Part 3 (2/2)

”Brother John, if you fight your cousin Hugh, who is my affianced husband, and fall, on your own head be it, for know, your blood shall not stand between him and me, since it was you who struck him, and not he you. Be warned, John, and let him go, lest he should send you farther than you wish to travel. And to you, Hugh, I say, though it is much to ask, if he throws down his sword, forget that unknightly blow and come thither.”

”You hear,” said Hugh shortly to John. ”Now, because she is your sister, if it's your will I'll begone in peace.”

”Ay,” answered John, setting his thin lips, ”because you are a coward, woman-thief, and seek to live that you may bring shame upon our House.

Well, that will pa.s.s when you die presently!”

”John, John, boast not,” cried Eve. ”Who has shown you where you will sleep to-night?”

”Whether I shall live or die, G.o.d knows alone,” said Hugh solemnly. ”But what I seek to know is, should it chance to be your lot to die, whether your people or this Frenchman will set on me, or raise a blood-feud against me. Tell me now, Sir John Clavering.”

”If you kill my son in combat _a outrance_, he being the challenger,”

answered the knight, ”none shall lift hand against you for that deed if I can hold them back. But know that I have other cause of quarrel against you”--and he pointed to his daughter--”and that if you meddle more with her, who is not for you, certainly you shall die.”

”And, young sir,” broke in Sir Edmund, ”I pray you to understand that this Lady Eve to-morrow becomes my wife with the will of her father and her kin; and that if you try to stand between us, although I may not fight you, seeing what I am and what you are, I'll kill you like a rat when and where I get the chance! Yes,” he added, in a savage snarl, ”I pledge my knightly honour that I will kill you like a rat, if I must follow you across the world to do so!”

”You will not have need to travel far if I have my will,” answered the young man sternly, ”since Red Eve is mine, not yours, and, living or dead, mine she will remain. As for your fine knightly honour, Sir Edmund Acour, Count de Noyon, Seigneur of Cattrina, what has a traitor to his King to do with honour, one who is here as a spy of Philip of France, as the poor merchant's lad knows well? Oh, take you hand from your sword, of which you say I am not worthy, and, since you say also that I have so many enemies, let me begin with a squire of my own degree.”

Now at these bold words arose a clamour of voices speaking in French and English.

”What say you to this, Sir Edmund?” shouted Sir John Clavering above them all. ”You are a great lord and a wealthy, beloved by me also as the affianced of my daughter, but I am a loyal Englishman who have no truck with traitors to my King.”

”What say I?” asked Sir Edmund calmly. ”I say that if this fellow can fight as well as he can lie, your son has but a poor chance with him.

As you know well, I came hither from France to visit my estates, not to learn what strength his Grace of England, my liege lord, gathers for the new war with Philip.”

”Enough,” said Sir John; ”though this is the first I have heard of such a war, for it would seem that you know more of King Edward's mind than I do. The light begins to fail, there is no time for talk. Stand clear, all men, and let these two settle it.”

”Ay,” croaked Grey d.i.c.k, ”stand clear, all men, while my master cuts the throat of his cousin Clavering, since he who stands not clear shall presently lie straight!” and he tapped his terrible bow with his right hand, then instantly seized the string again.

The two were face to face. Round them on horse and on foot, at a distance perhaps of twenty paces, were gathered the Clavering men and the French Count's troop; for now all had come up from the far parts of the marsh. Only toward the river side the ring was open, whether because those who made it feared Grey d.i.c.k's arrows, or in order that he and Red Eve might see everything that chanced.

The pair were well matched, for though Hugh was the taller, John, his senior by a year, was thicker set and better trained in arms. But the sword of John was longer by a hand's breadth than that Hugh carried as a merchant, which was heavy, of such a make as the ancient Romans used, and sharpened on either edge. Neither of them wore armour, since Hugh had no right to do so, and John had not come out to fight.

They stood still for a moment in the midst of a breathless silence, the red light of the stormy sunset striking across them both. Everything was red, the smoke-clouds rising from the sullen, burning marsh, into which the fire was still eating far away; the waters of the Blythe brimful with the tide that had just turned toward the sea, the snow and ice itself. Even the triangle of wild swans brought by the hard weather from the northern lands looked red as they pursued their heavy and majestic flight toward the south, heedless of man and his affairs beneath.

Not long did these remain heedless, however, since, either to show his skill or for some other purpose of his own, Grey d.i.c.k lifted his bow and loosed an arrow, almost, it seemed, at hazard. Yet that arrow pierced the leader of the flock, so that down it came in wide circles, and in a last struggle hovered for a moment over the group of men, then fell among them with a thud, the blood from its pierced breast bespattering Sir Edmund Acour and John Clavering's black hair.

”An ill omen for those two, and especially for him who wears a white swan for a crest,” said a voice. But at the moment none took much notice, except Grey d.i.c.k, who chuckled at the success of his shot, since all were intent on greater matters--namely, which of those two young men should die.

Sir John, the father, rode forward and addressed them.

”To the death without mercy to the fallen,” he said grimly.

They bent their heads in answer.

”Now!” he cried, and reined back his horse.

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