The boys were all mounted on their hackneys horses that formed part of the stud of the castle garrison, and which were trained for the work. Each boy carried a lance about thirteen feet long, and they were this morning going to tilt at a large and roughly-made figure of a Saracen, who held a shield in one arm, and a loose club in the other. The figure, when hit on the shield, spun round, and, unless the performer were quick in his movements, caught its assailant a more or less violent blow in the back, depending upon the force with which the shield was hit.
At the word of command of Tom o' Kingston, Bowerman dug his heels into his horse's side and rode at the figure. He hit the shield fairly, and galloped past untouched, raising his lance as he trotted round.
"That's well done, but give him a harder buffet next time. Now, Master Newenhall!" cried the instructor.
Willie Newenhall was but half awake. He was yawning desperately when he received the order to go. He had scarcely fastened up his clothes, and he looked a sodden mass of sleepy stupidity. His half-washed face, squat nose, and little eyes, which were now smaller than ever, owing to the events of the night before, did not look prepossessing, and not the uttermost vagaries of the most vivid imagination would have thought that the owner of that countenance and that appearance fancied himself to be a dangerous lady-killer, a cause of disquiet alike to the anxious husband as well as the fond father. But the nights of fancy are proverbially wild, and had anybody suggested to Willie Newenhall that he was anything else than a very handsome, irresistible youth, he would have regarded that person with the pitying scorn justly due to the envious and the blighted. Sleepy, and unfinished in the matter of his toilette--for it was seven o'clock in the morning, and Willie dearly loved his bed--he heard the order to put his horse in motion at the quintain. With another prolonged yawn he shook his horse's reins, and trotted lazily towards the post. It so happened that he had not fastened up his tunic properly. As the pace of the horse increased, and he prepared to level his spear to hit the shield, the tunic flew open, and got in the way of his arms. Forgetting, or not noticing, how near he was to the quintain, he moved his arm up to clear the dress, thus bringing the lance across his body, and before he had time to recover his position, the long spear struck athwart the quintain, and got askew between the shield and the wooden post on which it revolved, with the effect of its becoming jammed and immovable. As Willie's horse was well trained, and had increased his speed on nearing the quintain, his rider was swept out of his saddle, and over the crupper, falling to the ground like a sack of flour.
The onlookers greeted this mishap with a roar of laughter, and their instructor, with whom Willie Newenhall was no favourite, scoffingly bid him pick himself up, and "not lie there like a trussed pullet."
Ruefully the sleepy page, now rudely awakened, got up, and came limping back.
"Pick up thy lance, stupid, and go after thy nag. Beshrew me, but an I were the Captain, I'd as lief have a turnip for a page as thee. For you both grow, and that's all; saving that a turnip is good to eat, which is more than can be said o' thee." Then turning to Ralph, Tom o' Kingston said, "Now, Master Lisle, do thou show them how to do the matter."
Ralph dearly loved these exercises, and had become an apt pupil. Sticking spurs to his horse, he cantered eagerly forward. As he neared the post, with knees and voice he encouraged his horse, and with loose reins and gathering speed he struck the quintain a vigorous blow; then, raising his lance aloft, galloped on, untouched by the swiftly-revolving club.
"By my faith, 'twas well done, young master! You'll make the best lance of them all. But, when all's said and done, that's not much praise neither."
"You're a bit grumpy this morning--Tom," said Dicky Cheke. "What's gone wrong? Has Polly Bremeskate been unkind to thee?"