Cover art
"WHAT ART THOU?" STAMMERED THE PAGE.
The
Captain of the Wight
A Romance
of Carisbrooke Castle
in 1488
BY
FRANK COWPER, M.A.
AUTHOR OF "CÆDWALLA; OR, THE SAXONS IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT"
With Illustrations by the Author
LONDON
SEELEY & CO., ESSEX STREET, STRAND
1889
PREFACE.
To my mind there is no more picturesque period in the history of Western Europe than that of the Renaissance.
Among the many aspects in which it is possible to regard this important epoch, that of its influence on chivalry is one of the most interesting. The rough simplicity of the proud mediæval knight, gradually yielding to the subtle spell of pure poesy and courtly love, while the barred helm and steel gauntlet were hardly doffed from the stern field, or gorgeous tourney, this is a subject which will always fascinate.
However practical the world may grow, and perhaps, because of its very practicality, there will always be minds which will turn with relief to the romantic and the ideal. In the turmoil of real life, with its sordid materialism, there are many men and women who dwell with delight on some noble life clothed round with the glamour of ancient time, and presenting itself to the mind in the garb of gorgeous pomp and splendid pageantry, who, while trying to achieve some great emprise themselves, will dream of the men of old time, who have soared aloft on the pinions of glorious fame.
With the privilege of a writer of fiction, I have chosen Sir Edward Woodville,[*] commonly called Lord Woodville, as the "eidolon" on which to clothe the heroic virtue of chivalry, without its many and grosser faults. So little is known of the Captain of the Wight, but what little there is, shows him in so noble a light, that I feel I am not necessarily exaggerating, may even be accurately describing, his knightly character. His attachment to his own unfortunate family, and his murdered nephews, caused him to be included among the list of nobles and knights, who were held up to public execration in that long and artful manifesto put forth by Richard III., before he set out for the campaign which ended in Bosworth field.
[*] I have adopted the spelling of the name Woodville, authorised by Lord Bacon. The varieties--Wydevil, Wydeville, Wyddevil, etc, etc.--are as numerous as those of Leicester, who wrote his own name eight different ways; while Villiers varied his fourteen times. But Mainwaring has outdone them all. It is said there are one hundred and thirty-one varieties!
Returning in the victorious train of Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. of England, Sir Edward Woodville was invested with the honourable post which had been lately held by his unfortunate brother, the accomplished Lord Scales. As "Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight," he seems to have made himself so popular that, by his own influence alone, he was able to induce four hundred of the inhabitants to follow him to Brittany. "Noble and courageous," "hardie and valyant," "a valiant gentleman, and desirous of honour," are the epithets with which the old chroniclers speak of Sir Edward Woodville. That he was never married, and died upon the field of battle "valiantly fighting," are all the facts that are known about him. But these facts are enough to allow me to interpret his life as I have done.
Like another more exalted, but less fortunate, inhabitant of Carisbrooke Castle, in the last sad act of his life,
"He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,"
but with his "crew of talle and hardie" men of the Wight, died fighting with his sword in hand, and his face to the foe, as became a valiant captain of that lovely isle.
I have consulted all the authorities I could find, in order to give as accurate a picture of the time as possible. I don't know that it is needful to mention all, but the "Tournois du Roi René d'Anjou," "The Memoirs of St Palaye," "The Boke of St Albans," Sir Thomas Malory's "Mort d'Arthur," and "La joyeuse hystoire du bon Chevalier, le gentil Seigneur de Bayart," have been my chief sources for knightly feats and the accessories of chivalry; while the chroniclers Halle, Grafton, Fabyan, Stowe, Philip de Commines, Bouchet, and the Paston Letters, have been my chief historical guides. Lord Bacon has surveyed the whole period from a loftier standpoint, and in his "Reigne of Henry VIIth," has presented us with a stately specimen of the art of writing history; although, as an old manuscript note in my edition briefly puts it, "it is somewhat more of a picture of a polished prince than a history exactly true, more vouchers and fewer speeches would have given it more strength, though less beauty."
It must be a subject of interest to the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight to know that, in writing of that fatal expedition to Brittany, every one of the old historians speak of the bravery of the predecessors, and, in many cases, the ancestors, of the present dwellers in the island.
It is to be deplored that there is no original account of the expedition of the four hundred, such as exists in the "Herald's" account of the expedition to Dixmude, preserved in John Leland's Collectanea, which happened in the same year (1488). I have tried laboriously to find out the names of the chief inhabitants of the Isle of Wight at that time; but owing to the great danger and discomfort there was in living in the island during the 15th century, arising from the constantly threatened invasions of the French, and their many actual occupations of the island, the chief families appear either to have become extinct in that period, or to have retired to the mainland.
It is also worthy of note, to see how many times the chief manors passed into new families through the female line. This fact is very significant of the troubled state of the times. It was not that the manhood of the island ceased for want of sons, but that these sons met a violent death in the many wars of that age.
In conclusion, I may add that, while the story is mainly written for the young, with which object in view I have paid less attention to the delineation of character than the animation of incident, and the variety of the scene, I trust their elders may also find information about a romantic episode in our local and national history.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
- [HOW THE GERFALCON SPED]
- [HOW THE FLEDGLING LEFT THE NEST]
- [OF THE FLEDGLING REJOICING IN HIS FREEDOM]
- [HOW THE FLEDGLING GREW TO A COCKEREL]
- [OF THE COMING TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT]
- [HOW THEY CAME TO CARISBROOKE CASTLE]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL SHOWED FIGHT]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL GOT A FALL]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL LEARNT HARDIHOOD]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL VAUNTED HIMSELF]
- [HOW JOYOUSLY LIFE GOETH]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL FELT HE WAS BUT A COCKEREL]
- [OF THE SHARPENING OF THE COCKEREL'S SPURS]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL USED HIS SPURS]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL CROWED]
- [HOW THE COCKEREL WAS PETTED]
- [HOW THEY WERE AT FAULT]
- [HOW THE RUSTY KNIGHT LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON HIS WRATH]
- [OF THE PERPLEXITY OF THE LITTLE MAID]
- [HOW THE CAPTAIN KEPT TRYST]
- [OF THE COMBAT *À OUTRANCE*]
- [OF THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER]
- [HOW THEY LEFT THE WIGHT]
- [OF LA "BEALE FRANCE"]
- [OF ST AUBIN DU CORMIER]
- [HOW "THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST WERE A' WEDE AWAY"]
- ["OF THE CRAWLING TIDE"]
- [HOW THE MIST ROSE IN TERQUETÉ BAY]
- [HOW THERE'S NO CLOUD WITHOUT ITS SILVER LINING]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
["WHAT ART THOU?" STAMMERED THE PAGE] Front.
[RALPH WAVED HIS CAP IN TRIUMPH]
[THE CAPTAIN OF THE WIGHT ENTERING CARISBROOKE CASTLE]
[THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE]
[HOW THEY TILTED AT CARISBROOKE]
[A SHARP SPASM WAS THE SUDDEN ANSWER]
[HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM]
[HOW THE MEN OF THE WIGHT WITHSTOOD THE FRENCH]
["WE MUST ROW," SAID SIR GEORGE]
IN THE GLOAMING (missing from source book)
THE CAPTAIN OF THE WIGHT
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE GERFALCON SPED.
In front of an old ivy-covered manor house, so built, with its projecting wings, as to form three sides of a quadrangle, a boy was standing, idly leaning his arms on the stone coping of the low wall which shut in the fourth side of the courtyard.
The boy was well grown, with fair, ruddy face, and brown hair, cut, after the picturesque fashion of the latter half of the fifteenth century, straight above his eyebrows, but falling in wavy masses on each side of his face. His eyes were bright, and full of life. His strongly-knit frame gave promise of strength and activity, and his age might well have been put at seventeen or eighteen even, so tall was he, and well grown, although, in truth, he was not more than fifteen.
The free life in the fresh Hampshire air, blowing from the sea, over forest, gorse-covered common, and well-tilled fields, had given play to his thews and sinews.
It was evening. The sun was just setting over the blue hills covered with woods, interspersed with heathy patches. Far as the eye could see, there were gently-swelling undulations, with a loftier hill looming out of the grey mist which rose, film-like, behind the nearer masses of the russet forest. Here and there some larger expanse of mist looked like a lake amid the overhanging trees, while over all brooded the silence of the evening, when all nature pauses in reverence to the setting sun, broken only by the lowing of some distant kine, or the faint hum of a beetle as it went booming by.
Suddenly the boy stood up, listened attentively, then, springing through the gateway, he darted down the road in front of the house, to meet a horseman who was riding up the forest glade.
The man was singing blithely as he rode, and the refrain of each verse rang merrily in the stillness of the evening. It was the sound of this which had told the boy of the new comer's approach.
"Ringwood, my hound, with a merry taste,
All about the green wood began caste,
I took my horn and blew him a blast
With tro-ro-ro-ro! tro-ro-ro-ro!
With hey go bet! hey go bet! ho!
There he goeth, there he goeth, there he goe,
We shall have sport and game enowe,"
rang out clear over the wood, and cheerily the boy answered,--
"In sooth, Humphrey, thou'rt in fine voice to-night; but, prythee, cease thy song for a while, and give me the gerfalcon, that I may see her."
"Certes, Master Ralph, thou wilt be well pleased anon. 'Tis the veriest sweetest little bird for mounting a heron, or springing a pheasant, as ever I did see. There, stroke her cautiously; see how she manteleth and warbelleth her wings."
So saying, the serving man, or varlet, as the falconer's assistants were called, stooped down and held out his right hand, which was protected by a stout leathern glove with a large gauntlet. Two leather thongs, called lunes, were connected by two rings or tyrrits, and the lunes were then fastened to the jesses, and the ends loosely twined round the little finger, to prevent the bird from escaping.
The bird was gaily hooded, and turned its head from side to side, causing the little artificial plume of feathers on its head to shake and flutter gaily.
The boy, in his eagerness to stroke his new possession--for it was his birthday, and his father had sent to Salisbury to buy this hawk for his favourite son--put out his hand too quickly, for the hawk made a peck at it; but he drew it back in time, and with more caution and gentle words he at last succeeded in stroking her wings and back.
"Marry Humphrey, she is a fine one. She is a long hawk, and ought to fly well."
"I' faith! will she so. I got her rare cheap; for the price has risen mightily sithen the tolls have been laid on all hawks. 'Tis one shilling and eightpence, over and above the price of the bird, I had to pay to Brother Anselm for the licence of bringing her over; but I got her cheap, marry, did I! An you'll find such another in all the south of England--ay, and the north too--for ten shillings, never call me Humphrey more."
They had now reached the gateway where Master Ralph, as Humphrey called him, had been waiting for his birthday present. The groom took off the leather glove and gave it to Ralph, who put it on, and took the bird into the house to show to his father and mother, while Humphrey rode round to the stables.
The interior of the hall was a large low oak-panelled room, with a wide fireplace on one side. Antlers, spears, bows, and bills were hung or fixed all along the walls, and a few skins of red deer and other wild animals lay about on the stone floor. Ralph crossed the hall, and went down a low dark passage. He paused at a little oak door, and tapped.
"Come in," said a lady's voice, and Ralph entered joyously.
"Oh, mother, look! She's a hawk fit for the emperor. Thank thee, father, thank thee; 'tis the best gift thou couldst have chosen!" And the boy went up to the large armchair, in which an old man was sitting, clad in a long robe of fur, while opposite to him was standing his wife, the Dame Isabel de Lisle.
"Ay, my son, so thou art right joyous, art thou? Well, and that's e'en as it should be. Thou art growing a stout lad, and 'tis time to be thinking of thy after life. I would fain have ye all started in the world, before God sees fit to call me to him; and methinks 'twill not be long now."
"Why, father, what ails thee, that thou talkest thus dolefully?" said Ralph, his ardour damped by the tone of his father's remarks.
"Nay, child," said his mother, stroking the glossy, waving hair of her son, who had doffed his cap the moment he entered his parents' presence, "nay, child, 'tis naught but the old wound thy father hath gotten at Barnet grieveth him to-night."
"May-be, may-be, fair wife," said the old knight, who always called his lady "fair," although she was certainly considerably past the age when any claims to fairness might reasonably be supposed to have been surrendered; but in his eyes she was always fair. "Perchance 'tis naught; but my mind misgiveth me, and I would fain talk gravely to my sons to-night. If God wills that I should live, well and good--if not, well and good too; leastways, I shall have settled matters aright before I go hence."
"But, father, thou hast not looked at my falcon that thou gavest me. See what a long hawk it is; and what a gay lune Brother Anselm hath put on it."
"Ay, marry, fair son, 'tis a fine bird, and will spring a partridge rarely, I'll venture. Thou must fly her to-morrow--there's many a gagylling of geese, or sord of mallards, down Chute Forest way."
"Certes, father, I'll e'en try her at a heron first."
At this moment another step was heard outside, and two other boys came in; one a good deal older, and the other a year younger than Ralph.
"Well, Ralph, what hast got there?" said the elder, coming up and looking at the bird. "Marry she's a fine hawk, but I'd rather have had a falcon gentil."
"Ay, ay, and pay twenty shillings for it, let alone the toll of forty shillings in bringing of her into the kingdom."
"Nay, thou mightest have gotten one cheap from old Simon Bridle. He knows where all the best birds are to be got--all through the country side--"
"Nay, Jasper, why dost try to put the lad out of countenance with his pretty bird? Thou knowest she is a good bird, and thou wouldst be glad enough to have her thyself," said his mother.
"Now leave we this talk of the gerfalcon, and sithen you are all here, and 'tis yet half an hour to supper, let me hear what you, my sons, would wish to do after I am dead and gone. Jasper, you are the eldest, to you will fall my Bailiwick of Chute Forest, my manors of Chute, Holt, and Thruxton, and many other fair lands. Now wouldst thou go to the court, and seek to increase thy estate, as did thy great-grandfather Sir John Lisle of blessed memory, or wouldst thou stay at home, and take place and rank in thine own county?"
The eldest son took little time to answer, but replied respectfully,--
"I would fain stay at home and care for you and my lady mother, and mind the fair lands God and my ancestors have left me."
"Then, my son, as God wills it, and you have chosen, so be it, and may God's blessing and thy parents' be upon thee. Now, Ralph, my son, what willest thou?"
The young boy hesitated. He looked at his mother, and then down, and finally, raising his eyes with a keen light of joyous but rather shy determination said,--
"Noble sire, I would fain go to learn arms, and be trained in some noble prince's household, for I am of an age now when I could do some deed which might earn me knighthood."
"Well, fair son, thou hast answered as I would have thee. 'Tis sad to thy lady mother and me to part with thee, even for a space, but it is thy life that must be spent, not ours, and we have ever thought on thy weal. I will take thought what can be determined to try purveyance and maintenance as befitteth a son of the De Lisles. And now, son Walter, what willest thou?"
Walter was a delicate, slight boy, with a studious face, and one who had always been looked upon as the scholar of the family. He knew well what his parents wished, and also what was the custom of those of gentle blood who were the youngest sons. They must either seek their fortune in war, or else in the Church. He had not physical strength, nor sufficiently combative instincts, for the profession of arms, although, boylike, he had often been led away, when reading the romances of the time, to wish to imitate the deeds of Roland, or Tristram, or Launcelot; but then he was very fond of their worthy chaplain, who was also the boys' tutor, and he had been strongly imbued with a desire to sacrifice himself to God, as it was called. He therefore answered,--
"Father, I would like much to be a clerk, and follow in the steps of Our Lord and Master. Perchance I may do some good work some day."
"Ay, in sooth wilt thou, my dear son; and thou hast made the choice most after thy mother's heart, albeit, weak man that I am, had I been a youth, I would have thought scorn of a clerkly life, yet, now I am old, I know well what awaiteth those who have devoted themselves to God and Mother Church from their youth upward. I will avise me what hath best be done for thee also, and will send a missive to my right reverend kinsman the Abbot of Quarr, and perchance he will do his best to help us. And now, my sons, since all is in fair trim for your future welfare, and thy noble and fair mother is right pleased, I know, as truly am I--and I give God thanks that He hath given me such right trusty and well-nurtured sons--let us all go to supper, for we have even to drink the health of our Ralph, who by God's will from henceforth will soon become a right honest varlet and trusty page, and in time will proceed to be a very worshipful knight, like his ancestors have been--worthy men, and leal to their liege lord."
So saying, the old knight rose up with difficulty, assisted by his sons, who ran to aid him, for he had received a severe wound from a bill, over his left thigh, and had never recovered the use of it since.
"Grammercy, fair sons! but, Ralph, do thou lead in thy lady mother, for to thee belongs the honour of the day."
And so the little party went down the passage and entered the hall, where supper was laid at the upper end. The servants were all assembled in the body of the hall, and the sons carved for their parents at the high table. Ralph's health was duly drunk amid much festivity, and the whole household retired to rest at a reasonable hour.
The next day a messenger was despatched to Salisbury, where the Abbot of Quarr, who was related to Sir John Lisle, or De Lysle, was staying, to ask him to come over to Thruxton Hall, and advise his kinsman on the future of his sons. The worthy Abbot came without delay; and that evening a family consultation was held in the old parlour, round the knight's armchair.
The old knight briefly explained the matter, and then left the worthy Abbot to comment on it.
"By the Holy Rood! but thy gentle sons have all well bethought them, and I could not have directed them better myself. Truly, 'tis the overruling spirit of God who has guided them to a right judgment!" said the Abbot. "Now for Jasper there will need to be no thought taken. Out of the abundance of thy lands he will be provided for, and may marry and raise up a fair lineage; but for our nephew Ralph other thoughts will be requisite. He will need fair clothes, as becometh one of a noble house, and an honest varlet to go with him, and a mettlesome courser; one not too fiery, that will lead him astray, and perchance disgrace him, or his clothes, but one that is stout withal, and not of a too tame spirit. And now methinks I know of just such a one, which the Prior of Christchurch, who is at Sarum now on business, wisheth to part with, having become too feeble or too stout for so mettlesome a nag. Nephew Ralph, I will e'en give him thee, with my blessing."
"My Lord Abbot, I give thee humble thanks," stammered Ralph delighted.
"And now we must bethink us to what noble lord we may apprentice him. Thou knowest what state my Lord Scales, lately deceased, kept in his Castle of Carisbrooke. He, poor man--and may the Lord have mercy on his soul--was grievously done to death near Stoney Stratford, by the late King Richard, whom the devil led far astray. Nevertheless, he was a man of war, and well skilled in subtle council. However, King Henry hath made his brother Captain-General of our land; and Sir Edward Woodville, whom most men call the Lord Woodville, and who some even think will be called to the council by the style of Lord Rivers, is but now on his way back from the hard fight at Stoke by Newark, where he hath gained himself fresh glory. Certes he is a gallant, very puissant, and right hardy lord, and one under whom much knighthood and gentleness might be learnt, and as he is the uncle of our sovereign lord the King's most noble wife, there is much hope Ralph might be advanced in the King's household. Now I can present our fair nephew to him, and he can be brought up under my eye in the right pleasant Castle of Carisbrooke, of the honour of which the Lisles hold the Manor of Mansbridge. How say you, kinsman mine, will this serve you?"
"Ay, marry will it, my Lord Abbot, and I see fair promise of the boy's doing well, and faring right puissantly. And now I bethink me, our kinsman of Briddlesford may take an interest in the lad. His own son, I hear, hath been disinherited by him for his wilfulness and strong fealty to the house of York. I would fain see them reconciled, but an that may not be, I see no wrong in Ralph marrying his only daughter. But now, canst thou do somewhat also for son Walter here?--he would like well to be a clerk."
"By Our Lady, but he is a good lad, and we will take order that he be well advanced, as far as our poor influence in the Holy Church goeth; but he should be entered at Oxen ford shortly, for he is of age to go thither. I will write to my well-beloved brother and kinsman, the Abbot of Abyngdon, who will get him entered at Queen's College, over which, when I was a scholar, the very puissant prince Cardinal Beaufort was provost."
Thus the future of the boy was well arranged, and it was agreed that the Abbot of Quarr should take Ralph with him, as soon as his outfit was ready; and in order to expedite matters, a serving-man was sent to Salisbury to fetch out a tailor with the necessary cloth and stuff suitable to apparel a young man of good birth who was going to be page to so potent a lord as the Lord Woodville. At the same time, the varlet received orders to negotiate with the Prior of Christchurch for the horse.
Meanwhile Ralph and his brother had tried the qualities of his new hawk.
"Thou well knowest, brother Ralph," said Jasper to him, as they rode along on their small ponies towards Chute Forest, "my peregrine will fly faster than thy gerfalcon."
"Marry, will it? that we shall see, I trow. See there's a bird yonder; 'tis a heron, now fly our birds at her."
No sooner said than done; off went the jesses, away went the hoods, and with a swing of the arm and wrist, the noble birds were cast off the fist. Up they sprang high in air. The gerfalcon mounted quicker, but the peregrine went straighter. Away they sped and the boys after them, halloing to the dogs to keep to heel.
"See, Ralph, I told thee so, thy bird can't hold a candle to mine. Well flown, Swiftwing, well mounted! Now she sees the quarry!"
"Ay, and the quarry sees her. Look, Jasp, she has turned, and, by St Edmund, she'll cross my beauty! Listen to the sweet tinkle of her bells. How swift she mounteth. Ah! my little lady, thou knowest thy work well."
"I'll bet you my new riding-whip against your new set of bells, that my hawk strikes her first."
"Done!" cried Ralph eagerly.
The attention of the two boys was keenly fixed on the two birds, and they rode on, heeding nothing, the varlet who attended his young lords keeping well up with them.
"Hi! Master Jasper, look where thou goest," cried out the servant; "thou will ride down yon old man!"
Jasper was not best pleased at being interrupted in his view of the sport, and, glancing down, saw a man with a hood drawn over his head, and an old tattered gown on, who was with difficulty walking across the heath, attended by a young girl, meanly attired, but very modest and sweet-looking.
"Why, old man, wherefore crossedst thou my path? Didst not see the game toward? Fie, I should have thought an old man like you wouldst have known better!"
"Nay, fair gentleman, I did cross thy path purposely. I have lost my way, and am parlous footsore; so is this poor lass, my daughter; and I crave you of your kindness tell me where we may get shelter."
"Ay, that will my father right willingly give you. Go you on, keep the path over the common, and we shall follow you anon. Thou canst not miss thy way. Say young Master Jasper of Thruxton sent thee. Thou wilt meet with care enough there."
"Grammercy, fair young master; but I will not keep thee from thy sport to waste thy time hearing a poor man's thanks."
So saying, the man and the young girl continued their way.
Ralph had been looking on; he saw how weary the man was, and his generous young heart beat with pity. He rode after the strangers, and, dismounting, insisted on the poor man getting up and taking his daughter on the croup behind him. There was something in the manner of the wanderers which seemed to tell him they were not common people. The man was evidently much touched. He thanked the boy with quiet dignity, and accepted his offer with ready pleasure; while the large hazel eyes of the girl filled with grateful emotion. She gave him a shy glance, full of gratitude.
At this moment a loud shout of disappointment came from Jasper.
"By St Edmund, thy falcon hath risen above the heron, and will strike in another second!"
This was too much for Ralph. With a joyous bound he left the new-comers on his pony, and ran after his brother, just in time to see his gerfalcon give a swoop, and the next minute descend like a falling bolt right on to the doomed heron, who, however, with prompt instinct, turned up its long neck, and held its beak like a sword on which the falcon should impale itself.
"Gare beak, my beauty; strike him sideways. There, by all the saints, she has done it! There they come. Ah! Melampus; ah! Ringwood; heel, sir, heel!"
And the boy ran as hard as he could to the spot where the heron, still struggling, but feebly, was falling with the hawk's claws and talons fixed firmly in its back, and its strong beak pecking into its brain.
"Well done! well sped, brave bird!" cried Ralph joyously.
"Ay, but I have lost my riding-whip," said Jasper ruefully.
"Nay, Jasp, I will never take it; 'twas but in sport."
And thus the first flight of Ralph's gerfalcon ended. They recalled the goshawk, and with hawks hooded, jesses on legs, and fast on fists, they returned home, carrying the heron with them.
CHAPTER II.
HOW THE FLEDGLING LEFT THE NEST.
When the boys drew near home, talking volubly all the time, as boys do, and wondering whether the poor man and his daughter had reached the manor before them, they met Humphrey, who was returning from Salisbury with the tailor and the new horse.
Ralph descried them some way off, and darted away like a hare, before Jasper and the groom had guessed the cause of his flight. Breathless the boy ran up to Humphrey, and could scarcely pour out the torrent of questions, mingled with ejaculations of pleasure and admiration, with which he overwhelmed the varlet, so scant of breath was he.
The horse was certainly a beauty, and did great credit to the taste and judgment of the worthy Abbot of Quarr.
"Ay, certes 'tis a fine beast; but the main fault, to my mind, is that he's too much for thee, Master Ralph. 'Tis a mettlesome hackney, and I don't marvel that fat Prior of Christchurch wanted to part with him. He'll find a difference between thy light weight and that old round shaveling yonder."
"Tush! Humphrey, let me get on him, that's all--an I bring him not to reason, beshrew me for a dullard and walk-a-foot."
By this time Jasper and the other groom had come up, and they were loud in their praises of the new horse.
"My faith! Ralph, thou'rt in luck to-day," said Jasper, somewhat discontentedly. "Thy falcon hath beat mine, and now thou ownest a horse the best, well-nigh, to look at in our stables. Thou'rt a lucky wight, that thou art."
They were approaching the manor house, and as they came within sight of the old buildings, they saw the Abbot of Quarr coming out of the hall door with Lady Lisle.
"Humphrey, let me mount him," said Ralph eagerly, "before they see us. I'd wager a mark my lady mother would be astonished, and so would my right reverend Lord Abbot."
"Nay, Master Ralph, better let one of the stable knaves try him first; he's a bit fresh and mettlesome. Maybe thou wouldst not master him."
"Marry, Humphrey, thou'rt parlous cautelous. Nay, but I will mount him; he's mine. An thou dost not hold him, I will e'en vault on him as he is, and take my chance."
Humphrey, seeing how wilful his young master was, and fearing lest the horse should kick him if he tried to mount as he threatened, drew up and held the horse. The boy, with a little run, vaulted on to the back of his steed, which stood quite still, only turning his head round, and looking at his new master with wise, mild eye. When the boy was firmly seated, and had taken the reins in his hand, for the horse was bitted and bridled, although there was only a cloth over its back, he clapped his heels to the animal's side, and urged him to a trot.
The others all watched him, and wondered to see the boy, who had hitherto only ridden his pony, sit so well and masterfully on the fine animal's back. His seat was firm, and the grip of his knees strong.
The horse, unaccustomed to so light a weight, sprang forward with a plunge, for it was fresh, and had been worked but little lately. With eager excitement the boy urged it on to a canter, and clapped both heels to its sides. Nothing loth, the splendid animal threw up its head, gave a snort of answering joy, and broke into a long easy stride.
In another minute they had reached the approaching figures, and Ralph waved his cap with joyous triumph.
"RALPH WAVED HIS CAP IN TRIUMPH."
"Why, 'tis Ralph!" cried his mother, in amazement. "My son, have a care; 'tis a parlous great horse for so young a boy."
"Nay, fair lady," said the Abbot; "see how well he manageth him: there is naught to fear. He is a likely lad enough, and will make a fine brave present for me to give to my Lord Woodville. There is promise of a noble knight in that stripling. In sooth, he cometh of fair lineage."
Meanwhile the boy was galloping round the greensward in front of the house, talking to the horse all the while, patting his neck and mane, perfectly at home on the back of the animal, and radiant with joy.
As he came round again he drew up in front of his mother and the Abbot, and, reining in the horse, made a low reverence to them with his cap.
"Grammercy, my Lord Abbot, for thy right noble present; 'tis the most brave horse in all England, and I am right thankful to thee for thy gracious kindness," said the boy.
"Well, young master, thou managest him well enough, and I am glad to see that thou hast profited by the lessons of thy lady mother, and hast learned courtesy and easy manners. An thou goest on thus, thou wilt bring credit on thy family, and my Lord Woodville will value thee and us right worthily. Take the horse with my benediction, and may the Lord be with thee, even as He was with David. May He make thine arm strong, and thy spear sharp against all that is vile, mean, and base in this world. Mayest thou win knighthood, and not filthy lucre, by thy prowess; though indeed, as Paul saith, 'The workman is worthy of his hire,' and they do err grievously who think that the ministrations of Holy Church should be rewarded only by thanks, and naught else."
During this speech, the tailor and Humphrey, with Master Jasper and his varlet, had come up, and the inferiors all doffed their caps as they listened respectfully to the Abbot.
"'Tis a learned man and a holy," said the tailor as they went round to the servants' offices, "and he draws a right subtle distinction in that same matter of the acquisition of goods; for as a rolling stone gathereth no moss, so a knight that acteth full knightly hath no means to acquire wealth for himself, whereas an Abbot, or churchman, who liveth well in one place, layeth up much goods for himself and Mother Church. Piety without wealth is as an addled egg that showeth a fair outside but is all fruitless and deceitful within. And as 'tis the duty of the Church to spend and be spent in the service of the saints, how can they spend if they have naught to give away."
While the tailor moralised thus to Humphrey, they entered the kitchen. Ralph and Jasper were walking by the side of their mother and the Abbot; they had dismounted from their horses, and had given them to the groom to take round to the stables.
After taking a few turns up and down in front of the house, Lady Lisle said she must go in and see the tailor, for no time was to be lost in cutting out and making the necessary clothes for Ralph to take with him.
It had been settled that all must be ready by to-morrow early, as the Abbot had to travel to Winchester to meet Sir Edward Woodville, who was going to stay there one night, on his way to Southampton to cross over to the Isle of Wight. There was, therefore, a great deal to be done, and Ralph was taken in by his mother to be measured and fitted, while she set her maids to work to sew the various pieces together as the tailor cut them out.
There was one part of the preparation Ralph liked very much; that was the selecting the weapons he would need as a page, and which might serve him if he should reach the rank of esquire before he returned home again. He was a tall boy and strong, therefore his father bade the old major-domo, who had acted as his esquire, select sound and strong arms, such as a good sword, a well-tempered dagger, and a stout bow with fitting arrows; while a target, a back and breast piece, and a light steel cap, with a strong under jerkin of leather, completed his defensive attire.
It was decided that Humphrey should go with him, and a sumpter horse was to take the baggage of master and man. The evening was passed in great excitement on the part of Ralph, who could not keep still for a minute, and caused Jasper to break out in wrath several times, while his father and mother watched him silently, the latter with eyes full of affectionate sadness. It was the first time the family circle had been broken up.
Suddenly Jasper remembered the poor man and his daughter, and, glad of an opportunity of directing attention to some other matter, he said,--
"Marry, Ralph, we never asked what became of that old beggar and thy nag; didst hear whether they had left him in the stables?"
"Was it a poor man and a young girl?" said Lady Lisle.
"Ay, mother; didst thou see them?"
"Certes I did, and a quandary it put me into too. For I saw it was thy pony, Ralph, and I marvelled what had come to thee. But the vagrant put me at ease. Poor old man, and poor little wench, they were sorely bested; and when I heard their tale, I felt proud of my son Ralph. 'Twas well done to succour the weary and footsore."
"Humph!" said the Abbot. "I know not, fair lady, whether 'twere altogether a wise action. The beggar was a stranger, and 'tis a mad prank to lend thy goods to people thou dost not know."
"Maybe, Lord Abbot; but I bethink me of One who not only lent but gave to those whom He did not know."
"Ay, marry, so do I, fair lady, but we who live in the world must be careful not to be visionaries or unlike other folk; and if Ralph goeth with me, he must be mindful of the saying, 'Honour to whom honour is due.' Now a beggar and his slut of a daughter are not fit people to give one's pony too--unless, indeed, he is mindful of being a saint; if so, he'd best not go to my Lord Woodville."
The evening was soon gone, and all things were in fair way for an early start to-morrow. The hospitable Lady Lisle had given a night's lodging to the two weary wayfarers, who had told her their journey lay to the Isle of Wight, where the aunt of the young girl lived; and Lady Lisle had said she would see what could be done to further them on their way--perhaps even the Abbot of Quarr would allow them to go in his train.
Before retiring to rest, Sir John Lisle called his son to him, and gave him solemn words of advice, and as Ralph listened, boy as he was, he felt proud of his father for speaking such noble words.
"My son," the old knight said, sitting in his large arm-chair, laying his hand on the boy's head, who sat at his feet on a low stool, looking up into his father's face, "my son, thou art going forth like a fledgling from the nest. Thou hast been gently nurtured, and hast proved that the good lessons of thy lady mother and Sir Thomas Merlin[*] have sunk into thy heart. But the world into which thou goest will offer many trials and sore temptations. I cannot guard thee beforehand against all; but there are some few things I can tell thee, and thy mother will tell thee some others. Fear God before all things! Fight the King's enemies, and those of thy country; and never turn thy back on the foe as long as thy chief bids thee fight. In all things be obedient, and pay reverence to those in authority over thee. Be liberal, courteous, and gentle. Let thy charges be as thy purse can pay. Thy kinsman, the Abbot of Quarr, will aid thee in all that is right for thy place in life; for I have assigned him certain lands and rents in trust for thee, and thou must maintain the rank of thy family and name. Brave I know thou art, and truthful, I well believe; but of the matters that appertain to thy gentle life, these thy lady mother will tell thee. I have been too much a man of war in these troublous times, and, I fear me, God loveth not those who have used the sword too freely. But 'tis in the blood, and we are not able to fight against it. And now, my son, may God be with thee. Fare thee well. Win thy spurs, and come home a very gentle, perfect knight."
[*] Priests were in that age called "Sir."
So saying, the old knight laid his hands on the boy's wavy hair, and let them rest there a little space, while his lips moved, as if in prayer. When he removed his hands, he raised the boy and kissed him on his forehead, and bid him "Good-night."
Ralph was touched, and went up to his room, for the first time that day sorry he was going; but soon the glorious life before him caused him to forget tender thoughts, and he got into bed longing for the night to be over and his adventures to begin. While he was lying wide awake, unable to sleep through excitement, he heard his mother's step outside the door, and in another minute she came in.
"My little son--nay, not so little after all, but to me always my little son--I have come to wish thee good-night, and to say farewell; for to-morrow we must all be busy, and I cannot then say what I would say now. Thy father hath told thee what appertains to knighthood, I would fain tell thee of what concerneth thy soul--albeit this also belongeth more to Sir Thomas Merlin's office; but a mother's words are always blessed, if God guideth her, as He surely doth. Remember always to say thy prayers, night and morning; and pray not only in thy words and memory, but with the real fervour of a thinking heart. Repeat not simply set sentences, but think of thy daily needs, and daily sins, and lay all before God. Be mindful to give thanks in thy prayers, for gratitude is the sign of a gentle heart. Remember, also, always to be generous to the poor; if thou gainest riches, give freely to those who need, for in so doing, thou layest up treasure in heaven. Help the weak, the widow, and the fatherless, and in all thy youthful strength and rejoicing, forget not the sick, the miserable, and those in grievous dolour. Avoid all bad words; be cleanly of speech, as well as of life; and think ever on thy Blessed Lord, the saints, and thy mother. And, lastly, be courteous, obedient, and humble. Be gay and light-hearted, as becometh youth, but never let wine overcome thee, or the temptations of the tavern and the dice-box. Avoid all boastfulness, but let thine arm and hand ever maintain thy word, as is fit for one who professeth arms, which is a calling honoured of Heaven, in the person of those puissant captains of Rome, the captain of the Italian company, and the captain that confessed our Blessed Lord. Now, good-night, fair son, and may God bless thee. I have brought thee a little purse; it containeth some small pieces that may procure thee favour with thy companions when thou meetest with them. Humphrey hath charge of thy wardrobe and body-linen, and will see to thy proper furnishing as one of gentle birth and fair lineage. God bless thee, my son, and bring thee back to us, as thy noble father said, 'a very gentle, perfect knight,' and, better still, bring thee, and all of us, to that rest above, where there is no more fighting--no more parting."
So saying, the sweet lady bent down and kissed her son with fervent love, and left him to his thoughts.
The next morning all were astir early--Ralph among the earliest. The worthy Abbot said Mass, assisted by the excellent Chaplain, Sir Thomas Merlin, and after breakfast the preparations for departure were completed.
The little cavalcade came round to the front of the old mansion, and a pretty scene it made. There were the sumpter horses of the Abbot and his two servants; Humphrey, and the baggage horse of Master Ralph; and Ralph's new present, the handsome charger, newly harnessed with new saddle and gay housings. Behind, mounted on Ralph's pony, was the young girl, while her father stood by her side ready to lead the pony, for Lady Lisle had bethought her of them, and had persuaded the Abbot to let them journey with him as far as Winchester, at least, although that worthy prelate was much averse to taking stray waifs in his train.
Ralph was already dressed in a new suit of clothes. Three suits had already been made, and more were to follow, if it was found that he was not dressed suitably to his rank and companions. And very handsome he looked in his gay attire. He wore a velvet bonnet on one side of his head, his wavy hair falling on each side of his free, merry face; a little linen collar was round his neck, and a close-fitting tunic of parti-coloured cloth, puffed at the shoulders and elbows, and pleated down the front and back below the chest and shoulder blades, was fastened round his waist by a leathern belt, from which hung a wallet and a poignard. Tight-fitting hose clad his well-formed legs, and were of different colours, according to the fashion of the time, on each leg. He held his falcon on fist, and carried a little riding-whip in his left hand. A riding-cloak was strapped over the pommel of his saddle, from which also hung some saddle bags containing a few needful articles for the journey and for immediate use.
All the household had come out to see the start.
The Abbot took leave of his kinsfolk, giving them his benediction, and promising to care well for their son. He then mounted his horse with the aid of his varlets, for he was a large and portly ecclesiastic, and, when mounted, presented a very majestic and dignified appearance in his white Cistercian cassock, with its black scapular hood and cloak, with a square, rather high black cap on his head.
"Come, cousin Ralph, haste thee, the day grows apace, and we should be at Winton before noon or little after."
Ralph had gone up to his father, and knelt down to receive his blessing, saying,--
"Farewell, my noble father, when I come again may I find thee and my lady mother well and in good state, and may I do naught that will bring dolour on thy life."
"Amen, fair son. Go and do valiantly--and the God of thy fathers go with thee."
Rising up, Ralph embraced his father and mother, took leave of his brothers and the servants, and mounted his horse. His heels were armed with spurs, and, touching the animal's flank he caused him to rear and paw the air.
"Marry, the lad sits the horse like a man of thirty. He will do well, and gain himself a name."
The cavalcade now turned off down the glade and disappeared round a bend of the ride, Ralph waving his cap as a last adieu.
"Well, fair wife, so our fledgling hath flown, let us get indoors and pray to God for His mercy."
CHAPTER III.
OF THE FLEDGLING REJOICING IN HIS FREEDOM.
When Ralph trotted after the little cavalcade, which he had allowed to get ahead of him as he waved his final adieu to his parents and his home, he felt all the pride of boyhood budding into independent manhood.
He had long chafed at his inactive life. The rough experience of the late civil wars had taught men to live fast, and many a hardy knight had begun the fierce struggle in the hand-strokes of war at the age of twelve or thirteen. The boyhood of King Edward the Fourth had often been told him, how early he had learned the accomplishments of the tilt-yard, and how early he had practised them on the stern field of war. A king by the right of his own good sword at the age of twenty, he had fought in many deadly fights as leader and simple man-at-arms for several years before.
Ralph had always been a good boy at his lessons, for he was fond of the chaplain who taught him, but the book he loved most of all was the recently printed book of Sir Thomas Malory, who had compiled and translated the Mort-d'Arthur. He gloated over the description of the single combats, the jousts, and the tourneys in that poetic story, and never tired of the numberless tales of "how the good knight Sir Bors or Sir Lamorak laid on either strokes, and how they foined and lashed, and gave each other blows till the blood ran down, and each stood astonied." His favourite knight was Sir Beaumains. He admired Sir Launcelot, but he was too far above him, while Sir Beaumains was only a beginner, and went through adventures which were not too far out of the common as possibly to occur to himself.
And now he was on the actual road to fortune. He was going to be trained in the household of a great knight, live in a castle, and have daily instruction with youths like himself, aspirants to fame and martial deeds.
The fresh air of the morning seemed never before so fresh, never had the birds sung so blithely. How springy the turf seemed under his horse's hoofs. He sang gaily as he trotted along, and flicked at the flies that tried to settle on his horse's neck.
"Softly, Master Ralph," cried Humphrey. "Thou art a light weight, I know, but we have far to go, and 'tis best to let the cattle go quiet."
The Abbot had settled himself comfortably in his saddle, and called his young kinsman up to him. The servants fell a little behind, Humphrey trying to draw the mendicant and his young daughter into conversation. But he only received short answers from the man, while the girl barely answered at all. The serving-man, unable to make anything out of either of them, gave up the attempt, and began to talk to the attendants of the Abbot.
It was a lovely June day. All the country looked crisp and bright in the clear sunlight. The road lay over a high hill, whence a broad landscape stretched before them, then it dipped down into the old town of Andover, where the cavalcade stopped before the rambling old wooden hostelry, and the Abbot refreshed himself with a cup of malmsey before they entered on the rather wild track of forest and down that lay between Andover and Winchester.
Leaving Andover, they crossed the low land on each side of the Teste, and that river itself near Chilbolton, and then rose over the steep acclivity of Barton Stacey down, with its wide ridge of hills stretching east and west in bleak loneliness, to face the sweeping winds that roared over them from the south-west bringing up the salt of the channel to invigorate the sheep that browsed over their slopes.
The Abbot discoursed from time to time of the various duties Ralph would have to fulfil, how he must conduct himself towards his superiors, equals, and inferiors; and his advice was certainly considerably more worldly-wise than had been that of Ralph's father and mother.
The boy listened attentively; but somehow, with the quick intuition of youthful directness, he detected the ring of worldly wisdom, as differing from the ingenuous simplicity of his' parent's advice. He could not help being amused and interested with the many little anecdotes with which the Abbot illustrated and enlivened his advice, while he felt more than ever how little he knew of the world and its ways.
"Now look you, fair kinsman," said the Abbot. "'Tis a right thing, and one well-pleasing to Holy Church, to be generous and free-handed; but 'tis not wise to give blindly, and without due inquiry. Thou lentest yonder idle vagrant thine horse yesterday. The holy saints guided him aright to thy father's house; but he might, for aught thou knewest, have just as well taken thine horse to Weyhill horse-fair, and there sold him, or ridden away where thou wouldst never have seen him more."
"But, my lord Abbot," cried the boy, "I liked the sound of his voice, and his words were fair: he could not but be honest."
"See there now; alack! good lack! the boy will surely come to harm an he goeth on like that! See you not, fair kinsman, that an you hearken to all fair words and gentle voices, you will e'en be stripped as clean as a rose bush with a blight on it? That is what I say, wait and see. I say not 'give not,' but look well before you give.
"Then again in a quarrel--for hot youth must needs quarrel--be wary how you enter in; see well that your adversary is one from whom you can hope to obtain honour,--one that if you vanquish him can yield you due satisfaction and fair guerdon, or, if he should vanquish you--for you must e'en look to both sides--that he be one to whom you may yield without loss of honour,--sithen he be so puissant a foe that there is as much honour gained in encountering him as there might be in overcoming another.
"In all things give heed and act discreetly. Be no tale-bearer, but listen well to all that goeth on. In all things serve thy master loyally; but be not so besotted as ever to be ruined for any. As for ensample, if thy lord choose a quarrel that must needs bring him to destruction, go not thou after him, but save thyself in time; as rats are said to cross by the hawser that mooreth a ship to the land, when they know of their own natural sagacity that ruin awaiteth that ship. Only give him fair notice thereof first. See how, during the late civil commotions, the Church hath acted discreetly, and saved her possessions in the midst of the broil. Even George, Archbishop of York, allied as he was to the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Clarence, yet compounded with the late King Edward IV., on whose soul may God have mercy. But, blessed saints! whom have we here? 'Tis some noble baron, I doubt not, going to Winchester too, unless, indeed, it be the train of my Lord Woodville himself."
They had now reached a high bleak hill, and were nearly at the point where another road joined the one they were travelling by, which led from Marlborough and Cirencester to Winchester. Coming along this other road, which led from Reading, and just rising over the brow of the hill, Ralph could see a party of well-armed men. The dust from their horses obscured them partly, but he could make out that there were several footmen, carrying the formidable bill which dealt such deadly wounds, and gleaming above them were the helmets of two or three men-at-arms. The red crosses on their white surcoats, or tabards, showed that they belonged to the troops levied for the king, or at least raised by some noble for service, for which it was customary to take a contract.
"Ay, belike that's what they are," said the Abbot. "Do you, Peter, now ride on, while I tarry here to welcome my Lord Woodville; and take good lodgings for the night in Winchester, for me and my kinsman the Master Ralph de Lisle."
This was said to the chief of his lay brothers who acted as his serving-men, and who were clad in a dress very much resembling their lord's, but of a dark colour, instead of white.
Ralph was glad they were going to wait to meet the approaching party. He had never seen a band of armed men before, and he thought the appearance of these very imposing, as the pennons of the mounted men fluttered in the breeze.
"Ay, there's the banner of my Lord Woodville--he'll not be far behind," said the Abbot, as another little band mounted the hill, the centre figure carrying a little square flag on the end of a lance, which gaily waved its red and white colours as the horseman moved to the swing of his steed.
It was a very pretty sight. The wide-extending view, over broad pasture and swelling down, the distance hidden by a grey haze; the yellow road, leading straight across the green grass of the down, for the summer was hardly begun, while the gleaming weapons, white surcoats, and fluttering banners, mingled with the brilliant red of the crosses, and the blazon on the flag, contrasted well with the deep blue of the cloudless sky, fading away to the warm haze of the horizon. Gaily the grasshoppers chirped among the wild convolvulus on the roadside, the bees hummed over the clover, and the larks were soaring joyously in the azure overhead.
Ralph gave a sigh of enjoyment--life was already beginning.
The little party sat motionless on their steeds, the Abbot having reined up his horse at the junction of the two roads. Ralph sat on his horse beside him, and Humphrey, the other lay brother, and the sumpter horses, were grouped behind them--while behind them again was the poor man, leaning against the pony on which his daughter sat, who had, however, frequently insisted on her father taking her place.
Suddenly the Abbot remembered them.
"Beshrew me," he said, "I wish thy lady mother had not saddled me with these beggars; it beseemeth not a prelate like me to have such rapscallions attending on him."
The girl noticed the impatience of the Abbot, and partly heard his muttered words.
"Come, father, let us get hence before the others come; we but disgrace the noble Abbot and his fair nephew."
"Nay, nay, stay now," said the Abbot testily, relenting a little when he heard the soft voice of the girl. "'T would look worse an thou wert now to slip off as though I were ashamed of thee. Even stay and brave it out. After all, 'twill look seemly that I be busied in the protection of the poor and houseless. Ay, marry! 'twill please my Lord Woodville who ever jibeth at the pride of Mother Church, as he calleth it, when I appear in the state befitting the Abbot of the first house of our order in England, and patron of the Chapel of St Nicholas in his own castle of Carisbrooke. Prythee stay: 'twill be well!"
The advanced guard had now reached the place where the others were awaiting them.
The Abbot recognised the sergeant-at-arms who led the little band.
"Why, how now, Tom o' Kingston, who'd have thought to have met thee here to-day?"
"What, my Lord Abbot, you over here! 'tis my noble lord will be right pleased to see thee," answered a splendid specimen of a man-at-arms, clad from head to foot in brown armour, his horse barbed and protected with body arms as well. He had his slender lance slung behind him, and his long sword clanked against the iron of his stirrup. His moustaches curled over the lower chin-piece of his salade or helmet, and his eyes looked bold and fierce under the shadow of its projecting peak. Over his breastplate he wore a loose white surcoat, blazoned with the red cross of St George, while a heavy mace hung from his high-peaked saddle-bow. The effect of the massive armour was to give the trooper the appearance of immense width of chest and strength of body, while in reality he was only of medium size, in proportion to men of the present day.
"Is my Lord Woodville nigh at hand, worthy Tom?" said the Abbot.
"Ay, my lord, he is just behind his banner, attended by his own gentlemen, and some gentlemen of France. But I must be getting on, or the march will be delayed. Hast thou any further orders, my Lord Abbot?"
"Nay, Master Tom; I will see thee again at Winchester belike, where I would commend to thy care this young springald here, who comes of gentle birth, and is desirous of learning knightly feats of arms under thy noble master."
"He shall be right welcome, whoever he is, but all the more so that he cometh under thy commendation, reverend lord. 'Tis a right gallant youth, and he sitteth his horse full manfully."
So saying, the sergeant-at-arms clapped spurs to his horse, made a salute with his gauntleted hand, and trotted after his party, who had gone on while he was exchanging greetings with the Abbot.
"Note him well, Ralph; he is one of the best soldiers we have in our island, and he comes of gentle blood too. He is the most trusty of all the men-at-arms belonging to my Lord Woodville."
The main body of the troops had now come close to where they were standing. The foremost ranks passed them without any greeting beyond a respectful salute to the Abbot. The men marched along in very loose order, for it was a time of peace, and they were returning from the successful but deadly fight at Stoke. Several of them were bandaged on the arm or head, and those who were wounded were only lightly armed.
After this body had passed, a little interval elapsed, and then came Sir Edward Woodville, commonly called Lord Woodville, Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight, and knight of the Lancastrian order of S.S.[*] He was attended by several gentlemen, mostly English, but some two or three evidently French. He was preceded by two men-at-arms, and three mounted archers, all splendidly armed and equipped. Behind him came a group of three or four pages, all young men of good birth, aspirants to knightly rank, and being trained in the household of Sir Edward Woodville.
[*] The origin of this symbol is not known. Conjecture has varied between the words "Soveraygno Seneschal" and the swan badge of the House of Lancaster. The collar formed a very graceful ornament, the gold S.S. being linked together, or set on blue and white ribbon.
Ralph looked at these eagerly. They would be his future companions, and he felt a little shy at first, as the boys all scanned him critically, making remarks to each other the while in a low tone.
Lord Woodville instantly recognised the Abbot, and greeted him cordially. After the mutual salutations were over, and the Abbot of Quarr had congratulated him on the success of the King's arms, and his own part in the fray, he introduced Ralph to him, as a present from himself, telling Lord Woodville his previous history and lineage.
At the mention of the word Lisle, a shade seemed to pass over the tranquil face of the Captain of the Wight, like a cloud shadow over the smooth slope of a southerly down; but it passed as quickly as it came, and although he examined the boy more attentively, his expression had resumed its usual serenity.
The boy felt somewhat abashed as the calm grey eyes of the distinguished knight and nobleman fell upon him, searching him through and through; but he scanned the countenance and appearance of his future lord with shy interest, in spite of the awe his glance produced.
He saw before him a gentleman of about thirty to thirty-five years of age, in the prime of life, and strikingly handsome. For all the Woodvilles, both male and female, were remarkable for their personal advantages, and inherited the beauty of person which had caused Jacquetta of Luxemburg, second wife of the great Duke of Bedford, and the cause of the ruin of the English power in France nearly as much as the hapless Joan of Arc, to choose their father, a simple country gentleman, for her second husband. He was dressed magnificently, and very elegantly. Covering his long dark chestnut hair, which hung down on each side of his face, was a velvet bonnet, ornamented with an ostrich plume on one side, fastened by a brilliant ruby brooch. Dark eyebrows surmounted very expressive grey eyes; his complexion would have been fair, had it not been bronzed by long exposure in many a campaign and knightly enterprise. His face was clean shaven, and thus the firm but sweet lines of his mouth were displayed to full advantage. A close-fitting lace collar round his neck contrasted with the spiral ridge of his steel gorget, which the richly-embroidered surcoat, cut straight across the chest, from shoulder to shoulder, allowed to be plainly visible. The short sleeves of this surcoat reached only to the elbows; the rest of his person was encased in rich armour, while a gorgeous gold-studded belt supported his straight long sword and richly-jewelled dagger. His helmet was carried by an esquire fully armed, who also bore his lord's lance. A handsome collar of S.S., ending in a portcullis badge, adorned his neck, while instead of steel gauntlets he wore soft leather gloves, and a splendid falcon rested on his right hand. Another esquire bore his lord's shield, and led a spare horse, fully accoutred in body armour and housing for battle or tilt.
"So this is Master Ralph de Lisle, is it?" said Lord Woodville, who had been appointed on the accession of Henry VII. to succeed his unfortunate but accomplished brother, Lord Scales, in the lordship of the Isle of Wight. "He cometh of an old Isle of Wight family, and is heartily welcome to such training as he can acquire in my poor household. Truly an his deeds shall answer to his fair outside, he will prove a right hardy knight. But tell me," he added, "is he of near kin to old Sir William Lisle of Briddlesford?"
"Nay, my lord, not of close kin," replied the Abbot of Quarr. "Sir William's grandsire returned to the land of his fathers in Harry the Fourth's reign. As thou knowest, he hath but one son and one daughter, and he hath disinherited the son. 'Tis a sad story."
"Ah! I had forgotten," said Lord Woodville. Then turning to the old knight who rode a little behind, he said, "Here, Sir John Trenchard, is one more to add to your charge. I deliver Master Lisle to your care, knowing full well I cannot give him to a better master of chivalry and gentle learning. Teach him as you so well know how, and the King will gain a fine soldier, and you, my friend, more credit than ever."
Lord Woodville then smiled graciously at Ralph and turned to the Abbot to continue the converse interrupted by the presentation of the boy.
So Ralph Lisle was introduced to his future Lord, and from henceforth would be under the orders of the good knight Sir John Trenchard, until he should be declared worthy to rank as an esquire, and take part in warlike expeditions.
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THE FLEDGLING GREW TO A COCKEREL.
By the time Ralph had reached Winchester, he had learned the names of his future companions, and had already had occasion to experience their love of practical joking, tempered, however, in this case, by the presence of their lord and his gentlemen.
The eldest of the pages was Willie Newenhall, and Ralph was not long in seeing that he was thought little of by the other three, who made him a butt for their wit, which, however, seemed to fall very harmlessly on its object.
"You see he's so parlous full of conceit, he never knows we are making game of him," said Richard de Cheke,[*] the youngest of the pages, and by far the liveliest.
[*] The old family of the Chykes, Cheikes, or Chekes, held the manor of Mottestone from 1370 to 1600, from whom the manor passed to the Dillingtons and Leighs of North Court. Sir John Cheke of their family was professor of Greek in Cambridge, and in 1544 was tutor to Edward VI.
"But when he doth find out, certes he groweth angry?" asked Ralph.
"Nay, what care we for his anger? Even I, small as I am, can teach him a lesson in all things, saving the care of his person and the filling of his skin."
"Marry, young one," said a well-grown, shapely youth, who was riding a little behind and to the left of Ralph Lisle, "here's a missive of great import, 'tis even the business of the last come page to take all such to our right worshipful bear-leader and timber breaker, old Jack in Harness himself. So do thou take it, before worse comes of it."
So saying, the youth handed Ralph a bit of paper, folded neatly, and addressed in a stiff scrawl, "Toe ye rite worchipful Syr Jakke yn Harneis."
"And who is he?" said Ralph, looking at the scrawl and then at the youth.
"Who is he, quotha? why, that you'll soon know, an you do not my bidding. That's the puissant, right valiant, and thrice-renowned knight to whom my Lord Woodville handed thee over, even as we have been handed over, to learn chivalry, and all courtesy. Therefore say I, take you this to him right promptly."
Ralph was a little puzzled. The whole was said so seriously, and in such evident good faith, that he thought he might be violating some rule already. The youth was obviously older than himself, and was doubtless a page of some months' standing. He thought on the whole it would be better to obey, trusting to his good luck to get him out of the scrape with their master if there were any trick, and to his own arm to punish the perpetrator of the joke, if it were one.
"Now, my youngling, what dost wait for?" said the page, whose name was Eustace Bowerman, and who was a second cousin of the lively young page Richard Cheke.
"Why, in sooth I am in doubt whether thou art not making game of me," said Ralph, with a good-humoured twinkle in his eye.
"This cock will crow soon," said young Cheke to the other page, who was on his right; "eh, Maurice?"
"Marry will he. We will pit him against Eustace; they'll make a rare match. Albeit Eustace is the older, I'll lay the new one will beat him. There's a deal of weight in his thews. Look at his leg as he sits his hackney."
"Shall we tell him Eustace is making game of him?"
"Nay; best let him give the missive to old Jack in Harness, and see what comes of it. List; Eustace is taking him to task. I' faith, he doth it well."
"Hark ye, sirrah! You are but just come out of the country, or I'd be wroth with thee; but as it is, I forgive thy manners. Know that all new pages have to do the bidding of the older ones without question, under pain of a leathern strap, and worse torment. Now get thee on thy message."
"Nay, fair page," said Ralph smiling, "I would be loth to do aught that should be misbecoming, and will ever obey in all that I ought, with all humility, but I am not sure in this that I ought to do your behest. Nevertheless, rather than be thought churlish, I will do what you want, only not, I pray you to understand, because I fear your talk of leathern straps and such like, of which I have little dread from thee, but because 'tis the first matter I have been asked to do, and I would rather seem to be over willing to oblige than churlish of mood."
"By my faith, 'tis a good answer," said the last page who had spoken to Richard Cheke, and who was the only one of the pages who was of high birth. He was a son of Anthony, Lord Scales, brother to Lord Woodville, and therefore himself a Woodville, and nephew to the present Captain of the Wight, which office his father had previously held.
"I like this youth dearly, even now--he will be a gain to us. Thou knowest I never cared over-much for thy kinsman Bowerman, he is so mighty coxcombified, and I would much like to see him overmatched," continued Maurice Woodville.
They had now entered the old city of Winchester, whose streets were very narrow, and made more so by the concourse of people, who all came thronging out and stood at their doors and along the pavement to see the gay troop pass.
Ralph, as he said he would deliver the note to Sir John Trenchard, took the opportunity of doing so when they were nearing the city cross, then not more than about fifty years old, perhaps, and where there was more room. He rode up alongside of the old knight, and, doffing his cap, presented to him the missive.
The old knight, who was short-sighted and rather choleric, besides being a very indifferent scholar, took the paper, and stared at Ralph.
"Eh, this for me?" he said shortly; then holding the piece of paper close to his nose, he called out,--"Why--what--By St Thomas! what meaneth this? Boy, art playing me some trick? Is this a time for thy discourteous pranks?" cried the old knight, in high wrath, crumpling up the paper, and flinging it at Ralph. "Tell me what meaneth this! Who gave thee this?"
But Ralph determined he would bear the blame himself, and settle it with his practical joker afterwards, so he said,--
"Noble sir, I was told to give it thee, so I did."
"By St Nicholas! but if thou hadst had mud given thee to bear to me, thou wouldst have done it, wouldst thou? Get thee back for a simpleton, and tell me all afterwards, when I call for thee."
They were now passing a cross street, very narrow and awkward. There was a block in front, so that Lord Woodville halted exactly opposite this street. He was talking to the Abbot of Quarr, who was on his left. Ralph was immediately behind, but a horse's length distant. The rest of the gentlemen were engaged talking together or looking up at the windows, where the burgesses' wives and daughters were gazing down at the gallant show of men-at-arms and gentlemen.
Suddenly, a drove of cattle which was being driven to market crossed the narrow street a little way down. Among them was a magnificent bull--very fierce and irritated with its journey. Seeing the red blazon on Lord Woodville's surcoat, with a bellow of fury he broke from his driver and turned down the street leading to where that nobleman was quietly sitting, with his head turned away talking to the Abbot, and rushed madly at him. It was but a very little distance, and there was no time for warning. In another second the fierce bull would have gored the noble horse and trampled on Lord Woodville.
Ralph, without a moment's hesitation, struck spurs into his horse, which gave a leap forward. He had thought of nothing but of interposing himself between his lord and the raging brute. Fortunately for him, he was not in time. But his gallant steed struck full against the shoulder of the bull with such violence that it knocked the animal over, and Ralph's horse came down at the same time, flinging his rider over his head.
The whole thing had passed so rapidly, and, from the position of the chief performers in the occurrence, was so little seen, that scarcely anybody knew what had happened. Lord Woodville was the first to take in the situation, and seeing the position of the bull, the horse, and the boy, was alarmed for the latter's safety. The horse had stumbled over the bull, which was struggling and kicking wildly with its legs, while, fortunately, Ralph had been thrown clear of them both. He still held the reins in his hands, but he did not move.
"By'r Lady! the child's dead!" cried Lord Woodville, drawing his sword, and leaning down from his horse. So close was the huddled mass of struggling animals, and so narrowly had he escaped destruction, that, without dismounting, he calmly passed the keen edge across the upturned neck of the bull, which gave a few wild plunges and then lay still.
"See to the horse," said the Captain of the Wight, as he got off his own animal and went up to Ralph. There was blood flowing from the side of his head. He had been thrown with considerable force on to the pavement.
The crowd began now to understand what had happened, and the crush became great.
"Clear me a way, knaves!" cried Lord Woodville. "Keep back the varlets, Sir John; and go for a leech, Eustace Bowerman."
Humphrey had by this time made his way to the place where the accident had occurred. Directly he saw it was his young master who was lying on the ground, he pushed sturdily forward, regardless of everyone.
"Body o' me! what will my lady say, if aught evil should befal Master Ralph? He isn't dead, my lord?" he asked anxiously of Lord Woodville, who was bending over the boy.
"Nay, he is not dead; but is there no leech nigh?"
At this moment a shopman came up to Lord Woodville and offered to take the wounded gentleman into his house out of the crowd. This offer was willingly accepted, and the boy was carried in by Humphrey and Maurice Woodville. They took him into a back room, and the mistress of the house bathed his head and staunched the blood. Ralph slowly opened his eyes. Seeing the look of returning consciousness, Lord Woodville left the house, mounted his horse, and went on to his lodgings, which had been taken for him near the cathedral.
Humphrey was left in charge, and the Abbot, who had dismounted when he saw his kinsman taken into the house, having seen that the boy was in safe hands and doing well, went away also to his lodgings.
Very few knew how the accident had occurred, most thought that the bull had charged the boy. Only Lord Woodville, Sir John Trenchard, and the Abbot had seen the noble action of the boy. His fellow pages had seen him urge his horse forward, but could not see for the projecting houses what else had happened. About half an hour after the accident, a timid knock came at the door, and Humphrey was surprised to see the young girl who had been their companion on their journey to Winchester, standing there when he opened it.
"Well, young wench, what dost thou want?" he asked familiarly.
"My father has heard what has happened, and as he could not leave thy pony, he has sent me to ask how Master Lisle doeth," said the girl quietly, and in an educated voice.
"Grammercy, 'tis parlous kind of thy father, and, for a poor vagrant, it showeth much strange breeding. Tell thy father Master Lisle doth well, and will be on his legs anon."
The girl then shut the door very gently, and Humphrey returned to the bedside of his young Master.
"Humphrey, I feel right hungry," said the boy presently; "canst get me a bit of something to eat?"
"Ay, marry can I!" cried Humphrey cheerily. "That's right good news--I'll be back anon," and he left the room in search of some food.
He had scarcely been gone two minutes when another rap came at the door. Ralph bid them come in, and Maurice Woodville, accompanied by Richard Cheke, entered.
"Well, youngling, and how dost thou fare?" said the latter, in a kind tone. "Thou hast done well for a beginner, and I'd give a good deal to be lying there in thy place. Why, Maurice, he's had the good luck, hasn't he?"
"Ay truly. Thy fortune's made, lad. We've come from the Lord Captain to inquire into thy estate, and to bring thee these dainties from his own table, in case thy wounds allow of thine eating."
"Grammercy," cried Ralph joyously, "my varlet hath but now gone out to get me some provender, for I feel parlous hungry."
"Then here's what will tickle thy gizzard right merrily. John, bring in the cates."
A serving-man entered bearing a basket, out of which he took first a very clean damask cloth; this he spread neatly on a table, which he placed close to the bed; then he took out a dish covered with a plate. he put a knife and fork and winecup by the side of the plate, which he removed, and disclosed two large salmon trout, with a garnish of fresh watercresses. A flagon of ruby red Burgundy followed, flanked by some tasty-looking rolls, fresh butter, and cheese.
"There, my friend, there's a dainty little banquet for thee; eat, drink, and get well," said Richard.
Ralph sat up, he had his head bandaged. He felt in his wallet for his purse, and handed the servingman a groat, and then he attacked the food with all the ardour of a healthy appetite, contented with himself and all the world.
Whilst their new comrade was refreshing himself, the other pages talked of all their pastimes and occupations, and freely discussed the virtues and failings of their companions and superiors. They made no secret of their dislike of Eustace Bowerman, and utter contempt for Willie Newenhall.
"I tell you what, Lisle, when you're quite game again, we'll get up a tilt between you and Bowerman, and I'll bet my greyhound pup to what you like, you'll beat him," said Maurice Woodville.
"But I have never tilted yet," said Ralph, rather ashamed of the admission.
"Oh, what matter; you sit your horse like a stout jockey, and you'll very soon learn where to place your lance. Old Tom o' Kingston'll soon teach you that, trust him!" cried Richard Cheke.
"Shall I get into a scrape with Sir Jack in Harness, as you call him?"
"No fear. Old Jack is a right good chap, and he'll stand your friend. He knew you were put up to that game by one of us, and I don't doubt he knows very well which it was; but even had you done it yourself, what you did just now will make him your friend for life. He's a tough old ironsides. His father was constable of Carisbrooke Castle in good Duke Humphrey's time, and he's seen a lot of hard knocks. There's not much he loves, but he dearly loveth a hard fight, and my Uncle Woodville."
"Ay, marry he doth," said Richard; "and you've shown him you're made of good stuff for the one, and saved the life of the other."
"It's great sport your coming just now. Dicky and I are a match for Bowerman together, but that great lout Willie Newenhall just turns the balance. He's a mortal coward by himself, but with Bowerman to back him, his fat weight is too much for us; but now you, with your stout limbs and big body, could beat them both single-handed. Do you ever get into a rage?" said Maurice.
"No, not often," said Ralph, laughing. "I was always told to keep my temper. Now, Jasper, he often lost his, and so I thrashed him at most things."
"Ah!" said Maurice, sighing, "I wish I could keep mine. I do get so mad when Bowerman sneers at me."
And so the boys wiled away the time until Humphrey came back with one of the servants of the Abbot of Quarr, and a grave ecclesiastic, who was the infirmarer of Hide Abbey.
The boys, with the courtesy which was especially a part of their education, rose when they saw this dignified monk enter, and remained standing while he undid the bandages, and examined Ralph's cut.
"'Tis a light matter," he said to Humphrey; "thou canst tell my Lord Abbot he need be in no wise anxious--the boy will be healed by to-morrow. Thou hadst best keep quiet to-day, young master, and if thou hast a quiet night, thou mayest travel to-morrow whithersoever thou mindest. But drink but little wine, my son, for wine is heating for a wound, and may bring on fever."
"May we offer thy Reverence a cup?" said Maurice Woodville.
"Thank thee, fair sir, but I touch not wine, except it be ordered me."
However, Humphrey and the lay brother had no such scruples, and quaffed off a cup each, directly Dicky offered it them.
The two pages now took leave of Ralph, saying they must not tarry longer, as their lord would wish to hear how they had sped; but they promised to come again as soon as they could.
When Humphrey and Ralph were alone, the latter said,--
"Humphrey, it seems years since I left home, and yet it was but four hours agone."
"Ay, Master Ralph, time flies apace when one is busy."
"Didst thou see to my horse?"
"Trust me, Master Ralph; he's ne'er a bit hurt, not even a scratch. He knocked over that bull like ninepins, so they tell me. But, marry, 'twas a mercy you didn't get in front of him. You mustn't be that rash again. Whatever would they have said to me up Thruxton way?"
"Humphrey, I want you to see after that poor vagrant and his daughter. Mother was kind to them. I would like to help them over to the Isle of Wight, where they are going. You have seen to my pony?"
"Not yet, but I will by-and-by."
"Then take them this noble, 'twill help them to a night's lodging and food," said Ralph shyly, drawing out a coin from his purse.
Humphrey took it surlily.
"I don't know as how you did ought to go giving away your mother's presents like this, Master Ralph; you'll be wanting all your money among them gay springalds yonder, I'm thinking."
"Nay, Humphrey, do my bidding," said Ralph quietly.
And so Humphrey went off shaking his head, and muttering,--
"Young master be right masterful. The saints grant he be not led astray to overmuch almsgiving. I'd rather see him squander a bit on his own sports. 'Twould be more akin to his age."
CHAPTER V.
OF THE COMING TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
The next morning found Ralph Lisle refreshed and eager for the day's work. His head felt quite well, and had it not been for a piece of plaster which the infirmarer of Hide, who came to dress his wound early in the morning, placed over the cut, he would hardly have remembered the occurrence.
Neither the Abbot of Quarr nor Lord Woodville had forgotten him. The former sent some money for his expenses at the worthy citizen's house, and the latter sent him a tabard of white taffeta, embroidered with the badge of the captain of the Island, in all respects like the other pages, with a supply of food from his own table; and the servant who brought these was directed to say that they would start at eight o'clock, and that he was to arrange all matters with his host.
Punctually at half-past seven Humphrey brought round Ralph's horse, well brushed and groomed, and Ralph, looking more handsome than ever in his new surcoat, with his sword buckled to his belt, and his silver-hilted poignard, stood in all the pride of conscious importance at the doorstep, the admired of all the little street-boys and burgesses who were up and about at that hour; while he was conscious of many a girlish face looking out from the casements of the houses opposite and above him, glancing down smiles of approval, for all the city knew what he had done, and who he was, the Lisles of Thruxton and Mansbridge being well-known throughout the county.
His worthy host and hostess were loud in their regrets at his departure, and at first refused all offer of remuneration, but Ralph pressed it on them with so much gratitude and delicacy, that their scruples yielded, and they accepted it with evident reluctance, and only on condition that when he was a belted knight he would come back and see them. This was touching Ralph in his weakest point. He promised with a conscious smile, and mounted his horse amid the loudly-expressed admiration of the little crowd.
As he rode down the street, Humphrey caught sight of a well-known face.
"Why, there's old Dickon of Andover! Dickon, I say," he called out, "an you be a-going home to-night, go up to Thruxton and say how you seen the young master all well, and say as how he sends greetings to my lord and her leddyship. Ye mind now?"
"Oh, ay, I'se mind," cried back old Dickon, stopping to gaze upon Ralph. "Well now he do look foine, to be sure."
And so they turned into the street where the cortège was in waiting for the Captain of the Wight to come out.
Ralph felt a little shy as he rode up to the large body of archers and men-at-arms that blocked up the street, but he soon felt at ease as he was greeted kindly by Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke, who were on the look out for him.
"Willie Newenhall is still stuffing," said the latter, "and as for Eustace, he is putting the last touch of paint to his cheeks; he's such a coxcomb, you'd never guess half he does."
But now all drew up in order. The men-at-arms sat erect, and held their lances upright; the knights and mounted archers drew their swords; the yeomen and billmen held their halberds and bills at attention and a flourish of trumpets announced that the Captain of the Wight was issuing from the house.
As Lord Woodville came out, followed by his guests, among whom Ralph recognised his kinsman the Abbot of Quarr, he glanced quickly over the assembled troop. His keen eye took in everything, but with the dignity befitting his rank he never mentioned what he saw amiss at the time, making a note of it in his memory, to call the attention of the proper officer to it privately, while if he saw anything to praise he always publicly expressed his approval.
In the present case his eye fell on Ralph, but knowing how trying it would be for the young boy to be called out before all that assembly, he merely nodded to him with a kind smile of recognition, and said,--
"Ah, there's my trusty young friend; right glad am I to see him so blythe this morning. Sir John Trenchard, you will see to his comfort, I know."
He then mounted his steed, the stirrup being held for him by Willie Newenhall, as the oldest of his pages.
The captain of the guard gave the order to march, and the leading files turned down to the right, and directed their way to Southampton.
Ralph did not see much of the old city of Winchester, but he had been there several times before, and old buildings had little charms for him, with the animation of life before him. Men, not grey stones, however skilfully carved, or however cunningly piled up, were his attraction.
The delicious air of the morning played over his face; the delightful sensation of being part of what men stopped to look at, an object of awe and admiration, this thrilled him, and he yielded to the temptation, so natural to exuberant youth, of giving himself airs, and thinking of his appearance. At first the sense of shyness had kept this feeling of self-admiration down, but as he rode along, and noticed the glance of the passers-by, how they stopped to gaze open-mouthed at them, and how loud were the expressions of approval at the fine appearance of the cavalcade, he began to feel his own importance, and was fast adopting the easy self-satisfaction of the other pages.
By the time they had reached Southampton, which they did in rather less than three hours from leaving Winchester, he felt on perfectly easy terms with everyone, including Eustace Bowerman even, who, however, did not seem inclined to be very friendly to him, seeming not to relish the remark of Maurice Woodville when he said,--
"Certes, Bowerman, Lisle oweth thee many thanks. Had it not been for thy kind thought, he would never have done so hardily as he hath. He would have been sitting his nag like any stick, such as you and old Pudding Face, when the bull ran at our lord--but now he hath gotten himself a name at the first start; our Captain will never forget."
Bowerman bit his lip. It was quite true.
"Marry, young Maurice, don't you be talking. If Lisle's horse took fright and bolted when the bull came blundering down that alley, I don't see why the Captain should make such a fuss about it."
"His horse didn't bolt," said Dicky hotly; "you know right well Lisle spurred him in the way."
"Nay, Master Dicky malapert, I know no such thing."
"Then you don't know much, as I always said," retorted Dicky.
"Marry, Dicky, I'll have to wallop thee once more, I see. You're growing saucy again."
"Wallop me i' faith!" sneered Dicky; "I'd like to see you doing it."
"Wait till we get on board the barge then, and you'll soon be satisfied."
Willie Newenhall never engaged in these wordy contests. He only thought of his appearance, when he was going to feed again, or of the danger he was always in from the fair sex, by reason of his own good looks. The other pages knew well his weak points, and would always chaff him on the risks he ran from his many fascinations.
"I' faith, Willie, there's a pretty lass looking at thee; and that's her brother, or sweetheart, with her. How fierce he looks. Ah, if you look at her that way, he'll be murdering you presently," added Dicky, as Willie looked round nervously, to see the group his comrade was referring to, only to meet with a jeering remark from the apprentice who was standing by the girl, of "Hi, young round knave, pudding chops or pig's eyes, what do you lack here?" or some equally elegant observation, which caused Maurice and Dicky to laugh derisively, and the men-at-arms and archers, who were close behind, to grin broadly.
But Willie was far too stupid to make any retort, he only grunted angrily, and leered at the people on the other side of the street.
Then they passed through Southampton, under the noble Bargate, with its figure of Bevis of Hampton, and the giant Ascapart, whose reality all true townsfolk believed in, and of whose doughty deeds with Guy of Warwick Ralph had often heard and longed to emulate. The cavalcade rode down the long street under the old west gate tower, and outside the splendid old walls, on to the town quay.
Oh, the sight of the gleaming water! Ralph had never seen the sea before--how it glanced and sparkled in the mid-day sun of June. The dim haze of the opposite shore, where stretched the New Forest away and away far into the land and down the coast, with all its memories of ancient times. The splash of the little waves, rippling before the fresh north breeze, as they sparkled against the bluff bows of the unwieldy barges or straighter stems of the swifter galleys. How stately was the curve of a high-prowed, lofty-pooped merchant ship as she came round to the helm, while all her sails fluttered in the breeze as her bows ran up in the wind, and the heavy splash told of the weighty anchor dropping to the muddy bottom of the Teste.
Then the smells, the sounds, the cries. Ralph had never enjoyed life before. All the instincts of his race came out in him,--of that ancient race of the island, whose origin was lost in the dim vista of antiquity, whose lands belonged to the mysterious sons of Stur long before the Norman Conquest, and passed by marriage to De Lisle, if indeed De Lisle was not simply the Norman form of expression for the original lord of the island, for who could more worthily be called "de insula" or "of the island" or "De Lisle" than that family which was above all others "of the island?" since the possessions of the "filius Azor" or "Stur" are the most important of any, as recorded in Domesday book.
The instincts of his sea-girt ancestors rose in him, and Ralph Lisle gazed at the dancing water with eager delight.
The scene of confusion that then followed delighted him still more. The getting the horses on board, the telling off the various parties each to its own barge, the excitement of pushing out into the stream, or warping the larger vessels off to their kedge anchors, which were dropped in the middle of the fairway, all this was delicious, and Ralph felt he was in a wonderful dream.
"Mind your eye, young Popinjay!" bawled a burly seaman. "Stand clear o' that warp now," as Ralph took his stand on a large coil of rope near the bows. "Such a gay bird as you should know better than to stand on a warp that way. Did yer think 'twas a doormat?"
In a few minutes the barge was hauled out into the stream, the anchor was right up and down.
"Haul away there," called the captain.
Out flapped the big foresail in the breeze, the jib was run out, the anchor was up, and hanging at the bows, already the water was chattering under her stem.
"Now then, my lads, shake out that mainsail. Look alive there!" bawled the skipper, and the great white sail dropped down from the mainmast and longyard, where it had been brailed up, and swelled out in the breeze, louder chattered the wavelets under the bow, and merrily the seamen sheeted home the ropes.
Ralph had now time to look round him. He was on the same barge as Lord Woodville and his immediate escort. The horses with the grooms and men-at-arms were on a large barge that was running alongside of them. On their right, but a little astern, was another barge containing the rest of the troop, and among them Ralph was glad to see the beggar man and his daughter.
The baggage and vanguard had gone on early in the morning, under the charge of Tom o' Kingston.
Ralph looked up at the swelling sails and the tall masts. The barge was bluff-bowed and high-sterned, like those remnants of the Middle Ages the Breton and Norman chasses marées of modern times, and like them she carried three large lug sails, and one jib, set far out on a high peaked bowsprit.
As this was the barge of the captain of the Island, she was far better appointed than the other vessels. Her sails were white, and adorned with the arms of the Lord Woodville, argent, a fess, and canton, gules, while the mainsail bore the arms of Newport, the capital of the Island. The ropes were all white and new, and the decks and bulwarks were scrupulously clean, and the latter fresh varnished.
Ralph was never tired of looking aloft at the large blocks or pulleys, the strong ropes, the stout masts, and the swelling sails lazily falling in graceful folds as the breeze died down, or bellying out to the fresher puffs of the fair weather wind.
He leaned over the side and watched the ripple of the water as the hull glided through it. How dark green the sea looked on the side where the shadow of the hull and sails fell, how mellow and blue it sparkled on the side where the sunlight shone upon it. He looked at the other barges; they were rippling through the sea, a little fount of water spouting up under the cutwater, and glancing off the bows in a lovely curve of spray, the one vessel all shadow, the other all bright and gleaming in the sun.
The tide was running out strongly. Swiftly they flew past Netley, its abbey towers rising out of the green woods, the toll of its bell sounding over the water the hour of nones; gaily they flew past the mouth of the Hamble, and in a short time were gliding out by Calshott Spit, running before the breeze into the stronger ripple of the main tide of the Solent.
But long ere this Ralph had been summoned to dinner, and for the first time he was called upon to wait upon his lord. It was his duty to serve him with wine, and deftly he performed his task, for he had been well taught at home. The motion of the vessel was scarcely perceptible, and his hand was very steady. After the Captain of the Wight and his guests had been served, the pages sat down apart to their repast, and Ralph was astonished at his own appetite.
"I tell you what it is, little eyes," cried Dicky, "you'll have to look after yourself, or Lisle will leave you nothing to eat."
To this Willie Newenhall made no answer, but glanced askance at Ralph, and eat away harder than ever.
"There, there, Willie, dear, don't be afraid; he'll leave you a bit, if you are a good lad, I don't doubt," laughed Maurice.
It had been Bowerman's duty to attend closely upon his lord, and he had found no opportunity to put his threat in execution. However, now the repast was over, he began to remember what had passed.
"Dicky," he said, "come hither."
"Not I," said that lively young gentleman. "You can come here, if you want me."
"Be quiet, varlets!" called out Sir John Trenchard, who was sitting on a settle on the deck not far off. "If you want to jangle, wait till you get ashore."
They were now splashing through the tide, which ran swiftly over the Brambles, the steersman keeping the vessel's head well up to it, so as not to be carried down past the Newport river.
Larger and larger loomed up the island. Away to their left lay Portsmouth and the ridge of Portsdown; to their right they could see far down the Solent, point after point standing up in ever-decreasing clearness, until the distant Node Hill, above Freshwater, where the land trended away to the south-west, loomed up faint and grey in the shimmering haze of the lovely afternoon.
Nearer and nearer they drew to the island, and as they approached the land Ralph saw that a fine stretch of water opened up ahead.
"The tide's making out amain yet," said the skipper, approaching Lord Woodville, with cap in hand. "What will be your lordship's pleasure? Shall we run in and anchor, and land your lordship, or will it please you that we try to stem the tide? Natheless it will be but a poor job we shall make of it till the tide turns; and then we sha'n't have water far up for some while."
"Run us ashore at Northwood,[*] we will ride up to Carisbrooke. Our baggage can come up afterwards, in the evening, when the tide makes enough to float you up to Newport Quay."
[*] Cowes as yet (1487) was not. The building of the castles by Henry VIII., sixty years afterwards, was the beginning of Cowes.
"Ay, ay, my lord."
Ralph watched the movements of the crew with curiosity. As they ran in before the wind, which was very fitful, he saw them brail up the mainsail, then as they ran up past the land, which was all covered with woods and bush, they took in the foresail, and gently, under the light pressure of the jib, the barge slithered on the mud, close to a shingle hard, where it was possible to disembark at low tide.
And now again all was confusion. The other barges ran in alongside the Captain's. The gangways were lowered down. The horses with great difficulty were partly lowered, partly driven out on to the shingle. The grooms and men-at-arms got out, and led the horses up to form their ranks on the grass sward at the foot of the woods, which then stretched in unbroken verdure from Northwood Church to Gurnard Bay and Thorness, forming part of the King's Forest of Alvington, Watchingwell, or Parkhurst.
The Lord Woodville, when all was ready, disembarked with his guests, and, attended by his pages, he mounted his horse on the green grass above, great state being observed, and great care taken, by laying down mats and cloths, that he should not soil his feet on the muddy shingle.
As soon as he was mounted, the order to advance was given, and the cavalcade set off for Carisbrooke, through the green woods by the side of the blue Medina, glancing through the stems of the trees by the roadside. More than ever Ralph felt grateful to the Abbot of Quarr for having presented him to so puissant a chief, and one under whom he should learn such courtesy and gentleness. He felt sorry to leave the sea and the ships, but rejoiced that their journey lay along the water side.
Humphrey had disembarked with him, and Ralph, looking back, saw that the beggar man and his daughter were still on the other barge.
"We shall have to look sharp after our pony, Master Ralph," grumbled Humphrey.
As they rose over the hill by Northwood Church, where the churchyard was being prepared for the approaching consecration, for up to this year the few inhabitants had to go all the way to Carisbrooke to bury their dead, Ralph looked back, and thought he had never seen anything so pretty. Below, lay the Newport creek, clothed in thick woods on each side; beyond, stretched the blue Solent, the yellow line of the Hampshire coast and the grey distance blending with the mellow haze of the sky. The three barges, with their masts sloping at different angles, their great yards swinging athwart each other, and the sails only partially furled, giving animation and picturesqueness to the foreground, while above all spread the blue vault of heaven, cloudless and serene.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW THEY CAME TO CARISBROOKE CASTLE.
The cavalcade as it drew near Newport was formed into more precise array. It behoved the Captain of the Wight to enter the capital of his little kingdom in becoming state.
The vanguard, under Tom o' Kingston, had been sent on earlier in the day, the bailiffs and burgesses of Newport had therefore received ample notice to prepare for the reception of their Lord and Captain.
The military force of the island at this time was much improved. After the conclusion of the civil war, Edward IV. appointed Anthony Woodville, Lord Scales, the most accomplished knight as well as finished gentlemen of his time, to be lord and Captain of the Wight, in succession to his father, Richard, Lord Woodville, Earl Rivers. Under the martial rule of this skilled warrior, the defences of Carisbrooke Castle and the military force of the island seem to have been put on a sound footing, and the military tenures of the landlords who held their lands of the "honour of Carisbrooke Castle" were carefully inquired into, and their services duly enforced. The large powers possessed by the Warden of the Island, in the reign of Edward III., as evidenced in the commission granted to John de Gattesdon, show that a vigorous Captain had ample means at his disposal for mustering a formidable force, and that only the supineness, or corruption, or absenteeism of the lord of the island or his deputies could have allowed the inhabitants to have fallen into such a state of despair as two petitions, presented to the King and Parliament in 1449, show that they had yielded to. In short, if the Captain of the Wight was a keen soldier and able man, the forces of the island were smart and serviceable, and if he were not, they fell into indiscipline and inefficiency.
Sir Edward Woodville, now Captain of the Island, was in all respects a "righte hardie, puissant, and valyant knighte," and took pains that all under his command should be well-appointed and well-disciplined, and as his appointment vested in his person the supreme civil as well as military command, his influence and authority were wide reaching--in other words, he was a "strong" Captain.
The chief officials in Newport were the bailiffs, for there was no mayor or court of aldermen for more than a hundred and seventeen years after this date, and they acted as deputies for the Captain of the Wight in all matters relating to the business of the borough of Newport. These officials now came out, arrayed in all the dignity of their office, accompanied by the chief burgesses of the town, and attended by Tom o' Kingston and the body of archers and men-at-arms he commanded. The populace, naturally eager to see all pageants, crowded out of their houses, and by the time the procession, issuing from the town over the bridge to the north, had reached the Priory of St Cross, it had attained to very considerable proportions. Several of the neighbouring gentry had ridden in and joined the concourse, with their servants and dependants. Chief among these was conspicuous a martial figure, attended by a very lovely girl, and followed by four stalwart yeoman, well mounted and appointed. When the cortège had reached the gate of the Priory of St Cross it halted, and in the meadows at the foot of Hunny Hill the concourse found room to see the reception of their Lord and Captain.
Soon after the arrival of the bailiffs and their attendants, the gleam of spear points, bills, and halberds showed over the brow of the steep hill that descended abruptly to the little town. Soon afterwards the Lord Woodville himself appeared, attended by his household and guests, and followed by the main body of his mounted archers and men-at-arms.
As Ralph looked down into the valley below he was struck by the gay prospect. The bright tabards and glancing weapons of the men-at-arms gave colour and life to the picture, mingling as they did with the soberer dresses of the townsfolk, with their wives and daughters. The high pointed head-dresses of some of the dames, and the horned caps of others, whence transparent draperies hung in the wind, much to the annoyance of their male relatives, who had either to take care not to become entangled in them, or else to run the risk of sharp reprimand or scornful look, added a quaint variety to the scene. The banner of Newport flaunted its blazon in the breeze, side by side with the arms of Woodville and the royal arms. Beyond were the red tiles of the old houses, the streets, neat and orderly, the tower of the Church of St Thomas, rising above the houses, and, behind all, the steep down of St George's to the left, and the range of downs stretching away to the right, with the vale of the Medina between, from which the mist of approaching evening was already beginning to rise, while from out the valley to the right the noble pile of Carisbrooke Castle rose clear and grand in all its feudal beauty, lately restored, and rendered wellnigh impregnable to the forces of mediæval warfare. How splendid it looked, its walls and battlements, turrets and bastions, lighted up by the westering sun, the dark shadow of the smooth slope of Buccomb down forming a background to the ruddy pile, and the donjon keep standing up grim and distinct amid the lesser towers and roofs, flinging defiance to the assaults of men and time alike in the flag on its summit.
Such was the scene Ralph looked upon, but as they descended the steep hill his eyes became fixed on the throng of people awaiting them, and once more he felt a sense of shyness come over him. He was not yet used to being looked at. His fellow-pages, however, were quite unconcerned, and were passing remarks freely among themselves under their breath, as they recognised faces in the crowd.
"Marry! there's old Billy Gander. How red his nose is! Why didn't he get some of thy powder thou art so fond of, Bowerman?"
"And look! there's Dicky Shide. By St Anthony! but he's got a worse squint than of old. Poor old Squint Eye!"
"Willie, my swain, there's Polly Bremeskete. I wouldn't let her see thee, that I wouldn't. She told Tom o' Kingston she meant to marry thee, come next Peter's day. And she always keeps her word."
"By'r lady, there's Yolande de Lisle; she looks more lovely than ever!" And Eustace Bowerman drew himself up, and sat his horse with greater importance than before, while even Richard Cheke and Maurice Woodville looked conscious, and glanced at their dress, squared their toes, and sat more erect on their steeds, holding their horses tighter with their knees, and making them step in lighter action.
Ralph glanced to where Bowerman had descried the object of all this homage, curious to see who it was that bore his name. He had heard that a great-uncle of his had returned to the island home of his ancestors in King Harry the Fourth's reign, but he had forgotten all about it, and had never given such remote genealogical questions a thought. However, now he heard the name mentioned, he recollected what he had been told, and what his father had said about the disinherited son, and the only daughter.
He had not to search long for the young lady who created so much admiration among the pages.
Sitting her palfrey with easy grace, and perfectly at home amid the noisy crowd and free manners of the rough troopers, was a girl or rather young woman of about eighteen or twenty, of very graceful, although somewhat robust, proportions, but remarkable for her brilliant complexion, lovely features, and sparkling blue eyes. Fun and health glowed in every line of her face, in her masses of wavy fair hair, which refused to be confined under the prim cap and horned head-dress in which the fashion of the time struggled hard to reduce them to order, in her soft cheeks, red lips, and graceful rounded figure. Ralph thought there never was anyone so lovely in the whole world. He forget everything. He gazed at her in rapt admiration, utterly oblivious of all that was going on.
"By my halidome, Master Page, whither goest thou?" said the grating voice of Sir John Trenchard, against whom Ralph bumped with a sudden jerk, as the troop stopped for Lord Woodville to receive the homage of his subjects. "Canst not see where thou goest, or keep a fitting distance from thy betters? Draw back to thy fellows, I say."
Thus roughly aroused, Ralph, much abashed, reined up his horse, and backed it to a line with the other pages, who were grinning from ear to ear at his luckless mistake; but what made him more uncomfortable still, was that he saw the fair object of his admiration had witnessed it all, and was smiling meaningly at Eustace Bowerman. He began to envy that page in a way he would not have thought possible before.
But Bowerman was all smiles and amiability now. He nodded familiarly to one person, haughtily to another, and most expressively to the lady on horseback. But she, after the first glance of recognition and amusement, looked no more his way, being occupied with gazing at the Captain of the Wight and the two French knights who were with him.
Ralph, as soon as he had recovered from his mortification, tried to keep his eyes away from Mistress Lisle, and watched what was going on.
After the bailiffs had done homage, and congratulated Lord Woodville on the success of his expedition, the burgesses came forward and performed their part of the ceremony, being greeted kindly by the Captain, who was evidently very popular. Ralph noticed that the old knight who sat his horse so firmly, and held up his head so proudly, was greeted with especial respect by Lord Woodville, who also exchanged very courteous salutations with the lovely lady of the golden hair, to whom he presented the two French knights, who, with their proverbial gallantry, seemed to be paying her compliments which, as they could not be too flattering, seemed not unwillingly received.
The ceremonies over, the cavalcade reformed. The bailiffs and the burgesses heading the procession, they then defiled over the bridge, and passed into the town.
Ralph had now recovered himself sufficiently to ask who that old knight was who looked so striking, and to whom Lord Woodville had paid so much attention.
"Ay, certes, you may well ask," said Maurice Woodville, "for he is, or ought to be, a kinsman of thine own, seeing he beareth the same name as thyself, and, for aught I know, the same coat armour."
"Nay, for the fair lady weareth on her mantle a coat argent with a chief gules charged with three lions rampant of the field, whereas my father beareth or a fess between two chevrons sable."
"Well, you must e'en settle that as best pleaseth you; all I know is that he is called Sir William de Lisle of the Wood, or, as our chaplain would have it, 'Dominus de Insula de Bosco,' which, to my thinking, isn't half as pretty as the English."
"And is that his daughter?" asked Ralph shyly, thinking of his father's words with keener interest.
"Ay, marry is she, and the loveliest demoiselle in all the Wight, and the world to boot, say I!" answered Maurice, with enthusiasm.
At the corner of St James Street, where it intersected the High Street, there was a halt. Here the Abbot of Quarr took leave of Lord Woodville, for his road lay down High Street, and so to his monastery. Sir William Lisle and his daughter, much to her regret, also took leave; but Lord Woodville, before parting with the Abbot and the old knight, called to Ralph to come up; who, with some embarrassment, rode forward, and was by Lord Woodville presented to Sir William Lisle and the fair Yolande.
"Sir William, I have a kinsman of yours I would fain make you acquainted with. This fair youth hath already begun right manfully, and I dare vouch will prove a full knightly twig of thy own worshipful stock."
Sir William de Lisle looked at Ralph, as he thought somewhat sternly, but his words were kind.
"Fair young sir, I am right pleased to hear thee so well reported of. 'Twill give our daughter and me joy to see thee at our poor home of Briddlesford, whenever thy noble Captain can spare thee. Thou wilt find good sport for thy hawk in the woods and creek of Wodyton, and along the banks of King's Quay; only beware how thou fliest him over the lands of the Abbot of Quarr, for he is a strict preserver of his own demesne."
As Sir William said this, he glanced at the Lord Abbot, and a merry twinkle was in his eye, for many had been the discussions over the rights of the respective demesnes, for the lands of the Lisles bordered on those of Quarr Abbey, and hot had been the complaints of Sir William that idle monks had been caught setting traps in his lands, which had led to counter charges on the part of the monks.
"And forget not, fair cousin, if thou shouldest be tempted our way, to bring over some of thy fellow pages with thee; for without them thou wilt be parlous dull, seeing there is naught at home to amuse thee saving my poor self; and one poor girl is but sorry sport for a merry page," said Yolande, with a demure smile, as she turned her palfrey to accompany her father.
Ralph longed to say something that would become him, but he felt very shy amid all that concourse of people, with his comrades watching, and the French knights and Lord Woodville all looking at him; he could only stammer out his thanks, and bow low over his saddle.
"Fare-thee-well, kinsman mine," said the Abbot; "give diligent heed to thy instructors, reverence those in authority over thee, and attend carefully to the ministrations of worthy Sir Simon Halberd, who will give me frequent account of thee when he cometh to Quarr."
"Grammercy, my Lord Abbot, I owe thee many thanks for thy great kindness in giving me to so noble a lord," said Ralph, who, now that the bright eyes of his fair kinswoman were not gazing at him with the amused look which so disconcerted him, felt his presence of mind returning, and was able to answer with his customary boldness.
And so the cavalcades parted, Mistress Yolande giving a farewell glance of Parthian destructiveness at the French knights, but deigning no more to notice such simple things as innocent pages.
"By St Nicholas, Bowerman, you are always to be luckless now!" laughed Maurice. "But yestere'en you helped Lisle to the best bit of good fortune he's likely to have for some time; and now he's called up before all of us to be presented to our fair princess of the golden hair. Didst see how kindly she smiled on him?" he added mischievously.
"Body o' me! an' you hold not your jabbering tongue, I'll flay you when we get to the castle!" said Bowerman savagely.
"Nay, fair youth, be not wroth; 'tis not I who got Lisle all this good luck. Virtue is its own reward. Be happy! sweet damoiseau, and rejoice in thy good nature. 'Tis true, 'tis not often you do a fellow a good turn; so be happy when you do."
"All right, my young cockerel, tarry but the nonce. My time will come anon," said Eustace, in furious dudgeon.
Ralph had fallen back as the procession moved on. All the pages were well known in Newport, and the doings of the little court at the castle were intimately discussed. The characters of each of the principal members of the garrison were well known, and any new arrival was critically examined and freely talked about.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE WIGHT ENTERING CARISBROOKE CASTLE.
The worthy burgesses' wives and their fair daughters much regretted that the Captain of the Island was not married. The lady of Sir John Trenchard presided over the domestic part of the castle, and did the honours when ladies paid it a visit. But she was not of an amiable disposition, and it was popularly reported that her worthy lord's little asperities of temper, and sourness of look, arose in great measure from the austere frigidity of this eminently respectable matron, who, however, as Ralph subsequently found, was at heart a very kind and sweet lady. The reasons for Lord Woodville being still a bachelor were variously stated, and all hotly asserted by their different supporters, who one and all had their information on undoubted private authority, which they were not at liberty to divulge. The only fact that really was known, however, was the simple one that there was no Lady Woodville. The head of the column was now mounting the steep ascent to the castle, and Ralph noticed the splendid position of this noble fortress. The sun was getting low on the western horizon; the level rays bathed all the long valley away to the west in a rich golden haze, falling full on the grandly-proportioned towers of the main guard. The massive walls, pierced for archery, and crowned with their projecting machicolations and graceful parapets, were not yet clothed with the growth of yellow and grey lichen which has been slowly painting them for the last four hundred years. The stone was yet fresh from the hand of the mason, and above the great gate, high up on the parapet, could be seen the arms of Lord Scales.
"My grandfather had that done!" said Maurice proudly, pointing up to the noble gateway as they tramped over the drawbridge, and passed out of the warmth of the sunlight under the heavy portcullis, and between the massive iron-studded oak doors, which were swung back to allow the Captain of the Wight and his "meynie" to enter, and then slowly and harshly swung back as the last man-at-arms clanked over the drawbridge, shutting out the sunlight and the outside world.
The guard under the archway presented arms, the trumpets sounded a flourish, and out into the sunlight, whose rays just passed between the towers, and touched his plume, rode the lord of the castle, and of all those stalwart men.
CHAPTER VII.
HOW THE COCKEREL SHOWED FIGHT.
The days passed rapidly by after Ralph Lisle had become part of the retinue of the Captain of the Wight. Each day brought its busy round of occupation. There was the early practice, before the morning meal, at throwing the bar, running at the quintain, and leaping over the wooden horse. Every exercise was directed to bringing fully into play all the muscles of the body, and especially such as were most needed in the handling of the lance, and the management of the war horse. After the morning meal, at which the pages had their table apart in the hall of the Lord Woodville's apartments, which at that period were very much in the same position as the Governor's lodgings were at a later time, when added to and repaired by Sir George Carey, those pages who were not on duty went through a course of "grammar and rhetoric," under the instruction of Sir Simon Halbard, the chaplain of St Nicholas within the walls. The whole garrison, or at least such part of it as could be spared from their duties, always attended mass every morning, for the Lord Woodville was a strict disciplinarian, and enforced the precept of the Church with the rigid punctuality of a Grand-Master of the Temple.
The "book-learning," as the pages called it, occupied about three hours, and then preparations were made for the mid-day meal, the most important of all the meals of the day. This repast was served in much state, all the pages being required to attend to carve and hand the dishes, and pour out the wine for the Captain of the Wight and his guests, or the knights of his household. After those of highest rank were served, the pages sat down to their repast, presided over by the senior esquire.
The afternoons were spent either in attendance on their lord, or in private amusements and exercises of their own. No one of the pages was allowed out of the precincts of the castle without Sir John Trenchard's leave, but this was usually very easily obtained.
So passed the days in healthy exercise and wholesome occupation. There had been many little bickerings, and even personal struggles between the pages, but, boy-like, they had been brief, and, on the whole, the life was very pleasant. Ralph had ridden over with Maurice Woodville to pay his relatives a visit at Briddlesford. They had met his fair cousin, who was riding out to fly her hawk; and as they accompanied her to a high hill, whence a lovely view was obtained all over the Solent and far inland from the New Forest and Beaulieu on the left to Chichester and even the hills above Arundel on the right, they were surprised to meet one of the Breton, or French Knights, as they called them, riding out there, quite unattended.
There had been much talk about the business of these Bretons with the Captain of the Island. Merchant ships, bringing salt and other commodities to Newport from Nantes and St Malo, had reported how unsettled was the state of Brittany, how the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Orange, both nephews of the old Duke of Brittany, had fled to him, to his castle of Malestroit, and how the armies of the King of France, who was himself but a boy, but whose affairs were wonderfully managed by that very wise and puissant lady the Dame de Beaujeu, his sister, had entered the country, and how all would go to utter ruin, unless King Henry sent force of knights and men-at-arms to assist the Duke of Brittany and his fair young daughter the Duchess Anne. Such news was bruited abroad, and there was no young knight in England who did not burn with ardour to lay lance in rest for so great a princess, and against the hereditary foe of England. All men knew, therefore, that the Sire de Kervignac and the Vicomte de la Roche Guemené were come to solicit men-at-arms and archers, and there was not one of the garrison of Carisbroke Castle who did not heartily wish they might succeed, and perhaps no one wished it more than Master Eustace Bowerman.
After the customary courtesies had been exchanged, Mistress Yolande urged the two pages to fly their hawks at a heron, which was busily feeding on the rich weeds far out on the mud at the mouth of a creek called King's Quay. The boys, nothing loth, cast off their birds, and rode eagerly after them. But whether it were that the wood was too thick, or the country too rough, the lady did not follow them, while the knight stayed, as in duty bound, to escort her, and so the boys lost sight of them for the rest of the afternoon. And not only did they suffer this disappointment, but, what was almost worse, Ralph's falcon killed the bird, but fell with it so far out on the mud that it was impossible to get at it, although the boys did everything they could to urge their dogs to go on to the treacherous slime, and bring the quarry to land. The tide was quite low, and they had to give up all hopes of obtaining more sport. It was with much difficulty, and after long waiting, that they were able to get the falcon to fly back to fist, for it was taught not to leave its prey until some one came to take it. When at last they did recover the bird, the afternoon was too far advanced for them to return by Briddlesford to inquire after Mistress Yolande, and bid good-bye to Sir William de Lisle, which Ralph would dearly have liked to do; and he was, besides, in such a state of mud from having tried to recover the bird, that they thought it best to return to Carisbroke without being seen by any one. Riding home as fast as they could, they made a détour, to avoid passing through Newport, and reached the castle just before the gates were shut for the evening. When they got back, and related the events of the afternoon, they found Eustace Bowerman, who was already sulky enough at not having been asked by Ralph to accompany him instead of Maurice Woodville, in a towering temper.
"You blind moles," he growled, "why did ye not cleave to Mistress Lisle and that jackanapes of a Frenchman? What geese ye must have been, to have been shaken off like that. But I'll talk to that jackanapes anon, that I will. What does he mean by coming over here and sporting in our covers?" and Eustace Bowerman flung himself out of his chair, and went to the oriel window, which looked out into the courtyard of the castle.
"I' faith, Eustace, my Trojan, don't you call me a goose again," said Ralph good-humouredly, but with a determination in his tone.
"And prythee why not?" said Eustace, who was glad of anything to vent his ill-humour upon. "None but a goose would show the white feather as you did, riding away from that dandified Frenchman."
"I never showed the white feather yet," said Maurice hotly, "and if you say that I did, you lie in your throat."
Eustace was not in a humour to take things quietly. In a passion at these words of Maurice, he rushed across the room, and would have flung himself upon him, had not Ralph put out his foot, and tripped him up. He fell heavily to the ground, greeted by a roar of laughter from Dicky Cheke, who scented the battle from afar, and chuckled at the approaching crisis.
"Oh, cocks and pies, my swaggering imp, look you there! You've split your new trunk hose all down the leg. Fie, man, you're not fit to be seen; run away and get old Gammer Tibet to sew it up for you."
But Eustace rose in a more towering rage than ever. He turned upon Ralph, and struck at him with all his force. But Ralph had not been learning martial exercises for nothing, and although he was four years junior to Eustace Bowerman, yet in height and activity he was in no way his inferior, although his frame was not as well set, or his weight and strength as great as that of his assailant. With ease, therefore, he knocked down the blow that Eustace aimed at him, but refrained from replying by a blow in return.
"Bowerman, I don't want to fight," said Ralph quietly; "why get into a rage about nothing?"
"So you don't want to fight, eh? I thought not," sneered Eustace, who was in a very evil mood. "Then I want to thrash you, so you'd best take it quietly."
Ralph, seeing that there really was nothing else for it, although he was of a very peace-loving, happy disposition, stepped back, and awaited his antagonist's assault.
Bowerman, who saw how reluctant Ralph was to fight, mistook this backwardness for cowardice, utterly forgetting, or else wilfully misinterpreting, the brave action of the boy at Winchester.
He advanced upon him with a fierce scowl of concentrated hate, and aimed a blow right at Ralph's face; but the boy guarded it with his right arm, and at the same time with his left dealt his assailant a swift and well-planted blow full in his chest, causing him to stagger back and gasp for breath.
"Well done, Lisle!" cried Dicky Cheke, in an ecstasy of joy and excitement. "Do it again, my lusty lambkin; follow it up with one on his nose that'll spoil his beauty for some time."
"Why don't you give it those little bodikins?" stormed Eustace to his ally Willie Newenhall, as he prepared to attack Ralph again.
"Because he's afraid, the big booby," laughed Dicky derisively.
Bowerman, seeing that his antagonist was not to be despised, determined to close with him and overpower him by his superior weight. Stepping back therefore, to gather way for a rush, he was about to spring upon Ralph, when that boy, with the instinct of a general, anticipated him, darting forward to meet him, and pounding him with blows.
The delight of Dicky was a treat to behold. He danced, jumped, sang, whistled, and at last, forgetting everything in the wild madness of the moment, he flung himself upon Willie, and belaboured him right manfully. That stolid youth was looking on with a lack-lustre expression on his fat face, and marvelling to see how Ralph dared to stand up to Bowerman, whom he had always looked upon as invincible. He was roughly aroused from his stupid contemplation of the contest, by Dicky Cheke's unprovoked assault. When once aroused, however, his greater age and weight told heavily in his favour, and poor Dicky would have paid dearly for his temerity, by being crushed under the dead weight of "Pig's Eyes," as he called him, had not Maurice Woodville assailed him with vigour in the rear.
The uproar now waxed furious. Ralph, who had gained a decided advantage by becoming the assailant, was pounding his adversary with hearty alacrity, not without receiving, however, very severe blows in return. The two smaller boys had got Willie down, and were pummelling him with right good will, while he roared lustily to Bowerman to come and take "these little fiends off him."
In the midst of the confusion the door opened, and the Captain of the Wight appeared, attended by the other Breton knight, the Sire Alain de Kervignac.
So busy were the combatants, that none of them noticed the interruption, and for a second or two fierce blows were exchanged before any one was aware that there were spectators.
Dicky Cheke was the first to catch sight of the calm face of his lord, over which an amused expression flitted.
"Holy saints!" he gasped, suddenly stopping in the act of planting a well-directed blow in the prostrate Willie's eye, who was at the same moment pounding Maurice in the chest, "here's the Captain," and he sprang up, breathless and confused, hastily adjusting his disordered dress as best he could.
The others were equally startled, and for a second or two there was a very awkward pause.
"Well, young gentlemen, I see you have taken the lessons of the tilt-yard to heart; but I should wish you to remember that it better becomes you to tilt at the quintain, or even at each other, with lances, than grovel on the ground, and spoil your clothes in this unseemly brawl."
The youths all looked very much abashed, but Lord Woodville would not see that it was a real fight that was going on; he treated it as a mere trial of strength, and continued:--
"I have brought this noble Breton knight to see you, for he purposes, together with his right valiant companion in arms, the sire de la Roche Guemené, to hold a joust against all comers, and he fain would see if I cannot spare the stoutest of my pages to make a trial of arms before the ladies of our island. How like you this, my varlets?"
There was no need to ask. The flushed faces and bright eyes showed how welcome such news was; only the three younger boys looked a little crestfallen, for they knew they were too young to be allowed to tilt in the lists, even supposing the two others were so highly favoured.
"I see by your looks you like the news well. Master Bowerman and Master Newenhall, I hear from Sir John Trenchard that you are now of an age when you may make public trial of arms, I therefore appoint you my esquires, and give you permission to joust with spears on the first six courses, but not to take part in the tourney with swords." Then seeing the looks of disappointment in the faces of Ralph Lisle, and his two comrades, he added,--"And you, fair pages, must rest you content for another year, when you be grown older. And now, my masters, set your dress in order--contend no more; and do thou, Ralph Lisle, come hither with me." So saying, Lord Woodville left the room, followed by the Breton knight, and speedily joined by Ralph, who stayed a second to put his dress tidy.
"My page," said Lord Woodville to Ralph, as soon as he had come up with them, "take this missive to the hermit who dwells on St Catherine's hill. Thou knowest the way--'tis where thou wentest hunting with me last week. Take the best horse out of my stable, and ride like the wind; wait for an answer, and bring me back word right quickly. I have chosen thee for thy good riding, and fealty to me. Talk to no man, but do my bidding straightway."
Ralph was delighted at this mark of confidence. He took the note, and turned away to go to the stables. As he was going out of the door of the hall, he heard Lord Woodville say,--
"I marvel where sire Amand de la Roche Guemené hath gotten to? I have not seen him all day."
Ralph paused.
"My lord, I saw him this afternoon. He met us with Mistress Lisle, and we left them together when we flew our hawks."
"Marry you did!" said the Captain of the Wight, glancing at his companion; and adding, in a voice not intended for Ralph's ear,--"Fair knight, we shall have to take care that thy gentle companion doth not spoil our island of its comeliest damoiselle."
As Ralph rode across the courtyard, he met Humphrey, who was astonished to see his young master riding forth so late, for the sun was just setting, and the gates were shut for the night; but Ralph with great pride told him, he was riding forth in all haste on the business of the Captain, and the worthy varlet shared in his young master's importance.
At the sight of the pass given to Ralph by Sir John Trenchard, the captain of the guard ordered the gates to open, and the heavy rattle of the chains showed that the drawbridge was being let down, and in another moment Ralph rode out into the glorious light of the after-glow which illumined all the sky to the west.
With a light heart he heard the heavy drawbridge creak up again, and, rejoicing in his freedom, he put spurs to his horse and rode fast over the hill, away towards the distant downs to the south. His horse was fresh, and, under Ralph's light weight, cantered swiftly along. He knew the way, or at least thought he did, and took no notice of objects; his mind was full of the approaching tilt, and his one idea was how he could obtain leave from Lord Woodville to let him splinter a lance. And so he cantered on in the ever-increasing gloom, not seeing how dim it was growing, or how damp a mist from the sea was drifting down the valley. The few roads that went through the island were bad in the most frequented parts, but in the cross tracks over the downs to the back of the island they were little more than muddy quagmires in wet weather, and ruts hard as rock in fine. Ralph galloped past Gatcombe, belonging to the Bremshotts, the last male of which family was then very old, and his lands were about to pass away to other names. Little did Ralph know that he was passing what once had belonged to his ancestors, and how that fair manor had come down, through three successive ladies, from the Fitz Stuar to the Lisles, and thence, in the female line, to the Bremshotts, whose daughters again would share it with the Dudleys and the Pakenhams. He breathed his horse up the steep slope that led past Chillerton Down, and as he descended on the further side, he first felt how damp was the night air, and noticed how difficult it was to find his way. Mindful, however, of his lord's injunction to make all the speed he could, he urged his horse to a reckless pace, and it was not until he had ridden for another half-hour that he began to be anxious as to his whereabouts. The air seemed much keener than it had been, and there was a salt freshness in it, that ought to have told him he must be near the sea. Could he have mistaken his way? There was no building he could see anywhere, and the track had entirely ceased. Ralph got off his horse to examine the ground. He was on rough, coarse grass, with large stones cropping up here and there. This might be the slope of St Catherine's down, or it might be anywhere. Ralph mounted his horse again. The mist was dense, there was no star or light to be seen in any direction, nor was there any sound of human life. But there was a sound--what was it? Ralph could hear a dull roar, and seething, swishing sound. He could not tell what it was. He had never lived by the sea, or he would have known that it was the swell of the Channel rolling on the shore, and breaking in surf among the rocks of that dangerous coast. He spurred on his horse once more. But after a few strides the horse refused to go further, and backed and reared, as he had never done before. In vain Ralph struck his spurs into his flanks, and urged him or by word and rein. The horse only reared and snorted the more, and swung round on his hind legs, plunging in utterly uncontrolled rebellion.
Ralph could not make it out. Never since the animal had been given to him had he known him to be so unmanageable. Seeing how useless it was to press the horse any further, he ceased to try to subdue him to his will, trusting to get the mastery when he had quieted down.
As the horse stood still, his flanks quivering with excitement, Ralph noticed a smell of smoke: his senses had become keener since he had lost his way.
This smell of smoke caused him to feel more hopeful; where there was smoke there must be a fire, and probably a human habitation. He turned his head round to ascertain where the smell came from, and, as he sniffed the air in various directions, he came to the conclusion that it must be in front of him.
Once more he urged his horse forward, but the animal was as determined as ever not to go that way.
"What can it be?" thought Ralph, who was beginning to feel a little superstitious, as the tales of goblins and spirits came back to his mind, suggested by the unaccountable noise, the mysterious smoke, and, above all, the remarkable stubbornness of his horse, usually so docile and manageable.
For the third time he stuck his spurs against his horse's sides, encouraging him by his voice at the same time, but with the same result--not one step forward would the animal take.
"Young man, didst thou never hear of Balaam?" said a deep voice, proceeding, apparently, directly from under the horse's head, and in another moment a tall black figure rose out of the darkness, so close as almost to touch Ralph, who could not restrain a shudder of supernatural dread at the suddenness of the strange appearance.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE COCKEREL GOT A FALL.
"What art thou?" stammered Ralph, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. "What dost thou mean by thy talk of Balaam?"
"Look, boy, and thou wilt see," answered the dark figure, which every second was becoming more clearly defined in the gloom.
Without Ralph having noticed it, the mist had been growing lighter for the last quarter of an hour. The atmosphere, while still densely thick, was yet paler and more luminous, and immediate objects were more easily distinguished.
Hardly had the strange figure spoken the words, than the vapour which enveloped them parted, and a wonderful sight presented itself to the eyes of the awe-struck boy.
Was it all a dream? or was he really standing, or floating in mid air? He could hardly repress a shudder of unutterable awe, so strange was the sudden change from the blackness of night to the brilliantly weird scene before him.
He was standing on the very verge of a fearful precipice, so close that he could peer over from the saddle down, down, far down to a rocky shore below, where the sea, in seething surf, was beating and grinding and gnawing at the black rocks scattered in wildest confusion on the strand. At his side was a vast, yawning black chasm impossible for him to fathom, shrouded as it was in the deep shadow of the bold headland beyond. Tophet itself could hardly be blacker or more fearful looking. The grim gloom of this awful abyss, at the very edge of which he was standing, made the flesh creep on his bones. One step more, and he would have plunged he knew not whither. Above this terrible place the clinging mist still veiled the scene. But Ralph could see that the hills and cliffs went soaring up till lost in obscurity.
Right from the feet of the dazed boy, but far, far down, a broad path of dancing light stretched away and away till a grey and silver cloud under the clear full moon hid it in its soft embrace, as it lay brooding over the sea.
How lovely was the dancing sea, how glorious the moon, how wondrous the violet of the deep sky of night. Ralph had never seen anything like it, and yet how near to awful death had he been.
The ghostly mist curled up over the edge of the cliff, the strange white shapes went silently floating by like ghosts of the shipwrecked dead, or a still army of spirits flying inland to visit their midnight homes. Silently as the strange scene had opened, so stilly and impalpably it faded away. In another moment all was gone, and the boy and the dark figure were alone in the thick fog, nothing visible of all that wondrous scene but themselves and the few feet of turf on which they stood. Ralph could hardly believe it was reality. Surely it must be all a dream.
"Now, my young master, believest thou? Dost understand where thou art?"
"Nay, not I; it seemeth to me I dream."
"Ay, marry, that wouldest thou soon, if indeed men do dream in that sleep which they call death," said the deep voice bitterly.
Ralph could not make out this dark figure. He had not looked at it during the fitful light which opened up that strange sight only to disappear in greater obscurity than before. He now tried to examine the form of him who uttered such enigmatical remarks in so well-cultured a voice.
He saw a tall figure, strong and well made, with a hood over its head, such as were worn by the courtiers of ages long gone by, and which Ralph had seen depicted in tapestry and illuminations of King Edward the Third's time. A tight-fitting tunic strapped at the waist by a belt, from which gleamed the hilt of a dagger, and the head of a small axe, showed he was both active and well-armed. But Ralph could see nothing of the man's face, or make out whether his clothes were of those of gentle birth or of the common stuff worn by the country men and labourers.
"Well, my master, and how long may it please you to stay here, and what may be your business?"
Ralph did not like the tone of bantering superiority the other assumed; he answered:--
"Marry, good fellow, what is that to thee? An thou canst tell me where I am, and whither to go to St Catherine's down, that is all I want of thee."
"So thou wouldest go to St Catherine's down, wouldest thou? And what may be your business there?"
"Thou art parlous curious, good knave," said Ralph haughtily. "I pray you ask me no questions, but tell me what I wish to know."
"Body o' me, this is a fine springald," said the other. "But before I tell thee what thou wouldest know, thou must tell me what I would know."
"And what is that?"
"What is thy business at this hour from the Captain of the Wight with the hermit of St Catherine's?"
"That shalt thou never know!" cried Ralph hotly.
"Then thou mayest grope here in the darkness until thy carcase becometh a prey to the sea-mews, or a feast for the crabs on yonder beach."
"Base churl! thou deservedst chastisement for thine insolence!" cried Ralph, whose temper was becoming provoked. "But I will e'en do without thy niggard help." And Ralph got off his horse, and prepared to grope his way to where the smell of smoke still met his nostrils.
"Nay, Sir Page, thou goest not thus," said the man, stepping in front of him, and at the same time putting his finger to his mouth he gave a prolonged whistle like the shrill scream of a sea-bird.
Ralph laid his hand on his sword, seeing there was evidently mischief intended. But before he could draw it, his wrist was held as in a vice, and in a second his other arm was grasped, and with a quick trip of the foot, he found himself prostrate on the grass, the man kneeling on him, and holding him immovable.
"Struggle not, young master, or thou wilt suffer. Thou art powerless to do aught, so better lie still."
But Ralph was furious. With the rage of mortified pride--for he had never been mastered before--he struggled, kicked, and writhed, and even tried to bite the hands that held him with a grasp of iron. He had never felt such power in human hands before.
"Marry, 'tis a fierce youth and a strong," muttered the man. "I shall have to do him a mischief, an they come not soon. Ah! would you?" he said, as Ralph's hand wriggled to get at his poignard, and in a trice the arm was wrenched out stiff and straight, and kept pinioned to the ground. Never had Ralph believed man could be so strong. But, still unconquered, the boy struggled with his legs, and raised himself off the ground with his heels. By a violent uplifting of his knees, he hit his captor a fierce blow in the back, causing him to fall forward on his face. With a desperate heave the boy pursued his advantage, and in another moment would have upset his adversary, when he felt his legs caught and pulled roughly down, once more he was utterly powerless.
"Now, stripling," said his first assailant, still holding his arms stretched out, but getting off the boy's chest, where he had been crushing the breath out of his body, "I told you it would be all for naught your wrestling like that. Will you tell me what you have come here for?"
"Never," said Ralph resolutely.
"Then, Bill," said his captor, "we shall even have to search him."
Before Ralph knew what was happening, he felt his arms held by another man, while the first speaker carefully searched his pockets.
"There's naught here," he said, in a disappointed tone, as he turned out the contents of Ralph's small clothes and tunic, and examined the miscellaneous collection of utterly useless articles which boys, from the earliest days down to the present, have set their hearts on forming, to the detriment of their pockets, the aggravation of their female relatives, and the marring of their own figure.
"Nay, but there is," said the man who held his legs; "look'ee there, there's summat whoite i' the grass."
"Marry, so there is!" and the first speaker picked up the missive of the Captain of the Wight and turned it over.
"You base villains," said Ralph, "an you touch that, you will repent it!"
A loud laugh greeted this remark; and the first speaker, rising, held the paper up to see if he could make anything out of it.
"I can't make it out," he said. "I must e'en take it to the light."
"And what are we to do wi' the lad while you be gone? Shall us knife un and pitch un over to cliff?"
"Body o' me, no! Do him no harm; hold him till I come back."
So saying, the first speaker disappeared from Ralph's line of sight.
The moon had again come out, and as Ralph lay on his back, he could just manage, by wriggling his head, to look on each side of him. He could see that the men who held him were rough figures, clad in coarse hairy clothes, possibly skins of animals. The moonlight fell on their hair and beards, giving them a wild and ferocious appearance; and long knives, whose hilts stuck out of their belts, gleamed in the silver light. Who were they, and what could they mean by attacking him? and, above all, how could they dare, in so small an island, to defy so powerful an authority as that of the Captain of the Wight? As he lay on his back, Ralph caught sight of a light; at first he took it for a star, but it flickered and flared in so strange a way, that he soon knew it could not be.
Surely it must be a fire, and, if so, there must be men near. Ralph felt a hope of aid; he tried to shout aloud, but the first sound he uttered caused the man who was holding his arms to clap his hand over his mouth, and effectually to stop all further cries. In vain Ralph seized his arm with his disengaged hand. The other man, who was tired of holding his legs, had seated himself upon them; his arms were therefore free. He leant forward, and grasped Ralph's hand, and roughly made him let go his grip of his companion.
"Best give it up, young 'un," he said gruffly, as he held the arm in no gentle hold. "There's naught can hear thee save the Gaffer and the sea mews."
"Then what's that light?" asked Ralph, as the man relaxed the pressure on his mouth.
"'Tis the light on St Catherine, and 'tis a good mile or more away."
"Then where am I?"
"Where are you? Why, on the ground, to be sure," laughed the man.
Ralph's anger rose, but it was utterly useless, he could do nothing. After lying still for another minute or more, one of the men said,--
"The Gaffer is a long while; maybe he can't spell out them words."
"Surely he's larnt his chriss-cross row long ago," said the other derisively.
"Ay, right enough, mate, but them letters may be t'other sort."
"Well, and if they be, ain't he got Mistress Magdalen to read it for him?"
"Hold your tongue, you lubber; here he comes."
Ralph could just manage to see the head of his captor rising out of the mist, and from the distinctness with which he saw his figure develop, he knew the edge of the cliff must be very near, as indeed he had already seen.
"Master Page, here's thy missive; there's naught in it that concerneth me, so thou mayest e'en take it to the Hermit of St Catherine's; but when thou returnest to the Castle, give this message to thy lord; thou needest not to say who gave it thee--he will ask no questions."
Ralph now felt his captors relax their hold, in another second he was free. He rose to his feet, the men had already disappeared. He looked round; there was nothing to be seen of any living being; only his horse was browsing tranquilly a few paces off, and two white bits of parchment lay on the grass.
Picking these up, he went to the edge of the cliff. The sea was restlessly seething and surging among the rocks, each ripple and wave rolling like molten silver to the iron-bound coast. Every crevice and rock stood out sharp and clear in the brilliant moonlight, only marking in blacker contrast the hideous gloom of the yawning chasm at his side. He could see no path, yet the men must have gone down that way, or else he would have seen them had they ventured to clamber down the precipice in front. He stood up and looked round--the light had disappeared. Had they told him the truth about that light? Was it the Hermitage of St Catherine's? But there was none to ask, and he felt as bewildered as ever, nay, more so, for he had utterly lost his bearings.
And then he thought of his lord's command, and of the urgency of the matter. What should he do? With the recklessness of despair, he bawled aloud,--
"You varlets, which way am I to go to get to St Catherine's?" But only the echo from the blackness beyond answered mockingly "Catherine" in quivering note, and the waves surged ceaselessly below. He cried again,--"You caitiffs, you, why don't you answer?" and the echo laughed back "answer," but none other answer came. "'Tis little use," he muttered, in sullen bitterness of spirit; "but I will yet find out where that smoke came from." He looked at his horse, how should he tether him? He saw beyond, and nearer the head of the chasm, a few bushes growing. Carefully he led his horse along the edge of the abyss, marvelling how he had escaped so awful a death, and regretfully thinking how he had chidden his noble horse, whose sensible instinct had saved both their lives.
When he reached the bushes, he saw that he was on the brink of a deep gully, but the ground was all broken and boggy, and covered with closely-growing bush, bramble, and scrub. The mist was gathering up afresh. Great banks of vapour were scudding across the moon, and flitting up the black chasm, suddenly appearing in the moonlight out of the darkness below, like steam out of a cauldron.
While he was debating what to do, he was startled by a gentle voice almost at his elbow. Turning quickly round, he saw a graceful figure standing on the edge of the gully, looking like black marble against the broad path of silver glory that stretched across the sea behind it.
"Fair sir, whither wouldst thou go?" said the voice.
"If thou art of real flesh and blood, gentle damoiselle, I would thank thee to tell me which is my way to St Catherine's Hermitage."
"And thou wouldst not thank me if I were not real flesh and blood?"
"Ay, marry would I, an' thou wert Sathanas himself!" cried the youth impatiently, "if only I could escape from this quagmire of a hole."
"Thou art not over-courteous, Sir Page," said the gentle voice.
"Certes, fair damsel, I crave thy pardon, but I am much belated, and have been sorely bested. I cry your mercy. But tell me, an thou canst, how I can find the Hermit of St Catherine's?"
"Right easily, fair sir. Seest thou yonder hill to thy right?"
"The fire I saw was to the left, I'll wager my falcon," said Ralph; then he added aloud, "Marry, do I, fair damsel."
"Then ride straight up that hill--there is naught save a few rough stones to hinder thee; only walk thy horse carefully till thou gettest upon hard ground, as 'tis all quick about here. Nay, I will show thee," added the figure quickly; "'tis but a poor return for thy kindness to us."
"And when did I show kindness to thee, gentle damsel?" said Ralph, in astonishment.
"Thou quickly forgettest thy good deeds, I see," said the girl. "'Tis a good sign of one gently nurtured."
"But when saw I thee before?"
"I did not say thou hadst seen me before!"
"Marry, fair damsel, thou speakest in riddles. I did thee a kindness, and yet did not see thee! A-read me the riddle?"
"Nay, 'tis best to forget the kindnesses you do, so long as they to whom they are done keep them in mind. There, now, thou art on safe ground. Ride boldly up the hill. At the summit thou wilt see the beacon light. Fare-thee-well."
"But, damsel, wilt thou not tell me thy name? Who are those caitiffs who wrought me such wrong? Where dwellest thou? How camest thou here?"
"And then men call us poor women curious and prying," laughed the girl. "Good-night, gentle sir, mayest thou prosper, and have a pleasant journey;" and before Ralph realised she was gone, she had disappeared down the head of the gully.
"Well, 'tis little use following her," thought Ralph; "my business is up there. I marvel whether she told me truth; but I shall soon see."
He mounted his horse, and pursued his way as fast as he could, consistently with the steepness of the ascent.
So steep was the hill in some places, that he dismounted once more, and led his horse up. He had no idea the hill was so high or so difficult to climb, from the view he had had of it below, but at length he found the steep incline becoming rounder and more level. Mounting again, he set spurs to his horse, and galloped over the smooth, close-cropped, wind-shorn grass.
After riding a few hundred yards, he saw a bright glow before him, and in another minute he was trotting up to a low building with a small octagonal tower, on the top of which was a cresset holding a mass of flaming tow and faggots, which cast a lurid glare all over the summit of the lofty down. It was St Catherine's Chapel and Hermitage.
As Ralph rode up, the figure of a man in a monk's dress emerged in the tower, and attended to the fire.
"Art thou the Hermit of St Catherine?" called out Ralph.
The monk turned round.
"Who is it that calls?"
"One of the Captain of the Wight's pages, who has come with a missive for thee."
"Tarry, my son, till I come down," said the Hermit.
The figure then disappeared, and shortly afterwards a low door at the base of the tower opened, and the Hermit came out, holding a lantern in his hand. He carefully scrutinised Ralph without saying anything, and took the paper the page handed to him.
After reading it attentively, he said,--
"Tell my lord there hath been no strange sail seen to-day, but as it is parlous thick to-night, and was so the greater part of the afternoon, a vessel might have passed without my seeing. Tell his lordship I will be sure to keep a trusty look-out."
"Is that all, holy father?"
"Yes, my son; get thee back as soon as may be, for it behoveth him to take measures in case a schallop hath gotten past unperceived."
Ralph turned his horse's head; the mist was now far down below, and dispersing before it spread inland. His road lay clear before him. Clapping spurs to his horse, he galloped off, and in the course of another hour was hallooing to the guard at the outer gate of the Castle to open and let him in. In a few minutes more he had dismounted at the Captain's apartments, given his horse to Humphrey, who was sitting up for him, and in another second was ushered into the presence of the Captain of the Wight.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW THE COCKEREL LEARNT HARDIHOOD.
When Ralph pushed aside the heavy curtain which hung inside the ill-fitting but massive oak door, he was for a moment dazed by the brilliant light within the room.
The chambers of the more luxurious nobles were at this time fitted up with much profusion of rich draperies, gorgeous tapestries, and splendidly carved and gilded furniture. Lord Woodville inherited and shared all the lavish tastes of his mother and his family. His brother, the ill-fated Lord Scales, had been the patron of Caxton, having himself translated and composed some of the earliest works published by the Father of Printing, and the Captain of the Wight upheld the traditions of his house.
Seated before an elaborately-carved desk, lighted by long wax candles standing in exquisitely-designed brass candlesticks, whose bold bosses and delicate spiral work reflected the light in countless sparkles and scintillations, sat the Lord Woodville, his handsome face in conspicuous distinctness with the light shining full upon it, while behind hung a gorgeous tapestry from the looms of Flanders, which had belonged to his mother, Jacquetta of Luxemburg. He was clad in a close-fitting short tunic of black stamped velvet, made very full across the chest and shoulders, and drawn in with narrowing pleats at the waist, where it was confined by a magnificent belt of scarlet Cordovan leather, richly studded with gold and jewelled mountings. A finely-chased silver-hilted poignard hung at his right side, and his shapely legs were set off to fullest advantage by his tight-fitting hose, which, after the fashion of the time, were parti-coloured, of light blue and white in alternate pieces. Long and fanciful scarlet Cordovan slippers encased his feet, and a rich purple mantle, lined with the fur of the silver fox, hung over the back of his chair. One elegantly-formed hand rested on the desk, where a few characters had been inscribed on a sheet of paper before him, while the other arm hung negligently over the back of his chair. There was a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, and no one could have realised in that slightly effeminate figure, and almost womanish face, with its sensitive mouth and finely-chiselled nose and broad brow, round which the long hair fell in waving masses, the warrior who had fought in nearly all the bloodiest battles of those fierce civil wars, and had borne himself in ranged field or tented lists "righte hardilie, valyentlie, and of full lusty prowess." For the conflict on the battle-field was then no child's play as regards the noble, to whom quarter in those bloody civil wars was rarely or never given.
It was probably the refined tastes of the Woodvilles, while rendering them such favourites with the luxurious Edward IV. and the ladies of his court, which caused the ruder barons of that rough age to hate them so bitterly. The taunt flung in the face of Lord Rivers and his son by Warwick, when he was brought before him a prisoner at Calais, showed the malignity of hate and contempt the nobles felt for the family, a hatred arising, no doubt, from jealousy at the Woodvilles' sudden rise to distinction, but aggravated by a contempt for their accomplishments, which were considered totally inconsistent with the stern realities of life. How was it possible that a hardy knight and well-seasoned man-at-arms could find time to paint, write, or even read? Such occupations were for jongleurs or monks, not belted knights and stout barons.
As Ralph dropped the curtain behind him, the Captain of the Wight rose from his chair, the dreamy look of abstraction giving place to the alertness of real life.
"Well, Master Lisle, thou hast been a dullard on the way; what hath made thee so late?"
"There was a thick mist abroad, my lord."
"Oh, and thou lost thy way? Like enough. These sea fogs are sudden in their uprising. But thou gavest my missive to the Hermit?"
"Yea, my lord, and he bid me say that he had seen no sail, but that, as the mist had overspread the land and sea the latter part of the day, it were very possible for a schallop to have gotten past unnoticed."
"Yea, forsooth, he sayeth well," said the Captain thoughtfully; then he added, "There was no other message?"
"None my lord, save--" and Ralph hesitated, for he did not like to tell of his mishaps, and as he thought of the strange adventure on the wild cliff, in the brilliant light of that luxurious room, he could scarcely believe it was not a dream. The utter contrast between the present moment, the elegant surroundings, the absolute security of that splendid castle, with all its guards, walls, men-at-arms, bastions, archers, and turrets, and the wild weirdness of that solitary wrestle on the verge of the black precipice, in the cold light of the moon, and the ghostly vapour, seemed too impossible. Surely he must have dreamt it.
"Save what, my child?" said Lord Woodville.
"Save that I lost my way, and--" and again he hesitated.
"Well, my page, and what?"
"And I was set on by a base caitiff."
"Ay, marry--who has dared to lay hands on one of my pages?"
"That I know not, my lord," and then Ralph narrated the adventure as best he could.
Lord Woodville listened to the end, his countenance expressing no feeling until Ralph came to the part where the man bid him take a note to the Captain of the Wight. He then looked up gravely, and said,
"Where is it, my child?"
Ralph fumbled in his pocket; he searched everywhere--he could not find it. Seeing his nervousness, the Lord Woodville said, smiling,--
"Nay, fair page, take it quietly; thou mayest have overlooked it. Search each of thy pockets one by one, and so we shall arrive at a just conclusion."
Ralph did as he was told, and displayed but few things to the amused eyes of Lord Woodville, for he had not troubled to replace the rubbish which the man had left upon the grass when he turned out his pockets. When all had been gone through, there was nothing found.
"My lord," said Ralph, abashed, "I must have dropped it when I delivered thy missive to the Hermit of St Catherine's."
"Like enough, my page; but thou shouldest be more careful. An thou didst, I shall get it in the morning; or thou canst ride in search of it. But thou art sure thou hast not been dreaming?" added Lord Woodville, with a smile.
"Nay, my lord, that I will warrant, for thou mayest see the stain of the grass and the earth on my surcoat and hose."
"Well that is somewhat, certes, but 'tis a quaint tale. Who could they be who would attack thee, do thee no harm, take no gold from thee, or strip thee of thy rich poignard and gaudy dress? For I see they have left thee thy purse and gold pieces."
"Nay, my lord, I know not; but I can show thee the place to-morrow, an thou wilt ride thither."
"What was the man like who captured you? Didst thou see his face?"
"Nay, my lord, for he ever came between me and the moon; but he was of marvellous strength, and of a wondrous bigness; and he spoke like one in authority, and of gentle birth and breeding."
"Well, 'tis a strange adventure, in sooth, and we will take thought for it to-morrow. Perchance thou mayest find the missive in thy saddle housings, or in thy dress, as thou retirest to sleep. But it groweth late; get thee now to thy rest. I shall need thee to-morrow."
So saying, Lord Woodville nodded kindly to the boy, as a sign for him to retire, and Ralph left the room, glad enough to have escaped so easily, marvelling more than ever whether what had happened had really been a dream.
Meanwhile the Captain of the Wight stood musing before his fire, for there was now need for a fire, since the season was drawing on, and it was near the end of September, while the thick stone walls of the strong building were damp and cold.
Presently he went to his desk, pressed a spring, and out of a drawer at the side he took a little scented leathern case. Opening this, he took out two very faded flowers, a long lock of wavy soft brown hair, and a golden heart. He gazed at the silent relics, his lips moved, and he crossed himself devoutly. He then, after pressing them to his lips, put them back in the case, shut the case up, and replaced it in the drawer, which he carefully fastened again.
This done, with a heavy sigh he stepped across to a prie dieu, and devoutly kneeling before a richly-carved crucifix, he remained absorbed in prayer. When he rose up, his face looked white and haggard. Before retiring to rest, he drew aside the curtain over his door, opened it, and called to the archer on guard to pass the word to the man who relieved him, to usher, without question, any monk who should come to him in the morning.
When Ralph awoke next morning, the events of the previous night seemed more than ever like a dream. The commonplace realities of everyday life, the bright morning sun, the boyish chaff of his companions, and the decisive tone of Tom o' Kingston as he put them through their exercises, seemed so utterly out of keeping with the romantic adventure of the night before.
Dicky Cheke seemed somewhat crestfallen this morning, and he and Maurice Woodville had each a rather swollen cheek and lip, while Willie Newenhall was decidedly puffy and red about the eye.
Even Bowerman showed signs of the manful handling given him by Ralph, who had almost forgotten the scuffle, in the greater excitement that had followed.
"I' faith, Ralph," said Dicky Cheke, "there'll be war anon, and Bowerman shall grin. What do you think? After you had gone, and the Captain had gotten well away, that rogue 'Pig's Eyes' got Bowerman to attack us; but we gave them enough work before we gave in, and that's why his eye's so wadged up, and Bowerman's nose looks so red about the bridge."
"Now, Master Cheke," called out Tom o' Kingston, "are you going to give over gossiping? I hear there's talk of a tilt toward, and that Sir John thinks two of you young men can break a lance in it. Now I'd be loth you bore yourselves boorishly, so please to give heed to all I've to say to you. Master Bowerman, you look but sadly this morning; what's come to your nose?"
"Never mind my nose, Tom," said that youth sulkily. "It's no business of yours if my nose is well or amiss. Let me have a run at you with the lance; I want to practise against a live man."
"Not this morning, Master Bowerman; you've enough to do to hit the Saracen fairly. Now are you ready. Go!"
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?"
"Now, Master Cheke, mind your work, and let me have none of your sauce," said Tom o' Kingston, who was supposed to cherish a fatal passion for this very buxom and florid spinster, who was the inheritor of certain lands and tenements sufficient to be a powerful attraction, over and above her other charms, to the yeomen of the island. Her suitors therefore were numerous, and she gave herself airs of importance becoming in one so happily placed.
Dicky and Maurice went through the performance very well, and after the exercise had been repeated several times, the little group was joined by the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard.
The arrival of these important spectators caused the performers to try their best, and even the stolid Willie was roused into something like emulation.
"How do they tackle to their work, Master Tom?" asked Sir John.
"There's naught amiss, Sir John, with Master Bowerman and Lisle; they'll bear themselves well enough--leastways the last-named gentleman will; and so, for their size, will the other two young masters. But as for Master Newenhall, you'd as well mount Betty the scullery wench on Jenny the donkey, and give her a broomstick, as let him ride among press of knights."
"Go in, boys, and don your breastpieces, brassarts, gauntlets, and burgonets, and get your targets. This worshipful knight and I would see how you can bear yourselves in a tilt."
It was delightful news to all the pages, except Willie Newenhall, who in his heart detested the whole thing, and would much rather have sat at the window where Lady Trenchard's maids were looking at the sports, than have been down there, jeered at by the others, and with a strong probability of receiving hard knocks. If only he could gossip, he was happy. He could scarcely open his mouth among men, but with a garrulous woman--if only she were married, or beyond the chance of having designs upon himself--he was quite at home, and would discuss by the hour the latest fashion in 'cotes hardies,' or 'furbelows,' or any other of the mysteries usually never spoken of by men, or, if referred to at all, mentioned with bated breath, as though conscious of venturing on unknown ground, and with the usual result of bringing ridicule upon themselves, by the utter ignorance they displayed. But not so with Willie. He was as much at home when discussing women's dress or idle gossip and scandal, as his companions were at handling the lance or throwing the bar.
In a few minutes more the pages all re-appeared, armed entirely from the waist upwards in polished steel their faces looking bright and boyish under their raised visors, with their shields on their left arms. At the word 'Mount,' they vaulted into the saddle, or attempted to do so, for although they were practised every day at this exercise, yet it was a difficult matter to accomplish in armour. Bowerman and Ralph, owing to the advantage of height, were able to do it gracefully enough, but poor Dicky ignominiously failed, while Maurice managed to scramble up with loss of dignity, but ultimate success. Willie had also failed, and received a sharp rebuke from Sir John Trenchard. When at last, by dint of great struggles, the two unfortunates had got on their horses, they were ranged in a line, sitting motionless with lance erect and visor raised.
The scene was pretty. The morning drill took place in the castle yard properly so called; the place of arms outside the walls, on the east of the castle, not being used for the lesser exercises. The five martial figures of the youths, their fresh boyish faces, contrasting with their warlike panoply, the graceful figure of the Breton knight, in his close-fitting tunic and picturesque dress, set off to advantage by the grizzled head and weather-beaten appearance of Sir John Trenchard, formed a becoming contrast to the burly form and soldierly bearing of the esquire, sitting his horse to the right of the little squad, and completing the group on the yellow gravel of the yard. Behind all, the towering keep, with its base hidden by thick brushwood, carefully trimmed and topped, stood up dark and grim against the eastern sky. To the south east, Mountjoy's Tower, and the long line of wall between, cast their deep shadows over the barracks and store-houses below; while opposite, in the bright sunlight, was the old chapel of St Nicholas, the chaplain's room, guard-room, and the noble towers of the main gateway. The Captain's apartments, on the north, commanded a view on three sides into the yard, and the boys were made more eager than ever to do well, by seeing the Captain of the Wight standing in the oriel window, looking down upon them.
About the quadrangle were grouped, some in shadow some in bright sunlight, the picturesque figures of the garrison of the castle who were off duty, while the flitting shadows on the parapet of the eastern walls showed where the sentries were pacing to and fro on their beat.
Above the keep floated the standard of England, and from the main tower the banner of the Captain of the Wight flung its blazon in the breeze.
CHAPTER X.
HOW THE COCKEREL VAUNTED HIMSELF.
"Let the varlets tilt according to size, Master Tom," said Sir John Trenchard. "Master Bowerman, do you and Master Newenhall begin: close your visors."
This was bad news for Willie. As he turned his horse's head to take up his place, that disconsolate youth murmured through the bars of his closed visor,--
"Bowerman, I say, there's little need to tilt in earnest. I won't hit you hard, if you'll only rap on my breastpiece lightly."
But Bowerman only laughed. He was delighted to have so easy an adversary.
"Marry, 'Pig's Eyes,'" he replied, "do thy best, there's the Captain looking on."
With a deep sigh of woe-begone anticipation, poor Willie, whose bones still ached from his last fall, wheeled his horse round at the word of command, and sat facing Bowerman.
"At the word 'Ready,'" said Tom o' Kingston, in a dry, monotonous voice, "you will lay your spears in rest, holding the point on a level with your own eye, and the hand pressed well into the side, keeping the guard well up to the rest. At the word 'Go,' you will clap spurs to your horses, and ride straight for each other."
There was a pause for the combatants to settle themselves well in their saddles, look to any part of their armour that might be amiss, and generally pull themselves together.
"Ready!" called out the esquire.
Down came the lances in a graceful sweep, and the two pages sat waiting for the next word.
"Go!" shouted the instructor, and the previously motionless figures dug their spurs into their horses, and rode at each other.
The two lances struck almost at the same moment, but Bowerman adroitly caught Newenhall's lance on his polished shield, and thus caused it to glance over his left shoulder. His own spear struck his adversary under the rim of the breastplate, where it turned over to protect the gorget. Sliding along the smooth surface of the steel, it held under the roundel which protected the right shoulder, and the miserable Willie was lifted out of the saddle, and hurled once more over the crupper to the ground, while Bowerman, raising his lance aloft, after the proper fashion, trotted round to his own place again, saluting the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard as he rode past.
"Well and manfully done, Sir Page!" cried the latter warrior.
"Ma foi! oui! il a fait son devoir en bon soudard," said the sire Alain de Kervignac.
The hapless Newenhall lay still upon the ground; not that he was really hurt, beyond being considerably shaken, and bumped about the head; but he wisely thought if it were seen that he were hurt he might be sent indoors, and allowed to sit in Lady Trenchard's room, and be made a fuss of, a state of affairs he dearly loved.
"Is he hurt, think you?" said Sir John Trenchard. "I would be loth that he really got a hurt."
"Nay, Sir John," said Tom o' Kingston, winking at his chief in a knowing fashion, "he'll be all right anon. I know the habits of the lad." Then he called out, "Master Newenhall, the others are going to begin; you'd best get out of the way."
But that astute youth determined not to move. "They'll never be such caitiffs as to ride over me," he thought. However, it looked very much like it, for without any concern the esquire called out,--
"Now, Master Cheke and Master Woodville, 'tis your turn. Lower your beavers."
"You'd best take care, Maurice," said Dicky, as they rode off. "I mean to do my best, and I'm sorry for thee."
"None of thy peppercorn wit, Dicky. I'll topple thee out of thy saddle like a pint pot off a brown jack."
And so the two boys took up their positions, waiting for the word. It was soon given. Down came the lances.
"Go," called the esquire, and the two boys rode at each other manfully enough. They were very equally matched, and struck each other full on their breastplates; but in Dicky's case the lance of his adversary glanced off the sharp edge of the convex corslet, and slipped under his arm, doing him no injury, while his own lance also glanced aside, and the two boys were nearly unseated by their horses' impetus. Had they not both held on tightly by the reins, and been prevented from going backwards by the high-peaked saddle, they must have fallen to the ground. As it was, they remained with their horses stationary, each spear locked under the other's arm.
"Maurice, I shall do thee a mischief," cried Dicky Cheke, through his visor. "Thou hadst best give up, and fall off thy horse. I won't hurt thee then."
"Grammercy for thy gentleness, Master Dicky, but I'll soon have thee down," and the two boys pushed at each other, with the guards of their spears pressing against their breastplates.
"Maurice, I say, don't be such an obstinate pig! I'll give thee all my share of the marchpane of strawberries when we have it again, if thou wilt only fall off this once. I'll promise I'll do it for thee another time."
"That is gammon! Marry come up, my pipkin!" said Maurice ironically, and, pushing and wriggling his lance harder than ever, to the great aggravation of Dicky Cheke, he almost lifted him out of the saddle.
"Maurice, I shall get mad soon," said Dicky, "and then I shall hurt thee. Ah! would'st thou?" and Dicky, dropping his reins, and gripping the saddle with his knees, grasped Maurice's lance with his left hand, and tried to force it back out of his hold.
The two horses were pushing against each other. Suddenly Maurice grasped Dicky's lance, and at the same time backing his horse, he pulled that young gentleman out of the saddle forward, who, however held on all the time to the lance, and thus broke his fall. The moment he was on the ground, he rose to his feet, holding the spear all the time, and fiercely tried to push Maurice out of the saddle. But Sir John Trenchard called out that all was fairly done, and that both had done their devoir as right hardy varlets, but that natheless Woodville had gotten most honour, for he kept his seat while the other was dismounted.
"That's as may be," said the unquenchable Dicky, "albeit, had it been in real lists, I should have driven thee against the barrier, and so I should have won the prize."
Willie Newenhall, when he saw that the boys really were to tilt across the very place where he was lying, with no more concern for him than if he had been a log of wood, vowing vengeance on the two youngsters, rolled out of the way, and got up sulkily enough, limping back to the place where his well-trained horse was standing, and appearing in great distress. But as no one took any notice of him, with a growl of disgust at their heartlessness, he gave up the game, and stood watching the others.
"Now, Master Bowerman, an thou art in good wind again, here's Master Lisle ready for a course with thee."
"Right willing I am," answered Bowerman, who felt highly elated at the success of his first essay, and the praises he had received. In addition to this, he had long hoped to have an opportunity of effectually quenching Ralph, to whom he had taken a dislike the moment he saw him, and which had been increased by many circumstances since.
The two took up their respective positions and awaited the word of command. There was a certain swagger of easy self-assurance in Bowerman as he trotted his horse to his post, saluting the Captain of the Wight, who was standing at his window.
By this time there was a considerable concourse of spectators, for it was drawing near chapel time, and the garrison was assembling to fall in.
Tom o' Kingston glancing at the two figures, who looked very equally matched, called out "Ready," quickly followed by the command to go.
The well-trained horses hardly needed the spur, so perfectly accustomed were they to the words of command. They broke at once into a canter, and with levelled lances the two combatants met exactly in the middle of the ground. Bowerman's lance struck Ralph full and fair under the gorget, and flew into a thousand splinters. The blow was a rude one, and Ralph staggered under it; but his own lance had been aimed at his antagonist's visor, and took far more severe effect than he intended. The visor was forced violently up, and a splinter from Bowerman's own lance, struck him full under the eye at the same moment, inflicting a severe wound. The shock of Ralph's well-aimed blow, together with the pain of the splinter cut, caused Bowerman to reel in his seat, and as the spear had caught in the bars of the visor, he was borne backwards out of the saddle, and hurled to the ground.
"My faith,'twas well done!" cried Sir John Trenchard, while all the bystanders raised a shout of congratulation, for Ralph was already a great favourite with them all.
But Ralph, directly he saw what had happened, thought no more of the tilt, and how he ought to have ridden round and saluted the judges and spectators. He only saw Bowerman on the ground, bleeding from the severe wound under the eye, which looked worse than it really was. He instantly reined in his horse, threw down his spear, and leaped to the ground.
"Oh, Bowerman, I am so sorry!" he cried, as he stooped down to help to raise him.
"Get up, you fool!" answered Bowerman, in furious wrath. "Do you think I am a girl, that I want your whinings and whimperings? Get away, you viper you, had my lance not gone all to pieces, you'd have been lying on your back instead of me. Tom ought to have given me a new one. He should have known it was sprung in the first course."
So saying, and fiercely wrathful, Bowerman spurned all offer of assistance from Ralph, and rose from the ground. The others had now come forward, seeing the blood flowing from the wound, and Bowerman was taken to Lady Trenchard to have the cut attended to.
The bell was now tolling, and the other pages had no time to doff their armour. Hastily walking their horses over to the stables, they hurried into chapel.
When the service was over they withdrew to their common room, in the north-west side of the Captain's apartments, and talked over the events of their first trial at real tilting in armour, while they ate their meal.
Newenhall was very sulky. He complained of severe pains in his head, and said it was a great shame he was not allowed to go to the sick-room,--that Bowerman was no worse than he was, and he was always treated unfairly.
Dicky and Maurice nearly had their harmony spoilt by bickering over their contest; and Ralph was very much distressed at the accident that had happened to Bowerman, and of which he was the unwilling cause, while he was still more grieved at the evident animosity with which Bowerman regarded him.
"I tell thee what, Lisle," said Dicky, who was in a very rasping mood, "it was lucky for thee that Bowerman's spear went all to pieces, or he would have had thee out of the saddle as roughly as he knocked over 'Pig's Eyes.'"
"No he wouldn't," said Maurice. "I saw it all, and it would have gone just the same had Bowerman's spear kept sound. Lisle had got him neatly in the beaver--nothing could have kept him in his seat."
"That's all you know about it! Why, couldn't he have held on to the reins?"
"And what'd be the use of that, when he was being knocked over sideways?"
And so the boys wrangled until they were set to work by the chaplain.
After they had been working rather less steadily than usual, and Dicky had drawn down upon his head some very severe rebukes from Sir Simon Halberd, while "Pig's Eyes" was so very much more stupid than ordinary that even the gentle Sir Simon's commonly placid spirit was ruffled, and he complained loudly of his dulness, a message came that Ralph Lisle was wanted in the Captain's room.
Wondering what was the matter, Ralph hastily complied with the summons. On opening the Captain's door, he found Lord Woodville pacing up and down the room. Seeing Ralph enter, he stopped, and greeted him with a kindly smile.
"My child," he said, "thou bearedst thyself right gallantly this morning, and I liked thy courtesy and gentleness even more than thy prowess. Go on like that and thou wilt make a full, gentle, perfect knight; for gentleness, courtesy, and thought for others become a good knight quite as much as hardihood and masterfulness."
Ralph's face glowed with joy at these commendations from his lord, and he rejoiced to hear this renowned and skilful warrior using very nearly the same words as his father had done on the eve of his quitting home.
"I have sent for thee, my page, to tell thee I have heard no news of thy lost missive. Thinkest thou now that the whole matter was but a dream?"
Ralph had by this time forgotten all about the last night's adventure. It all came before him in its startling reality. It could not have been a dream.
"My lord," he answered, "I think it was no dream; how could my clothes have been all soiled with grass and earth if it were a dream?"
Lord Woodville smiled at the earnestness of the boy, and said,--
"Well, we will go a-hawking that way this afternoon, and thou shalt come with us to show us this terrible scene--perchance we may find trace of thy strange caitiffs. Thou must even don thy best, for thy fair kinswoman, the Mistress Yolande, is to be of our company."
Ralph would have given worlds not to have coloured up as he did, but he was never master of himself when that fair lady's name was mentioned.
"We shall be a large band; I would that Bowerman could be of it, but I hear his hurt needs care; it is parlous near his eye, and was a marvellous narrow chance."
As Ralph left the room he could have danced with joy at the delightful prospect before him. He went out to direct Humphrey to get his horse well groomed, and have his smartest attire put out for him, and, brimful of happiness, was returning to the room where the studies were still going on. As he passed the chapel door he found a concourse of men standing round it. Pushing in among them, he saw a parchment affixed to the door, and two shields of arms hanging up. His heart leaped within him. It was the public announcement of the tilt or joust.
Not many of the bystanders could read, and the two or three who were laboriously spelling out the words for the benefit of the rest, were bidden to stand aside to let Ralph read it aloud. Pleased to be able to make use of his superior advantages, Ralph read out, in a loud voice, the long and wordy cartel or general challenge, which was the formal way of announcing a tilt, joust, or tourney. After reciting the names and degree of the challengers, or appellants, which took up several lines, the proclamation went on to say that "they were prepared to meet all comers at a joust, to run in jousting harness along a tilt, and that they do this, not out of presumption, but only for the laud and honour of the feast"--it was to take place on St Michael and All Angels' Day--"for the pleasure of the ladies, and their own learning and exercise of deeds of arms, and to enserve the ancient laudable customs." It further went on to declare that "the said worshipful knights, Sir Alain de Kervignac and Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, would be at the tilt-yard of Carisbrooke Castle by eleven of the clock before noon, to run six courses with any comer ensuing, the comers to choose their own spears; and if the said six courses be finished before sundown, then they may be at liberty to begin other six courses. And if any man's horse faileth before he be disarmed, then his fellow may go on and finish the course for his companion."
The prizes were a ruby ring and a diamond ring. The cartel was signed by the Breton knights, and scaled with their signets, and it was countersigned by "Edward Wydevil, knight, commonly called the Lord Woodville, Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight," and sealed with his coat of arms. It also further set forth that on the second day there would be a tourney with sword strokes. There were to be eighteen hand strokes, but no knight was to "foine" or thrust with the sword point, on pain of instant dismissal from the lists. The strokes were to be given on foot, and with sword and axes at barriers.
There was a general hum of applause after Ralph had finished.
"Marry, these Frenchman have done full knightly," said one.
"Ay, you may say so! but I would we had more knights," said another. "There's none now in the island who are skilled in the joust."
"There'll have to be some overrunners[*] asked over," said a third.
[*] The local name for newcomers or "foreigners" from the mainland to the Isle of Wight.
"If only that right hardy knight Sir George Lisle of Briddlesford, old Sir William's son, were in these parts now," said the first speaker.
"I never heard tell of him," replied the other.
"Why should you, comrade? 'Tis many years since he's been heard of. There's some as said he were lately come over with the Lord Lincoln to Stoke field, and died there in harness, fighting with his face to the foe, by the side of the Lord Geraldine, Captain Martin Swartz, Sir Thomas Broughton, and all those lusty Allemaynes who gave us such hard knocks ere we made them give in. But I were with the Herald when we searched the field, and never saw him there; and I should have known him alive or dead anywhere. We were boys together down Briddlesford way."
"Now you've named Sir George Lisle, that minds me," said the second soldier, "that when King Edward was alive, he was in rare favour with the king, who gave him in marriage a right lovely lady. But there was some talk of his lady, how, when he was away in France with old Bear and Ragged Staff, she went off with some one, I don't rightly remember who."
"Silence, man, an you value your tongue!" said his comrade. "That's a tale you'd best not call to mind hereabouts," he added significantly.
Ralph, full of the news, was going off to the pages' room, when he noticed the shields.
"What are they for?" he asked of the old man-at-arms who had just spoken so pointedly to his more garrulous comrade.
"I' faith, when a knight wants to take up their challenge, he smiteth on these shields, and his name and lineage are taken down by the clerk or herald appointed to put in the roll of the tilt the names of those who come to take their challenge."
Ralph longed to be able to hit that shield.
"Are any who are not knights admitted to the joust?" he asked..
"Sometimes, but very rarely. Howbeit, the judges have the right to let in whomsoever they choose, provided he be of noble or gentle birth."
This was enough for Ralph. He would leave no stone unturned to obtain leave to splinter a lance in the approaching jousts. As he thought of it, the colour came into his face; he pictured himself riding in the lists, armed cap-à-pié, winning the prize under the lovely blue eyes of the fair Yolande. As he crossed the yard, deep in this delightful thought, he ran against a man in a monastic dress, who had just entered by the main gate.
"Certes, my son, thou shouldest give heed to thy steps," said the monk, as he staggered under the unprovoked assault.
CHAPTER XI.
HOW JOYOUSLY LIFE GOETH.
The midday meal was spread in the large hall of the Captain's apartments. Sir William Lisle and his fair daughter had arrived. Gaily Yolande was chatting in the large, deep, bay window at the upper end of the hall, amid a group of young men, conspicuous among whom were the strongly-marked features, bullet head, and broad chest of Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené. Beside him, but topping him by some inches, although he was more than ten years his junior, stood the strong, active figure and boyish, honest face of Ralph Lisle, gazing at Yolande with rapturous admiration, but saying never a word, listening to all she said, and to all that was said to her, with simple enjoyment. No thought of selfish jealousy crossed his mind. All men must admire so lovely a girl--what harm in that? Did not he admire her too? would not he have willingly suffered anything for her? would not he be her dog to fetch and carry, do her slightest wish, be her devoted slave, and ask for nothing more than to be near her? No greater privilege could he have than to do her behests. The boy paid her the most absolute homage of his whole soul and body. It never occurred to him to ask for anything in return. He did not know he wanted anything more than to be allowed to be always near her, adore her, minister to her slightest whims. Whatever so lovely a being did, was sure to be right. To question the acts of so glorious a beauty, was like doubting divinity. Ralph was under the glamour of the most potent spell that ever worked on a pure and generous nature. To give utterly to the object of his worship, was to him the simplest thing. He would have given his last farthing to help a poor beggar; what would he not give to her, who was in his eyes the noblest, loveliest, purest thing in creation? Only would she want anything? There was the pain. What could he give her that she could need? Had she not everything?--homage, wealth, youth, beauty?
"And so, my fair cousin, I hear thou hast done right knightly this forenoon," said Yolande, addressing him at last, for after the first greeting he had stood aside to let the more vivacious and older Breton knights pay their respects to his cousin.
As Yolande spoke, she glanced at his large build, powerful chest, and tall figure, and then she let her eyes drop sideways on the smaller proportions of the Breton knight who stood beside him. She noticed the breadth of shoulders, bull neck, and length of arm of this latter, and thoughtfully said, without paying any attention to what Ralph blurted out,--
"And so, Sir Amand, you have proclaimed a joust. 'Twas well done of you; and all we poor damoiselles of the island owe you many thanks. But I fear me we have no knights now here will do us poor ladies justice. Alas that my stepbrother is not here!"
"Surely, fair lady, thou wilt let me be thy knight?" said the Breton gentleman. "I could not have a fairer queen for whom to lay lance in rest."
"Nay, fair sir, thou surely mockest. I have heard that the damoiselles of France are the loveliest in the world."
Yolande spoke dreamily; she still glanced sideways at her cousin, and then at the Breton knight.
"I wonder will the Captain tilt?" she asked absently, toying with a gold chain round her neck.
"Pardie, mademoiselle, I trust he will do us that honour: but it would be a marvellous gracious act."
Ralph was yearning to say something to his cousin, but he could not find the opportunity. While all were chatting gaily, waiting lor the Captain of the Wight, a varlet came up the hall and spoke a few words to Sir John Trenchard, who directly afterwards said in a loud voice,--
"The noble Captain is detained by some slight matter. He prayeth you all to forgive him, and in especial that the fair ladies will grant him their pardon; and desireth that we tarry no more for dinner. Master Gamelyn, bring in the covers."
The guests all sat down, and quickly the dishes were brought in. The Lord Abbot of Quarr was there; the Prior of Carisbrooke Priory, now belonging to the great Carthusian Monastery of Sheen; and the two Bailiffs of Newport, and their wives and daughters, who, however, sat at another table. The Chaplain of the castle said grace, and the dinner began.
Gracefully the pages handed and carved the dishes, assisted by the varlets and serving-men; but the absence of the noble host caused a slight depression.
Yolande, as the lady of highest birth there, was placed next the vacant chair of the Captain of the Wight, and on her left sat Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené; while on the other side of the empty chair sat Lady Trenchard, and on her right the other Breton noble. The remaining guests were placed, according to their degree, all down the long table.
The conversation turned upon the approaching tilt, and all were loud in their praises of the public spirit of the two foreigners.
The chief Bailiff of Newport, who sat opposite Sir Alain de Kervignac, was deploring the sad state of the island, saying how different it was fifty years ago, when he was a lad.
"Then, my lord, there were ten thousand fencible men, and above thirty knights and esquires. But within ten years after, the which ten thousand men were anentised through pestilence and wars, and some voided because of extortioners, that there were scarce twelve hundred of fencible men, and knights never one, and esquires no more but Harry Bruyn, esquire of His Majesty's household, that might labour about wars."
"Ay, Master Gander, thou sayest truth," said Sir John Trenchard. "But my Lord of York gave heed somewhat, although he was sorely let and hindered by reason of the grievous jealousies he was subject to, and being sent over to Ireland, could never do all he minded to; but we shall show these noble gentlemen fine sport yet, I'll warrant."
"Certes, Sir John," said the other Bailiff, "you are ever i' the right. But I mind me how Master John of Newport, who is but lately dead, I hear, so peeled and oppressed the townsfolk and fencible people of this island as to cause most part of the better sort to leave the isle. And then he, being discharged by the Duke of York for his misgovernance, with others of his sect, took to the sea, and sore threatened and jeopardised the king's people of the isle, so that there was not fifteen fencible people left, and no staff of men nor archers. Truly we were in parlous sad case."
"Marry, Master Farseye, doubtless it was as you say; but we are now full powerful and well stored. And there are, as you may see, looking round at this table, and down yonder hall, plenty of stout limbs and brave hearts that will give a sensible account of themselves and the enemy in time of need, even as well and manfully as they did in the time of King Richard the Second, when Sir Hugh Tyrell, that right valiant knight--on whose soul may God have mercy--cut off the Frenchmen and utterly routed them, in so much that the lane now called Deadman's Lane, and Neddie's Hill, were covered with the bodies of the slain."
"Ay, truly, 'twas so; but albeit 'twas a glorious battle, yet our fathers got not off scathless, for besides that Sir Theobald Russell was slain in a former attack, thirty-seven years before, Francheville and Yarmouth were burnt to the ground, and the French retired not afore they had levied a fine or ransom of 1000 marks, and our fathers had given pledges that they would submit to the Frenchmen for a whole twelve months."
"Not so bad as that, Master Farseye: they were only to submit if they should come over again," said Master Gander.
The Abbot of Quarr was engaged in pleasant converse with a buxom and jovial dame, the heiress of the old family of the Roucleys, who had come into the Manor of Brooke by marriage with the last of the Glamorgans, one of six ladies who inherited the estate from their brother Nicholas de Glamorgan, Lord of Brooke, the last male heir. This lady was Dame Joanna Bowerman, who was lately married to the eldest brother of Eustace Bowerman, and who, ten years afterwards, had the honour of entertaining King Henry VII. in her house of Brooke.
Ralph determined to have a few minutes' private talk with his kinsman the Abbot, and as he bent over him to hand him a dish of trout in jelly, a great luxury, he whispered,--
"An it please you, my Lord Abbot, may I have a word with you anon?"
"Surely, my son; there is naught amiss, I hope?"
"Nay, my lord; 'tis a matter of small import."
At this moment Lord Woodville entered the hall. All rose to do the Captain of the Wight honour. Craving pardon for his lack of courtesy, he prayed them to be seated, and then took his seat next Mistress Yolande, who greeted him with a radiant smile.
"My lord, I am right glad thou hast come. Sir Amand here hath used up all his pretty conceits, and very nearly his appetite."
"You amaze me, fair lady! Can a French gentleman fail in one or the other, and with such a theme as thy fair self to discourse of."
"Ay, truly, and with such a banquet as thy noble self hath provided. But, most puissant Captain, is it true that thou are going to break a lance in the approaching tilt?"
"Not that I know of, fair lady," said Lord Woodville coldly.
"But thou wilt an thou art asked?" said Yolande, fixing her soft blue eyes full upon his.
"Marry, fair lady, there are younger knights than me to ride courses for love of ladies. I am getting past the age for such pastimes."
"Now, nay! a thousand times, nay! Sir Amand, help me to gain our end!"
"Pardie, an so lovely a lady cannot soften the heart of the noble Captain, how can the prayers of a poor simple knight like me do it?" said the knight, shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, Sir Captain," said Yolande, "if thou wilt not grant that request, at least thou wilt not refuse my other prayer. Wilt thou let my cousin Ralph run a course? I hear he hath done right hardily to-day."
"With right goodwill, fair mistress. I saw how well he bore himself this forenoon. I had even now minded to make him an esquire of my body."
Yolande glanced across to look for Ralph, but he was standing close behind her, and had heard every word. His joy was so great that he could scarcely fulfil his duties. In his eagerness to have an excuse to say something to his lovely kinswoman, he picked up the first dish that came to hand, and, as he bent over her to offer it, he whispered,--
"Thank you, cousin, thank you! 'tis the kindest service you could do me."
"But, fair kinsman, that is no reason you should offer me 'pasties of venison roast,' with 'plums in paste,' which I happen to be eating. 'Tis but a poor return for my kindness."
Ralph, much abashed, drew back; not, however, before Dicky Cheke saw his mistake, who made a hideous face at him, and as he passed dug his knuckles into his back, saying at the same time,--
"Poor witling! how parlous awkward it is; 'twill never make a good serving page."
Fortunately for Ralph there was a general move soon afterwards, and the horses were being brought round to the hall door. In the midst of the confusion Ralph took the opportunity of going up to the Abbot and telling him his business.
"What!" said the Abbot, amazed; "and thou calledst that a matter of small import, quotha?"
Ralph was a bad hand at asking favours--those who give easily usually are. However, he could not abandon this request.
"My lord," he said, "'tis but to advance me such sums that I may appear as becometh the ancient house of Lisle. You gave me to my lord, you would not have me disgrace my name and lineage."
Seeing how earnest the boy was, and how reasonable was his request, the Abbot began to relent.
"Marry, lad, thou art a brave youth and a good, thou shalt have the wherewithal to caparison thyself. Go to Master Longstoke, who dwelleth in Lugley Street, by the sign of the Blue Boar, he will purvey for thee what thou needest. I will look in upon him as I ride home to-night. He will then have my warranty."
All things seemed joyous to Ralph to-day. With profusion of thanks he helped the Abbot of Quarr on to his horse, and then hastened to look after his cousin; but she was already mounted, and chatting gaily with the Captain of the Wight and his Breton guests.
When all were mounted the cavalcade rode out through the large gateway. It was a gay sight to see the long lines of varlets, with the dogs and falcons, the fair ladies riding amid groups of gentlemen, with hawk on fist, and riding-whip in hand. The crowd that had collected at the castle gates greeted each knight and lady as they came out with freely-expressed remarks; and when the Captain of the Wight appeared with Yolande Lisle riding by his side, the two Breton knights a little behind her with her old father, there were loud shouts of applause, and many complimentary cheers for the noble foreigners who were going to provide so much amusement.
The cavalcade took the way down to Shide Bridge and so up the valley of the Medina, intending to fly their hawks at the quarry that was sure to be met with among the low lands between the Medina and the Yare.
They were not disappointed; a fine heron was soon started, and the Captain's bird--a noble peregrine falcon--was cast off after it. As Lord Woodville watched the flight of his bird, he called Ralph up to him, who, as in duty bound, had been in close attendance on his person.
"Thy missive hath been found, my child," said his lord gravely. "Thou didst not dream: I would that thou hadst."
Ralph remained silent. Lord Woodville went on, in rather an abstracted tone,--
"'Twas a bold game, and I marvel how he hath gotten into the island; but he knoweth he is safe from me, except in so far as I myself may chastise him for his insolence. He hath done me far more wrong than ever he thinketh that I have done to him."
The rest of the cavalcade, now that the Captain's bird had been flown, had dispersed after their own hawks, which only waited for this signal to be cast off.
"My lord, thy falcon hath gotten a long way ahead, and maketh toward the high land yonder," said Ralph, who saw his cousin cantering gaily ahead, escorted as usual by her faithful admirer the Breton knight. Before disappearing over a rise in the land she reined up, turned round to Lord Woodville, and waved her whip aloft, inviting them to follow.
"There is Mistress Lisle beckoning to thee, my lord," said Ralph.
"Marry, is she? then we will even follow, Master Lisle, if it pleaseth thee," said the Captain, with a smile.
As they cantered over the marshy land, followed by a few varlets on foot, whose business it was to carry fresh birds on a wooden framework suspended round their necks by straps, Ralph kept close behind the Captain. When they reached the top of the rising ground where they had last seen the graceful figure of Mistress Yolande, a strange sight met their eyes. The Breton knight's horse was sunk over its fetlocks in a quagmire, and its rider was in an almost kneeling position on its back, with the evident desire of getting as far away from the treacherous slime as possible.
"I told him not to go," said Yolande, laughing at the sad plight of the poor gentleman.
The attendant varlets were directed to assist the knight out of his difficulties, while Yolande rode off with the Lord Woodville and Ralph, who was delighted at the change.
As they rode rapidly across the lower ground towards Godshill, the page told with eager joy to his cousin how the Abbot of Quarr had promised to equip him gallantly, and he entered into all the details of the horse he would buy, the armour, and the device he would wear upon his shield.
"You must have a lady's favour, Ralph. Is there anyone you would like?" asked Yolande, smiling at him.
Ralph coloured up, and he answered shyly,--
"Cousin Yolande, will you give me yours?"
"Well, now, I am highly favoured. And you really would not rather have that of Mistress Bremskete, or the fair Mistress Susan Gander?"
But Ralph was not good at raillery, he was far too much in earnest to enter into a joke, and Yolande saw the shafts of her wit would only fall flat or be misunderstood.
"But, cousin Ralph, I have promised my favour elsewhere."
Ralph looked at her with bitter disappointment.
"'Tis true 'tis as well to have two strings to one's bow, and why you did not say so I don't know, for I might never have thought of it myself, and so you might have lost a very good chance. Well, what do you say; shall I give you one as well?"
"But, Yolande, may a lady have two knights in the same tourney?"
"Why, marry, yea! At least I see no reason why not. One can have them everywhere else. Let us ask the Captain."
Lord Woodville had been riding on lost in abstraction. They had left Godshill on their right. They were now skirting the high hills, the outlying spurs of Week Down. Hearing his name mentioned, the Captain of the Wight turned round; as he did so, he caught sight of a figure, and instantly his face became as pale as death, and then flushed up with angry fire.
The quick eyes of Yolande did not fail to detect the change. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Lord Woodville. She saw a man in a common dress standing by the side of an old thorn bush.
"'Tis only a hind belonging to the Priory of Appuldurcombe. I marvel what hath come to the Captain," she murmured.
The man had been standing watching the little calvacade approach, but as it drew nearer he stepped back on to a more rugged piece of ground at the foot of the steep hill behind, and which was difficult for horses, being all broken and covered with gorse.
Lord Woodville rode forward, motioning to the others to remain behind. Ralph could not help thinking he had seen that figure before. Where had he seen it?--he could not recollect.
"Marry, Ralph, 'tis a bold hind; see how he scowls on the Captain. By St Bride, he hath broad shoulders, and bears himself as if of gentle blood. I would give a good deal to know what the Captain is saying to him. I shall ride nearer."
But the Captain of the Wight heard the steps of her horse; he looked back with a stern glance, and said gravely,--
"Mistress Lisle, under your leave, I would say a few words alone."
There was no help for it; with a pettish air, but not at all disconcerted, Yolande said her nag wanted to browse on that sweet bit of grass there, and returned to Ralph.
After the interchange of a few words, the Captain rejoined the others, and the man disappeared into the tall furze behind the old thorn bush.
"We've lost our heronshaw," said Mistress Yolande, pouting.
"Nay, the varlets will bring the quarry in," said the Captain. "But what building have we here."
"'Tis the nunnery of Appuldurcombe," said Yolande. "Marry, I am sore athirst. Prythee, let us go there, and ask the kind sister for a draught of ale or hippocras."
"Right gladly, fair mistress," said Lord Woodville, and they cantered over the smooth turf towards the grey stone wall which surrounded the picturesque roofs and gables of the old Priory of Appuldurcombe, now a cell of the convent of the order of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, in the City of London. As they rode up, the chapel bell was tolling to vespers.
"Marry, 'tis later than I thought," said Yolande.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW THE COCKEREL FELT HE WAS BUT A COCKEREL.
The old Priory of Appuldurcombe was situated in a most lovely spot, nestling in thick woods whose brown and russet foliage climbed the steep sides of the lofty downs surrounding it; the high-pitched gable of the little chapel, and the quaintly-grouped pile of grey buildings, looked serene and peaceful in that sequestered nook amid the ever-lasting hills.
Originally granted by the piety of stout Earl Richard de Redvers to his new foundation of Montsburg in Normandy, it was used as a cell for a prior and two monks to look after their farms of Appuldurcombe, Sandford, and Week. But, sharing the fate of other alien foundations, it was taken from them by Henry IV. and granted to the nuns of St Clare, without Aldgate, who eventually obtained a grant of it from the Monastery of Montsburg, and so possessed it until the dissolution of the monasteries.
The Convent of St Clare, without Aldgate, at this time was accustomed to send two sisters and a prioress to look after their interests, and used the cell as a place of peaceful resort and change of air from London. The sisters could walk in these retired woods and sheltered groves without fear of observation or molestation, and were much beloved by the labourers on the farms belonging to the Nunnery. It is quite evident from Chaucer that the nuns did not always observe the strictest seclusion, even in the Metropolis; and how well some at least of them were versed in the pleasures and technicalities of field sports is abundantly clear in the works of Dame Juliana Berners, popularly supposed to have been Prioress of Sopewell, near St Albans.
As the Captain of the Wight rode up with Yolande and Ralph, the chapel bell ceased.
"We will wait till their orisons be over," said Lord Woodville.
They had now leisure to look round, and even the matter-of-fact Ralph and high-spirited Yolande were impressed with the still loveliness of the scene. The blue smoke from the conventual kitchen and labourers' cottages curled into the quiet air, and floated away amid the rich brown leaves of the autumnal wood. The grass, green and soft, like velvet to the tread, showed the fertility of the soil, and the lowing of the cows, which were being driven from their pasture, added a pastoral melody to the sylvan scene.
An old woman and a young girl came out of a small door pierced in the high stone wall which surrounded the little settlement, and hid the lower storey from outward observation.
"What a pretty child!" said Yolande, with generous admiration. "Did you ever see such eyes?"
Ralph looked as he was told, but, boy like, paid little attention to the looks of a girl evidently younger than himself. Besides, in comparison with the brilliant Yolande, whose every movement was grace, and every word fascination, how could he admire aught else? And was not Yolande, in addition, at least four years older than himself?
The soft eyes of the girl, however, seemed to recognise Ralph. She gave him a shy little nod of welcome and acknowledgment.
"Why, my cousin, she knoweth thee!" said Yolande. "Who is she?"
"Nay, I know not," said Ralph, not quite pleased at being nodded to in that familiar way by so poorly clad a little girl.
"Good mother," said the Captain of the Wight, "wilt thou ask the Lady Prioress if she will grant this fair lady a draught of ale or hippocras?"
The old woman only shook her head, but the girl glanced up at the Captain's face, and then said,--
"Noble sir, Gammer Audrey is deaf. I will run in and ask Sister Agnes," and the child drew her hand out of that of the old woman, and disappeared through the door.
"'Tis strange!" muttered the Lord Woodville; "her eyes are wondrous like, and the voice--old memories are stirring, methinks, to-day."
In a few minutes the figure of a nun carrying a tray on which were a flagon and some pewter cups, appeared at the narrow door, followed by the girl, bearing a dish with a few apples piled upon it.
The nun had hardly passed out of the door when she gave a little stagger, and nearly dropped the things she was carrying. Recovering herself with an effort, she approached Yolande.
"My faith, my Lord Woodville, if the girl were lovely, what think you of the sister?" said Yolande.
Lord Woodville looked at the nun, as she approached, and became deadly pale.
"How could it be!" he murmured. "I heard she was dead!"
"Well," observed Yolande, "of all strange things, this is the most parlous bewildering! Who'd have thought the unmoved Lord Woodville could be so passing stirred twice in the same hour?"
The nun poured out the hippocras, and offered it to Yolande, who took it from the fair hand of the draped and veiled figure, with the curiosity and awe which all women feel when brought face to face with one of their own sex who is utterly dead to the world. The air of mystery, romance, and sanctity which surround the convent life was not then probably so powerful as now. Then, the nuns lived more openly, and were a part of the everyday life of society. But to Yolande, with her strong love of life, its amusements, its follies, and its excitement, it seemed like being confronted with death to look at that pale face, downcast eyes, and shrouded figure.
THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE.
The nun's face was strikingly beautiful. Her features were very straight, with splendid eyebrows, and a sweet mouth, whose full lips were rendered almost more attractive by the little droop at each corner producing a soft dimple in the rounded cheek. The long lashes lay like a fringe over her magnificent dark hazel eyes, and as she stood, quite impassive and expressionless, only deadly pale, Yolande felt drawn towards her as she had never felt drawn to any woman before.
The Captain of the Wight kept his eyes fixed on the sweet face.
"Pious lady," he said, "we are greatly indebted to thee for thy hospitable courtesy. Hast thou been in these parts long?"
Obliged to answer, the nun, still keeping her eyes, however, steadily on the ground, said, in a low, deep melodious voice,--
"Noble sir, Sister Ursula and I came hither but three months since."
"Holy saints!" muttered the Captain, "'tis her very voice!"
Then, after a pause, he said,--
"Thou art happy and peaceful here? There is naught that frights or disturbs you?"
A little flicker passed over the statue-like features. A slight tremor of the mouth, and a quiver of the eyelids, showed the nun was suffering from some not quite controlled emotion. Bending her head a little down, and keeping her eyes more than ever on the ground, she said, in her bell-like voice,--
"Noble sir, there is naught that frights us."
"And this girl, who is she?" asked the Captain.
"'Tis a child which hath been brought hither for our Prioress to tend."
"Hath she no relatives here?"
"Nay, I know not; but she is well with us," said the nun, looking at the child with affection. It was the first expression of softer feeling that had yet come into her face.
The child returned her look with love and bright confidence.
"Thou art happy here?" said Yolande.
"Ay, truly am I," replied the girl; "now I know father will be safe."
"And who is thy father, sweet child?"
"He is a noble knight, but I may not tell his name," said the girl.
"Dost thou know, holy sister?" said Yolande, unable to repress her natural curiosity.
The nun looked a trifle surprised, as if not expecting such a breach of manners in so high-born a damsel, but she replied, as coldly as ever,--
"Nay, I know naught that passeth in the world. None who enter here have name, or kin on earth."
Yolande shivered. It seemed like talking to a ghost.
As her thirst was now assuaged, and none of the others would take any more--although Lord Woodville took an apple from the pretty child, and in doing so availed himself of the opportunity of slipping a gold coin on to the dish, the nun withdrew as silently as she came, and the girl accompanied her, giving another nod of friendly farewell to Ralph.
"'Tis getting late, Lord Woodville, and I must be riding home," said Yolande. "Where my father hath gotten to, I know not; and as for my poor Breton, good lack!" and she broke into a merry laugh.
They rode away from the peaceful vale, the long shadows of evening falling across the plain, and the chill mist of the marshland rising in white film around. They were a silent party. Lord Woodville was plunged in deep reverie. Yolande could not strike any sparks of wit out of Ralph, who worshipped her far too seriously to be quite at home and at his ease, and took in serious dudgeon the playful raillery with which his cousin treated him on the subject of the dark-eyed damsel.
"You silly boy, you think you are fond of me; but when you reach the age of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one's age. You mark my words."
"And what do you call the right age to marry?" asked the crestfallen Ralph.
"Oh, not before you are thirty or forty, or fifty or sixty. There! I'll marry you when I am sixty. So now go and be happy, and grow as fast as you can; in wisdom, at least, for your body is big enough, good lack!"
As they rode back into the more cultivated land they met parties of two or three of the expedition returning from the chase; and as they passed Arreton Church they fell in with Sir William Lisle, who had been looking for his daughter, accompanied by Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, who was mounted on a fresh horse.
"Marry, Sir Amand, where's thy horse?" laughed Yolande.
"Pardie, mademoiselle, zat I cannot tell. I left 'im in ze vase."[*]
[*] "Vase," Anglicé "mud."
"What vase?" said the astonished Yolande. "It must be a mighty big one if it can hold a horse."
"Foi de mon ordre! no; it would sallow 'im as easy as anyzing, and me too, 'ad I been ze fool to stop on 'im."
"Good lack! a vase swallow a horse and man? The poor man's lost his wits!" cried Yolande, while Ralph looked very much astonished, and began to laugh.
"Vat you go for to laugh, young man?" said the disconcerted and puzzled Breton. "Is zere anyzing drole in ze vase svalloving a man?"
"Why, beshrew me, there is!" said old Sir William Lisle. "Thou hast got hold of the wrong word; 'tis mud thou meanest, not a vase. Good lack! good lack! how these munseers do show their ignorance."
As Yolande and her father were not going back to Carisbrooke Castle, they took leave of their noble host, and rode away across the downs to Briddlesford, which lay at the head of the long winding creek which flowed in from the Solent, while the others pursued their way back to the castle.
The Captain of the Wight seemed plunged into a deeper reverie than ever, and scarcely spoke one word the whole way back. Ralph's mind was full of the tournament, and of the Abbot's promise to let him have money enough to equip himself as became an aspirant to chivalry.
As soon as he had an opportunity, he took Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke aside and told them of his good fortune.
"My faith, Lisle, you are in luck. How much will he give you?"
"I don't know; but he said he would tell old Langstoke to let me have what I wanted."
"Well, an I were you, I'd strike while the iron is hot. I should get leave from old Jack-in-Harness to go down to-night, and lose no time. There's only six days before the Feast of St Michael," said Maurice Woodville.
"Ay, so should I," said Dicky Cheke. "And, I say, Lisle, ask him to let us go too. We can help you; you're such a simpleton, any chapman can cheat you. You big fellows always are stupid and easily overreached."
Giving Dicky Cheke a tweak of the nose, which caused that young gentleman to rush after him as he left the room, and kick violently against the door, which Ralph prudently shut, with happy promptitude, behind him, Master Lisle went off to look for Sir John Trenchard.
He tapped at the door of the knight's apartments, and hearing a voice say "Come in," he opened the door, and found Bowerman reclining on a couch, his head bandaged and his eyes closed. He was alone.
"Who's that?" said the wounded page.
"Oh, Bowerman, I am grievous sad to see you look in such parlous case," said Ralph, his conscience pricking him for not having inquired after, or been to see, his wounded comrade before.
At the sound of Ralph's voice, Bowerman's face flushed up; and in a voice whose tones expressed concentrated hate, he said,--
"You fiend you! who asked you to come here?"
"Well, Bowerman, I don't see why you should bear me such ill-will. 'Twas not my fault you met with your mishap."
"Yes, it was. If you had not aimed at the beaver,[*] which you know well enough is the weakest part of the whole armour, I should not have got that splinter in my cheek."
[*] The visor.
"But," said Ralph, taken aback by this novel ground of accusation, "you could have aimed at mine; and, besides, the beaver would never have come open, had it been tightly clasped."
"That's all as may be! but I knew you had never done anything of the kind before, so I hit you where there was least danger; and in return for my good nature, you took a cowardly advantage of me."
Ralph coloured up.
"Bowerman, I have told you I am grieved you are hurt--if I could do anything to help you, I would; but, because you are wounded, you have no right to say such unjust and untrue things."
"There, that's just like your mean, lily-livered nature. Here I lie, unable to get up and punish you, all through your own base fault, and then you come in when no one is here, and tell me I tell lies!"
Ralph felt his temper rising, but he kept as calm as he could.
"You know, Bowerman, you are not just. But as you are suffering, I will not get angry. I can do nothing for you, then?"
"Ay, marry can you, and that speedily--get out of this room!"
At this moment Lady Trenchard entered.
"Ah, Master Lisle, that is right courteous of you, and as one of gentle birth should do, to come and visit your discomfited comrade. I marvelled you had not come afore. But I heard you were out with the Lord Captain, and so I told Master Bowerman."
Ralph felt a little uncomfortable. He did not deserve these excuses, for he had forgotten all about Bowerman. Lady Trenchard went on.
"Tell us now what sport you had. 'Twill cheer us up, and be as good as a tale for your comrade. 'Twill be kind in him, will it not, Master Bowerman?"
But the wounded page only tossed on his couch and uttered a sound, half groan, half smothered exclamation of furious rage.
"Ah, poor lad! he suffers much. I fear me these are febrile signs. 'Twill be well to have the worthy and pious Sir Simon Halbard to bleed him. He is something of a leech, and was infirmarer once, I heard, at Quarr Abbey; but thy tale will solace him, and take away his thoughts from the pain of the wound."
Ralph longed to get away, but he was too polite to refuse to do what Lady Trenchard asked him. He began--determining to make the narrative as brief as possible--to tell the chief events of the afternoon.
As he told of the Breton knight being stuck in the mud, a grunt of satisfaction proceeded from Bowerman.
"Ah! thou seest, Master Lisle. I told thee thy tale would solace him, and help to drive away his pain," said Lady Trenchard complacently.
When Ralph came to the nuns, and told how they had so willingly brought refreshment for Yolande, of whom, by the way, he scarcely spoke at all, Lady Trenchard remarked,--
"Ah, the Lady Abbess of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, wrote to me to go over and see the two new sisters who have come down of late. I am glad thou hast reminded me of this, fair page. There is one in whom she taketh much concern, as fearing for her health. She hath had trials in the world, and hath not yet gotten cured of them. And so thou rodest all day with the fair Mistress Yolande?" added the grave and erect Lady Trenchard, with a penetrating glance.
Ralph grew very red.
"Yea, my lady--that is, nay. She rode with my Lord Captain, and I waited on him, as was my duty."
"Ay, and so she rode with the Captain? Like enough, like enough!" Then, after a pause she added, as if in a soliloquy, "Ah well, she won't make much of him, poor lass. His heart's been broke these twelve years or more. 'Tis a sad story, and not one you lads would care to hear."
"Yes, I should, Dame Trenchard," said Bowerman shortly, while Ralph looked up surprised. It had never crossed his mind that so exalted a person, and so rigid as the Captain of the Wight, could possibly have a weakness or a romance.
"Nay, nay," said Lady Trenchard, sorry she had aroused their curiosity, "'tis a long and sad story, and not one that will give you joy. Besides, 'twas a kinsman of Master Lisle who married the fair girl, sore against her will; but her own true knight was away, and her father's and the king's will had to be obeyed, and so she was wed. But not for long--she soon died, they said; but who knows? 'Twas a sad story."
And Lady Trenchard nodded her head gravely, then shook it sadly, as if she saw some sad mistake occurring, and lapsed into silence.
"But what of the Captain of the Wight, Dame Trenchard?" said Bowerman. "What hath he to do in all this?"
"The Captain of the Wight! what of him?" said Lady Trenchard absently. Her thoughts had gone off to the shortcomings of her maids, and whether Dame Joanna Bowerman would not have looked better in a black cote hardie, and lemon-coloured taffeta kirtle, than the yellow one which she wore, with a bright blue bodice.
"Not but what she tireth herself well, does Joanna Bowerman. I mind her when she was little Joanna Roucley. She always did have a liking for smart things, and she's a woman that bears them well--I will say that for her. But she lacked skill in colour."
"But what of the Captain?" persisted Bowerman.
"Well! what of the Captain?" said Lady Trenchard, with some slight asperity. "I know naught of the Captain. He hath come back, I trow?"
"Yea, but you were telling me of some love affair of his."
"Marry, was I? not that I know of. You sleep now, Master Bowerman; 'twill be best for you," said Lady Trenchard decisively.
Eustace Bowerman muttered something that sounded very like "old hag," and "obstinate old harridan," which was quite unheeded by Lady Trenchard; and Ralph took the opportunity to slip out of the room.
CHAPTER XIII.
OF THE SHARPENING OF THE COCKEREL'S SPURS.
And now the morning of the Feast of St Michael had come. All the preparations were complete, and the lists were ready decked. The green sward between the stout palings, gaily painted and bedizened with flags, was divided in the middle by a barrier, which was covered with a gorgeous hanging, and parted the lists lengthways into two equal divisions.
As Dicky Cheke and Ralph Lisle strolled round in the early morning--for there was no drill that day, and all ordinary exercises were suspended--they were delighted at the handsome appearance of the preparations. The covered gallery or grand-stands for the ladies; the numberless poles, gilded and painted, from which gay shields of arms were hung, and still gayer banners and banderoles fluttered; the lavish adornment and laborious preparations, struck them with astonishment, although they had seen the work going on for some days past.
"In sooth, Dicky, there's been great charges here. Who pays the cost?"
"Why the Captain, certes, though the Bretons pay some of it; but 'tis rarely done, i' faith. Thou'rt a lucky wight, Ralph, but thou wilt get a fall to-day, for 'tis not 'gainst 'Pig's Eyes' or Bowerman thou wilt ride, so make up thy mind to comfort thy broken bones."
"Ay, marry will I," said Ralph, laughing. "But I trust to do my devoir without disgrace. But 'twas a sad mischance Black Tom went lame," added the boy, changing his merry tone to a sad one. "He was the horse of all others for a tilt. Such depth of chest, such limbs and wind! Beshrew me if I can think how he could have gone lame like that, and only yesterday too. 'Twas a rare mischance," and Ralph looked very downcast.
With the money, or rather the order which the Abbot of Quarr had given to pay for all things needful to the merchant, Master Langstoke, Ralph had bought two very serviceable horses, one a great bargain. He had been guided in his choice by Humphrey, who was a likely man at buying cattle. This horse had belonged to an esquire who had been killed at the battle of Stoke, and was thoroughly broken to all the work of the tilt-yard and the battlefield. Ralph had been delighted at getting such an animal, and the congratulations he received upon it. Many old hands had told him that a good horse was more than half the battle, and all who saw Black Tom were loud in their praises of his good points.
"Ye see, Master Lisle, 'tis this way," remarked Lord Woodville's head varlet or groom. "A 'oss that's too quiet be't no good, nor a 'oss that's all fire. What you wants is a animal that's used to the work, and this 'un be, for I knows 'un."
The horse was perfectly sound the night before last. Ralph had ridden him that afternoon at a little quiet practice at the quintain first, and then at a light tilt with Tom o' Kingston, and nothing could have been better. But the next morning Humphrey came early with a very long face to say that he didn't "like the looks o' Black Tom at all, he were so tender on his near fore leg, and the pastern were all swollen like and hot."
This was bad news. All the authorities of the castle were consulted, and a careful examination of the tender hoof was made, with the result that it was found that a sharp nail had penetrated the hoof, causing severe inflammation. It was impossible that the poor animal could be ridden for some weeks, perhaps for some months.
But how had it happened? There was the mystery; and several old hands shook their heads, and did not hesitate to say that there had been foul play. Ralph's disappointment was intense, and Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke were profuse in their expressions of sympathy. Every one in the castle felt for Ralph's mishap, for he was now a universal favourite, his modesty, good nature, and brave bearing having endeared him to every one; and he was also well known and liked in the town of Newport, so that the news of the strange accident had spread round the neighbourhood in very little time.
The days before the tournament had been spent in perpetual practice at the quintain, and tilting against each other in half armour and with very light lances, made so slight as to break with but little force. In this way the boys had become excellent hands at aiming their spears to the best advantage, and in becoming used to the shock of the blow, so as to grow accustomed to the knack of holding on to the saddle with their knees at the exact moment without losing their nerve. In these encounters Dicky Cheke and Maurice Woodville were very fairly matched, and such falls as they had were pretty evenly balanced, although Dicky, if he got the worst of it, invariably had some excellent reason for his mishap, and was voluble in his explanations, while Maurice took it quietly, and was even a little disconcerted by his misfortune.
Bowerman had nearly recovered, and was to be allowed to take part in the forthcoming tourney, but he was not allowed to practise at the tilting with the others, for fear of opening his wound again by any mischance. He had therefore practised at the quintain, and other exercises that taught him to aim and strike, without, however, receiving a blow in return.
Willie Newenhall had thus been left to tilt always with Ralph Lisle, and although the latter, when he had knocked his antagonist off once or twice, refrained, out of pure good nature, from putting forth all his strength and dexterity, yet "Pig's Eyes" was very wrath and sore at being so manifestly inferior to one so much younger than himself.
More than ever the five pages were divided into sides. Newenhall and Bowerman scarcely ever spoke to the other three, and never lost a chance of getting them into trouble if they could, or of making them do work which was unpleasant to themselves.
Ralph was very good-natured, and would have done anything for Bowerman, in spite of his violent language and the manifest hatred the latter bore him. But Dicky Cheke resented their treatment, and took every opportunity of annoying or crossing the others. He and Woodville were frequently the victors in this sparring of rival wits; and if only they could get "Pig's Eyes" alone, he had a very uncomfortable time of it.
Ralph had provided for the approaching pageant with considerable wisdom, in spite of Dicky Cheke's mistrust of his powers. He had been able to buy, besides the two horses, a very fine suit of tilting armour, and two splendid tunics, and close-fitting hose, with a fur mantle of the latest fashion. The tunics were slashed, and one was made of large stripes of orange tawny satin and delicate grey, with rich ruby velvet, and slashed at the shoulders, elbows, and across the chest, while the hose were also made in large stripes, but of white and pale lemon-coloured satin; rich Cordovan leathern slippers of crimson colour protecting and adorning his feet. This suit was for wearing after the tournament the first day. The other suit was equally magnificent; for those who took part in the tilt were dispensed from wearing the livery of the Captain of the Wight for that day.
He had received by an unknown hand, a tiny silk glove, and a little scrap of paper, on which was written in a very scrawling hand,--
"An ye ware thys, ye last course ynne,
Ye shall eke lyfe and honour winne."
This was brought him by Humphrey, wrapped up in a little packet. It had been left for Ralph by a man who was unknown at the castle, but was believed to live at the back of the island, and to be a fisherman. He had been loitering about for some days past, and had latterly been accompanied by another man, who was also believed to be a fisherman, and who used to live at Wodyton, some years back. Ralph had been surprised at the enclosure, and still more so at the legend, and had secretly determined he would put the glove in his helmet before the last course, and see what would come of it. He had not yet received any favour from his cousin, and felt very moody and disconsolate in consequence.
As the boys were walking round admiring the arrangements, the light of the early sun falling on the eastern walls, towers, and battlements of the grand old castle, while the blue mist still hung over the valley, hiding the town of Carisbrooke, out of which the fine tower of the Priory church or chapel stood up like a tall rock in some grey lone sea, a varlet came out of the postern gate and called to Ralph Lisle to come into the castle-yard, where he was wanted immediately.
Ralph and Dicky Cheke followed hastily, and as they turned the corner by the well-house they saw, standing in the full light of the sun, a splendid horse, held by a groom in the livery and wearing the badge of the Lord of Briddlesford, Sir William de Lisle.
As Ralph drew near, the man held up a note, saying to Ralph, to whom he was well known,--
"My young mistress, the Lady Yolande, sends you this, with my lord's leave. 'Tis a well-trained horse, if ever there was one, and hath borne one in tilt and tourney, whom I'd like well enough to see here again. But as that mayn't be, and you bear the name of Lisle, you are to ride him; he's yours for the day--and maybe for ever."
Ralph was utterly surprised. He took the note mechanically, opened it, and read it. It was from Yolande, and said that as she could not give Ralph her favour, which he would see worn elsewhere, she had sent him the best thing she could for him to win it. She deeply deplored the accident to Black Tom, and hoped White Will would make up in some slight way for the disappointment he had suffered. The horse had belonged to her half-brother, and was well used to his work. "Therefore," she added, "ride boldly, as I know you will, and fear not to press the horse, for 'tis your own Good luck--your loving cousin--YOLANDE."
Ralph's joy was boundless. He instantly vaulted on to the noble animal, and rode him round the yard, to the admiration of every one, excepting Bowerman and Newenhall, the former of whom looked on with scowling brow and sneering mouth; the latter in blank stolidity.
"I sha'n't be able to do for him to-day," muttered Bowerman; "but to-morrow, in the fight with axes and hand-strokes, I can do somewhat."
"But you are not allowed to take part in it, Bowerman," said Willie.
"Gammon! I'll do it somehow, trust me," answered Bowerman fiercely.
While the pages were having their breakfast, they talked of nothing but the tournament, and who were coming.
Bowerman and Newenhall, from their superior age and knowledge of the island, as well as from having seen a tournament before at London, when Lord Woodville had been one of the challengers, were able to lay down the law upon all points connected with the tilt; and Dicky Cheke, who prided himself on his great acquirements, was rather quenched.
"And the two Bretons will have two other knights to join them," Bowerman was saying. "There's Sir Richard Cornwall, a very valiant knight, and much skilled in tilts and jousts; but who the other is no one knows, but I have a good guess--leastways, he is sure to be brave, and well skilled in warlike feats."
"Well, then," said Dicky Cheke, "let's see who there is for us. There's my brother, he'll be a good one; then there's Sir John Keineys, he who married old Hackett's daughter, of Knighton Gorges."
"What do you know of Knighton Gorges?" broke in Bowerman. "You hold your tongue, and listen to your betters. There's Keineys, and John Meaux, and John Leigh of Landgard, Tichborne from Lemerston, young Trenchard from Shalfleet, old Jack-in-Harness's nephew, Will Bruyn from Affeton, and Dick Oglander. They are all fair enough, but I wish they were better trained. They've all got rusty since these peaceful times have come."
"You've forgotten Dineley of Woolverton; and I hear old Bremshot of Gatecombe has sent over to young Dudley, who married his daughter; and there's--"
"Oh, you have done!" broke in Bowerman angrily. "You're always talking, and get hold of the wrong end of the story, and--"
"He doesn't," said Maurice; "and he knows as much of the island as you do, and more, too--"
"Ay, marry, do I! And what's more, before ever your beggarly family came here, the Chekes of Mottestone were lords of Mottestone for more than a hundred years--"
A blow from Bowerman was the rejoinder to this remark, which Dicky foresaw, and avoided by ducking under the table, while Maurice and Ralph interposed to prevent any further quarrelling.
"And when do we ride our courses, Bowerman?" said Ralph, always ready to receive information, and totally devoid of all personal vanity.
"Oh, you'll know soon enough; leastways, yours'll come after mine, and then you'll find out."
It was now but an hour and a half before the tilt would begin. The two boys who were to act as pages to Lord Woodville hastened to dress, and attend upon him. It appeared he was not going to tilt, but would act as judge and umpire with Sir John Trenchard and Sir Nicholas Wadham.[*]
[*] Afterwards Captain of the Isle of Wight under Henry VII. and Henry VIII.
The three pages who were going to take part in the tilt went to get ready also, and were carefully instructed in their duties by Tom o' Kingston.
The space around the lists was becoming crowded. There was no more popular amusement than a tourney, and as the arrangements were very costly, they did not very often occur in the provinces. But in a garrison like that of Carisbroke Castle, there was always to be found some one who would share in the expense, and earn popularity and experience at the same time.
There was a greater amount of interest than usual on this occasion, because there was something international in the contest, and it was known that several of the island gentry were going to take part in it.
Punctually at a quarter to eleven the sergeant-at-arms and a body of men-at-arms drew up in front of the apartments of the Captain of the Wight. Another company of mounted archers followed, and drew up on their left. Then came four trumpeters, splendidly attired in tabards, blazoned with Lord Woodville's coat-of-arms, and another body of mounted archers followed, succeeded by a squadron of men-at-arms, who all formed to the left of the first detachment. The three knights-challengers now came out of the dining-hall, armed cap-à-pié, and looking splendid in their gleaming tilting armour. Each knight was distinguished by his shield-of-arms, slung round his neck, and hanging over his left shoulder, and his crest proudly surmounting his tilting helm. Their esquires were waiting outside, and their varlets were leading their horses, armed with complete body armour, and gorgeously caparisoned, up and down. The fourth knight had not yet appeared.
As each knight mounted, there was a flourish of trumpets from the four trumpeters; and as he settled himself in the saddle, and took the heavy tilting-lance, richly painted and gilded, into his mailed hand, the war-horse reared and pranced, and shook its crested head, as if proud of the noble sport awaiting it.