Cedric, the Forester

by Bernard Gay Marshall

“And thou, Cedric,” he said, turning to face the forester who had now advanced to my side, “darest thou to face thy enemies and ours thus? Remember, ’twill go hard with thee if we fail to bring the King to see the truth o’t. He might order thy hanging easily as the whipping of a thief. Shall not I rather mount thee on the good horse thou didst win from the Carleton, with thy cross-bow on thy back and a bag of gold pieces beneath thy coat, and send thee to my cousin of Yorkshire, there to bide till this ill wind hath overblown?”

“My lord,” answered Cedric, proudly, “that were to save myself at thy cost. The King hath commanded thee to bring me before his court; and if thou fail, he will visit his wrath upon thee. I will not fly. Rather will I ride the good steed thou speakest of to Shrewsbury in thy good company.”

“Well said and bravely,” said my father, with a note in his speaking which I had heard but once, and that when an old comrade-in-arms, whom he had thought dead in the Holy Land, came in illness and want to our castle door. Now he gazed for a moment full keenly at the face of Cedric, then turned and hurried to the courtyard to give orders for the morrow’s journey.

The King’s Court was held in the great hall at Shrewsbury, with such a brave array of lords and knights and men-at-arms, not to speak of clerks and counsellors with their mighty gowns and wigs, as was but seldom seen in our Western country. As I gazed at the King in his robes of state, seated on the dais in the midst, and noted his cold, gray eye and the hard lines about his mouth, my heart did somewhat misgive me, for all my repeating over and over to myself that none could gainsay the justice of our quarrel.

A word overheard as we entered the hall had set me thinking deeply; and though I feared not for myself, I began to wish that Cedric who now sat so uprightly by my side had thought fit to take the hint my father gave when first the summons reached us. ’Twas said that the King, in his youth, more than thirty years agone, had known Elizabeth of Winchester, before she was the bride of the Lord of Carleton, that she had then been one of the fairest and proudest maidens in the kingdom, and Prince Henry had felt for her more than a passing fancy. However this had been, and whatever its bearing on the day’s fortunes, it was now too late to do aught but await the event. The herald was announcing the cause against Richard of Mountjoy and Cedric, son of Elbert.

Two of the Carleton men-at-arms were sworn as witnesses, and told the tale of the killing of Lionel much as it had been set forth in the complaint of Elizabeth, their mistress. They declared that when they first came in sight of us, the Carleton and I were fighting with swords and hand to hand, and that I, seeming to have the worse of the fray, did shrilly call to some one hidden in the tangle behind, whereat a cross-bow bolt came from this ambush and slew their master. From that time on, their tales of the day’s doings kept near the line of truth; and they did assert full stoutly their honesty in all this business when the King questioned them, making, ’twas plain to see, no little impress on his mind. Indeed, ’twas possible they believed the tale themselves, it being to them most likely from the things that they had seen.

Then was I called upon for my account; and I did set forth all the doings of that day from the time the Carleton met me in the path, forgetting not the foul insults with which Lionel began our quarrel nor the hidden coat of mail with which he thought to shield him. Cedric, with head held high and wide blue eyes gazing straight at the King, next told the tale; and his telling was closely like to mine.

When we both had done, the King sat with his eyes on the ground before him; and the hall was very still till Elizabeth of Carleton, tall, white-haired and queenly, in silken robes of black, rose in her place, and, stretching forth her hands, addressed the King:

“Henry of Anjou,” she cried, “Elizabeth of Winchester, in her old age and sorrow, calls to you for vengeance for her murdered son.”

More she would have spoken, but bitter tears streamed down her face, and her voice was choked with sobs.