Cedric, the Forester

by Bernard Gay Marshall

When that tale had been fully told by us three youths, speaking sometimes in turn and sometimes, at the most perilous passages, crying out all together what had chanced, Geoffrey turned to me to say:

“But, Sir Richard,—in the forest where I first saw thee and Cedric at the fire,—that was a most sweet ballad you did sing. Can you not raise it again? I have a great mind to hear it.”

At this, nothing loath, I turned my eyes to the rafters and began the lay. Cedric, joining in with his sweet harmonizing, did give it a grace which else it had sadly lacked; and the hall of Mannerley rang with it even as had the little glade in the wood. Lady Mannerley came again to the door of the hall, and behind her a half dozen of her maids and serving men. Geoffrey and the others loudly cried “Encore”; and the second time my father took up the lay with us, so it went rousingly and to the delight of the whole company. When at last we ceased Geoffrey declared that the song and the gay and heartening talk withal had done for him more good than all the herbs and poultices of the leech, and that with one more day like to this he verily believed he could ride abroad whole and sound.

Our audience departed with the end of the singing; and then Lord Mountjoy spoke most seriously:

“What thou say’st, Sir Geoffrey, puts me in mind that in these rough times there is other work for us who are verily whole and sound than this chaffering and singing at a bonny fireside, most pleasant though it be. I must bestir myself to punish these greedy rascals of the greenwood that set upon to rob and murder all those that go the forest roads not armed to the teeth and in strong company. ’Tis said that this unhung varlet that so sorely beset thee hath now no less than seven score bowmen at his back. To-morrow I ride to enlist the aid of my lord of Pelham with his twenty archers, and as soon thereafter as may be to Dunwoodie of Grimsby. The good lady who is now our hostess will doubtless send some men-at-arms and foresters. We shall make up a company that can take Blackpool Wood from all its sides at once; and it shall go hard but we send a half hundred of the rogues to their reckoning.”

During this speech the eyes of the young Lord of Carleton had grown bright as with a fever; and he could hardly wait for my father to come to an end before crying out:

“Oh, good Mountjoy! My friend—if thou art my friend indeed, stay this goodly enterprise but a few short months—or weeks mayhap—and let me join with thee. This outlaw chief, whom now I learn is called the Monkslayer from certain of his bloody deeds, hath offered both injury and insult to the House of Carleton. Two of my faithful men he slew, and me he took prisoner, and would have held for high ransom, if indeed he spared my life, had it not been for Sir Richard and Cedric here and that worthy old archer of Mountjoy who met his death fighting in my behalf. Give me but two short months—I ask no more—to heal me of my wound and make some practice of arms; and I will ride with thee to the hunting of this outlaw and his band with forty men-at-arms and eight score archers from Carleton and Teramore. So shall we make short and sure work of it.”

My father gazed at the glowing face of our new-made friend; and plain it was to me that the liking he had at first conceived for the lad suffered nothing from this headlong eagerness to be up and doing with arms in his hands. Turning to Cedric and me, with a broad and happy smile, Lord Mountjoy said:

“Well, lads, ’twas your quarrel and Sir Geoffrey’s at the first. What say you? Shall we risk the scattering and ’scaping of these rogues by waiting till the fall for him? For I plainly see that, with all good will, he cannot rightly ride and fight before that time in such a rough campaign as this will be.”

“Oh, let us wait, Father!” I cried, “Sir Geoffrey hath the right in saying ’tis especially the Carleton’s quarrel; and ’twill be a fine sight for all the countryside to see the banners of Mountjoy and of Carleton waving together in so good a cause after all these years of enmity. Mayhap Sir Geoffrey will return with usury the arrow-shot he had from those scurvy knaves. If so, ’twill not be an ill beginning for his career in arms.”