Part 8 (1/2)
”Marry! Well bethought, d.i.c.kon. It were indeed a shame to let such archery at our festival go unrewarded. 'Twill pleasure Cedric also; and, truly, he hath borne himself well this day.”
Rising, he addressed the company:
”Ho! good friends all! Fair ladies and most wors.h.i.+pful knights and gentlemen: I go to the courtyard to say to our yeomanry a.s.sembled there some words that you may also wish to hear.”
Then he pa.s.sed out of the hall, and all the lords and ladies rose to follow him. Cedric and I were last. As we waited for the crowd to pa.s.s through the doorway, he whispered, sharply:
”Hast thou then told Lord Mountjoy after all?”
I smiled in answer.
”Contain thyself, good Cedric, and hear what thou shalt hear.”
He would have questioned further, but at that moment my father's voice was heard in the courtyard.
”Friends and Well Wishers of the House of Mountjoy: I know full well, 'twill pleasure you to hear that the prize that our good Marvin hath so truly won this day is not the sole prize of our festival. The cross-bow is a n.o.ble weapon, but the long-bow of Merry England is no less; and we have seen some archery to-day that must not go without a guerdon.
Therefore to Elbert, Forester of Pelham and father of Cedric, now of our house, I give his choice of any cow in the Mountjoy herds, saving only that which Marvin chooses. To John o' the Wallfield also I make gift of a good steel cross-bow of the sort which Marvin tells me he much desires, and with which he may better even the archery he hath bravely shown to-day.
”Now here's a health to Merry England and long life to her honest yeomanry! So long as they guide bolt and shaft as now they'll confusion bring to all of England's enemies.”
So it befell that in the dusk of that fair day Elbert, the forester, did lead home to Pelham Wood a goodly, milk-white heifer. A proud man was he of this prize of his archery; but, had he known the full tale of the day's doings, he might have been, without vainglory, prouder still.
CHAPTER VI-WOLF'S HEAD GLEN
I think that that spring morning whereon Cedric and I set out on the forest road to Coventry was the fairest that ever I have seen. The sun shone gloriously in the open glades and on the moorlands, and white clouds sailed aloft like racing galleons. The bird chorus among the little new leaves overhead was as the mingled music of harps and lutes and voices in the choir at Shrewsbury, and flowerets of blue and pink and gold full gallantly bedecked the pathside and the brown forest floor. Withal 'twas not a day for idleness and dreaming, for a chill air breathed in the darker vales, and here and there in the deep woodlands and on northern slopes a graying patch of snow yet lingered.
Old William, a faithful archer of Mountjoy, rode with us as guide and counsellor-this by the insistence of my father, Lord Mountjoy, who had a sorry lack of faith in the judgment and discretion of what he called ”two half-broke colts” like Cedric and me.
”I know full well,” he had said when I broached the plan of riding the ten leagues to Coventry to pay due respects to our kinsfolk of Montmorency,-”that Cedric hath a wondrous skill and quickness with his cross-bow, and that thou, d.i.c.kon, in thy sword-play, art not far behind many a man that calls himself knight and soldier. You will be mounted well; and mayhap, if danger beset, can fight or fly, saving whole skins as on that day the Carletons hunted you in the woods of Teramore. But all is not done by eyes and limbs, be they never so keen and skilled.
Your veteran of three-score will step softly and dry-shod around the quagmire in which your hair-brained youth of sixteen plunges head and ears.”
”Never fear, Father,” I cried, ”with William or without, we'll keep whole skins. These are now full quiet days, and we ride for pleasure, not for brawling.”
”'Tis true,” he answered slowly, ”with the hanging of Strongbow, we now have the outlaw bands in wholesome fear; and the Carletons have raised no battle cry since the fall. 'Tis like they have little will for it since they were so sorely smitten at the siege and first the Old Wolf and later young Lionel received their just dues from us and ours. They have no leaders now save the widowed lady and a fifteen-years old lad that bears his father's name of Geoffrey and shall be Lord of Carleton.
Mayhap we have before us some few years to build the fortunes of our house without let or hindrance from any of that crew at Teramore. But William shall go with thee to Coventry, ne'ertheless, to see that thou miss not the road and seek no useless brawls. Listen well to what he tells thee, and thou'lt make a safe return.”
Now all three of us had our cross-bows slung upon our backs; and I wore at my side the good Damascus blade which was my dearest pride. We carried in leathern pouches a store of bread and meat for the midday meal; and William had made s.h.i.+ft to shoot a moorfowl that he spied running midst the gorse by the wayside.
So, an hour past the noonday, we made camp by a fair stream, set a fire alight to roast the bird, and feasted right merrily. As we sat about the embers, filled with the comfort of hunger well sated, I lifted up my voice in a ballad of which I had many times of late made secret practice. It went right merrily and clear; and when I had once sung it through Cedric and old William both urged me on to repeat it. When I sang again Cedric surprised me much, seeing the untaught forester that he was, by joining me with a sweet, high contra-melody that wondrously enhanced the music; and old William too, after a few gruff trials, did bravely swell the chorus.
Thus pleasantly occupied, and with our carol ringing through the vale, we heard no sound of hoofbeats, and I looked up with a start to see, pa.s.sing along the path, fifty paces from our camp fire, three armed and mounted travelers.
There were two stout men-at-arms, wearing the braced and quilted jackets that, against arrows or javelins, so well replace breastplates of steel, and armed with great two-handed broadswords and poniards. Between them, and a little to the fore, on a proudly stepping little gelding, rode a youth of somewhat less than our own years, wearing an embroidered tunic of white and rose and a sword which hung in a scabbard rich with gold and gems.
William s.n.a.t.c.hed at the cross-bow which lay on the gra.s.s beside him; but the strangers paid little heed to us, the men-at-arms but glancing surlily in our direction. In a moment they had pa.s.sed from sight, and the forest was quiet again. For a little we talked of who they might be and what their errand was in these parts; but none of us could name any of their party. We were now some eight leagues from Castle Mountjoy and mayhap three from Mannerley Lodge. It seemed not unlikely that the stranger youth might be of some party that visited the good lady of Mannerley, and that he was now riding abroad under the escort of two of her stout retainers.
The pa.s.sing of the strangers, and the sour looks of the two men had driven the carol from our minds; and we loosed our horses from the saplings to which they had been tied, and soberly remounted to resume our journey. It had been ten of the morning ere we left Mountjoy, and we had come but slowly along the narrow forest paths. Now the sun was well down in the West, and clouds were gathering darkly overhead. William urged us to make haste lest we be caught in the cold rain that he prophesied would be falling ere night. So we took the road again, and, after all our good cheer and merry chorusing, with our spirits strangely adroop.