A STRANGE DUEL
Now, Francis Stafford knew but little of the noble art of fencing. Once or twice her father had given her the foils and shown her some of the attitudes and thrusts, but beyond that her knowledge did not extend. It was with considerable trepidation, therefore, that she thought of the approaching combat.
“Marry!” she mused. “Were it not that Master Devereaux would impute it to fear I would not engage in such contest. It is not befitting my maiden dignity, and I know my mother would not approve. Yet there have been maiden warriors, why should there not be maiden duelists. I doubt not, were the truth known, that there have been many. But howsoe’er that may be, my father, I know, would not like me to submit to the implication of fear; albeit I would not harm the lad even though he be the son of my father’s enemy.” 150
Through the watches of the night the question of swordsmanship troubled her, and when the morning came she had reached no solution of the difficulty.
“I dare not appeal to any who know my sex,” she thought as she took her place among the pages that swarmed one of the ante-chambers. “I would that I knew of one that would teach me to thrust and to parry.”
While she was thus musing a courtier approached her. He was gorgeously arrayed. Jewels to a fabulous amount adorned his person. Even upon his pantoufles or shoes were large pearls instead of the roses beloved of the gallants. His beard was pointed, his eyes set close together; his manner, when he chose, was irresistible, and his smile very winning. There was a pipe of the new found tobacco in his mouth,—a weed that had just been imported from the new world.
“My fair lad,” said the courtier removing his pipe, and speaking in the broad soft accent of Devonshire, “I have not marked thy face before. Art new to the court?”
“Yes, my lord,” answered Francis noting with delight the accent. “I am Francis Stafford 151 from Hampshire, but newly arrived at the court. But thou, thou art from Devon, I am sure. It is my mother’s native heath.”
“True, boy; I am from Devon. Sayst thou that thy mother is from that shire? Then thou and I should be good friends. Bethink you! Could you play Hermes for me to one of the maids of honor?”
“I could, my lord. But prithee tell me whom I serve?” and the girl looked eagerly into his face.
“I am Walter Raleigh,” answered he. “This weed hath given me somewhat of fame.”
“Nay;” said Francis quickly. “Not the weed but thine own achievements.”
“By my faith, thou art as silvery tongued as Orpheus with his lute,” said Sir Walter with a smile. “Mark me, boy! I would not that any should know of this message, least of all the queen. ’Tis not that there is aught of harm in it, lad. As thou art new to the court thou mayest not know that it is not permitted to any to deem any fair save the queen, and so we are sometimes forced to send tokens sub rosa.” 152
“I know, Sir Walter,” said Francis sadly. “’Tis for that very self-same cause that I am here.”
“Then, lad, we understand each other. Know you Mistress Elizabeth Throckmorton, one of the queen’s maids?”
“Nay; ’tis but my second day in the palace,” replied Francis.
“Then must I show her to thee,” said Sir Walter. “As Her Majesty goes to take the air upon the river to-day I will linger a little behind. When the maids of honor come forth, mark well my action. As they pass I will drop my glove at the feet of her who is Elizabeth Throckmorton.”
“I will note thy action, Sir Walter, and give to the lady thy token in such manner that none save the fair one herself shall be the wiser.”
“Good, my lad! Thou art a true Hermes. As gracious in thy service as was ever that messenger of the gods. Thou wilt make me thy debtor a thousandfold. What guerdon dost thou wish?”
“Nay, Sir Walter; I want nothing. ’Tis pleasing to me to be of service to thee.” 153
“Why, boy, ’tis the custom of the court to take all that one can get,” cried Sir Walter who was noted for that very thing. “Hast thou no favor to ask? No desire of thine inmost heart?”
“Oh,” cried the girl as a thought darted into her mind, looking at him timidly, “if I might be beholden to you for one favor. If thou wouldst, Sir Walter——” she paused.
“Speak on, lad,” said Raleigh kindly. “Thou are not the first to prefer request for service. In truth thou wouldst be a rara avis shouldst thou not demand something. There lives no man, nor woman, nor child at the court who hath not his own end to further. Therefore speak and say what I shall give thee.”
“Sir Walter,” said Francis emboldened by his words, “thou art a great swordsman and noted for thy skill in the use of that weapon. Impart to me that knowledge, I beseech you.”
“Is that thy wish?” cried Sir Walter in amazement. “Right willingly will I teach thee, for I perceive that thou art a lad of parts. ’Tis an art that is more excellent than any other military exercise, because there is 154 very great and general use thereof. Not only in general wars, but also in particular combats. Seek me anon, and I will soon make thee a master of the sword.”
With a dazzling smile he left her. Francis repaired to the courtyard to await the coming of the queen and her maidens.
The royal barge, manned by watermen attired in regal liveries, lay at the foot of the great stairs which ascended from the river. The yeomen of the guard in scarlet jerkins with halberds in their hands, guarded the passage from the palace to the waterside. Presently the ushers issued from the mansion, flanked by a band of gentlemen pensioners. After this, amidst a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, came Elizabeth herself.
Sir Walter Raleigh walked by the queen, but, as if pushed back from his position by the press of people who crowded to see her, he dropped slightly to the rear. As the ladies went gaily by, laughing and talking, he let fall his gauntlet just in front of a beautiful girl. Recovering the glove as Elizabeth looked about inquiringly for him he resumed his place by her side. He was in high favor 155 at this time, and consequently obliged to be in constant attendance upon her.
Francis looked attentively at the lady so indicated and followed the maids as unobtrusively as possible to the boats. The young ladies of honor were to be in a boat by themselves with two older ladies for chaperons. As soon as the girl perceived this she pushed forward boldly, and, with true page-like officiousness, proffered her services to the beautiful Elizabeth Throckmorton.
“I have a page of mine own in attendance, young sir,” said the lady with a smile. “Nathless I thank you for your courtesy.”
“Fair lady,” said Francis in a low tone, “hast ever heard of Hermes?”
“He was the messenger of the gods, sir,” returned she in surprise. “Why?”
“Because I am he,” returned the supposed page with a bow. “Albeit I come not from the gods. ’Twas Eros who sent me, therefore, I beseech you to permit me to hand you to the boat.”
With a laugh and a deep blush Mistress Throckmorton extended her hand, and Francis led her to the barge, leaving the missive 156 of Sir Walter in the maiden’s soft palm.
Later in the day, receiving a summons from Raleigh she hastened to him and reported the success of her mission. “Gramercy, boy! thou wert most gallant in the delivery,” laughed Sir Walter. “And now for thy first lesson with the sword.” And soon the two were deep in the mysteries of fencing.
“Every man should be master of this weapon,” declared the sailor when Francis, exhausted by the swift play of the blades, sank down for a few moments’ rest. “Even though one be small of stature and weak of strength, dexterity with the sword may make him master of a much larger adversary. I could tell thee tales, lad, as would make thy hair to rise of the way I have seen the sword used. Have to, boy! I have but little more time to give thee. Thou art an apt scholar! So! that was a good parry. A little removing of the foot, a sudden turning of the hands, a slight declining of the body, and thine opponent is at thy mercy. So, lad, so!”
THE TWO WERE DEEP IN THE MYSTERIES OF FENCING
The fencing lesson was repeated the next day. Francis no longer dreaded the meeting with Edward Devereaux, and when the night fell, she stole away to the dueling place confident that she would be the victor in the affair.
There was no one at the wicket of the western gate, and she sat down to await the coming of her adversary with impatience. The broad yellow beams of the full moon lighted up the open spaces of the park with a brightness as if the sun had just set while the shadows under the trees were darker and heavier by contrast. Numerous statues gleamed in the pale light like ghosts newly risen from their sepulchres. Fountains threw jets of water into the air, caught the moonbeams, and fell again into their basins in showers of molten silver. A light breeze ruffled the leaves and came with refreshing coolness after the sultriness of the day. All was still save for the music of the night bird of song. The beauty of the scene, the melody of the nightingales, oppressed Francis with a sense of melancholy.
“Am I doing aright,” she said aloud. “Surely I could do naught else unless I betrayed my sex. Now the matter hath gone 158 so far that I must bear myself as if I were in sooth a boy. But I will not kill the lad. Only make him acknowledge my skill with the deer. I would that he would come. I know not why, but I feel my courage departing from me in the loneliness of the night.”
At this instant, as if in answer to her wish, there was the sound of hurried footsteps, and soon the form of Edward Devereaux appeared among the trees.
“I crave thy pardon, Master Stafford,” he cried, “if I have kept thee waiting. Sir Christopher Hatton detained me, and I could not come sooner. Draw and defend thyself.”
He drew his own sword as he spoke and threw himself on guard. Without one word of reply Francis placed herself on the defensive. And then began a curious scene. Parry, thrust and parry—the steel rattled, and the strange duel was on. The nightingales ceased their singing as if amazed at the folly of the human things. The only sound that fell upon the air besides the clash of the blades was the labored breathing of the contestants. Francis’ new-found knowledge stood her well in hand, and she pressed her 159 opponent furiously. Suddenly she made a false step——
“A hit! a hit!” cried Edward Devereaux.
As the rapier entered her right arm the weakness of her sex overcame the girl. She uttered a faint cry, and, for the first time in her life, fell in a dead faint.