Part 13 (1/2)
When did ever such make s.h.i.+ft to guide or protect a state?”
”Those same chronicles, my lord, of which you spoke but now, tell us of a republic of Rome, where commoners ruled the city, and that that city grew so great in power as to rule half the world and more.”
My father gazed grimly at the youth who dared thus to question his wisdom; but for the moment he had naught to say, and Lady Mountjoy seized the chance to exclaim:
”Oh! in those chronicles there is a bonny tale of the saving of the city by the voice of geese. I will fetch them and read it you.”
Lord Mountjoy, not thus to be put aside, made an impatient gesture, and was about to take up again the argument when a knock was heard on the door of the hall, and a maid announced that Old Marvin, the archer, craved speech with Lord Mountjoy. Glad enough was I to see him admitted, for this quarrel that had flamed up so suddenly between my father and my friend and squire was a bitter thing to me and to my lady mother. More than once had Cedric saved my life in battle and skirmish; and Lord Mountjoy himself had stood forth as his champion when King Henry condemned Cedric to be hanged for the killing in fair fight of young Lionel of Carleton. Of all the Mountjoy retainers, Cedric had the steadiest hand and the clearest head. I had often prophesied that unless I rose in honors and preferment faster than I could rightly expect, I should not long be able to retain such a youth as a simple squire. But now I seemed like to lose him before ever my spurs had been won and he to part from us in bitterness.
As Cedric was the most valued among the younger retainers of our house, so was old Marvin, the cross-bow man, among the elders who had followed first my grandfather, then my father to the wars. His wondrous skill with his weapon had done yeoman service on many a field, and finally had struck down the old Gray Wolf, Lord Carleton in the midst of the desperate a.s.sault he made on the walls of Mountjoy. For two years now Marvin and his good wife had enjoyed the cottage and six acres of the Millfield, where we hoped he might have many years of peace as some measure of requital for a lifetime of toil and danger. 'Twas not likely that Lord Mountjoy, in the angry mood of the moment, would have admitted any other of his followers; but Marvin was a man of honor and privilege in Mountjoy Hall.
As soon as Marvin had entered, my mother rose and, calling Cedric to her, found some duty upon which to employ him, so that he left the hall, and was seen no more till late at night. Meanwhile the old archer had explained to us that a message had just come to him from his brother who was a forester on the lands of Lord Morton, a day's journey to the north. Marvin had not seen his brother for twenty years; and when last they parted it was in some coldness; but now the other, who was a few years older than Marvin, was lying sick in his cottage at Morton, and asked his brother to come to him that they might be reconciled ere he died. He offered, if Marvin would come and stay with him to the end, to settle upon him as his heir any goods or savings he might have. Marvin now craved leave to join a merchants' caravan which was just setting forth in that direction, that he might comply with his brother's last request.
On hearing Marvin through, my father instantly gave his leave, and ordered furthermore that a good horse from the Mountjoy stables be placed at his disposal. Thereupon our faithful old retainer bade us a hasty good-by, for the caravan was already on the road; and we wished him a safe return.
My mother and I did hope and plan that Lord Mountjoy might easily forget the dispute he had with Cedric; and to that end found means to keep Cedric busily employed through the following morning; and at the midday meal did turn the talk toward the great tournament that was soon to be held at Shrewsbury. But some Imp of Mischief had his way at last, for at mid-afternoon my father entered the hall and found Cedric by the fireside, deep in the great book of chronicles. This was enough to bring to mind the heresies that Cedric had found therein; and in a moment all the anger of the day before flamed up again. Soon Lord Mountjoy was shouting in his wrath, declaring that the nation went to the dogs where curs and clowns were not duly subject to their lawful masters, and that if Cedric would mend his fortunes, he must first cast out such folly from his mind. Cedric replied, in lower tones indeed, but by no means meekly, upholding what he called the rights of English freemen to household and to peaceable a.s.sembly and to trial, when accused, by juries of their peers. At last my father checked his speaking, and said slowly and in cold anger:
”I tell thee, sirrah, thou'lt mend thy clownish ways of thinking if thou'rt to remain in Mountjoy Hall. We'll have no rebel firebrands-no ale-house ranters with their crazy mouthings,-stirring up our yeomanry through thee. While I hold the fee of Mountjoy, every man-jack in cot or in castle must be a loyal subject of the King and of his liege lord.”
At this my squire made a low bow and said:
”I thank you then, my lord, for all your kindness, and will say farewell. I can say naught but the truth for either friend or foe.”
”Cedric!” cried my mother, ”thou canst not mean it. Think what Mountjoy means to thy fortunes; and think again of the good-will we all bear thee. Say to Lord Mountjoy that those were but thoughtless words, and be our man again.”
Cedric shook his head, but trusted not his voice to speak. Thereat my father drew from his pouch a purse of gold and offered him.
”Thou hast given the Mountjoy right loyal service. Take this in token.”
But Cedric again shook his head.
”Nay, my lord, such service as I gave was not for gold, and I cannot receive it. With your leave, I will take the steed that was the Carleton's, and since called mine, and ride away from Mountjoy where my words and thoughts are dangerous.”
More talk there was and further urgings from my mother and from me; but Cedric's will remained unmoved. Lord Mountjoy paced back and forth before the hearth with hands clasped behind his back and with a deeply furrowed brow. The Forester bowed low again and left the hall; and soon thereafter we heard the tramp of his horse on the drawbridge. Then I took me to the battlements and watched my loyal squire and comrade till his figure grew dim and disappeared on the road that lay to the south and east, toward London town.
Three mournful days went by. Word came that the peasantry of DeLancey Manor had been herded up by the Constable and his lancers, and that two of the ringleaders had been hanged. Although my father gave the messenger who brought this news a broad piece of gold, it seemed to bring him but little cheer to know that the slayers of his friend had met their punishment. There was but little talk in Mountjoy Hall; the rain fell dismally without; the days were dark and cold; and e'en our good log fire seemed powerless to brighten them.
Then came, hard riding, a messenger from the Lord of Morton. He bore a letter from his lords.h.i.+p to my father; and filled it was with direful news. Old Marvin of Mountjoy had been sorely wounded at Morton in some fray for which Lord Morton blamed no other than his own son, who, it seems, had perished in the fighting. Lord Morton wrote in n.o.ble fas.h.i.+on of his grief that our retainer should have come to harm through any of his house, and said that Marvin had the best of care at Morton, and that, so soon as he should be sufficiently recovered, he should be borne to Mountjoy in a litter, and that all of the goods of his brother who had lately died should be honorably bestowed upon him.
The letter was brief withal; and when my father had finished reading it to us we yet remained sore puzzled at this happening. We turned again to the old serving man who had brought the message, and him Lord Mountjoy questioned sharply:
”Know'st thou aught of this affair, my man, save what is set forth in this letter?”
”Aye, my lord,” he answered heavily, ”much of this sad work I saw. 'Twas an ill time indeed, for my Lord of Morton is far gone in years, and now this misfortune hath robbed him of his only son and heir.”
”Tell us of it, I pray thee,” said my father, eagerly, ”if so be thou canst do so with full loyalty to thy house.”
”Nay. My Lord Morton conceals naught. It was Sir Boris, his son, that was to blame, and he denies it not. Lord Morton is an upright man and a just; but for years he hath tried in vain to curb the wildness of young Sir Boris. Drink and dice have been the young lord's ruin as of many a better man before. Only a fortnight since, Lord Morton forbade him, on pain of his worst displeasure, to bring any dice, those tools of the Devil, into Morton Hall. More than that, he drove from the very door two of the young bloods from Shrewsbury who had been the young lord's boon companions in drinking and gaming.”
”But how did this touch our Marvin? He was not lodged in Morton Hall, I trow.”