 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Jeremy Pavier. The Black Arrow, A Tale of the Two Roses by Robert Louis Stevenson Book 1, Chapter 6 To the Day's End It was indeed high time for them to run. On each side, the company of the Black Arrow was making for the hill. Some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were already close upon the goal. Some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. Dick plunged into the nearest cover. It was a tall grove of oaks, firm underfoot and clear of underbrush. As it laid down hill, they made good speed. A piece of open, which Dick avoided, holding to his left. Two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course. Thus it followed that, while the lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the high road, and the river, which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand and running towards Tunstall. The lads paused to breathe. There was no sound of pursuit. Dick put his ear to the ground, and still there was nothing. But the wind, to be sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. On again, said Dick, and, tired as they were, and much and limping with his injured foot, they pulled themselves together and once more pelted down the hill. Three minutes later, they were breasting through a low thicket of evergreen. High overhead, the tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage. It was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly swatted. On the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove. Stand! cried a voice. And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore-blown was running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them. Machum stopped with a cry, and Dick, without appalls, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went. The other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot. He stood, wavering. And before he had time to come to himself, Dick bounded at his throat and sent him sprawling backward on the turf. The arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. The disarmed forester grappled his assailant, but the dagger shone and descended twice. Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart. On, said Dick, and he once more pelted forward, Machum trailing in the rear. To say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, laboring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. Machum had a cruel stitch and his head swam. And as for Dick, his knees were like lead. But they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage. Presently they came to the end of the grove. It stopped abruptly, and there, a few yards before them, was the high road from Risingham to Shawby, lying at this point, between two even walls of forest. At the sight Dick paused, and as soon as he stopped running he became aware of a confused noise which rapidly grew louder. It was at first like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more definite and resolved itself into the galloping of horses. And then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. They rode, as for their lives, in complete disorder. Some of them were wounded. Riderless horses galloped to their side with bloody saddles. They were plainly fugitives from the Great Battle. The noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards Shawby before fresh hooves came echoing in their wake, and another deserter clattered down the road, this time a single rider, and by his splendid armour a man of high degree. Close after him there followed several baggage wagons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life. These must have run early in the day, but their cowardice was not to save them. For just before they came abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour and seemingly beside himself with fury overtook the wagons, and with the truncheon of a sword began to cut the drivers down. Some leaped from their places and plunged into the wood. The others he sabred as they sat, cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human. All this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase. The rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great confused rumour came swelling on the wind, and it was plain that the route of a whole army was pouring like an inundation down the road. Dick stood somber. He had meant to follow the highway till the turn for Holywood, and now he had to change his plan. But above all he had recognised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the battle had gone finally against the rows of Lancaster. Had Sir Daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive and ruined, or had he deserted to the side of York, and was he forfeit to honour? It was an ugly choice. Come, he said sternly, and turning on his heel he began to walk forward through the grove with machin limping in his rear. For some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. It was now growing late, the sun was setting in the plain beyond Kettle. The treetops overhead glowed golden, but the shadows had begun to grow darker, and the chill of the night to fall. If there was anything to eat, cried Dick, suddenly pausing as he spoke. Machin sat down and began to weep. You can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives, your heart was hard enough, said Dick contemptuously. You have seven deaths upon your conscience, Master John. I'll never forgive you that. Conscience, cried Machin, looking fiercely up. Mine! And you have the man's red blood upon your dagger. And wherefore did you slay him the poor soul? He drew his arrow, but he let not fly. He held you in his hand and spared you. It is as brave to kill a kitten as a man that not defends himself. Dick was struck dumb. I slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow, he cried. It was a cowardly blow, returned Machin. Y'all but a lout and a bully, Master Dick. You but abused advantages. Let there come a stronger, we will see you chuckle at his boat. You can, not for vengeance, neither, for your father's death that goes unpaid and his poor ghost the clamours for justice. But if there come a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go. Dick was too furious to observe that she. Marry, he cried, and hear his news. Of any two, the one will still be stronger. The better man groweth the worse, and the worse is well served. You deserve a belting, Master Machin, for your ill guidance and unthankfulness to me would. And what you deserve you shall have. And Dick, who even in his angriest temper still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt. Here shall be your supper, he said grimly. Machin had stopped his tears. He was as white as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the face and never moved. Dick took a step, swinging the belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. His courage began to subside. Say you were in the wrong, then, he said lamely. No, said Machin, I was in the right. Come crawl, I be lame, I be weary, I resist not, I ne'er did thee hurt, come beat me, coward. Dick raised the belt at this last provocation. But Machin winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension that his heart failed him yet again. The strap fell by his side and he stood, irresolute, feeling like a fool. A plague upon thee shrew, he said, and ye be so feeble of hand ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. But I'll be hanged before I beat you. Then he put on his belt again. Beat you, I will not, he continued, but forgive you, never. I knew ye not, you my master's enemy. I lent you my horse, my dinner ye've eaten. Ye've caught me a man of wood, a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the mass, the measure is filled and runneth over. It is a great thing to be weak, I trow. You can do your worst, yet shall none punish you. You may steal a man's weapons in the air of need, yet may the man not take his own again. Ye are weak for sooth. Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and cryeth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through. Tat, full words. And yet ye be to me not, return matchum. Let be, said Dick, let be, I will instruct you. Ye have been ill-nurtured, me thinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good. And beyond all questions, save me from the river. Nay, I had forgotten it. I am as thankless as thyself, but come, let us on. And we be for Hollywood this night. Aye, or tomorrow early. We had best set forward speedily. But though Dick had talked himself back into his usual good humour, matchum had forgiven him nothing. His violence, the recollection of the forester whom he had slain, above all, the vision of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. I will thank you for the form's sake, said matchum. But in sooth, good Master Shelton, I had leave of find my way alone. Here is a wide wood. Prithee, let each choose his path. I owe you a dinner and a lesson. Fare ye well. Nay, cried Dick, if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you. Each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. But Dick had not gone ten paces ere his name was called, and matchum came running after. Dick, he said, it were unmanally to part so coldly. Here is my hand, and my heart with it. For all that were in you have so excellently served and helped me. Not for the form, but from the heart, I thank ye. Fare ye right well. Well, that returned Dick, taking the hand which was offered him. Good speed to you, if speed you may. But I missed out it shrewdly. Ya, too disputatious! So then they separated for the second time, and presently it was Dick who was running after matchum. Here, he said, take my crossbow, shalt not go unarmed. A crossbow, said matchum. Nay, boy, I have neither the strength to bend, nor yet the skill to aim with it. It were no help to me, good boy. But yet I thank you. The night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other's faces. I will go some little way with you, said Dick. The night is dark. I would faint leave you on a path at least. My mind misgiveth me. You are likely to be lost. Without any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more followed him. The blackness grew thicker and thicker. Only here and there in open places, they saw the sky dotted with small stars. In the distance, the noise of the rout of the Lancastrian army still continued to be faintly audible. But with every step, I left it farther in the rear. At the end of half an hour of silent progress, they came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. It glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of ewe, and here they paused and looked upon each other. You are weary, Dick said. No, I am so weary, answered Machum, that me thinks I could lie down and die. I hear the chiding of a river return, Dick. Let us go far forth, for I am sore a thirst. The ground sloped down gently, and sure enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river running among willows. Here they threw themselves down together by the brink, and putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. Dick, said Machum, it may not be, I can no more. I saw pit as we came down, said Dick, let us lie down therein and sleep. Nay, but with all my heart, cried Machum. The pit was sandy and dry, a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and made a partial shelter. And there the two lads lay down, keeping close together for the sake of warmth. Their quarrel all forgotten, and soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested peacefully. End of Book 1, Chapter 6 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Jeremy Pavier. The Black Arrow. A Tale of the Two Roses. By Robert Louis Stevenson. Book 1, Chapter 7 The Hooded Face They awoke in the grey of the morning. The birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods. The sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn collars. Half starved and overweary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears. A bell, said Dick, sitting up. Can we be then so near to Hollywood? A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat near a hand. And from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly, abroad in the silence of the morning. Nay, what should this be token? said Dick, who was now broad awake. It is someone walking, returned Macham. And the bell tolleth ever as he moves. I see that well, said Dick. But wherefore? What maketh he in tons of woods? Jack, he added, laugh at me and you will. But I like not the holler sound of it. Nay, said Macham with a shiver, it hath a doleful note, and the day were not come. But just then, the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring, thick and hurried. And then it gave a single, hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. It is as though the bearer had run for a paternoster while, and then leaped the river, Dick observed. And now a beginnity again to pace soberly forward, added Macham. Nay, returned Dick, nay, not so soberly, Jack. It is a man that walketh you right speedily. It is a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business. See not how swift the beating draws near? It is now close by, said Macham. They were now on the edge of the pit, and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. The daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a ribbon of white footpath wandering among the gorse. It passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west. By the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the moat house. Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. It paused a little, and seemed to look about, and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. At every step the bell clanked. Face it had none. A white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head, and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. Fear fell upon the lands as cold as death. A leper, said Dick Horsley. His touch is death, said Macham. Let us run. Not so, returned Dick. See you not? He is stone-blind. He guided him with a staff. Let us lie still. The wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not. Her last poor soul, and we should rather pity him. I will pity him when he is by, replied Macham. The blind leper was now about half-way toward them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. He had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step. The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless scream before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out forever from the touch of his fellow men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay. And at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them. As he came about level with the pit, he paused and turned to his face, full upon the lads. Mary be my shield, he sees us, said Macham faintly. Hush! whispered Dick. He doth but hearken, he is blind for. The leper looked, or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds. Then he began to move on again. But presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. Even Dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any further hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath, and disappeared into the cover of the woods. He saw us, said Macham, I could swear it. Tut! returned Dick, recovering some spots of courage. He but heard us, he was in fear, poor soul, and you were blind and walked in a perpetual night. You would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled, or a bird cried beep. Dick! good Dick! he saw us, repeated Macham. When a man harkened us, he doth not, as this man, he doth otherwise, Dick. This was seeing, it was not hearing. He means foully. Hark! else if his bell be not stopped. Such was the case. The bell rang no longer. Nay, said Dick, I like not that. He cried again. I like that little. What may this be token? Let us go by the mass. He has gone east, added Macham. Good Dick, let us go westward straight. I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that leper. Jack, you are too cowardly, replied Dick. We shall go fair for Holywood, more as fair at least as I can guide you, and that will be due north. They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and mounted on the other side, which were steeper towards the margin of the wood. The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows. Trees grew scattered or in clumps. It became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. They were weary besides with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand. Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, crossing the line of their march by hollow. His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before them with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket. The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse. There they lay, horror-struck. Certain he pursued us, said Dick, certain he held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw he that it should not sound. Now may the saints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence. What makeeth he, Craigmatcham? What doth he want? Who ever heard the like that a leper out of Mim malice should pursue unfortunates? Hath he not his bell to that very end that people may avoid him? Dick, there is below this something deeper. Nay, I care not, Mone Dick, the strength is gone out of me, my legs are like water, the saints be my assistance. Would ye lie there idle, Craigmatcham? Let us back into the open, we have the better chance. He cannot steal upon us unawares. Not I, he cried, Dick, my time is come and para-adventure he may pass us by. Bend me then your bow, cried the other. What, will ye be a man? Dick crossed himself. Would ye have me shoot upon a leper, he cried? The hand would fail me. Nay, now he grindeth, nay, now let be, with sound when I will fight, not with ghosts and lepers. Which this is, I what not? One or other, heaven be our protection. Now, said Macham, if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man. But, Sith, ye will do not, let us lie close. Then came a single broken jangle on the bell. He hath missed his hold upon the clapper, whispered Macham. Saints, how near he is! But Dick answered never a word. The teeth were near chattering. Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes. Then the leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan the neighbourhood, before he once again withdrew. To their stretched senses the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs. And they heard the beating of each other's heart. Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by and ran straight upon the lads. They, shrieking aloud, separated, began to run different ways. But their horrible enemy fastened upon Macham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. The lad gave one scream that echoed high and far over the forest. He had one spasm and struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor's arms. Dick heard the cry and turned. He saw Macham fall, and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived. With a cry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast. But there he had time to shoot, the leper held up his hand. Hold your shot, Dickon, cried a familiar voice. Hold your shot, mad wag. No, you're not a friend. And then, laying down Macham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face and disclosed the features of Sir Daniel Brackley. Sir Daniel, cried Dick. I, by the mass, Sir Daniel, returned the night. The guardian rogue, but here is this. And there he broke off, and pointing to Macham asked, How call ye him, Dick? Now, he said, Dick, I call him Master Macham. No, ye him not? He said, ye knew him. I replied Sir Daniel, I know the lad, and he chuckled. But he has fainted, and by my soothe he might have had less to faint for. Hey, Dick, did I put the fear of death upon you? Indeed, Sir Daniel, you did that, said Dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection. Nay, Sir, saving your respect, I had as leaf a met the devil in person, and to speak the truth, I am yet all a quake. And what made ye, Sir, in such a guise? Sir Daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger. What made I? he said. Ye do ye well to mind me of it. What! I sculpt for my poor life my own wood of tonsil, Dick. We were ill sped at the battle. We but got there to be swept among the rout. Where be all my good men at arms? Dick, by the mass, I know not. We were swept down. The shot fell thick among us. I have not seen one man in my own colour since I saw three fall. For myself, I came sound to sure be, and being mindful of the black arrow got me this gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the moat house. There is no disguise to be compared with it. The jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest. They would all turn pale to hear it. At length I came by you and match him. I could see, but evilly, through this same hood. I was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the finding you together. Moreover, in the open, where I had to go slowly and tap with my staff, I feared to disclose myself. But see, he added, this poor shrew begins a little to revive. A little good canary will comfort me the heart of it. The night, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another. What cheer, Jack! said Dick. It was no leper after all. It was Sir Daniel, see? Swallow me a good draught of this at the night. This will give you manhood. Thereafter, I will give you both a meal, and we shall all three onto Tunstall. For, Dick, he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, I will avow to you in all good conscience. It irks me sorely to be safe between four walls. Not since I'd back to horse have I been pressed so hard. Peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood. And to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. But I be not yet shent. Some of my lads will pick me their way home. Hatch hath ten fellows. Selden he had six. Nay, we shall soon be strong again. And if I can but buy my peace with my right fortune at the undeserving Lord of York, why, Dick, we'll be a man again and go a horse back. And so, saying, the night filled himself a horn of canary and pledged his ward in dumb show. Selden, Dick faltered. Selden, and he paused again. Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted. How, he cried in a changed voice. Selden, speak, watch of Selden. Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre. The night heard in silence. But as he listened, his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. Now here, he cried on my right hand, I swear to avenge it. If that I fail, if that I spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither from my body. I broke this duck-worth like a rush. I begot him to his door. I burned a thatch above his head. I drove him from this country. And now cometh he back to beard me. Nay, but duck-worth, this time it shall go bitter hard. He was silent for some time, his face working. Eat, he cried suddenly. And you here, he shouted to match him. Swear me an oath to follow straight to the moat-house. I will pledge mine honour, replied match him. What make I with your honour? cried the night. Swear me upon your mother's welfare. Match him gave the required oath, and Sir Daniel readjusted the hood over his face and prepared his bell and staff. To see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions. But the night was soon upon his feet. Eat with dispatch, he said, and follow me yally to mine-house. And with that he set forth again into the woods, and presently after the bell began to sound and bring his steps. And the two lads sat by their untasted meal and heard it die slowly away up into the distance. And so you go to Tunstall, Dick inquired. Yeah, he verily said match him, when needs most. I am braver behind, said Daniel's back, than to his face. He ate hastily and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beaches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the bowels. Two hours later they began to descend upon the other side, and already among the treetops saw before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall House. Here, said match him, pausing, you shall take your leave of your friend Jack, whom you are to see no more. Come, Dick, forgive him what he did amiss, he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgives you. And wherefore so, asked Dick, and we both go to Tunstall, I shall see you yet again, I tell, and that right often. You'll never see again poor Jack match him, replied the other, that was so fearful and birthingsome, and yet plucked you from the river. You'll not see him more, Dick, by my honour. He held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed. And Dick, continued match him, my spirit both ill. You are now to see anew, Sir Daniel, for here to fore has all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him. But now me thinks, when his fate has come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. He may be brave in battle, but he hath the liars eye. There is fear in his eye, Dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf. We go down into that house, and Mary guide us forth again. And so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last before Sir Daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood low and shady, flanked with round towers, and stained with moss and lichen in the lilyed waters of the moat. Even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge lowered, and Sir Daniel himself, with hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. Book 1, Chapter 7 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Jeremy Pavier. The Black Arrow, A Tale of the Two Roses, by Robert Louis Stevenson. Book 2, The Moat House Chapter 1, Dick asks questions. The Moat House stood not far from the rough forest road. Externally, it was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery, and battlemented at the top. Within, it enclosed a narrow court. The moat was perhaps 12 feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge. It was supplied with water by a trench, leading to a forest pool, and commanded through its whole length from the battlements of the two southern towers. Except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bow-shot of the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. In the court, Dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege. Some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused. But even as they worked, they shook their heads. Twelve of Sir Daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the moat house. But out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded, two at Risingham and the Disorder of the Route, one by John Amendoll's marksmen as he crossed the forest. This raised the force of the garrison, counting hatch Sir Daniel and John Shelton, to 22 effective men, and more might be continually expected to arrive. The danger lay not therefore in the lack of men. It was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed the spirits of the garrison. For their open foes of the party of York, in these most changing times, they felt but a far away concern. The world, as people said in those days, might change again before harm came. But for their neighbours in the wood, they trembled. It was not Sir Daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. His men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country. Harsh commands had been harshly executed, and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or barbarity. And now, by the fortune of war, Sir Daniel had become powerless to protect his instruments. Now, by the issue of some hours of battle at which many of them had not been present, they had all become punishable traitors to the State, outside the Buckler of the Law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. Nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect. At different periods of the evening and the night no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate. Two were from Seldon's troop. Five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir Daniel to the field. Lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by three arrows. Even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed. But by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men. Hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallor of anxiety. And when he had taken Dick aside and learned the fate of Seldon, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept. The others, from where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion. Nay, Master Shelton, said Hatch at last. Nay, but what said I? We shall all go. Seldon was a man of his hands. He was like a brother to me. Well, he has gone second. Well, we shall all follow. For what said then, Nave Rhyme, a black arrow in each black heart? Was it not so it went? Applyard, Seldon, Smith, old Humphrey gone. And there lieth poor John Carter, crying, poor sinner for the priest. Dick gave ear. Out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear. Lieth he there, he asked. I, in the second porter's chamber, answered Hatch. We could not bear him further. Soul and body were so bitterly odd. At every step we lifted him, he thought to wend. But Nave thinks it is the soul that suffereth. Ever for the priest, he cries. And Sir Oliver, I what not why, still cometh not. It will be a long shrift. But poor Applyard and poor Seldon, they had none. Dick stooped to the window and looked in. Little Sel was low and dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. Carter, poor friend, how goeth it, he asked. Master Shelton returned the man in an excited whisper. For the dear light of heaven bring the priest. Alack, I am sped, I am brought very low down. My hurt is to the death. He may do me no more service. This shall be the last. Now for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal gentleman, besture you. For I have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep. He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror. Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. He had a letter in one hand. Lads, he said, we have had a shock, we have had a tumble. Wherefore then deny it. Rather, it imputeth to get speedily against Saddle. This old Harry the Sixth has had the undermost. Wash we then our hands of him. I have a good friend that rideth next the duke's Lord Wensley Dale. Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. Doubt not, but he will lend a favourable ear. A prayer without gifts is like a song without music. I surf it him with promises, boys. I spare not to promise. What, then, is lacking? Nay, a great thing. Wherefore should I deceive you? A great thing and a difficult, a messenger to bear it. The woods, you're not ignorant of that, lie thick with our ill-willers. Haste is most needful. But without slight and caution all is not. Which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear me it to my lord of Wensley Dale, and bring me back the answer. One man instantly rose. I will, and like you, he said he. I will even risk my carcass. Nay, Dicky Bow, you're not so. Return the night. He likes me not. You are sly indeed, but not speedy. You are a laggard ever. And be so, sir Daniel. Here am I, cried another. The saints for fence at the night. You are speedy, but not sly. You would blunder me head foremost into John Amendall's camp. I thank you both for your good courage, but in sooth it may not be. Then Hatch offered himself. And he was also refused. I want you here, good Bennet. You are my right hand indeed. Return the night. And then several coming forward in a group. Sir Daniel at length selected one and gave him the letter. Now he said, Upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend. Bring me a good answer back. And before three weeks I will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. But mark it well, Throgmorton. The matter is not easy. You must steal forth under night and go like a fox. And how you are to cross till I know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry. I can swim, returned Throgmorton. I will come soundly, fear not. Well, friend, get ye to the buttery, replied Sir Daniel. Ye shall swim, first of all, in nut-brown ale. And with that he turned back into the hall. Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue, said Hatch, aside to Dick. See now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plainly to his company. Here is a danger, I sayeth. And here difficulty. And Jester, in the very saying, Nay, by St. Barbara, he is a born captain. Not a man, but he is some deal heartened up. See how they fall again to work? This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad's head. In it, he said. How came my father by his end? Ask me not that, replied Hatch. I had no hand nor knowledge in it. Furthermore, I will even be silent, Master Dick. For, look ye, in a man's own business, there he may speak. But of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. Ask me, Sir Oliver, or I, or Carter, if ye will, not me. An Hatch set off to make the rounds, believing Dick in amuse. Wherefore would he not tell me, Dr. Lad? And wherefore named he Carter? Carter, Nay, then Carter had a hand in it, perchance. He entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of a cell with a hurt man lay groaning. At his entrance Carter started eagerly. Have ye brought the priest? he cried. Not yet a while, returned Dick. He have a word to tell me first. How came my father, Harry Sheldon, by his death? The man's face altered instantly. I know not, he replied doggedly. Nay, ye know well, returned Dick. Seek not to put me by. I tell you I know not, repeated Carter. Then, said Dick, ye shall die unshriven. Here am I, and here shall stay. There shall be no priest come near you, rest assured. For of what avail is penitence? Then ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in. And without penitence confession is but mockery. Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick. Said Carter, compositely. It is ill-threatening the dying, and becomeeth you to speak truth little. And for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less. Stay any, please. Ye will condemn my soul. Ye shall learn nothing. There is my last word to you. And the wounded man turned upon the other side. Now, Dick, to say truth, I had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat. But he made one more effort. Carter, he said, mistake me not. I know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others. A churl must obey his lord. I would not bear heavily on such one. But I begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lies on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father. Pretty then, good Carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure good will and honest penitence, give me a word of help. The wounded man lay silent. Nor say what Dick pleased. Could he extract another word from him? Well, said Dick, I will go and call the priest to you as ye desire. For howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, I would not be willingly in fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change. Again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion. Even his groans he had suppressed, and as Dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude. And yet he thought of what use is courage without wit. Had his hands been clean he would have spoken. His silence did confess the secret louder than words. Nay, upon all sides, proofs floweth on me. Sir Daniel, he or his men, have done this thing. Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart. At that hour, in the air of Sir Daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the black arrow and prescribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick also to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearingly protected his youth? The necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel. Pray heaven he be innocent, he said. And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir Oliver came gravely towards the lad. All the seekers he earnestly said, Dick, I am upon the way, good Richard, said the priest. It is this poor Carter. Alack, he is beyond cure. And yet his soul is sicker than his body, and said, Dick. Have you seen him? asked Sir Oliver, with a manifest start. I do but come from him, replied Dick. What's had he? What's had he? snapped the priest, with extraordinary eagerness. He but cried for you the more pitously, Sir Oliver. It were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous, returned the lad. I am straight for him, was the reply. Well, we have all our sins. We must all come to our latter day, good Richard. Aye, Sir, and it were well if we all came fairly, answered Dick. The priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on. He too, thought Dick, he that taught me in piety. Nay, then, what a world is this? If all that care for me be blood guilty of my father's death. Vengeance, alas! What a sore fate is mine, if I must be avenged upon my friends. The thought put match him in his head. He smiled at the remembrance of his strange companion, and then wondered where he was. Ever since they had come together to the doors of the moathouse, the younger lad had disappeared, and Dick began to weary for a word with him. About an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by Sir Oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner. It was a long, low apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with Harris in a design of savage men and questing bloodhounds. Here and there hung spears and bows and bucklers. A fire blazed in the big chimney. There were Harris-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst of the table fairly spread awaited the arrival of the diners. Neither Sir Daniel nor his lady made their appearance. Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here again there was no word of match him. Dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house. After dinner he found Goodie Hatch, who was hurrying to my Lady Brackley. Goodie, he said, Where is Master Match, am I pretty? I saw you go in with him when we arrived. The old woman laughed aloud. Master Dick, she said, You have a famous bright eye on your head, to be sure, and laughed again. Nay, but where is he, indeed, persisted Dick? You will never see him more, if you return. Never! Tissue! And I do not, returned the lad. I will know the reason why. He came not hither of his full free will. Such as I am, I am his best protector, and I will see him justly used. There be too many mysteries. I do begin to weary of the game. But as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. It was Bennett Hatch that had come and perceived behind him. With the jerk of his thumb the retainer dismissed his wife. Friend Dick, he said, as soon as they were alone, Are you a moon-struck natural? And you leave not certain things in peace. You were better in the salt sea than here in Toadstall Moathouse. You have questioned me, you have baited Carter, You have frightened the jack-priest with hints. Bear ye more wisely, fool. And even now, when Sir Daniel calleth you, Show me a smooth face for the love of wisdom. You are to be sharply questioned. Look to your answers. Hatch, returned Dick, In all this I smell a guilty conscience. And you go not the wiser. You will soon smell blood, replied Bennett. I do but warn you. And here cometh one to call you. And indeed, at that very moment, A messenger came across the court To summon Dick into the presence of Sir Daniel. End of Book Two, Chapter One. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Jeremy Pavier. The Black Arrow. A Tale of the Two Roses. By Robert Louis Stevenson. Book Two, Chapter Two, The Two Oaths. Sir Daniel was in the hall. There he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting Dick's arrival. None was by except Sir Oliver, And he sat discreetly backward, Thumbing and muttering over his brevury. You have sent for me, Sir Daniel, said Young Shelton. I have sent for you indeed, replied the night. For what cometh to mine ears? Have I been to you so heavy a guardian That you make haste to credit ill of me? Or sith that you see me, On some worsted do you think to quit my party? By the mass your father was not so? Those he was near, those he stood by, Come wind or weather. But you, Dick, you're a fair day, friend, it seemeth, And now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance. And please you, Sir Daniel, not so, Return, Dick, firmly, I am grateful and faithful, Where gratitude and faith are due. And before more is said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver. You have great claims upon me both, none can have more. I were a hound if I forgot them. It is well, said Sir Daniel, And then, rising into anger, Gratitude and faith are words, Dick Shelton, he continued, But I look to deeds. In this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, When my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full of men That hunger and thirst for my destruction, What doth gratitude, what doth faith? I have but a little company remaining. Is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts With your insidious whisperings? Save me from such gratitude. But come now, what is it ye wish? Speak! We are here to answer. If ye have ought against me, stand forth and say it. Sir, replied Dick, My father fell when I was yet a child. It hath come to mine ears that he was foully done by. It hath come to mine ears, for I will not dissemble, That ye had a hand in his undoing. And in all verity I shall not be at peace in my own mind, Nor very clear to help you, till I have certain resolution of these doubts. Sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He took his chin in his hand and looked at Dick fixedly. And ye think I would be guardian to the man's son that I had murdered? He asked. Nay, said Dick. Pardon me if I answer cheerlessly, But indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable. All these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues and led my men. Have ye not still my marriage? I what not what it may be worth? It is worth something. Pardon me again, but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, Here were perhaps reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness. When I was a lad of your years, returned Sir Daniel sternly, My mind had not so turned upon suspicions. And Sir Oliver here, he added, Why should he, your priest, be guilty of this act? Nay, Sir Daniel, said Dick, But where the master bideth, there will the dog go. It is well known his priest is but your instrument. I speak very freely. The time is not for courtesies. Even as I speak, so would I be answered, And answer get I none. Ye but put more questions. I read ye beware, Sir Daniel, For in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts. I will answer you fairly, Master Richard, said the night. Were I to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man, But I will be just even in anger. Come to me with these words when ye are grown, And come to man's estate, And I am no longer your guardian, And so helpless to resent them. Come to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit, With a buffet in the mouth. Till then ye have two courses. Either swallow me down these insults, Keep a silent tongue, And fight in the meanwhile For the man that fed and fought for your infancy, Or else the door standeth open, The woods are full of mine enemies. Go! The spirit with which these words were uttered, The looks with which they were accompanied, Staggered Dick. And yet he could not but observe That he had got no answer. I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, Than to believe you, he replied. Assure me ye are free from this. Will ye take my word of honour, Dick, And quiet the night? That would I, answered the lad. I give it you, return, Sir Daniel, Upon my word of honour, Upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, And, as I shall answer for my deeds hereafter, I had no hand, nor portion, In your father's death. He extended his hand, And Dick took it eagerly. Neither of them observed the priest, Who, at the pronunciation Of that solemn and false oath, Had half arisen from his seat In an agony of horror and remorse. Ah, cried Dick. You must find it in your great huttiness to pardon me. I was a churl indeed to doubt of you. But ye have my hand upon it. I will doubt no more. Nay, Dick, replied Sir Daniel, Ye are forgiven. Ye know not the world and its calamaneous nature. I was the more to blame, I did, Dick, In that rogues pointed, Not directly at yourself, but at Sir Oliver. As he spoke, He turned towards the priest, And paused in the middle of the last word. This tall, ruddy, Corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, You might say, to pieces. His collar was gone, His limbs were relaxed, His lips stammered prayers, And now, when Dick's eyes were fixed upon him, Suddenly he cried out aloud, Like some wild animal, And buried his face in his hands. Sir Daniel was by him in two strides, And shook him fiercely by the shoulder. At the same moment, Dick's suspicions reawakened. Nay, he said, Sir Oliver may swear also, To his hymn they accused. He shall swear, said the night. Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms. Aye, by the mass, but ye shall swear, cried Sir Daniel, Beside himself with fury. Here, upon this book, ye shall swear, He continued picking up the breviary, Which had fallen to the ground. What, you make me doubt you? Swear, I say, swear! But the priest was still incapable of speech. His terror of Sir Daniel, His terror of perjury, Risen to about an equal height, Strangled him. And just then, through the high stained glass window of the hall, A black arrow crashed and struck, And stuck quivering in the midst of the long table. Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, Fell fainting on the rushes, While the night, followed by Dick, Dashed into the court, And up the nearest corkscrew's stair To the battlements. The sentries were all on the alert. The sun shone quietly, On green lawns dotted with trees, And on the wooded hills of the forest Which enclosed the view. There was no sign of a besieger. Whence came that shot, asked the night? From yonder clump, Sir Daniel, Returned a sentinel. The night stood a little, musing. Then he turned to Dick. Dick, he said, Keep me an eye upon these men. I leave you in charge here. As for the priest, He shall clear himself, Why? I do almost begin to share in your suspicions. He shall swear, trust me, Or we shall prove him guilty. Dick answered somewhat coldly, And the night, giving him a piercing glance, Hiredly returned to the hall. His first glance was for the arrow. It was the first of these missiles he had seen. And as he turned it to an fro, The dark hue of it touched him with some fear. Again, There was some writing. One word. Earthed. Eye, he broke out. They know I am home, then. Earthed, I. But there is not a dog among them fit to dig me out. Sir Oliver had come to himself, And now scrambled to his feet. Alack, Sir Daniel, he moaned. He have sworn a dread oath. He are doomed to the end of time. I returned an eye. I have sworn an oath, indeed. Thou chuckle head. But thyself shall swear a greater. Thyself shall swear a greater. It shall be on the blessed cross of Hollywood. Look to it. Get the words ready. It shall be sworn to-night. Now, may heaven liken you, replied the priest. May heaven incline your heart from this iniquity. Look, you, my good father, said Sir Daniel. If you are for piety, I say no more. You begin late. That is all. But if you are in any sense bent upon wisdom, Hear me. This lad begins to irk me like a wasp. I have need for him, For I would sell his marriage. But I tell you in all plainness, If that he continue to worry me, He shall go join his father. I give orders now to change him to the chamber Above the chapel. If that ye can swear your innocencey With a good, solid oaths, And an assured countenance, it is well. The lad will be at peace a little, And I will spare him. If that ye stammer or blench, Or any ways boggle at swearing, And by the mass he shall die, There is for your thinking on. The chamber above the chapel, Gasp, the priest. That same replied the night. So if ye desire to save him, Save him. And if ye desire not, Pretty, go to, and let me be at peace. For an I had been hasty, man, I would already have put my sword through you For your intolerable cowardice and folly. Have ye chosen? Say. God said the priest, Heaven pardon me, I will do evil for good. I will swear for the lad's sake. So is it best, said Sir Daniel. Send for him, then, speedily. Ye shall see him alone. Yet I shall have an eye on you. I shall be here, in the panel-room. The night raised the aris And let it fall again behind him. There was the sound of a spring-opening. Then followed the creaking of trod stairs. Sir Oliver, left alone, Cast his eyes on the door, Left alone, cast a timorous glance Upward at the aris-covered wall And crossed himself with every appearance Of terror and contrition. Nay, if he is in the chapel-room, The priest murmured, Word at my soul's cost, I must save him. Three minutes later, Dick, Who had been summoned by another messenger, Found Sir Oliver standing by the hall-table, Resolute and pale. Richard Shelton, he said, Ye have required an oath from me. To complain, I might deny you. But my heart is moved toward you For the past, and I will even Content you as ye choose. By the true cross of Hollywood I did not slay your father. Sir Oliver returned, Dick. When first we read John Amendoll's paper, I was convinced of so much. But suffer me to put to questions. He did not slay him, granted. But had ye no hand in it? None, said Sir Oliver. And at the same time He began to contort his face And signal with his mouth and eyebrows Like one who desired to convey a warning Yet dared not utter a sound. Dick regarded him in wonder Then he turned and looked all about him At the empty hall. What make ye, he inquired? Why not? returned the priest Hastily smoothing his countenance. I make not. I do but suffer. I am sick. I, I, pretty Dick, I must be gone. On the true cross of Hollywood I am clean innocent alike Of violence or treachery. Content ye good lad. Farewell. And he made his escape from the apartment With unusual alacrity. Dick remained rooted to the spot His eyes wandering about the room His face a changing picture of various emotions Wander, doubt, suspicion And amusement. Gradually as his mind grew clearer Suspicion took the upper hand And was succeeded by certainty of the world He raised his head, and as he did so Violently started. High upon the wall there was the figure Of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry With one hand he held a horn to his mouth In the other he brandished a stout spear His face was dark, for he was meant To represent an African. Now here was what had started Richard Shelton The sun had moved away from the hall windows And at the same time the fire blazed up high On the white hearth and shed a changeful glow Upon the roof and hangings. In this light the figure of the black hunter Had winked at him with a white eyelid He continued staring at the eye The light shone upon it like a gem It was liquid, it was alive Again the white eyelid closed upon it For a fraction of a second And the next moment it was gone There could be no mistake, the live eye That had been watching him through a hole In the tapestry was gone The firelight no longer shone on a reflecting surface And instantly dick awoke To the terrors of his position Hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest This eye that had observed him from the wall Ran together in his mind He saw, he had been put upon his trial That he had once more betrayed his suspicions And that he had once more betrayed his suspicions And that he had once more betrayed his suspicions And that he had once more betrayed his suspicions And that he had once more betrayed his suspicions And that, short of some miracle, he was lost If I cannot get me forth out of this house He thought, I am a dead man And this poor match him too To what a cockatrice's nest have I not led him He was still so thinking When there came one in haste To bid him help in changing his arms His clothing, and his two or three books To a new chamber A new chamber, he repeated Wherefore so? What chamber? Tis one above the chapel And said, I am a dead man Tis one above the chapel And said the messenger It has stood long empty Said Dick Music What manner of room is it? Nay, a brave room, returned the man But yet, luring his voice They call it haunted Haunted Repeated Dick with a chill I have not heard of it Nay then, and by whom? The messenger looked about him And then, in a low whisper The sacrist of St. John's, he said They had him there to sleep one night And in the morning He was gone The devil had taken him, they said The more betoken he had drunk late the night before Dick followed the man With black forebodings End of book two Chapter two This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information Or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Read by Jeremy Powye The black arrow A tale of the two roses By Robert Louis Stevenson Book two Chapter three The room over the chapel From the battlements nothing further was observed The sun journeyed westward And at last went down But to the eyes of all these eager sentinels No living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of Tunstall House When the night was at length fairly come Throgmorton was led to a room Overlooking an angle of the moat Thence he was lowered with every precaution The ripple of his swimming was audible For a brief period Then a black figure was observed to land By the branches of a willow And crawl away among the grass For some half hour Sir Daniel and Hatch Stood eagerly giving ear But all remained quiet The messenger had got away in safety Sir Daniel's brow grew clearer He turned to Hatch Bennett, he said This John Amendoll is no more than a man, you see He sleepeth We will make a good end of him, go to All the afternoon and evening Dick had been ordered hither and thither One command following another Till he was bewildered with a number In the hurry of commissions All that time he had seen no more of Sir Oliver And yet both the priest and the young lad Run continually in his mind It was now his chief purpose to escape From Tunstall moat-house as speedily as might be And yet before he went He desired a word with both of these At length, with a lamp in one hand He mounted to his new apartment It was large, low, and somewhat dark The window looked upon the moat And although it was so high up It was heavily barred The bed was luxurious With one pillow of down and one of lavender And a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses All about the walls were cupboards, locked and padlocked And concealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured aris Dick made the round, lifting the aris Sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards He assured himself that the door was strong And the bolt solid Then he set down his lamp upon a bracket All around For what reason had he been given this chamber? It was larger and finer than his own Could it conceal a snare? Was there a secret entrance? Was it indeed haunted? His blood ran a little chilly in his veins Immediately over him The heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads Below him, he knew Was the arched roof of the chapel And next to the chapel was the hall Certainly there was a secret passage in the hall The eye that had watched him from the aris gave him proof of that Was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel Than if so, that it had an opening in his room? To sleep in such a place he felt would be foolhardy He made his weapons ready And took his position in a corner of the room behind the door If ill was intended he would sell his life dear The sound of many feet, the challenge and the password Sounded overhead along the battlements The watch was being changed And just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber It grew a little louder Then a whisper Dick, Dick, it is I Dick ran to the door, drew the bolt and admitted match him He was very pale and carried a lamp in one hand And a drawn dagger in the other Shut me the door, he whispered, swift dick This house is full of spies I hear their feet follow me in the corridors I hear them breathe behind the aris Well, content you, returned dick, it is closed We are safe for this while If there be safety anywhere within these walls But my heart is glad to see you By the mass lad I thought you were sped We're hijy It matters not, returned match him Since we be met it matters not But dick, are your eyes open? Have they told you of tomorrow's doings? Not they, replied dick, what make they tomorrow? Tomorrow or tonight I know not to the other But one time or other dick, they do intend upon your life I had the proof of it, I have heard them whisper Nay, they as good as told me Aye, returned dick, is it so? I had thought as much And he told him the day's occurrences at length When it was done, match him arose And began in turn to examine the apartment No, he said, there is no entrance visible Yet there is a pure certainty there is one Dick, I will stay by you And you are to die, I will die with you And I can help, look, I have stolen a dagger I will do my best And meanwhile, and you know of any issue Any sally port that we could get opened Or any window that we might descend by I will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you Jack, said dick, by the mass Jack You are the best soul and the truest And the bravest in all England Give me a hand Jack And he grasped the other's hand in silence I will tell you, he resumed There is a window out of which the messenger descended The rope should still be in the chamber It is a hope Hissed, said match him Both gave ear There was a sound below the floor Then it paused and then began again Someone walketh in the room below, whispered match him Nay, returned dick, there is no room below We are above the chapel It is my murderer in the secret passage Well, let him come It shall go hard with him And he ground his teeth Blow me the lights out, said the other A chance he will betray himself They blew out both the lamps and lay still as death The footfalls underneath were very soft But they were clearly audible Several times they came and went And then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock Followed by a considerable silence Presently the steps began again And then, all of a sudden A chink of light appeared in the planking of the room In a far corner It widened A trapdoor was being opened Let in in a gush of light They could see the strong hand pushing it up And dick raised his crossbow Waiting for the head to follow But now there came an interruption From a distant corner of the malt house Shouts began to be heard And first one voice and then several crying aloud upon a name This noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer For the trapdoor was silently lowered to its place And the steps hurriedly returned Passed once more close below the lads Distance Here was the moment's respite Dick breathed deep and then And not till then He gave ear to the disturbance Which had interrupted the attack And which was now rather increasing than diminishing All about the moat house Feet were running Doors were opening and slamming And still the voice of Sir Daniel Towered above all this bustle Shouting for Joanna Joanna, repeated Dick Why, who the morain should this be? Here is no Joanna Nor ever hath been What meaneth it? Machan was silent He seemed to have drawn further away But only a little faint starlight entered by the window And at the far end of the apartment Where the pair were The darkness was complete Jack, said Dick I what not where ye were all day Saw ye this Joanna? Nay, returned Machan I saw her not Nor heard tell of her he pursued The steps grew nearer Sir Daniel was still roaring the name of Joanna From the courtyard Did ye hear of her? Repeated Dick I heard of her, said Machan How your voice twitters What haileth you? Said Dick It is the most excellent good fortune This Joanna It will take their minds from us Dick, cried Machan I am lost, we are both lost Let us flee if there be yet time They will not rest till they have found me Or see Let me go forth When they have found me Flee Let me forth Dick Good Dick, let me away She was groping for the bolt When Dick at last comprehended By the mass, he cried Ye are no Jack Ye are Joanna Sedley Ye are the maid that would not marry me The girl paused Stood silent and motionless Dick too was silent for a little Then he spoke again Joanna, he said Ye have saved my life And I have saved yours And we have seen blood flow And been friends and enemies Aye, and I took my belt to thrash you And all that time I thought you were a boy But now death has me And my time is out And before I die I must say this Ye are the best maid And the bravest under heaven And if only I could live I would marry you blindly And live or die I love you She answered nothing Come, he said Speak up, Jack Come, be a good maid And say you love me Why, Dick, she cried Why should I be here? Well, see you here, continued Dick And we but his scapehole will marry And when to die we die And there's an end on it But now that I think How found you my chamber? I asked her to dame hatch, she answered Well the dame's staunch, she answered She'll not tell upon you We have time before us And just then As if to contradict his words Feet came down the corridor And a fist beat roughly on the door Here, cried her voice Open, Master Dick, open Dick neither moved nor answered It is all over, said the girl And she put her arms about Dick's neck One after another, men came Trooping to the door Then Sir Daniel arrived himself And there was a sudden cessation Of the noise Dick, cried the night Be not an ass The seven sleepers had been Awaken now We know she is within there I opened then the door, man Dick was again silent Down with it, said Sir Daniel And immediately his followers fell savagely Upon the door with foot and fist Solid as it was and strongly bolted It would soon have given way But once more fortune interfered Over the thunderstorm of blows The cry of a sentinel was heard It was followed by another Shouts ran along the battlements Shouts answered out of the wood In the first moment of alarm It sounded as if the foresters Were carrying the moat house by a salt And Sir Daniel and his men Desisting instantly from their attack Upon Dick's chamber Hurry to defend the walls Now, cried Dick, we are saved He seized the great old bedstead With both hands and bent himself In vain to move it Help me, Jack, for your life's sake Help me stoutly, he cried Between them, with a huge effort They dragged a big frame of oak Across the room and thrust it Endwise to the chamber door You do but make things worse, Said Joanna sadly He will then enter by the trap Not so, replied Dick He does not tell his secrets so many It is by the trap that we shall flee Huck, the attack is over Nay, it wasn't on It had indeed been no attack It was the arrival of another party Of stragglers from the defeat of Risingham That had disturbed Sir Daniel They had run the gauntlet Under cover of darkness They had been admitted by the great gate And now, with a great stamping Of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements And arms, they were dismounting in the court He will return anons, said Dick, to the trap He lighted a lamp And they went together into the corner of the room The open chink through which some light Still glittered was easily discovered And, taking a stout sword from his small armory Dick thrust it deep into the seam And wade strenuously on the hilt The trap moved, gaped a little And at length came widely open Seizing it with their hands The two young folk threw it back It disclosed a few steps descending At the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it A burning lamp Now, said Dick, go first and take the lamp I will follow to close the trap So they descended, one after the other And as Dick lowered the trap The blows began once again to thunder On the panels of the door End of Book 2, Chapter 3 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Read by Jeremy Pavier The Black Arrow A Tale of the Two Roses By Robert Louis Stevenson Book 2, Chapter 4 The Passage The passage in which Dick and Joanna now found themselves Was narrow, dirty, and short At the other end of it a door stood partly open The same door without doubt that they had heard the man unlocking Heavy cobwebs hung from the roof And the paved floor echoed hollow under the lightest tread Beyond the door there were two branches at right angles Dick chose one of them at random And the pair hurried with echoing footsteps Along the hollow of the chapel roof The top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale's back In the dim glimmer of the lamp Here and there were spy holes Concealed on the other side By the carving of the cornice And looking down through one of these Dick saw the paved floor of the chapel The altar with its burning tapers And stretched before it on the steps Of a praying with uplifted hands At the other end they descended a few steps The passage grew narrower The wall upon one hand was now of wood The noise of people talking And a faint flickering of lights Came through the interstices And presently they came to a round hole About the size of a man's eye And Dick, looking down through it Beheld the interior of the hall And some half a dozen men sitting In their jacks about the table Looking deep and demolishing of anise and pie These were certainly some of the later rivals Here is no help, said Dick Let us try back No, he said, Joiner Maybe the passage goes farther And she pushed on But a few yards farther the passage ended At the top of a short flight of steps And it became plain that as long as the soldiers occupied the hall Escape was impossible upon that side They retraced their steps with all imaginable speed And set forward to explore the other branch It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man And it led them continually up and down By little breakneck stairs Until even Dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts At length it grew both narrower and lower The stairs continued to descend The walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch And far in front of them They heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats We must be in the dungeons, Dick remarked And still there is no outlet, and he joined her Nay, but an outlet there must be, Dick answered Presently sure enough They came to a sharp angle And then the passage ended in a flight of steps On the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap And to this they both set their backs It was immovable Someone holdeth it, suggested Joiner Not so, said Dick For where a man as strong as ten He must still yield a little But this resisteth like dead rock There is a weight upon the trap Here is no issue And by my sooth good Jack We are here as fairly prisoners as though the gives were on our ankle bones Sit ye then down, and let us talk After a while we shall return When perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard And who knoweth we may break out and stand a chance But in my poor opinion we are as good as shent Dick, she cried, alas the day that ever ye should have seen me For like a most unhappy and unthankful maid It is I who have led you hither What cheer, return, Dick It was all written, and that which is written willy-nilly come still to pass But tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are And how ye came into Sir Daniel's hands That will do better than to bemoan yourself Whether for your sake or mine I am an orphan like yourself a father and mother, Therjana And for my great misfortune, Dick, and hither too for yours I am a rich marriage My Lord Foxham had me to ward Yet it appears Sir Daniel bought the marriage of me from the king And a right dear price he paid for it So here was I, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me And I still at nurse Well, then the world changed And there was a new chancellor And Sir Daniel bought the warding of me over the Lord Foxham's head And then the world changed again And Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel's And from then to now it went on ill, betwixt the two of them But still Lord Foxham kept me in his hands And was a good lord to me And at last I was to be married Or sold, if ye like it better Five hundred pounds Lord of Foxham was to get for me Hamly was the groom's name And tomorrow Dick of all days in the year was I to be betrothed Had it not come to Sir Daniel, I had been wedded sure And never seen the Dick, dear Dick And here she took his hand and kissed it with a prettiest grace And Dick drew her hand to him and did the like Well, she went on Sir Daniel took me on a wears in the garden And made me dress in these men's clothes Which is a deadly sin for a woman And besides they fit me not He rode with me to Ketley as she saw Telling me I was to marry you But I, in my heart, made sure I would marry Hamly in his teeth I cried, Dick, and so you love this Hamly No, he replied, Jonah, not I I did but hate Sir Daniel And then, Dick, he helped me And you were right kind and very bold And my heart turned towards you in my own despite And now, if we can in any way compass it I would marry you with right good will And if, by cruel destiny, it may not be Still, you'll be dear to me While my heart beats, it'll be true to you And I, said Dick, that never cared a straw For any manner of woman until now I took to you when I thought you were a boy I had a pity to you and knew not why When I would have belted you the hand failed me But when you owned you were a maid, Jack For still I will call you, Jack I made sure you were the maid for me Huck, he said, breaking off, on cometh And indeed, a heavy tread was now audible In the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies Dick reconnoitred his position The sudden turn gave him a post of vantage He could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall But it was plain the light was too near him And running some way forward, he set down the lamp In the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennett hoved in sight He seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand A burning torch, which made him the better mark Stand, Bennett, cried Dick, another step and you're dead So here you are, returned hatch, peering forward into the darkness I see you not, ah ha, you've done wisely, Dick You've put your lamp before you, by my soothe But though it was done to shoot my own knave-body I do rejoice to see your prophet of my lessons And now what, Mackey? What's Eekie here? Why would you shoot upon an old kind friend? And have you the young gentlewoman there? Nay, Bennett, it is I who should question and you answer reply, Dick Why am I in this jeopardy of my life? Why do men come privily to slay me in my bed? Why am I now fleeing in my known guardian strong-house? And from the friends that I have lived among and never injured Master Dick, Master Dick, said Bennett What told I you? You're brave But the most uncrafty lad that I can think upon Well, returned Dick, I see you know all And that I am doomed indeed It is well, here where I am I stay Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be able Hatch was silent for a space Harkie began, returned to Sir Daniel To tell him where you are and how posted For in truth, it was to that end he sent me But you, if you are no fool I'd best be gone ere I return Be gone, repeated Dick I would be gone already and I wist how I cannot move the trap Put me your hand into the corner and see what you find there, replied Bennett Throgmorton the rope is still in the brown chamber Fare ye well And Hatch, turning upon his heel Disappeared again into the windings of the passage Dick instantly returned for his lamp And proceeded to act upon the hint At one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall Pushing his arm into the aperture Dick found an iron bar which he thrust vigorously upwards There followed a snapping noise And the slab of stone instantly started in its bed They were free of the passage A little exercise of strength easily raised the trap And they came forth into a vaulted chamber Opening on one hand upon the court Where one or two fellows with bare arms Were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals A torch or two each stuck in an iron ring against the wall Changefully lit up the scene End of book two, chapter four This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Read by Jeremy Pavier The Black Arrow A Tale of the Two Roses By Robert Louis Stevenson Book two, chapter five How Dick changed signs Dick, blowing out his lamp Lest it should attract attention Led the way upstairs and along the corridor In the brown chamber the rope had been made fast To the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed It had not been detached And Dick, taking the coil to the window Began to lower it slowly and cautiously Into the darkness of the night John stood by, but as the rope lengthened And still Dick continued to pay it out Extreme fear began to conquer her resolution Dick, she said, Is it so deep? I may not essay it I should infallibly fall, good Dick It was just at the delicate moment Of the operations that she spoke Dick started The remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp And the end fell with a splash into the moat Instantly, from the battlement above The voice of her sentinel cried, Who goes? I'm a rain, cried Dick, we are paid now Down with you, take the rope I cannot, she cried, recoiling And you cannot, no more can I, said Shelton How can I swim the moat without you? Do you desert me then? Dick, she gasped, I cannot The strength has gone from me By their mass then, we're all shent, he shouted Stamping with his foot, and then hearing steps He ran to the room door and sought to close it Before he could shoot the bolt Strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side He struggled for a second Then, feeling himself overpowered, ran back to the window The girl had fallen against the wall In the embrace of the window She was more than half insensible And when he tried to raise her in his arms Her body was limp and unresponsive At the same moment, the men who had forced the door against him Laid hold upon him The first he poignarded at a blow And the others falling back for a second in some disorder He profited by the chance, bestowed the windowsill Seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip The cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend But so furious was Dick's hurry And so small his experience of such gymnastics That he spanned round and round in mid-air Like a criminal upon a jibbit He would beat his head and now bruised his hands Against the rugged stonework of the wall The air roared in his ears He saw the stars overhead And the reflected stars below him in the moat Whirling like dead leaves before the tempest And then he lost hold and fell And soused head over ears into the icy water When he came to the surface His hand encountered the rope Which, newly lightened of his weight Was swinging wildly to and fro There was a red glow overhead And looking up he saw by the light of several torches And a crescent full of burning coals The battlements lined with faces He saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither In quest of him, but he was too far below The light reached him not and they looked in vain And now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long And he began to struggle as well as he could Towards the other side of the moat Still keeping his head above the water In this way he got much more than half way over Indeed the bank was almost within reach Before the rope began to draw him back by his own weight Taking his courage in both hands He left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow That had already, that same evening Helped Sir Daniel's messenger to land He went down, rose again, sank a second time And then his hand caught a branch And with the speed of thought He had dragged himself into the thick of the tree And clung there, dripping and panting Huff and certain of his escape But all this had not been done without a considerable splashing Which had so far indicated his position to the men Along the battlements Arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness Thick, like driving hail And suddenly a torch was thrown down Flared through the air in its swift passage Stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank Where it burned high And lit up its hull surrounding like a bonfire And then, in a good hour for Dick Slipped off, plumped into the moat And was instantly extinguished It had served its purpose The marksman had had time to see the willow And Dick ensconced among his bows And though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank And ran for his life He was yet not quick enough to escape a shot An arrow struck him in the shoulder Another grazed his head The pain of his wounds lent him wings And he had no sooner got upon the level Than he took to his heels And ran straight before him in the dark Without a thought for the direction of his flight For a few steps missiles followed him But these soon eased And when at length he came to a halt and looked behind He was already a good way from the moat house Though he could still see the torches Moving to and fro along its battlements He leaned against a tree Streaming with blood and water Bruised, wounded, alone and unarmed For all that he had saved his life for that bout And though Joanna remained behind In the power of Sir Daniel He neither blamed himself for an accident That it would be beyond his power to prevent Nor did he augur any fatal consequences To the girl herself Sir Daniel was cruel But he was not likely to be cruel to a young Gentlewoman who had other protectors Willing and able to bring him to account It was more probable he would make haste To marry her to some friend of his own Well thought, Dick Between then and now I will find me the means To bring that traitor under For I think by the mass That I now be absolved from any gratitude Or obligation And when war is open There is a fair chance for all In the meanwhile Here he was in a sore plight For some little way farther He struggled forward through the forest But what with the pain of his wounds Darkness of the night And the extreme uneasiness And confusion of his mind He soon became equally unable to guide himself Or to continue to push through The close undergrowth And he was faint at length to sit down And lean his back against the tree When he awoke from something Between sleep and swooning The gray of the morning Had begun to take the place of night A little chilly breeze Was bustling among the trees And as he still sat staring before him Only half awake He became aware of something dark That swung to and fro among the branches Some hundred yards in front of him The progressive brightening of the day And the return of his own senses At last enabled him to recognise the object It was a man Hanging from the bow of a tall oak His head had fallen forward on his breast But at every stronger puff of wind His body span round and round And his legs and arms tossed Like some ridiculous plaything Dick clambered to his feet And staggering and leaning on the tree trunks as he went Drew nearer to this grim object The bow was perhaps twenty feet above the ground And the poor fellow had been drawn up so high By his executioners That his boots swung clear above Dick's reach And as his hood had been drawn over his face It was impossible to recognise the man Dick looked about him right and left And at last he perceived that the other end of the cord Had been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn Which grew thick with blossom Under the lofty arcade of the oak With his dagger, which alone remained to him Of all his arms, young Shelton severed the rope And instantly, with a dead thump The corpse fell in a heap upon the ground Dick raised the hood It was Throgmorton, Sir Daniel's messenger He had not gone far upon his errand A paper which had apparently escaped the notice Of the men of the Black Arrow Stuck from the bosom of his doublet And Dick, pulling it forth Found it was Sir Daniel's letter to Lord Wensley Dale Come, thought he, if the world changes yet again I may have here the wherewithal to shame Sir Daniel Nay and perchance to bring him to the block And he put the paper in his own bosom Said a prayer over the dead man And set forth again through the woods His fatigue and weakness increased His ears sang, his steps faltered His mind at intervals failed him So low had he been brought by loss of blood Doubtless he made many deviations from his true path But at last he came out upon the high road Not very far from Tunstall Hamlet A rough voice bid him stand Stand, repeated Dick, by the mass But I am nearer falling And he suited the action to the word And fell all his length upon the road Two men came forth out of the thicket Each in green forest jerkin Each with lungbone, quiver and short-sword Why, lawless, said the younger of the two It is young Shelton Hi, this will be as good as bread to John Amendol Returned the other, dull face He has been to the wars Here is a tear in his scalp that must have cost him Many a good ounce of blood And here, added Green Sheave Is a hole in his shoulder that must have pricked him well Who has done this, think ye? If it be one of ours, he may alter prayer And this will give him short shrift and a long rope Up with the cub, said lawless, clapping on my back And then, when Dick had been hoisted to his shoulders And he had taken the lad's arms about his neck And got a firm hold of him The ex-grey friar added Keep ye the post, brother Green Sheave I will along with him myself So Green Sheave returned to his ambush on the wayside And lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as he went With Dick, still in a dead faint Comfortably settled on his shoulders The sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood Or a tonsill hamlet, straggling up the opposite hill All seemed quiet, but a strong post of some half a score Of archers laid close by the bridge on either side of the road And as soon as they perceived lawless with his birthing Began to bestow themselves and set arrow to string Like vigilant sentries Who goes? cried the man in command Will lawless by the rude? You know me as well as your own hand Returned the outlaw contemptuously Give the word, lawless, returned the other How heaven lightened thee, thou great fool Replied lawless, did I not tell it thee myself? But, you're all mad for this playing at soldiers When I am in the Greenwood, give me the Greenwood ways And my word for this tide is A fig for all mock soldiery Lawless ye but show an ill example Give us the word, fool jester Said the commander of the post And if I had forgotten it, asked the other And ye had forgotten it As I know ye have not, by the mass I would clap an arrow into your big body Returned the first Nay, and ye are so ill a jester, said lawless Ye shall have your word for me Duckworth and Shelton is the word And here, to the illustration Is Shelton on my shoulders And to Duckworth do I carry him Pass, lawless, said the sentry And where is John, asked the greyfriar He holdeth the court by the mass And take us rents, as to the manor-ball Required another of the company So it proved, when lawless got as far up the village As little in, he found Ellis Duckworth Surrounded by Sir Daniel's tenants And, by the right of his good company of archers Coolly taking rents, and giving written receipts And return for them By the faces of the tenants it was plain That proceeding pleased them Before they argued very rightly That they would simply have to pay them twice As soon as he knew what had brought lawless Ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants And, with every mark of interest and apprehension Conducted Dick into an inner chamber of the inn There the lad's hurts were looked to And he was recalled by simple remedies to consciousness Dear lad, said Ellis, pressing his hand You're in a friend's hands that loved your father He knew for his sake Rest ye a little quietly, for he has somewhat out of case Then shall you tell me your story And betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all A little later in the day, and after Dick had awakened From a comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak But clearer in mind and easier in body Ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside Begged him in the name of his father To relate the circumstance of his escape From Tunstall Moathouse There was something in the strength of Duckworth's frame In the honesty of his brown face In the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes That moved Dick to obey him And from first to last The lad told him the story of his two days' adventures Well, said Ellis, when he had done See what the kind saints have done for you, Dick Shelton Not alone to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils But to bring you into my hands That have no dearer wish than to assist your father's son Be but true to me, and I see ye are true And betwixt you and me We shall bring that false heart traitor to the death Will ye assault the house, asked Dick? I were mad indeed to think of it, returned Ellis He hath too much power, his men gather to him Those that gave me the slip last night And by the mass came in so handily for you Those have made him safe Nay, Dick, to the country Thou and I, and my brave bowmen We must all slip from this forest speedily And leave Sir Daniel free Thine misgiveth me for Jack, said the lad For Jack, repeated Duckworth Oh, I see, for the wench Nay, Dick, I promise you, if there come talk of any marriage We shall act at once, till then, or till the time is ripe We shall all disappear, even like shadows at morning Sir Daniel shall look east and west and see non-enemies He shall think by the mass that he hath dreamed a while And hath now awakened in his bed But our four eyes, Dick, shall follow him right close And so help us, all the army of the saints Shall bring that traitor low Two days later, Sir Daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength That he ventured on a sally And at the head of some two-score horsemen Pushed without opposition, as far as Tunstall hamlet Not a narrow flu, not a man stirred in the thicket The bridge was no longer guarded But stood open to all corners And as Sir Daniel crossed it He saw the villagers looking timidly from their doors Presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward And with the lowliest salutations Presented a letter to the night His face darkened as he read the contents It ran thus To the most untrue and cruel gentleman Sir Daniel Brackley Knight These I find you were untrue and unkind from the first You have my father's blood upon your hands Let be, it will not wash Someday you shall perish by my procurement So much I let you to wit And I let you to wit, father That if you seek to wed to any other The gentlewoman Mistress Joan Sedley Whom that I am bound upon a great oath to wed myself The blow will be very swift The first step therein Will be thy first step to the grave Richard Shelton CHAPTER ONE THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE Months had passed away since Richard Shelton Made his escape from the hands of his guardian These months had been eventful for England The party of Lancaster Which was then in the very article of death Had once more raised its head The Yorkists defeated and dispersed Their leader butchered on the field It seemed for a very brief season In the winter following upon the events Already recorded as if the house of Lancaster Had finally triumphed over its foes The small town of Sorby on the Till Was full of the Lancasterian nobles Of the neighbourhood Earl Rizingham was there With three hundred men at arms Lord Sorby, with two hundred Sir Daniel himself High in favour and once more Growing rich on confiscations Lay in a house of his own On the main street with three score men The world had changed indeed It was a black, bitter cold evening In the first week of January With a hard frost, a high wind And every likelihood of snow Before the morning In an obscure ale house In a by-street near the harbour Three or four men sat drinking ale And eating a hasty mess of eggs They were all likely Lusty, weather-beaten fellows Hard of hand, bold of eye And though they wore plain tabards Like country plowmen Even a drunken soldier might have looked twice Before he sought a quarrel in such company A little apart before the huge fire Sat a younger man, almost a boy Dressed in much the same fashion Though it was easy to see by his looks That he was better born And might have worn a sword Had the time suited Nay, said one of the men at the table I like it's not, ill will come of it This is no place for jolly fellows Loveth open country, good cover And scarce foes But here we are, shut in a town Girt about with enemies And for the bullseye of misfortune See if it's snow, not air the morning "'Tis for Master Shelton there,' said another Nodding his head towards the lad before the fire I will do much for Master Shelton Return the first But to come to the gallows for any man Nay, brothers, not that The door of the inn opened And another man entered hastily And approached the youth before the fire Master Shelton, he said Sir Daniel, go with forth with a pair of links And four archers Dick, for this was our young friend Rose instantly to his feet Lawless, he said Ye will take John Caper's watch Green she, follow with me Caper, lead forward We will go with him this time To York The next moment they were outside in the dark street And Caper, the man who had just come Pointed to where two torches flared in the wind At a little distance The town was already sound asleep No one moved upon the streets And there was nothing easier than to follow the party Without observation The two link-bearers went first Next followed a single man Whose long cloak blew about him in the wind And the rear was brought up by the four archers Each with his bow upon his arm They moved at a brisk walk Threading the intricate lanes And drawing nearer to the shore He hath gone each night in this direction Asked Dick in a whisper This is the third night running, Master Shelton Returned Caper And still at the same hour And with the same small following As though his end were secret Sir Daniel and his six men Were now come to the outskirts of the country Shoreby was an open town And though the Lankisterian lords Who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads It was still possible to enter Or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets Or across the open country The lane which Sir Daniel had been following Came to an abrupt end Before him there was a stretch of rough down And the noise of the sea-surf Was audible upon one hand There were no guards in the neighborhood Nor any light in that quarter of the town Dick and his two outlaws Drew a little closer to the object of their chase And presently, as they came forth From between the houses And could see a little further upon either hand They were aware of another torch Drawing near from another direction Hey, said Dick, I smell treason Meanwhile Sir Daniel had come to a full halt The torches were stuck into the sand And the men lay down as if to await The arrival of the other party This drew near at a good rate It consisted of four men only A pair of urches, a verlet, with a link And a cloaked gentleman walking in their midst Is it you, my lord? cried Sir Daniel It is I indeed And if ever true night gave proof I am that man Replied the leader of the second troop For who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or pagans Than this pinching cold? My lord, returned Sir Daniel Beauty will be the more beholden Missed out it not But shall we forth? For the sooner ye have seen my merchandise Sooner shall we both get home But why, keep ye her here, good night Inquired the other, and she be so young And so fair and so wealthy Why do ye not bring her forth among her mates Ye would soon make her a good marriage And no need to freeze your fingers And risk arrow-shots by going abroad At such untimely seasons in the dark I have told you, my lord Replied Sir Daniel The reason thereof concerneth me only There do I propose to explain it further Suffice it that if ye be weary Of your old gossip, Daniel Brackley Publish it abroad that year To wed Joanna Sudley And I give you my word, ye will be Quit of him right soon Ye will find him with an arrow in his back Meantime the two gentlemen Were walking briskly forward over the down The three torches going before them Stooping against the wind And scattering clouds of smoke And tufts of flame And the rear brought up by the six archers Close upon the heels of these, Dick followed He had, of course, heard no word of this conversation But he had recognized in the second of the speakers Old Lord Shoreby himself A man of infamous reputation Whom even Sir Daniel affected In public to condemn Presently they came close down upon the beach The air smelt salt The noise of the surf increased And here, in a large walled garden There stood a small house of two stories With stables and other offices The foremost torch-bearer Unlocked a door in the wall And after the whole party had passed into the garden Again closed and locked it on the other side Dick and his men were thus excluded From any further following Unless they should scale the wall And thus put their necks in a trap They sat down in a tuft of furs and waited The red glow of the torches moved up and down To and fro within the enclosure As if the link-bearers steadily patrolled the garden Twenty minutes passed And then the whole party issued forth again Upon the down And Sir Daniel and the baron After the elaborate salutation Separated and turned severally homeward Each with his own following of men and lights As soon as the sound of the steps Had been swallowed by the wind Dick got to his feet As briskly as he was able For he was stiff and aching with the cold Capper, ye will give me a back-up, he said They advanced all three to the wall Capper stooped and Dick, getting upon his shoulders Clambered on to the cobstone Now, green sheave, whispered Dick Follow me up here, lie flat upon your face That ye may be less seen And be ever ready to give me a hand If I fall foully on the other side And so, saying, he dropped into the garden It was all pitch dark There was no light in the house The wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs And the surf beat upon the beach There was no other sound Cautiously Dick footed it forth Stumbling among the bushes and groping with his hands And presently the crisp noise of gravel underfoot Told him that he had struck upon an alley Here he paused and taking his crossbow From where he kept it concealed under his long tabard He prepared it for instant action And went forward once more with greater resolution And assurance The path led him straight to the group of buildings All seemed to be sorely dilapidated The windows of the house were secured by crazy shutters The stables were open and empty There was no hay in the hayloft No corn in the corn box Anyone would have supposed the place to be deserted But Dick had good reason to think otherwise He continued his inspection Visiting the offices At length he came round to the seaside of the house And there, sure enough, there burned a pale light In one of the upper windows He stepped back a little way Till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow On the wall of the apartment Then he remembered that in the stable His grouping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder And he returned with all dispatch to bring it The ladder was very short But yet, by standing on the topmost round He could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the window And seizing these He raised his body by main force Until his eyes commanded the interior of the room Two persons were within The first he readily knew to be Dame Hatch The second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady In a long embroidered dress Could that be Joanna Sedley? His old wood companion Jack Whom he had thought to punish with a belt He dropped back again To the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement He had never thought of his sweetheart As of so superior a being And he was instantly taken With a feeling of diffidence But he had little opportunity for thought A low hissed Sounded from close by And he hastened to descend the ladder Who goes, he whispered Green-sheave came the reply In tones similarly guarded What won't ye, asked Dick The house is watched, Master Shelton Returned the outlaw We are not alone to watch it For even as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men prowling in the dark And heard them whistle softly one to the other By my soothe, said Dick But this is passing strange Were they not men of Sir Daniel's? Nay, sir, that they are not Returned Green-sheave For if I have eyes in my head Every man jack of them Weareth me a white badge in his bonnet Something checkered with dark White checkered with dark Repeated Dick Faith, tis a badge I know not It is none of this country's badges Well, and that be so Let us slip as quietly forth From this garden as we may For here we are, in an evil posture For defence, beyond all question There are men of Sir Daniel's in that house And to be taken between two shots Is a beggar-man's position Take me this ladder I must leave it where I found it They returned the ladder to the stable And groped their way to the place Where they had entered Capra had taken Green-sheave's position On the cope, and now he leaned down His hand, and first one And then the other pulled them up Cautiously and silently They dropped a gain upon the other side Nor did they dare speak Until they had returned to their Old ambush in the gorse Now John Capper, said Dick Back with you to Shorby Even as for your life Bring me instantly what men ye can collect Here shall be the rendezvous Or if the men be scattered And the day be near at hand Before they muster Let the place be something further back And by the entering inn of the town Green-sheave and I lie here to watch Speed ye, John Capper And the saints aid you to dispatch And now, Green-sheave He continued as soon as Capper Had departed Let thou and I go round about the garden In a wide circuit I would feign see whether thine eyes Betrayed thee Keeping well outwards from the wall And profiting by every height and hollow They passed about two sides Beholding nothing On the third side the garden wall Was built close upon the beach And to preserve the distance Necessary to their purpose They had to go some way down upon the sands Although the tide was still pretty far out The surf was so high And the sands so flat That at each breaker A great sheet of froth and water Came careering over the expanse And Dick and Green-sheave Made this part of their inspection Waiting now to the ankles And now as deepest to the knees In the salt and icy waters Of the German ocean Suddenly, against the comparative whiteness Of the garden wall The figure of a man was seen Like a faint Chinese shadow Violently signalling with both arms As he dropped again to the earth Another rose a little further on And repeated the same performance And so, like a silent watchword These gesticulations Made the round of the beleaguered garden They keep good watch, Dick whispered Let us back to land, good master Answered Green-sheave, we stand here to open For look ye, when the seas break heavy And fight out there behind us They shall see us plainly against the foam Ye speak sooth, return dick Assure with us right speedily