Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

To meet with Shoenvelt himself, and if possible to disappoint his schemes of plunder, was now the knight's castle in the air; and though the numbers of his own party were so scanty, he felt the sort of confident assurance in his own courage, his own strength, and his own skill, which is ever worth a host in moments of danger. Longpole, he was also sure, would be no inefficient aid; and though the young Hainaulter might not be their equal in experience or skill, Sir Osborne did not fear that, in time of need, his enthusiastic courage and desire to distinguish himself would make him more than a match for one of Shoenvelt's company.

Under these circumstances, the knight would never have hesitated to attack a body of double, or perhaps treble, his own number; and yet he resolved to proceed cautiously, endeavouring in the first place to inform himself of the situation of Shoenvelt's various bands, and to ascertain which that marauder was likely to join himself.

Wilsten having let drop that he and the count, as the two leaders of their whole force, were to set out the next morning, Sir Osborne saw that no time was to be lost in reconnoitring the ground, in order to ascertain the real strength of the adventurers. He resolved, therefore, to take every means to learn their numbers; and if he found the amount more formidable than he imagined, to risk nothing with so few, but to provide for the king's safety, by giving notice to the garrison of Aire that the monarch was menaced by danger; and then to aid with his own hand in ridding the frontier of such dangerous visitors, though he felt a great degree of reluctance to share with any one an enterprise full of honourable danger. It was likewise necessary to ascertain where Francis I. was; for Shoenvelt might have been deceived, or the king might have already quitted the frontier, or he might be accompanied by a sufficient escort to place his person in security; or, in short, a thousand circumstances might have happened, which would render the enterprise of the adventurers abortive, and his own interference unnecessary, if not impertinent.

Revolving all these considerations in his mind, sometimes proceeding in silence, sometimes calling upon his companions for their opinion, Sir Osborne took his way up one of the deep glades of the forest, still keeping a watchful ear to every sound that stirred in the wood, so that not a note of the thrush or the blackbird, nor the screaming of a jay, nor the rustle of a rabbit, escaped him; and yet nothing met his ear which might denote that there were other beings hid beneath those green boughs besides themselves and the savage tenants of the place: the stag, the wild boar, and the wolf.

The deep ruts, formed by heavy wood-carts in the soft, mossy carpet of the glade, told that the route they were pursuing was one which most probably communicated with some village, or some other road of greater thoroughfare; and after following it for about a mile, they perceived that, now joined to another exactly similar to itself, it wound away to the left, leaving nothing but a small bridle-way before them, which Sir Osborne judged must lead to some spot where the wood had been cleared.

As their horses were now rather fatigued, and the full sun shining upon the forest rendered its airless paths very oppressive, the knight chose the little path before him, hoping it would lead to a more open space where they might repose for a while, and at the same time keep a watch upon the roads they had just quitted. His expectations were not deceitful; for after having proceeded about two hundred yards, they came to a little grassy mound in the wood, which in former times might have monumented the field of some Gallic or Roman victory, piled up above the bones of the mighty dead. Even now, though the forest had grown round and girt it in on every side, the trees themselves seemed to hold it in reverence, leaving it, and even some space round it, free from their grasping roots; except, indeed, where a group of idle hawthorns had gathered impudently on its very summit, flaunting their light blossoms to the sun, and spreading their perfume on the wind.

It was the very spot suited to Sir Osborne's purpose; and, dismounting, the three travellers leaned their lances against the trees, and letting their horses pick a meal from the forest grass, prepared to repose themselves under the shadow of the thorns. Previous to casting himself down upon the bank, however, the knight took care to examine the wood around them; and seeing a sort of yellow light shining between the trees beyond, he pursued his way along what seemed a continuation of the little path which had brought them thither. Proceeding in a slanting direction, apparently to avoid the bolls of some enormous beeches, it did not lead on for above ten or twelve yards, and then opened out upon a high road cut through the very wildest part of the forest, at a spot where an old stone cross and fountain of clear water commemorated the philanthropy of some one long dead, and offered the best of Nature's gifts to the lip of the weary traveller. Sir Osborne profited by the occasion, and communicated his discovery to his companions, who took advantage of it to satisfy their thirst also. They then lay down in the shade of the hawthorns on the mound; and, after some brief conversation, the heat of the day so overpowered the young Hainaulter that he fell asleep. Such an example was never lost upon Longpole, who soon resigned himself to the drowsy god; and Sir Osborne was left the only watcher of the party.

Whether from his greater bodily powers, on which fatigue made but slight impression, or from deeper feelings and thoughts that would not rest, sleep came not near his eyelids; and, lying at his ease in the fragrant air, a thousand busy memories came thronging through his brain, recalling love, and hope, and joy, and teaching to believe that all might yet be his.

While thus indulging waking visions, he thought he heard a distant horn, and listening, the same sound was again borne upon the wind from some part of the forest. It was, however, no warlike note, but evidently proceeded from the horn of some huntsman, who, as Sir Osborne concluded from the time of the year, was chasing the wolf, to whom no season gives repose.

Falling back into the position from which he had risen to listen, Sir Osborne had again given himself up to thought, when he was once more roused by the sound of voices and the trampling of horses' feet on the road hard by. Rising silently, without disturbing his companions, he glided part of the way down the path leading to the fountain, and paused amidst some oaks and shrubs, through the leaves of which he could observe what passed on the highway, without being seen himself.