Part 1 (1/2)
CEDRIC, THE FORESTER.
by Bernard Gay Marshall.
CHAPTER I-THE SIEGE OF CASTLE MOUNTJOY
That was a blithe spring morning when the messenger from the King brought to my father the order to join the army at Lincoln for the great expedition into Scotland. Six armored knights with their squires and a hundred men-at-arms made up the Mountjoy quota; and these my father, liege lord of the domain and loyal subject of the crown, lost no time in bringing together.
Messengers, on horseback and afoot hurried out with his commands; and at the castle we were all in a pretty flurry of making ready.
The armorers were hammering and riveting in the courtyard, making a most merry din; the big ox-carts lumbered in over the drawbridge, bearing meat and grain for my father's company while on its way to the a.s.sembly ground and for us who were to remain at Mountjoy; and our men in their leathern jackets and hoods and with their cross-bows slung on their backs were coming in by ones and twos and in groups of half a score.
Now my lady mother drew near to Father's side as he watched the labor of the armorers, and I, having no will to lose any word of his, came forward also.
”My lord,” she said, ”I would speak with thee where the noise of these hammers will not deafen our ears.”
My father laughed as one laughs at the sorriest jest when he is gay.
”Gadzooks! my lady,” he said with a curtsy which my mother says he learned in Italy, and which, try as I may, I cannot copy-”a daughter of the Montmorencys should find in the din of armorers' hammers a music far sweeter than that of the lute or viol.”
”'Tis well enough,” said my mother, hurriedly, ”and I should sorrow to live where it never was heard. But I have a grave matter upon which to consult thee. Hast thou given thought, my lord, to the castle's defense during thine absence and that of the best part of our men?”
My father's brow became furrowed. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mother frowned at me so I held my peace. Methinks she sometimes thinks of me as naught more than a child, forgetting that it was my fifteenth birthday that we marked at Candlemas.
”Some little I have thought of that,” began my father, ”and, indeed, Kate, I would not have thee think I would leave thee unsecured. Marvin, the old cross-bowman who attended me through all my campaigns, and whose eye for the homing place of his arrow, is, in spite of his years, like that of Robin Hood himself, shall be thy right-hand servitor, and with him six good serving men, who, like him, are of the older day and unfit for the long marches, but who can handle the cross-bow or, at need, the spear as well as in their best days. These shall be at thy command; and will be ample for these quiet times.”
”Nay, my lord,” she answered, quickly, ”these days are none so quiet, with the Old Wolf of Carleton sharpening his fangs for us and ours.”
”The Old Wolf hath his summons to the King's banner as I have mine. Our smaller quarrels must be laid aside while the war is on; and if Fortune desert me not, I shall return far higher in the favor of the King than e'er before. It is this very business, well and faithfully done, that shall put an end to Carleton's insolence. The Wolf shall snap his jaws in vain. The fat goose of Mountjoy for which he hungers shall show itself an eagle with beak and talons.”
”I hope it may be as thou sayest, my lord. Still, leave with us Old Alan, the armorer. He too is past the days of hard campaigns; and thou wilt have the young smith, d.i.c.kon, for thy work in the camp. Alan shall make for us such a store of cross-bow bolts as will make Old Marvin and his men seem a score in case of need.”
”As thou wilt, Kate. I had need of Old Alan's head far more than his hands; but 'tis true enough he's not the man who followed my father to the wars.”
Then he turned to me and smiled as on that greeting day of his return from the Holy Wars.
”But, Kate,” he cried, ”here is the Champion of Mountjoy now. We had forgot the chief of our defenders. Mayhap Sir d.i.c.kon here, if any seek to do thee harm, will find better marks for his bolts than rooks and hares.”
I knew that he made a jest of me; for he, too, hardly knows that I lack but half a foot of being as tall as himself and that when I am not put about by hurry or the like, my voice is as low a ba.s.s. But I answered in goodly earnest:
”That I will, Father. An if any varlet throw but an unmannerly word at my lady mother, I'll stop his mouth with a good steel bolt. Let but any one-Gray Wolf or other-threaten Mountjoy while thou'rt away, and come within bow-shot of our walls, and he shall rue it well.”
”Ha! The young eagle tries his wings,” laughed my father. ”Spoken like a true Mountjoy, d.i.c.kon. Thou'lt do. Give thee but a few more years and thou'lt serve the King like all thy line.”
”And like a true Montmorency, my lord,” put in my mother. ”Forget not that.”
”'Pon my soul, 'tis true,” he laughed, ”d.i.c.kon hath as good blood on the distaff side as any his father can boast.-But to the matter of the castle's defense in need. Will-o'-the-Wallfield shall stay behind also to see that stores of grain and beef are ample. He's ever a good hand with the farmers and as sound as an oak staff.” And with a kiss for my mother and a pinch o' the ear for me, he hurried out again to the armorers.
His spirits in good sooth were high that morning, as well might they be.
It was full two years since his return from the Holy Land. I had seen him in London, riding in his s.h.i.+ning mail with those who had helped redeem the Blessed Sepulcher, and he the bravest, finest figure of them all. Since that time he had stayed here at the castle with naught to do save to judge the suits of the countryfolk and now and again chase down and hang some forest-lurking robber. His comrades in arms and those that knew his temper and his deeds were at the Court, a hundred miles away; and many a dull day must have seemed a week in pa.s.sing. Here in the West we have no tourneys and of travelers from the farther world not many.