near edge of the
Wood, and they rode as youth loves to ride: a headlong gait. Crupper
to crupper, the black mare and the grey stallion kept even pace, with
never a snort of fatigue from distended nostrils.
For a time they rode in silence, each buried in thoughts that had
risen since the odd meeting in the highroad. Then Hugh said abruptly
to his comrade:
"I shall ask this man if he wots aught of my father."
Her eyes met his.
"You are still of a mind to go knight erranting, Hugh?"
"Ay, naught shall shake me," he answered gloomily. "'tis a mystery
ill likes me. I have a mind to know: Have I a father or have I not?
It seems there is none can tell me. I shall go and search for myself
when I am free."
"And that will be a year's time hence?"
"'Tis so set down in the deed in Prior Thomas's chest. The day I
shall be one-and-twenty I shall be free of the Chesby lands, free of
myself, free to do as I list, go as I list, come as I list."
He straightened in his saddle.
"Ah, that day is long in coming, Edith! I find no fault with Prior
Thomas. Fair he hath been with me always, and lenient. But these
two years now, I have longed to be up and doing, riding with the King
or for my own hand. The world goes on apace, and I must sit home
here and play at jousting in the Castle yard or----"
"Or ride in Crowden Wood with me," she finished for him
reproachfully. "Nay, Hugh, you are not gallant."
"'Twas not what I meant to say," he retorted. "And in sooth, I can
find fault with you no more than with Prior Thomas. But you are
growing fast to womanhood, and----well, I marked your uncle cast
dubious eyes at those breeches as we rode forth this morning."
She laughed.
"Bless his dear old heart! That will have been Dame Alicia, dropping
words of wisdom in his ear. Can I not hear her! 'But my lord, she
grows over-old for such pranks! 'Tis time a stop was put to such
hoydenish ways!' Oh, I know her! Soon, Hugh, they will have me in
bounds worse than ever were set for you."
Her voice took on a melancholy note, and Hugh involuntarily stretched
out his hand to pat her shoulder.
"But I shall be ready to squire you," he said. "Have we not planned
that I shall be your knight?"
"Ay, but mayhap you will be far away." She spoke quite seriously,
her eyes fixed on the distance where the spire of Crowden Priory
soared above the opening fields. "Do not forget, Hugh, that my way
lies toward Outremer, no less than yours. Some day my father will
send for me, and that day must I go. He has lacked me over-long."
"That is all settled," declared Hugh. "Have we not agreed that my
errantry lies eastward into Outremer, to Constantinople and
Byzantium, as well as to the Holy Land?"
She looked at him shyly, half-woman, half-child; underneath the
soberness of maidenhood, the gaiety of childhood only half-suppressed.
"Dame Alicia says that men are prodigal of words, and loath to make
them good," she answered.
"A plague on her for a sour old maid!" cried Hugh. "Here, there
shall be no doubt of this! Wilt have me for your knight, Edith?"
Her cheeks reddened, her eyes suffused and dropped, at the note of
mastery ringing in his voice.
"Yes, Hugh," she murmured so low he scarce could hear her above the
thudding of hoofs on the leaf-mould.
"Then 'tis fitting you give me a badge to wear for you as my lady,"
he pressed.
"Art in earnest, Hugh?"
"Never was I more so."
"What--what shall it be?" she asked faintly.
He surveyed her swiftly.
"It must be something I can wear on my helm without fear of its
tattering," he explained. "I know not----"
"My glove?" she offered.
"Ay, the very thing!"
She stripped it from her right hand and gave it to him. Hugh bent
low as he received it, then stood in his stirrups and waved it high
in air.
"A pledge to you, Edith," he cried. "I swear to you by St. James, my
father's patron saint and mine, that whilst I have this token no
barriers shall keep me from you, if you call me to your aid. I will
be a true knight to you, and serve you diligently in all that you
require."
Her eyes shone.
"That was finely spoken, Hugh, and I know there was never knight so
true as you will be."
"Ay, when I have won knighthood," rejoined Hugh, a trifle moodily,
his first enthusiasm past. "We forget I have yet to earn the
accolade--at an age when many men are warriors of name and fame."
"Fear not," she reassured him. "You will make your name, Hugh. How
often have Uncle Godwin and Robin Fletcher said you would turn out
such a man of your hands as your father was?"
"Ay, but----"
He broke off, and thrust the glove into his doublet.
"I trust not words," he went on presently. "And I shall trust myself
better after I have been put to the proof. Who can trust an
unbloodied sword?"
"I trust you," she answered. "And so does Ralph. Do you not?" she
demanded of the huge follower who had closed up on their heels.
"Whatever you say, Lady," he returned simply. "So be it is what
Messer Hugh wishes."
She laughed merrily and, despite himself, Hugh joined in.
"I am a churl," he said. "Forgive me, Edith."
"Right willingly. And here is the Priory."
Prior Thomas was standing on the porch of the Prior's Lodge as his
visitors rode up. He was a round, merry little man, with shrewd,
twinkling eyes and the imperious manner of a great administrator,
upon whose shoulders rested the burden of vast interests. No baron
of the surrounding shires bulked grander in importance. Crowden
Priory boasted twenty knights' fees, maintained its own feudal
retainers and exerted a sway that was reckoned with by the King--and
respectfully, at that.
"How now, my children?" exclaimed the Prior jovially. "What do you
clattering in my close in this worldly fashion, disturbing my monks
in their orisons and dazzling the lay-brothers with your pomp and
circumstance? A penance on you, naughty ones!"
"And what may that be, Father Thomas?" inquired Edith, as she slipped
lithely from her saddle and handed her bridle to Ralph.
"A fine, fat carp," whispered Prior Thomas. "If Brother Engild has
done as I directed him, it should be a morsel of a daintiness equal
to yourself. Will you join me, the two of you?"
"'Twas what we had determined upon," announced Hugh frankly, as he,
too, dismounted. "Ralph, do you take the dogs back to Chesby. Anon,
ride on to Blancherive and await me there. Ay, Father Thomas, I
would best warn you that we are sore hungered, for all morning we
have ridden the Wood."
"Hunting the King's deer, I'll be bound!" exclaimed the Prior. "Now,
what ado is this? If the Wardens----"
"Nay, 'twas only Red Dan, and your pullets will flourish the safer
for our work."
"Humph," grunted the Prior. "And even so I am somewhat of a mind to
turn you over to the King's Verderers. It is not so many years since
the fox was made a beast of the chase and reserved."
"I'll chance it," laughed Hugh. "Sir Godwin hath told me of Canute's
law, which gives all a free hand at Red Dan, and his Saxon spirit
will not put up with any other. I'm with him in that, Father Thomas."
"A naughty fellow, indeed!" protested the Prior, as he led them into
the great hall of the Lodge. "Well, you shall have my protection,
Hugh, and you have well-earned your meal if you have helped us
preserve those pullets. Sit ye down, children, sit ye down. What
news do ye bring?"
"We met strangers on the London Road who asked the way to
Blancherive," said Edith.
"Strangers? Humph! What manner of strangers?"
"Dark, ill-favoured," volunteered Hugh. "Oh, well enough dressed, I
grant you"--this in reply to an objection from Edith--"but I liked
not the looks of their leader."
"Whence come they?" inquired Prior Thomas. Foreigners were seldom
seen in that out-of-the-way corner of England.
"They did not say."
"No clue to their race?"
"The leader swore 'by the Bodyless Ones,'" suggested Edith.
Hugh gave her an admiring glance.
"Now, that is a clever maid," he said. "I never remembered it."
"It sounds schismatical," commented Prior Thomas doubtfully. "Ay, I
suspect that to be a wickedness of the heretics of the Eastern
church. Too bad! When you first spoke I had hoped they might be
travellers from Rome, who could give us word of the Holy Apostle and
his Cardinals. Ah, well, 'tis passing strange if they have come all
this way to England from Outremer."
A light flooded Edith's face.
"Oh," she exclaimed, leaping to her feet, "and if they are come from
Constantinople, do you think it may be they bring word of my father?"
Prior Thomas stroked his clean-shaven face in reflection.
"Belike, belike," he assented slowly. "It may be, my maid. 'Tis all
of a year since last Sir Cedric wrote. Had he known these travellers
would venture so far he might well have entrusted them with letters."
"And you will read them to me?"
"What need, with Scholar Hugh to help you?" Prior Thomas laughed.
"Ah, Hugh, some day wilt thou give thanks that I made a clerk out of
you, for all your arrogant Norman blood."
"In sooth, I see cause for thankfulness already," admitted Hugh a
trifle shame-facedly. "This last year I have found it easier to keep
my accounts, and there are fewer rents scamped for the records I have
writ on my scrolls."
"Good youth," approved the Prior. "'Tis a meritable combination,
Hugh, clerkship and swordcraft. Some day, I say--but here comes the
carp. To your trenchers, my children."