Part 29 (1/2)

”Yes, Sir Insistent . . . until the ride back,” and left him.

The luck of the discs had made the Countess of Clare the last to shoot.

When she came forward to the line the b.u.t.t was dotted over with the feathered shafts; but the white eye that looked out from their midst was still unharmed, though the d.u.c.h.ess of Buckingham and Lady Clifton had grazed its edge. Beatrix had slipped the arrows through her girdle, and plucking out one she fitted it to the string with easy grace. Then without pausing to measure the distance she raised the bow, and drawing with the swift but steady motion of the right wrist got only by hard practice, and seemingly without taking aim, she sped the shaft toward the mark.

”Bravo!” exclaimed the King, as it quivered in the white.

Before the word had died, the second arrow rested beside it; and even as it struck, the string tw.a.n.ged again and the third joined the others in the blanc.

”My dear Countess,” said Richard, ”I did not know we entertained another Monarch. Behold the Queen of Archery! Hail and welcome to our Kingdom and our Court! . . . Gentlemen, have you no knee for Her Majesty?”

Beatrix blushed and curtsied in return, then quickly withdrew to the side of the Queen.

”Methinks, my lords,” Richard said, ”you have got a hard score to best.

However, it is but two hundred yards to your target; so let it be the notch to the string, the string to the ear, and the shaft in the white clout yonder.”

As the King had said, the distance was short for rovers. In all regular contests the mark was never under two hundred and twenty paces, and in many districts it was nearer four hundred. Nevertheless, to strike an object, even at two hundred, that seemed no larger than one's hand is no easy task; and yet, as one after another took his turn, the clout was pierced repeatedly; once by some, and twice by others; but only the Duke of Buckingham and Sir Aymer de Lacy struck it thrice. It chanced, however, that one of the latter's arrows landed directly in the center, on the pin that held the cloth, and this gave him the prize.

”For one who is half a Frenchman, Sir Aymer, you handle a long bow most amazing well,” the King remarked. . . ”Pardieu! what say you to a match between the victors?”

A murmur of approval greeted the suggestion.

”May it please you, my liege,” said De Lacy, ”permit me now to yield.

I am no match for the Queen of Archery.”

”We will not excuse you . . . nor, I fancy, will the Countess,” turning toward her.

”If Sir Aymer de Lacy will engage to shoot his best and show no favor, I shall not refuse the trial,” she replied, coming forward.

”By St. Paul!” Richard exclaimed. ”I will answer for that . . . here is the prize,” and deftly plucking the lace kerchief from her hand he pa.s.sed it to a page. ”Subst.i.tute this for the clout in the far target,” he said.

De Lacy thought she would refuse the contest; but to his surprise she smiled--though with rather indifferent hauteur.

”It is hardly fitting, Sire,” she said, choosing an arrow, ”that I should both contribute the prize and contest for it.”

Then Sir Aymer spoke, bowing low: ”May it please Your Majesty, I am your leal subject, yet I shall not shoot at yonder mark unless the Countess of Clare consent.”

She gave him a grateful look.

”I thank you, Sir Aymer, for the courtesy,” she said. . . ”Shoot and welcome;” and she stepped to the draw line.

It may have been that she was careless, or that the scene had made her nervous, for while her first two arrows struck the blanc truly as before, the third went a finger's length above it. With a shrug she turned away, and loosing the string leaned on the long stave, waiting.

De Lacy had purposed letting her defeat him by a margin so slender as not to seem intentional, but catching the dark eyes of the King fixed on him with sharp significance, he understood that he was to win if he could. So he drew with care, and pierced the kerchief thrice.

De Lacy received the bit of lace from the page and proffered it to the Countess.

”It is quite destroyed,” he said. ”I am sorry.”

She laughed lightly. ”You owe me no apologies, and need feel no regret. You won it honestly--and I accept it now as a gift; a guerdon of your prowess and your courtesy.”