“Nay!” cried my father, angrily, “we shall do no violence to bearers of a flag of truce, be they honest men or thieves. ’Tis like the Monkslayer begs for mercy; but whate’er his message, the bearers of it shall return to him unscathed.”
The envoys now approached and, bowing low before Lord Mountjoy, delivered to him a folded parchment. My father bent his brows upon this for a moment, then exclaiming in wrath, bade me read it to the assembled company. These were the words of the scroll:
“To Robert, Lord of Mountjoy, Geoffrey, Heir of Carleton and other worshipful lords and gentlemen:
“Know that my men have this day taken prisoner, and now securely hold for ransom Elizabeth, Lady of Carleton with two of her attendants. Some three score of my greenwood rangers are now held captive by you, if indeed you have not already done violence upon them. These friends and followers of mine I now ask that you freely release, without injury or mutilation, and that they go free before the sunrise of to-morrow. Also that you then withdraw all your armed forces from Blackpool Forest. Then shall the Lady and her attendants likewise depart without harm from me or mine. If so be you refuse my terms, then when the sun is one hour high you shall receive a messenger from me who will bear with him the left hand of the aforesaid Lady of Carleton. If by sunset of to-morrow my men have not been suffered to freely return, another messenger shall bring you the lady’s right hand.
“My fastness you shall never take. If you attempt it, at the first alarm the prisoners shall die. Enough is said to make plain my will. Those who have had dealings with me will tell you that my word for good or for ill I always keep.
“William of Tyndale,
Called by some the Monkslayer.”
“William of Tyndale,
Called by some the Monkslayer.”
“Oh, the murderous varlets!” cried Sir Geoffrey; and I thought it no shame to him that tears streamed down his face, “they will cut off her hands. ’Twere better far that they slew her outright. Oh! to have that bloody villain for a moment within sure aim I would willingly die the instant after.”
“How could she have been taken?” asked Lord Mountjoy.
“I mind me now,” replied Geoffrey, wringing his hands in misery, “she ever went on Saturdays to tend my brother’s grave at Lanton, two miles from our gates and on the forest’s edge. She was used to take an ample guard; but to-day I have taken nearly all our men-of-arms for this expedition. She liked it not that I should come; and now she has ventured forth without escort and to my everlasting sorrow. Oh, that bloody villain!”
“Hush, Sir Geoffrey,” said my father quickly, his face working in sympathy with the lad’s sore distress, “they shall not harm thy lady mother. If need be, and no other way will serve, we will e’en release our prisoners and thus pay her ransom.”
A mutter of discontent from some of the other leaders followed this, and Dunwoodie spoke full surlily:
“Seven of my good yeomen have already been slain in this quarrel; divers of our friends have lost men also, and Lord Pelham hath been borne homewards with an arrow wound that came near to being mortal. Shall we have nothing for all this but the freeing of these varlets?”