Part 10 (2/2)

For my own handling of this weapon, I fear that all Cedric's and old Marvin's teachings are bootless, and that never shall I shoot with any certainty; but, to Cedric's huge delight, Sir Geoffrey took to the exercise like one born in a forester's cottage. In half an hour he was striking marks at fifty paces that were small enough for Cedric's own aim at twice that distance, and his instructor was prophesying he would be a bonny archer long before he could well handle a broadsword. This I thought likely enough, for Geoffrey, though his age lacked but half a year of Cedric's and mine, was somewhat lightly built and had not yet the reach and the forearm muscles that make a swordsman. 'Twas plain that among us three I should long remain the master with this best of weapons; and with this thought to console me, I took it not too ill that I should prove such a poor third at the archery.

That night, as Cedric and I sat at board with my father and mother, we were full of talk of the day's doings; and I was already planning festival days and nights when the Carletons and the Mountjoys and all our friends of Pelham and of Mannerley should fore-gather at Mountjoy or at Teramore for feasts and dancing in such ways as had been in days of yore.

Suddenly my mother interrupted all this talk and planning with a sober question:

”And the Lady of Carleton-Geoffrey's mother-did she greet thee full courteously to-day, d.i.c.kon?”

At once I felt as one who treads in icy water where he had thought to meet firm ground.

”Nay, mother. We saw her not at all-save for a glimpse at chamber window as we rode toward the drawbridge.”

”Ah! then she was not abroad, it seems.”

”Nay, she kept her chamber. Mayhap she was not well.”

”Did Sir Geoffrey make for her her excuse?”

My face, as I could feel, grew burning red as I made answer:

”Nay, he said no word of her.”

Then Lady Mountjoy turned to my father, who had been closely listening:

”It seems, my lord, that we shall not soon ride toward Teramore.”

My father sadly shook his head, and gazed at the board before him. He had been glad at heart at the thought of the healed breach between the two houses; and now it seemed that all such thoughts were vain.

”Mayhap Lady Carleton will ride over with Sir Geoffrey when next week he comes to Mountjoy as he promised,” I offered.

My father again shook his head.

”Mayhap she will, d.i.c.kon. If so be, she shall have the right hand of welcome; but much I mis...o...b.. her coming to Mountjoy. When all is said, 'tis but natural she cannot bring herself to call us friends. It was we of Mountjoy that did to death her husband and her eldest son; and though we know well, and have maintained it by oath and by arms, that 'twas in fair battle, on our part at least, and that they brought their deaths upon themselves, yet perhaps 'tis too much to expect her to credit our words and deeds that give the lie to those of her own house. Nay, I see it now. She will never be a friend of Mountjoy.”

He sighed deeply and turned again to his carving. None of us had more words; and it seemed that a cold fog, like those that come from the Western Sea in springtime, had settled on our spirits.

Four days later Sir Geoffrey came to Mountjoy, attended by a well-armed retinue; but his lady mother was not with him; and again he said no word of her. We made the young heir of Carleton full welcome to Mountjoy, and spent the day with meat and drink and the practice of arms. With the cross-bow he did even better than before, and showed himself not too dull a learner at the foils. But the gayety we had had at Teramore was not with us at Mountjoy. 'Twas as if some shriveled witch had envied us our merriment and put a spell upon us to destroy it. Something of this Sir Geoffrey seemed to feel at last; and the sun was yet three hours high when he took horse for his return.

So pa.s.sed the summer. We did not ride again to Teramore, nor did Sir Geoffrey come to Mountjoy. Once I learned that he visited the Lady of Mannerley; and Cedric and I took the same day to pay our own respects.

We had much good talk of the outlaw band and of the great day that was now fast approaching, but of Lady Carleton and the new peace that reigned between Mountjoy and Carleton no word was spoken.

Came a day in fair October that minded me full sharply of that one a year agone whereon I had met Lionel of Carleton in the woods of Teramore. The men of Mountjoy were early astir, and four score strong, counting the men-at-arms, the cross-bow men and the foresters with their long-bows and cloth-yard shafts, were making toward their post on the hither side of Blackpool Wood. On our left, two furlongs off, were Lord Pelham and his archers; to the right the score or so of Mannerly retainers and Squire Dunwoodie with half a hundred yeomen. On the far side of the forest, three leagues away, we knew that young Sir Geoffrey with dour-faced old Hubert led nigh two hundred Carleton men-at-arms and bowmen, and Lionel of Montmorency a hundred more. We were to march in open line, converging toward the center of the wood at grim Blackpool.

Any of the robbers found in hiding were to be captured or slain; and whichever leader first encountered the outlaws in force was to give three long notes on his hunting horn. Then half the forces of all the others were immediately to join him, leaving the remainder to guard all lines of possible escape. Our plans had been well kept secret amongst the leaders; not one of our own men knew them until that very morning.

Withal it promised to be a most unlucky day for those cut-throat knaves who had so long cheated the gallows.

Our march was slow, as well might be in all those brakes and rocky glens. Now and again a lurking knave in Lincoln green was found and quickly made prisoner-or, if he made resistance, even more quickly disposed of. Some, however, were too fleet of foot for capture by our more heavily burdened men; and, after sending a shaft or two at the line of skirmishers, made good their escape into the wood before us.

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