Cedric, who was ever of few words, nodded his head at this speech of mine; and so ’twas settled among us. Through the summer months we would strike no blow at the outlaws save in defense, but at the fall of the leaf, when the woods made not so close a cover, we would fall upon them in their fastnesses with all our forces at once, and so destroy and scatter them that the woodland roads of the whole county would be free of their kind for years to come.
A week later Sir Geoffrey took his way to his great castle at Teramore under a strong escort of Carleton men-at-arms. Ten days thereafter Cedric and I rode thither to pay a promised visit and to talk of the outlaw hunt and our great plans for the days to follow. Sir Geoffrey showed himself a most gracious host; and we passed some goodly hours in the Carleton hall and in the courtyard where Cedric did try most manfully to impart to Geoffrey and me some measure of his cross-bow skill.
For my own handling of this weapon, I fear that all Cedric’s and old Marvin’s teachings are bootless, and that never shall I shoot with any certainty; but, to Cedric’s huge delight, Sir Geoffrey took to the exercise like one born in a forester’s cottage. In half an hour he was striking marks at fifty paces that were small enough for Cedric’s own aim at twice that distance, and his instructor was prophesying he would be a bonny archer long before he could well handle a broadsword. This I thought likely enough, for Geoffrey, though his age lacked but half a year of Cedric’s and mine, was somewhat lightly built and had not yet the reach and the forearm muscles that make a swordsman. ’Twas plain that among us three I should long remain the master with this best of weapons; and with this thought to console me, I took it not too ill that I should prove such a poor third at the archery.
That night, as Cedric and I sat at board with my father and mother, we were full of talk of the day’s doings; and I was already planning festival days and nights when the Carletons and the Mountjoys and all our friends of Pelham and of Mannerley should fore-gather at Mountjoy or at Teramore for feasts and dancing in such ways as had been in days of yore.
Suddenly my mother interrupted all this talk and planning with a sober question:
“And the Lady of Carleton—Geoffrey’s mother—did she greet thee full courteously to-day, Dickon?”
At once I felt as one who treads in icy water where he had thought to meet firm ground.
“Nay, mother. We saw her not at all—save for a glimpse at chamber window as we rode toward the drawbridge.”
“Ah! then she was not abroad, it seems.”
“Nay, she kept her chamber. Mayhap she was not well.”