Part 17 (1/2)

Robert was running as fast as he could, but when he turned the corner that ought to have brought him within sight of the architect's nightmare--the ornamental iron-work on the top of the house--he opened his eyes so wide that he had to drop into a walk; for you cannot run with your eyes wide open. Then suddenly he stopped short, for there was no house to be seen. The front garden railings were gone too, and where the house had stood--Robert rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, the others _had_ wished,--there was no doubt about it,--and they must have wished that they lived in a castle; for there the castle stood, black and stately, and very tall and broad, with battlements and lancet windows, and eight great towers; and, where the garden and the orchard had been, there were white things dotted like mushrooms. Robert walked slowly on, and as he got nearer he saw that these were tents, and men in armor were walking about among the tents--crowds and crowds of them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: There the castle stood, black and stately]

”Oh!” said Robert fervently. ”They _have_! They've wished for a castle, and it's being besieged! It's just like that Sand-fairy! I wish we'd never seen the beastly thing!”

At the little window above the great gateway, across the moat that now lay where the garden had been but half an hour ago, someone was waving something pale dust-colored. Robert thought it was one of Cyril's handkerchiefs. They had never been white since the day when he had upset the bottle of ”Combined Toning and Fixing Solution” into the drawer where they were. Robert waved back, and immediately felt that he had been unwise. For this signal had been seen by the besieging force, and two men in steel-caps were coming towards him. They had high brown boots on their long legs, and they came towards him with such great strides that Robert remembered the shortness of his own legs and did not run away. He knew it would be useless to himself, and he feared it might be irritating to the foe. So he stood still--and the two men seemed quite pleased with him.

”By my halidom,” said one, ”a brave varlet this!”

Robert felt pleased at being _called_ brave, and somehow it made him _feel_ brave. He pa.s.sed over the ”varlet.” It was the way people talked in historical romances for the young, he knew, and it was evidently not meant for rudeness. He only hoped he would be able to understand what they said to him. He had not been always able quite to follow the conversations in the historical romances for the young.

”His garb is strange,” said the other. ”Some outlandish treachery, belike.”

”Say, lad, what brings thee hither?”

Robert knew this meant, ”Now then, youngster, what are you up to here, eh?”--so he said--

”If you please, I want to go home.”

”Go, then!” said the man in the longest boots; ”none hindereth, and nought lets us to follow. Zooks!” he added in a cautious undertone, ”I mis...o...b.. me but he beareth tidings to the besieged.”

”Where dwellest thou, young knave?” inquired the man with the largest steel-cap.

”Over there,” said Robert; and directly he had said it he knew he ought to have said ”Yonder!”

”Ha--sayest so?” rejoined the longest boots. ”Come hither, boy. This is matter for our leader.”

And to the leader Robert was dragged forthwith--by the reluctant ear.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Robert was dragged forthwith--by the reluctant ear]

The leader was the most glorious creature Robert had ever seen. He was exactly like the pictures Robert had so often admired in the historical romances. He had armor, and a helmet, and a horse, and a crest, and feathers, and a s.h.i.+eld and a lance and a sword. His armor and his weapons were all, I am almost sure, of quite different periods. The s.h.i.+eld was thirteenth century, while the sword was of the pattern used in the Peninsular War. The cuira.s.s was of the time of Charles I., and the helmet dated from the Second Crusade. The arms on the s.h.i.+eld were very grand--three red running lions on a blue ground. The tents were of the latest brand approved of by our modern War Office, and the whole appearance of camp, army, and leader might have been a shock to some. But Robert was dumb with admiration, and it all seemed to him perfectly correct, because he knew no more of heraldry or archaeology than the gifted artists who usually drew the pictures for the historical romances. The scene was indeed ”exactly like a picture.” He admired it all so much that he felt braver than ever.

”Come hither, lad,” said the glorious leader, when the men in Cromwellian steel-caps had said a few low eager words. And he took off his helmet, because he could not see properly with it on. He had a kind face, and long fair hair. ”Have no fear; thou shalt take no scathe,” he said.

Robert was glad of that. He wondered what ”scathe” was, and if it was nastier than the medicine which he had to take sometimes.

”Unfold thy tale without alarm,” said the leader kindly. ”Whence comest thou, and what is thine intent?”

”My what?” said Robert.

”What seekest thou to accomplish? What is thine errand, that thou wanderest here alone among these rough men-at-arms? Poor child, thy mother's heart aches for thee e'en now, I'll warrant me.”

”I don't think so,” said Robert; ”you see, she doesn't know I'm out.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: He wiped away a manly tear]

The leader wiped away a manly tear, exactly as a leader in a historical romance would have done, and said--

”Fear not to speak the truth, my child; thou hast nought to fear from Wulfric de Talbot.”